Now, it was time to work on something different.
Jericho stepped back into his workshop, tugging a tarp off a crate where he'd stashed a hand-crafted pickaxe.
It wasn't flashy, just sturdy, reliable, and imbued with a minor buff for piercing.
"Alright," he muttered, slinging a sack over his shoulder. "Let's go mining."
That night, he ventured into Hollowmarrow Grotto, a shadowy trench just off the south edge of the Evermist Forest. Damp, narrow, and often avoided by locals for its eerie hum, the grotto was rich with minerals... if you were tough enough to reach them.
Jericho spent the evening clawing through mossy rock, hacking away at overgrowth, and battling off nasty, oversized cave bugs that seemed to screech in surround sound. Sweat soaked his shirt.
Mud caked his boots. His arms burned from swinging, and his lungs were begging him to quit.
So he didn't.
Instead, he dumped four of his six remaining stat points into Strength and Stamina, grit his teeth, and pressed on.
By the time dawn painted the sky in copper and blue, he'd returned with:
Shadestone Dust (good for agility and stealth enchantments)
Dawniron Chunks (a rare, resilient ore that responded well to magic)
Gleamsap Resin (used to bind enchantments to fabric)
Frostbark Splinters (imbued with passive cooling properties)
Along the way, he honed his hunting skills too. Rabbits, squirrels, even a low-level wild boar that got too curious.
His bow techniques were getting faster, cleaner.
Days passed. Then soon, a week.
The end of his suspension loomed. The Mock Battle Arc would begin the following day.
Jericho, however, had a goal. Not just to return, but to return invincible.
So he went to work.
Not just crafting, forging.
The air around his forge shimmered from enchantment. Every material, every binding, every rune was charged with purpose.
His fingers moved faster than ever. Sweat poured. Sparks flew. He whispered intent into every piece, guiding the magic into shape.
His new set:
Whisper Cuff (ear cuff): +5% evasion, +3% speed.
Blink Bands (bracelets, x2): +5% evasion, +2 agility, +3% speed.
Runner's Socks: +5% speed, +2 agility, +4% evasion.
They weren't just accessories. They were his ticket to survival.
Jericho's Final Plan: Survive a world of gods and heroes not by overpowering them, but by slipping past every strike.
He put them on. Instantly, the world felt slower. The wind against his skin was lighter. His steps made no sound. It was subtle, but real.
"Now for the test," he murmured.
He grabbed a knife from the wall, +25% accuracy.
He held it, thought about tossing it up and trying to dodge, then paused.
"... Wait," he whispered.
He turned to the wooden post by his camp. A dark knot in the center.
With a flick of his wrist—
Thunk.
Dead center.
He pulled another blade.
Thunk.
Another target. Another bullseye.
He chuckled, retrieving them.
"Geez," he said, flipping one between his fingers.
"Dodged a bullet right there."
Jericho took the final evening before rejoining Celestia Academy seriously. It was the first real step back into society, into the storyline.
He cleaned his gear meticulously. His shirt, trousers, coat, washed, scrubbed, dried.
He polished his shoes, reinforced the seams, and enchanted the soles to be more comfortable.
His accessories were lined on a flat stone: the Whisper Cuff, the Blink Bands, the Runner's Socks. All ready.
He cooked quietly under the stars. Just a simple stew with smoked hornbeast meat and roots, but it was hearty. Real.
"Tomorrow," he muttered, staring into the fire. "I'll finally take a good look at the academy."
He didn't sleep much.
The excitement, no, the anticipation, kept him wired.
For the first time in this new life, he'd get to walk into his dream. Celestia Academy. Not as a spectator, not as a loading screen, but as a student.
And this time, he was equipped against rotten tomatoes.
The next morning, Jericho stood at the gates of Celestia Academy.
He wore his cleaned uniform, his bag slung over his shoulder, his coat brushing just past his knees.
It felt... like coming home.
A lifetime ago, he dreamed of seeing these towers, the shimmering spires, the magic coursing through the walls.
The student chatter, the ambient spell murmurs, the scent of morning dew and fresh ink.
