Although Samimi constantly cried about being broke, she had done a few monster-hunting quests for Melon Town and earned some tips for healing minor injuries. So, the Melon Church did have a bit of petty cash saved up.
It was still far from enough to renovate the church, but it could serve as a starter fund.
Samimi poured all of her savings into buying several large crates of small empty bottles and a mountain of cheap herbs. She piled them all into the church warehouse—these were the complete ingredients for making health potions.
The empty rooms in Melon Church finally came in handy as storage space.
Even the grand cathedral of the church could now be used for storage. After all, no one came to pray anymore.
But Samimi decided against that. Even though she was a transmigrator and obviously not religious, she still wanted to maintain a sense of reverence for the gods. She wouldn’t commit blasphemy out of convenience—especially since she did have a warehouse to use.
Besides, her original world probably didn’t have gods, but in this fantasy world? Who knew?
But enough digression—making money came first.
Samimi converted the room that had previously housed Fabiana into an alchemy workshop.
By day, she holed up inside making health potions. By night, she meditated and trained to absorb magic essence. Her days were as productive as could be.
With Niubao now handling her daily routine, Samimi could devote herself entirely to work.
And so, time passed peacefully.
“Sigh… I don’t wanna work.”
Samimi stretched her sore back and stepped out of the workshop to get some fresh air.
Who would’ve thought that even after arriving in another world, she couldn’t escape the grind of factory labor?
Well, at least she was working for herself now. The money went straight into her own pocket. Misery mixed with joy.
The process of making health potions was simple: weigh out the herbs on a scale, divide them into small batches.
This was the most time-consuming part—and the most critical—because the precise amount of each herb followed the Church’s secret potion formula.
After that, you stuffed the measured herbs into small bottles, added a precise amount of water, and infused the mixture with your healing power to quickly create a bottle of health potion.
The herbs helped preserve the healing magic for long-term use. Just uncap and drink—it could be applied externally or taken internally. A handy item for travel, giving the user the benefit of her healing magic on the go.
Honestly, it wasn’t highly technical, but not just anyone could make it. At minimum, you needed to be a cleric capable of channeling healing power.
And making these potions burned through magic quickly. But that was actually a good thing—mages needed to deplete their mana regularly, because doing so helped them level up.
Samimi didn’t meditate to grow her magic power, but rather to grow her mana bar.
In gamer terms: [Increase Maximum MP].
In the magical world, MP was the ultimate measure of a magic user’s strength.
The longer your mana bar, the more powerful spells you could cast. Without enough MP, even if you knew legendary divine spells, you wouldn’t be able to use them. You’d just embarrass yourself.
And more importantly, you could maintain your magic shield longer—and stronger.
That’s why old mages, with years of accumulated training, were usually far stronger than young ones.
In this way, mages were the opposite of warriors. For fighters, youth often had the upper hand—young fists hit harder.
“Work hard, progress daily.”
After a short rest, the ever-optimistic Samimi returned to her workshop to resume potion-making.
One month later, Samimi had filled two entire warehouses with health potions.
She transported half of the stock to the town mayor’s mansion and asked him to help sell them.
“Sister Samimi, you’re really asking me to sell this many potions?” The mayor of Melon Town stared at the goods, slightly panicked.
“I trust you. You know all the innkeepers in town,” Samimi said. “You’ve got the trade routes, I’ve got the stock. Let’s split profits fifty-fifty.”
“Health potions are in high demand. Passing merchant caravans will probably love buying them for protection,” the mayor analyzed.
“You set the price—I don’t know the market. But don’t even think about cheating this innocent nun. I may be dumb, but my fists are kinda hard,” Samimi warned.
“I wouldn’t dare cheat you, Sister. I don’t even lie to my wife,” the mayor said hastily. “Leave it to me. I’ll place your products in the lobbies of every inn.”
Suddenly, the mayor’s expression turned serious. He switched into merchant mode and said thoughtfully, “But Sister, I won’t sell the potions all at once. I’ll release them little by little. That way, we can maintain a steady price. It won’t earn a huge sum quickly, but it will generate long-term, stable income. Are you in a rush for money?”
“No rush. Take your time. You really are the mayor. I have no business sense—so I’ll go with your plan. This whole operation depends on you.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”
And just like that, Samimi solved her poverty problem. From now on, she’d never have to worry about being broke again.
“Niubao! We’re rich now! I even bought a magic water heater—it just arrived. We can take hot baths at home instead of borrowing other people’s bathhouses!”
Back at Melon Church, she and Niubao hugged and cried. Their days of hardship were finally over.
Samimi could finally relax—rocking in a chair under the sun, sipping cold drinks, enjoying the life of another world.
However, peaceful days always passed far too quickly. It was time to say goodbye to peace—again.
Dun dun dun! Dun dun dun!
One day, three uninvited guests rang the newly reinforced iron gate of Melon Church.
Samimi and Niubao stood at the door, looking out at the iron bars. In the distance stood three imposing figures radiating powerful auras—it was clear they didn’t come with good intentions.
They exchanged a glance. Samimi went back to grab her Demon-Slaying Sword. Niubao belted on her golden sword. Fully armed, they headed to meet the “guests.”
Halfway there, Samimi recognized two of them.
Those full-body platinum heavy armors—super burly and intimidating.
Weren’t those the Holy Knights, the Church’s strongest ground force? She had seen them when she visited the Saintess’s cathedral.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Could it be… they found out about her selling health potions? Why else would Holy Knights show up in a small town like this?
And between the two knights stood a cloaked figure, clearly protected on both sides—not an ordinary person.
“Who are you?” Samimi asked warily from behind the gate.
“You don’t remember us? We met in front of the Saintess’s cathedral,” one of the knights said gruffly.
“How the heck would I know who you are? You’re all wearing helmets—who can tell?” Samimi shot back with a fierce scowl, showing no respect.
She almost forgot—she was that furious little calf who even dared curse out the Knight King.
Back when she first transmigrated, she gave everyone some face. But now? Times had changed.