SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS

Chapter 989: Crimson Veil Lotus?!

The World of Sea God Legacy…

Lan Family Garden…

The morning sun had barely risen, and yet the vast emerald plains of the Lan Family Herb Garden were already buzzing with activity.

Located in the valley of the Eastern Ridge, the garden was a sacred place, its soil nourished by thousand-year-old earth veins, and its air infused with spiritual pollen.

Amidst the swaying rows of glowing spirit herbs and whispering silver grass, one figure moved like a butterfly wrapped in grace.

Clad in dark green robes embroidered with silver vines, Manuka Lan swept through the garden with an inkbrush in hand, her fingers stained by pollen and spiritual dew.

Her eyes, sharper than a hawk’s, missed nothing. Her black hair was tightly coiled behind her head, and her face bore the stern serenity of a priestess and the terrifying efficiency of a commander.

“Three Fire-Essence Lilies are wilting on the north terrace,” she barked.

A trembling worker bowed. “Forgive me, Lady Manuka. We were adjusting the irrigation channels and—”

“Do you think the lilies care for your excuses? They need regulated soul-heat infusion at dawn! Bring the copper array stones at once. And fetch Senior Herbalist Mu.”

“Yes, Lady Manuka!” the worker sprinted.

She didn’t even watch him go. Her gaze was already on the next bed of plants—Thousand-Eyed Vines, known to turn carnivorous if not sung to during their blooming hour.

She knelt beside them, humming an ancient hymn as her fingers gently adjusted the mist infusion stones. The vines twitched, their small red eyes blinking as they leaned toward her.

Despite her fierce authority, Manuka’s hands moved with a mother’s care. Every herb, flower, and leaf seemed to respond to her. It wasn’t cultivation alone that gave her this bond—it was devotion.

The garden was her world.

She had grown here, orphaned at birth and raised by the elder herbalists. They had died during a plague outbreak twenty years ago, and she—barely a teen—had taken charge.

Now, no herb entered the Lan family vault without her approval. No garden formation was reset without her input. She could recite over two thousand plant names by memory and identify unknown spores by scent alone.

As the sun crested over the hill, disciples and elders alike scrambled under her sharp commands.

“The Yinroot Saplings must be trimmed before the second bell. If the sap bleeds too long, the potency falls by thirty percent. Use moonstone blades only.”

“Yes, Lady Manuka!”

“You, over there! The Mistrise Blossoms are flaring. Who failed to clean the dew catchers? One more mistake and you’ll be demoted to dung sifting!”

Despite her wrath, no one dared to speak ill of her. The yield of the garden had tripled under her. The purity of pills refined using her herbs was unmatched. Even wandering pill sages bowed in respect when they came to visit.

Her younger cousin, Lan Su, whispered to a new recruit, “They call her the Herb Tyrant, but she once stayed awake for six days straight to save a dying Ice-Root Orchid. It had grown from the last seed her master left her. She cried when it bloomed again.”

As the day passed, Manuka finally stopped in front of a large herbal altar, where a plant with translucent petals hovered in mid-air, floating above a divine jade plate. This was the Soulbloom Orchid, one of the most sacred herbs in the valley.

She bowed deeply before it and whispered, “Forgive the disruptions today. I shall mend the imbalance by sunset.”

But at this time…

At the outer edges of the garden, where only common buyers and traders were allowed to tread, a ruckus began to stir.

A man had arrived—not with hesitation, nor with words of plea, but like a storm pressing upon a mountain.

A group of herb managers and junior alchemists gathered, their expressions uncertain, confused—and soon, bordering on insulted.

A young servant girl stumbled back, eyes wide. “He just dropped… a large bag of mana crystals!”

“What?” a robed supervisor turned, his expression hardening.

With a loud thud, the ground shivered as a heavy bag of blue-glowing refined mana crystals landed squarely at the feet of the Herb Garden’s trading desk. The radiance from the bag pulsed as though alive, drawing gazes like moths to a divine flame.

Phillip Salt, [Kent] stood with both arms crossed behind his back. His golden-lined black robe danced slightly in the wind. Behind him, five well-trained servants stood silently, creating an imposing presence.

“I’m here to purchase a herb,” he declared, his voice clear and without a single note of courtesy.

The female herb trader blinked. “Sir… may I know which herb?”

“Crimson Veil Lotus,” Kent said calmly. “One that has grown under spiritual moonlight for at least three years.”

The surrounding air fell silent.

Heads turned.

Brows furrowed.

Crimson Veil Lotus?

That name itself sent a jolt through the garden’s administrative staff.

“I—I’m afraid that’s not something we cultivate here, sir,” the woman stammered, genuinely perplexed.

“I’m not bargaining. The bag has triple the market value,” Kent said, tone sharper. “Either find the herb or someone who can answer properly.”

His words carried power—not just in spirit but in aura. Cultivators nearby subconsciously straightened their backs.

The manager in charge of external trade stepped forward, pressing his palms together. “Honored guest, the Lan Family Herb Garden has nearly three hundred rare species in cultivation, and another five hundred in vault seeds, but… ’Crimson Veil Lotus’ is not listed in any of our active catalogues. If you could—”

“No,” Kent interrupted. “That is the herb’s name in ancient spirit tongue, not your indexes. Find someone competent.”

The insult was clear.

Servants began whispering, trying to piece together the name, the herb, the strange buyer.

Within minutes, the message was passed from junior manager to senior trader. From elder alchemist to the vice-head of external inventory.

But no one knew of this herb.

The bag of crystals still glowed on the soil like a challenge to the entire Lan family’s reputation.

And so, after much hesitation, the message reached the inner sanctum of the garden—beyond the emerald walls, beyond the treasured greenhouses and beast-guarded inner pools.

To Manuka Lan.

–

Tq!