AGOLS 05

Chapter 5

Even Failure Raises Proficiency?

Thud!

A burnt stench rose from the pitch-black lump inside the cauldron. Na Jin’s eyes turned red, his face collapsing into a mournful expression.

Failure.

The sixth attempt—and once again, he had failed!

Today marked the sixth day since he began refining the Mysterious Marvel Pill. Every day, once per day, he had worked with steady, methodical precision, yet not a single success had come from it. The result only left him wounded.

The closest he had come was a faint reddish gruel. But according to the formula, he was certain the finished pill should be a deep crimson—far deeper than anything patriotic or symbolic; a red so intense it felt almost alive.

Disheartened, Na Jin lifted the cauldron and dumped its charred contents into the stream. Then he grabbed a scrubbing pad and furiously cleaned the pot, all while replaying the entire process in his mind.

‘The ratios and mixture are definitely fine. I measured everything precisely with a scale. I added the ingredients at the correct moments based on clear indicators, so the order can’t be wrong either. Is it the fire control? Or the firewood? But the manual said peach wood is enough. It’s only a first-tier pill—there’s no way it should be this difficult. Or… is it my skill?’

With repeated failures, Na Jin began to doubt himself.

He even wondered if he lacked any natural talent for alchemy at all—if the successful creation of Bigu Powder had only been due to the original owner’s talent, or simply because he had already stepped into cultivation.

If that were true, wasn’t he just like someone who had stolen another person’s game account and was now gliding smoothly along a path someone else had built?

At that moment, water splashed against his cheek.

A large carp swam past, flicking water at his face as it passed.

Recently, the stream had been filled with more and more fish—likely due to rising waters from the Lancang River flowing downstream into this area.

Na Jin glanced at the disappearing fish and felt irritation surge within him.

‘Power, rise!’

“Fireball Technique!”

A black lump of charcoal appeared above the water’s surface, drifting away along the stream.

Na Jin lowered his head again and resumed scrubbing the cauldron.

‘Don’t tell me it’s the tools…’

He forced a bitter smile like a protagonist from a cultivation novel. How could he not understand his predicament? He had no famous master, no family support, and no proper alchemy tools.

A proper alchemy furnace used by cultivators cost at least ten times more than a flying sword of the same rank. Even defensive artifacts treasured by sword cultivators seemed cheap compared to them.

He had already spent all his wealth preparing materials for ten attempts at the Mysterious Marvel Pill—there was no way he could even dream of buying an alchemy furnace.

Even the lowest-grade furnace required at least first-tier spirit wood as fuel. On top of that, the alchemist had to constantly regulate the flame using spiritual energy.

But he had neither the money for spirit wood nor the skill to precisely control flames with spiritual energy.

At times, he imagined legendary alchemists who could simply reach into a furnace, refine hot paste with their hands, and instantly produce dozens of pills. But reality was nothing like that. Some ingredients were even toxic to the body if touched directly.

After a long session of self-reproach, Na Jin placed the cauldron back onto the stove, removed his apron, and sat outside the gate.

He let the sunset wash over his face and lightly slapped his cheeks twice.

‘What’s the point of thinking like this? I’ve already staked everything. Even if I fail, I still have to try properly at least once! Tomorrow… I won’t do anything. I’ll calm my mind first.’

Everyone knew that rushing things often led to nothing. The problem was realizing it only after failure.

That night, nothing happened—but Na Jin had to vent the frustration boiling inside him.

So…

‘Fireball Technique! Fireball Technique! Fireball Technique!’

The fish in the stream suffered a sudden disaster, screaming silently as they were bombarded again and again.

After nine consecutive Fireball Techniques, Na Jin’s spiritual energy was completely depleted.

Having gained 9 proficiency points, he returned to his room exhausted.

Cross-legged, he began cultivating the Eternal Spring Art.

Each circulation of qi restored one-fifth of his spiritual energy. Another cycle restored another fifth.

But for low-level cultivators, even this recovery came with limits. Physical exhaustion and lack of spiritual refinement meant that two or three full cycles in a night were already the maximum.

By midnight, Na Jin had fallen asleep mid-cultivation.

The next day, when he woke up, less than half of his spiritual energy had recovered.

