Discomfort

The reason Matthew was concerned about Aidan's physical condition was precisely because Aidan had used that mysterious “potion” to force a breakthrough and reach the threshold of a Class holder.

Now that it was clear Sutton was a wizard apprentice from Lilith Academy, it followed that potions concocted by wizards—much like the surging dark red, energy-unstable Blood-Burning Potion—often contained power far beyond mortal understanding, frequently accompanied by unpredictable costs and side effects.

While what Aidan had taken wasn't a Blood-Burning Potion, it was still a product of a wizard's hand. When used on an ordinary person, there was no guarantee it wouldn't leave behind hidden dangers.

After all, for ordinary people, simply being near a wizard apprentice for an extended period often caused mental discomfort or even a faint, stinging pain.

A wizard's power was fundamentally different from that of a mortal. It was like a torch brought close to a candle; its very existence carried a natural suppression and disturbance.

Therefore, a potion personally crafted by a wizard, even if its original intent was to buff or transform, was essentially an extension and condensation of a wizard's power. It was naturally never foolproof. The energy, laws, or unknown catalytic mechanisms contained within always carried the risk of unpredictable rejection, burden, or even backlash for a body that had not stepped onto the path of a wizard.

As these thoughts flowed, Matthew stopped his fork and knife. He looked up at Aidan across the dining table, his tone calm but carrying a trace of imperceptible concern as he asked, “Do you feel any discomfort in your body now that you've broken through?”

Hearing this, Aidan's fingers stiffened slightly around his utensils. He immediately understood the deeper meaning behind Matthew's words—he was being asked if there were any abnormalities after forcing a breakthrough with that unknown potion.

He slowly put down his cutlery, lowered his eyes to carefully sense his condition for a moment, and then looked up to answer seriously, “My body doesn't feel uncomfortable... I just feel much lighter and more agile than before, and my strength has increased a lot.”

Matthew nodded, his expression as calm as ever. “That is normal. Crossing the threshold of a Class holder is a leap in life level; your body will naturally adapt and display new traits.”

As for the obvious side effects Matthew had anticipated—there were no signs of chronically unstable vitality, nor was there any lethargy following mental trauma. On the contrary, Aidan appeared full of energy with clear eyes.

Matthew privately speculated that perhaps the potion Sutton had given him was simply low in rank, containing limited wizardly power, making its impact and transformation of a mortal body relatively mild.

Alternatively, the mechanism of such potions might simply be different—it was more like a precise key used only to poke through the paper-thin barrier of the Class holder threshold, rather than something like the Blood-Burning Potion that traded potential and life force for brief, violent power.

Furthermore, Aidan had already been standing on the very edge of the threshold, just one final push away. What the potion provided was likely more of a “momentum” to help him cross that last invisible barrier rather than forcibly elevating his life level.

Seen in this light, it made sense that Aidan had successfully promoted to a Class holder through the potion's power. Although external force had intervened, the process hadn't left any hidden issues; instead, it had resulted in a breakthrough that was safe and sound after a close call.

With those thoughts settled, he picked up his ale, took a sip, and continued, “You need to eat more during this period, especially foods rich in vitality. You must also practice your breathing technique without fail—stabilizing your foundation and adapting to the new realm is more important than blindly chasing power.”

At this point, Matthew's gaze fell on the plate in front of Aidan, his voice carrying a touch of indisputable warmth. “I have already instructed the owner to prepare a portion of magical beast meat for you for all three meals every day. Just stay at the inn, eat on time, and focus on your cultivation. Don't worry about anything else for the time being.”

Aidan froze.

He looked at the clearly textured, richly fragrant steak on his plate, then at Matthew’s calm profile. His chest felt as if it had suddenly been filled with something warm.

He knew the value of magical beast meat all too well—it was a treasure that ordinary adventurers might not even be willing to taste after saving for months, yet it had now become his fixed daily meal.

He looked at Matthew's calm face, and a clear, solid sense of gratitude suddenly welled up from the bottom of his heart.

If it were anyone else, bringing back a bag of wealth might have led to different thoughts. That bag of gold coins and gems was enough for an ordinary Black Iron Rank Class holder to enjoy magical beast meat at every meal for years; it was a fortune sufficient to tempt many.

But Aidan had grown up in the village, and his mind still retained a nearly instinctive purity.

In his heart, this windfall was never “his own luck,” but rather “Matthew's gift.” If Matthew hadn't slipped in like a shadow that night and brought him out of that desperate cage in the basement, he would likely have already become one of the forgotten corpses in the courtyard, let alone having the chance to become a Class holder or carry this heavy bag of wealth.

His Adam's apple bobbed slightly. He opened his mouth, but for a moment, no sound came out.

He thought of his displaced past, the mornings and late nights spent toiling for a full meal, the terror of nearly losing his life last night, and even more, he thought of the hand Matthew had extended to him more than once—from the dark basement to this warm, hearty steak before him now.

After a long while, he lowered his head, his voice very low but every word carrying heavy weight. “...Thank you, Big Brother Matthew.”

Matthew glanced at him, the corner of his mouth curving upward almost imperceptibly. He was very satisfied with Aidan's contentment; his concern hadn't been in vain.

He then returned to his usual indifference.

He took another sip of ale, his voice not loud, but falling clearly into the youth's ears. “There is no need to thank me. If you hadn't risked going to the second floor last night to bring back that bag of wealth, we wouldn't be sitting here eating peacefully today.”

He put down his glass, his gaze landing calmly on Aidan's face. “There were many valuable things in that villa, but the one who actually managed to find and pack them all up was you. This money was earned through your courage and actions.”

His tone held no polite deflection or deliberate praise; he spoke as if stating a matter of fact. “Therefore, whether it's this magical beast meat or your future expenses, it is all what you deserve. I am simply returning what already belongs to you.”

Having said that, Matthew spoke no more. He picked up his fork and knife again, cut a small piece of steak, and put it in his mouth, his movements natural as if the words he just spoke were no different from a “good morning” or “good afternoon.”

But Aidan knew this wasn't mere politeness—Big Brother Matthew never spoke just to be polite.

The youth gripped his utensils, his throat tightening. In the end, he only gave a low “mm” and nodded vigorously.

The afternoon sunlight rested quietly on the edge of the plate, illuminating the texture of the steak with exceptional clarity. In the room, only the sound of slow chewing remained, alongside the heavy sense of security in the youth's heart after being affirmed and recognized.

...

...