[Lord of Abundance] Chapter 29: Divine Blood Fusion Potion

 Chapter 29: Divine Blood Fusion Potion

Kun suddenly laughed. “Mages, you see—they reject the very concept of gods, yet at the same time, they’re desperate to encounter one. The Philosopher’s Stone is a mysterious existence—something that does not exist in the world, yet is the source of all matter. Gods are much the same. So in the eyes of some alchemists, if the Philosopher’s Stone truly exists, then it must be the blood of a god.”

The Philosopher’s Stone… is divine blood?!

Li Tianyun was speechless.

On the surface, it sounded like reverence toward divinity—but at its core, it revealed the arrogance ingrained in mages.

What was the Philosopher’s Stone?

A material. A magical ingredient.

No matter how rare or precious, it was still just something to be used—a tool in a mage’s hands to achieve a goal.

In other words, if a god actually appeared in this world, a mage’s first reaction would be: So gods really exist—interesting.
The second would be: Can I draw some of its blood for research?

Li Tianyun didn’t know about others—but this guy? He would absolutely think that way. And sooner or later, he’d act on it.

—

Kun pointed at the lifelike golden dog statue placed beside the Gate of Abundance, his tone filled with astonishment.

“See that golden dog? It used to be alive.”

Li Tianyun froze, then whipped his head around to stare at the statue.

This was no longer just “lifelike”—it was perfectly replicated. Every strand of fur, every gap between its teeth—even the bits of food stuck between them were rendered in exact detail.

No wonder.

How could something so tacky appear in Kun’s lab—especially placed beside something as significant as that gate?

“This is… the Philosopher’s Stone?”

“Exactly. Divine blood is the Philosopher’s Stone.”

Kun sighed.

“So much knowledge from distant ages—legends, truths—has lost its original meaning over time. What remains is fragmented, obscure, difficult to discern. But still… some gold survives the erosion of time and flows down to us.”

“Even those alchemists in the capital, those who bear the title of Master, probably have no idea that what they’ve pursued all their lives—the ultimate gem—is actually what its name implies: divine blood. The blood of a god.”

“So you can’t really blame them for failing to create the so-called Philosopher’s Stone.”

“So it really is divine blood…” Li Tianyun muttered. “Honestly, it looks pretty ordinary.”

Compared to the radiant insect limb, the shriveled claw, or the grotesque eyeball—this half-drop of floating blood seemed almost mundane among the lab’s bizarre artifacts.

“According to Mythic Chronicles, the Sky God once visited the Garden of the Gods, where a demonic insect bit off one of his fingers—and even devoured it. Enraged at losing face before the other gods, the Sky God ordered his subordinate deity to annihilate the insect.”

Kun pointed to the left crystal container.

“The demon insect.”

Then to the right.

“Sky-aspected divine blood.”

Finally, he gestured upward with a shrug.

“The goddess.”

“That’s roughly the story. Of course, there are inconsistencies. Why could a mere insect bite off a god’s finger? Why would the Sky God order a subordinate to deal with it instead of acting himself? And is the Radiant Goddess truly the same as today’s Sky Goddess?”

“There’s too little information. This is as far as we can reasonably infer.”

Li Tianyun opened his mouth, then closed it again.

This is already “as far as we can infer”?

Some people… you really had no idea how their brains worked.

Being human, I’m sorry.

“I used to think your world was already incredible—battle aura, magic, elves, magical beasts, dragons. And now you’re telling me gods exist too? Hah… I’ve learned something new today.”

“That surprises you?”

Kun slung an arm around his neck, grinning.

“Heh. You didn’t think I called you here just to show off a drop of divine blood, did you? It’s just blood. I’m counting on you to capture a living god someday so I can dissect it.”

“You’re not thinking big enough, my friend. You’ve got to aim higher.”

Li Tianyun’s face darkened instantly. He slapped the arm off his shoulder.

“Who are you calling ‘not good enough’? Say what you want, but don’t make it personal.”

Kun had been waiting for that.

With a flourish, he pulled out two small vials from his spatial storage—one golden, one emerald-green. Each was contained in a droplet-shaped bottle no larger than a thumb, faintly glowing with an eerie light.

“Come on. Be a man. Don’t ask questions—pick one and down it.”

“Do I look stupid? What is this stuff?”

“Bloodline fusion potion. Version 1.0.”

Li Tianyun picked one up curiously.

Inside the translucent liquid, golden threads intertwined, coiling and shifting like something alive—like a tiny demon writhing just beyond perception.

“Bloodline fusion potion? You actually made this? Didn’t you say you’d need months of experimentation just to get started? And why does it feel… alive?”

“I’ve studied this before—I just never tried fusing higher lifeforms’ bloodlines. Making it isn’t hard. The challenge is ensuring the drinker doesn’t die from bloodline collapse.”

“In fact, I haven’t succeeded in creating a truly safe version yet. That’s why it’s only Version 1.0.”

“So I’m your test subject.”