This time, he wasn't about to be kicked out.
He was part of this world.
But the world wasn't ready to forgive him.
As he walked onto the stone paths, students turned. Some stopped talking. Others whispered. Many stared.
Jericho recognized it instantly.
Disgust.
"Why is he here?"
"Didn't he get expelled?"
"He should be rotting somewhere."
He kept walking.
A few steps later, a voice called out from behind him.
"Hey, trash!"
Something whistled through the air.
Jericho's body moved instantly.
He twisted slightly and the rock flew past his cheek, bouncing off the wall with a crack.
Jericho blinked.
His heart skipped.
What was that?
He turned slowly.
A boy, third-year maybe, stood there, hand still up from the throw.
Jericho stared at him, then down at where the rock had landed.
His body had moved on its own.
That was evasion. Perfect evasion.
The student stepped forward, looking to mock him again, but a loud voice cut through.
"Hey!"
Aiko.
She stormed toward them. The student straightened.
"Throwing rocks at other students? You want a report filed?"
"But it's him!"
"I don't care if it's the Demon King's mother, you don't throw rocks. One more slip, and you're off combat privileges for a month."
The student muttered and walked off.
Jericho exhaled, just a bit relieved.
Until Aiko turned to him.
Her expression was stony.
"Don't misunderstand, trash. You're not worth the paperwork."
Jericho flinched slightly.
"Don't give people more excuses to hate you," she sneered. "You're lucky you're even allowed to step foot here again. One mistake, and no one's going to lift a finger to help you. Not even me."
She turned sharply and walked away without another glance, leaving behind a stunned silence.
The surrounding students snickered, eyes still following him. The pressure was constant.
He walked with his head down.
"One mistake? What mistake? Kss... Never selling her anything again," he muttered.
The day didn't get better.
Jericho dodged everything. A tossed apple core. A chair leg. Even a spell that fizzled near his ear.
The best part?
He didn't even mean to.
His gear was doing the work, reacting faster than he could process.
But evading didn't protect his pride.
He was barred from the library.
"The Literature Club has unanimously agreed to deny you access."
He was refused study partners.
The cafeteria glared at him like he carried plague.
He ate alone, near the back gardens, chewing on smoked meat he'd brought from his forest camp.
He tried to approach a teacher.
"Sir, I—"
"I know who you are," the man said flatly.
Jericho hesitated.
"I'm trying to attend classes normally. But I'm being harassed..."
The teacher raised a hand.
"Consequences."
Jericho felt the blood drain from his face.
"Even if you don't want to remember what you did," the teacher said quietly, "others do. That kind of wound doesn't vanish just because you play the nice guy."
He sat beneath a tree that evening, legs pulled to his chest, the wind cold against his uniform.
He stared at the academy buildings in the distance.
"Maybe I should just quit," he whispered, face low, looking every bit the tragic, shunned hero.
Inside?
I DIDN'T EVEN DO IT! he screamed mentally. I didn't do any of those things! That was the old Jericho! The villain DLC version!
And even then, he didn't KILL anyone! Calm down, people! Rotten tomatoes? A rock? Are you planning my public execution next?!
He sighed aloud instead, rubbing his face like an exhausted office worker one typo away from collapse.
He could sell weapons in the city. He could live quietly, gather materials, make his dream house...
But then he remembered.
This is Alchemia Tale.
The endgame wasn't optional.
There were monsters coming. Dark things. Cataclysms. And if Shin didn't get the tools he needed, the story would spiral and the world would be destroyed.
Jericho groaned, burying his face in his arms.
"Ok, but maybe if there was another scroll... Argh, darn it... Suck it up, you can't quit."
Back at the academy, excitement was building.
The Mock Battle Festival was the biggest event of autumn. A massive arena was prepped in the academy's coliseum, seating enchanted to accommodate even nobles from outside cities.
Hundreds of students trained harder than ever, polishing their skills, refining their spells, reviewing tactics.
The air buzzed with anticipation.
At long last, it was finally time to begin.