That limited energy severely restricted his ability to practice spells and gain proficiency or achievement points. If he used Fireball Technique continuously, he would need at least five days of rest afterward. Even the least energy-consuming Cleanse Technique required sufficient recovery time.

More importantly, this place was not safe—he had to always leave enough spiritual energy to protect his life.

Looking back on last night, he immediately regretted his actions. If he had encountered a demonic beast while drained of energy, he would not even have been able to resist.

‘I must never do something like that again. I have to remember this—absolutely.’

After muttering to himself, he sat cross-legged and recovered one-fifth of his spiritual energy. Then he opened his status panel.

[Name: Na Jin]
[Lifespan: 27/75]
[Spiritual Roots: Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, Earth]
[Realm: Qi Refining Stage Layer 3 — 75/100]
[Cultivation Technique: Eternal Spring Art (Orthodox) — 249/300]

[Spells:
Cleanse Technique (Beginner) 51/100
Binding Technique (Proficient) 176/200
Fireball Technique (Perfect) 304/300]

[Skills:
First-Rank Alchemist
Bigu Powder (Grandmaster) 507/1000
Mysterious Marvel Pill (Entry) 3/100]

[Achievement Points: 1 point (used for initiating techniques appropriate to current realm)]

Na Jin froze.

The lifespan entry was clearly the original owner’s—before transmigration. But the original owner was already dead, so shouldn’t it be zero?

The reason he worked so desperately to gather spirit stones was for cultivation and longevity. If he could only live to seventy-five in this world, wasn’t that unbearably tragic?

Even eighty wasn’t considered a good death in this world—there wouldn’t even be a proper funeral celebration. Yet before transmigration, he had been an unmarried old bachelor.

So in this life, he wanted to push cultivation to the very peak and live as long as possible.

But reality slapped him hard.

Despite half a month of daily cultivation, his realm hadn’t moved at all.

“Is my body really this useless? Then how did the original owner reach Qi Refining Stage Layer 3?”

He couldn’t even believe the previous owner would have left behind any special pills.

Yet after facing reality, something surprising emerged.

Although he felt no change, his Eternal Spring Art proficiency had increased by 14 points.

Cleanse Technique had also increased by 2 points—likely from washing robes and cleaning the cauldron.

Binding Technique showed no change.

Fireball Technique, however, had exploded in progress—he had used it freely last night, gaining 36 points.

It had directly jumped from mastery to perfection, and he had even earned 1 achievement point.

“Perfection-level Fireball Technique… yet it still feels no different?”

He suppressed his excitement, knowing his spiritual energy had not yet fully recovered.

Then he prepared to close the panel—

But just before it disappeared, his eyes caught something.

He froze.

Then quickly reopened the panel.

“Wait.”

[Skills: First-Rank Alchemist, Bigu Powder (Grandmaster) 507/1000, Mysterious Marvel Pill (Entry) 3/100]

He clearly remembered using his achievement points to enter the Mysterious Marvel Pill technique. It should have been 1 point.

Now it was 3.

And he had never once succeeded in refining it.

‘So failure also increases proficiency?’

From the moment he transmigrated, his skill growth had always depended on success. Naturally, he had never considered that failure might also count.

But thinking carefully—why shouldn’t it?

He had never succeeded in a single attempt, yet every success was built upon repeated failures.

Wasn’t every failed attempt also part of understanding success?

Like learning to drive—every small breakthrough in turning, reversing, accelerating, and parking could all be considered progress.

Small successes accumulated into mastery.

And more importantly—

He had never truly “failed without success.”

Achievement points represented prior successful experience in entering systems of knowledge. That meant even earlier failures had already been part of success accumulation.

Whether sects or cultivation organizations, they could produce alchemists because they could endure early-stage failure. Rogue cultivators, lacking resources, often collapsed before ever reaching that point.

Na Jin, however, had already bypassed that stage through the system.

And compared to sects, his system was far superior.

Even if someone lacked talent, once they entered a system, progress could be forced forward.

“…All my success comes from my own effort.”

Na Jin’s mood lightened significantly. His heartbeat quickened slightly with excitement.

But remembering restraint, he forced himself to calm down. Emotional turbulence would not help alchemy.

Today, he decided to do something else.

To train movement techniques.

Specifically—he intended to practice lightness skill.