“Now that sounds unpleasant. Think of yourself as a brave volunteer who sacrifices himself for the advancement of magic.”

“I’ll make sure your courage and selflessness are recorded prominently in my research notes—for future generations of apprentices to admire.”

He added casually, eyes shifting slightly.

“As for the potion seeming alive—haha, impossible. Potions can’t be alive. You’re imagining things.”

Li Tianyun’s eye twitched.

He had only asked casually—and this guy was already protesting too much.

So it was alive?!

What the hell?!

Give him an insect leg, and he extracts divine blood. Then casually brews a living potion.

If you handed him a Slytherin locket, he’d probably make you a Horcrux just to prove he could.

My stomach hurts.

—

“This golden potion—despite its glow, it’s not light-aspected. The insect was probably forcibly purified by divine power, which altered its attributes. Its original nature should be something like ‘Strength’ or ‘Steel’—perfect for warriors.”

“The quality is higher than I expected. Either fifth or sixth tier. The success rate is… at most thirty percent.”

“As for this green one…”

Kun’s eyes gleamed.

“I’d call it a Divine Blood Fusion Potion. Its attribute is ‘Sky’—perfect for you.”

“So? Want to try it? Opportunities like this don’t come twice.”

Li Tianyun picked up the green vial.

Unlike the other, its contents swirled like a jade vortex, luminous particles converging toward a central “eye of wind.” Mysterious. Hypnotic.

“What’s the success rate?”

“Ninety-eight percent.”

“…Really?”

“Alright. That’s the mortality rate.”

“…Ninety-eight percent death rate?”

Li Tianyun exhaled slowly. “Round that up, and I won’t even see tomorrow’s sunrise. Tell me—how is this different from poison?”

“Well,” Kun said thoughtfully, “if you drink poison, I can save you ninety-eight percent of the time. But if you drink this, there’s a ninety-eight percent chance I can’t save you.”

“…That’s how you calculate mortality rates?”

“Details don’t matter.”

Kun shoved both vials into his hands.

“Come on, pick one. I even added flavoring—cough—meant to improve taste. It should have a sweet berry flavor. Probably not too bad.”

“Which would you pick?”

“From a mage’s perspective, the green one. More data.”

“From a friend’s perspective, the gold one. Safer.”

“In the end, it depends on how much hardship you’re willing to endure… how far you want to go.”

“Either way, it’ll improve your aptitude. Third tier, even fourth—well within reach. Beyond that… I can’t predict.”

—

The Golden Sacred Scarab bloodline wasn’t attribute-based and suited most warriors.

Divine blood, on the other hand, seemed stronger—but its properties, benefits, and risks were unknown.

Someone had to take the first step.

Kun wasn’t omniscient. He could only observe, analyze, refine.

That was why he needed data.

—

“A rare chance to choose your future…”

Li Tianyun tossed the golden vial back.

“If I’m choosing, I’ll take the best.”

He uncorked the green vial, sniffed it.

A faint strawberry-like fragrance.

But no matter how pleasant—it was still poison.

“Bottoms up.”

He swallowed.

—

Instantly, his face flushed red. Veins bulged across his skin. He clutched his throat and collapsed to his knees.

“Buzz—”

Three layered magic circles appeared beneath him.

Inner: Emerald Body—enhancing vitality.
Middle: Magical Perception—monitoring life signs.
Outer: Isolation Array.

These were minor techniques Kun had derived from studying the fourth-tier scroll—but even so, they would be enough to make third-tier archmages bow in admiration.

“AAAGHHH—!”

Li Tianyun screamed, rolling across the ground in agony.

Kun didn’t react.

He calmly took out a notebook and began recording.

“11 seconds: vocal distress. Pain shifts from throat to abdomen…”

“26 seconds: rapid temperature increase. Skin reddening. Capillary rupture…”

“50 seconds: self-harm. Muscle spasms. Left arm fracture…”

“73 seconds: consciousness fading…”

“… ”

The pen stopped.

Kun closed his eyes.

At the center of the array, there was no longer anything that could be called human.

Li Tianyun had exploded into a mass of blood and pulp—no bones, no structure.

“...So it failed.”

With a soft sigh, Kun crouched down and placed the now-empty vial on the ground.

A translucent green liquid seeped out from the blood sludge—like a living thing.

Where it passed, the blood parted, as if in submission.

Soon, it returned to the vial on its own.

The potion was alive.

“Abundance Magic—Body Reconstruction.”

Kun cast the spell with practiced ease.

With all materials present, it consumed less than half the mana of the first casting.

—

Li Tianyun stood again.

But like a puppet.

Eyes empty.

Soul gone.

Kun wasn’t concerned.

He calmly reviewed his notes, making adjustments.

For an ordinary person, dying and returning like this was… a bit much.

The vessel had collapsed—but the soul remained intact.

He’d recover.

Eventually.

As for the pain—

That had been very real.

As for the benefits—

Since the fusion failed…

There were none.

Like gambling everything on a single bet.

Win—and you win everything.

Lose—and you lose it all.