Levi, after a moment of thought, "I'll take three Order 6 potions for now. Here's 500 solari as an advance, my servant will return in two days to collect the stock and settle the remaining balance." while pointing towards the sack of gold coins.
The alchemist replied smoothly, "Why not formalize our agreement with a contract? That way, both of us can proceed with confidence, no worries about payment, no risk of misunderstanding."
He glanced toward Velyan thinking, "That noble can take your guarantee." On the surface, Levi appeared to be no more than a commoner, his clothes plain and unremarkable.
"That will do," Levi said, his tone unwavering as he turned to Velyan. " Give me the seal of our family."
The alchemist was taken aback. In his mind, Velyan was a noble, here to secure the guarantee of this youth. But instead, it was Levi, commanding him with an authority that seemed to defy his outward appearance.
Velyan nodded obediently, his respect evident, as he reached into the inner folds of his coat and carefully withdrew the seal of House Veryathis. He presented it to Levi with a formal gesture.
He took the seal with a steady hand, offering it to the alchemist. "Check it yourself."
The alchemist's brow furrowed as he took the seal in his hands. His eyes dropped to the insignia of the owl, and they widened in disbelief. "Veryathis? Hm... You must move in high circles," he murmured, then turned to Velyan, his voice thick with realization. "Wait... You're a servant of the Veryathis family, aren't you? My apologies... but... are you truly...?"
Levi cut him off, his tone impassive. "Just prepare the contract. I'll return after visiting the market." He doesn't have time to waste on making unnecessary connections.
After saying that he stepped out of the shop as dark clouds rolled in from the eastern mountains, swallowing the sky. The first drops of rain began to fall, tapping gently against the cobblestones. The glow of lamps reflected in the wet streets like a shimmering mirror, casting a soft, soothing ambiance over the street.
Meanwhile, in the shadowed alley of the Gloamrest district, two boys lay sprawled on the street, their bodies stained with blood, both unconscious and motionless. As the rain began to fall, a drop landed on the face of one of them. His features were average, but his jawline was defined, his expression contorting in pain from the cold shock of water. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, the weight of the moment settling upon him.
He saw bloodstains smeared across his body as pain surged from countless fractures in his bones. But when his eyes fell upon the figure before him, his heart clenched. There, lying motionless, was a face he knew better than his own. It was a twisted horror, unrecognizable face, skin torn, nose broken, features lost beneath dark smears of oil and crimson. For a moment, fear surged through him, but as his mind sharpened, as reality settled in around him, he understood. It was Emil.
Instead of easing his panic, the sight of Emil in such a state only deepened the dread that clawed at his chest. Every step he took toward the motionless form felt heavier than the last. He crouched beside Emil, his voice trembling despite his attempt to remain calm.
"Hey... hey, Emil? What happened? Where's that bastard? What did they do to you?"He had been unconscious the entire time, unaware of what had happened. He didn't know how Emil had managed to save his leg from breaking, using the money they had spent months scraping together.
But there was no answer. Only the suffocating silence of the alley. His heart hammered painfully in his chest as he reached out, fingers brushing against Emil's unresponsive skin. The sight of his friend, his closest companion, so broken, so lifeless, made everything feel surreal.
Frustration and fear twisted within him, but he couldn't just leave him here. With grim determination, he stood, hoisting Emil onto his back with a quiet grunt.
As he stepped into the streets, his mind raced, filled with the heavy weight of confusion. "What now? What am I supposed to do?"
As he emerged from the alley, his eyes caught sight of a cart parked in front of a nearby house. Without hesitation, he carefully laid Emil onto it, the rough wooden surface creaking under the weight. His hands trembled as he arranged Emil as gently as he could, unwilling to let any more harm come to him.
With a final glance at the still form of his friend, he turned and moved swiftly toward the southern gate, his steps determined despite the chaos in his mind.
He pushed the cart forward, muscles burning. The Southern Gate was close, just a few more turns past the factories and the watchmen's blind spots. He kept his eyes ahead.
But then, a door slammed.
A figure emerged from the mist-drenched alley, thick-bearded and drenched in rain, his oilskin coat flapping behind him like the wings of a storm. He froze, eyes wide as they landed on the empty spot where his cart had been. A curse tore from his throat, guttural and furious. "Oi!" But his voice didn't carry far in rain.
Theo's pulse hammered in his ears, but he didn't slow. The shortcuts were familiar, but the dangers were always lurking.Then, the unmistakable sound of footsteps,heavy, relentless, followed by a growl of rage. Closer.
Theo stole a glance over his shoulder just as the man surged from the fog, his face twisted with fury. "You thief!" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the alley. "I caught you red-handed!" A meaty fist swung, aimed squarely for Theo's head.
Instincts kicked in.
Theo barely had time to raise his arms before the blow landed, the force of it sending him sprawling into the cart's side. Pain exploded across his ribs, and for a moment, all he could do was gasp for air. The man yanked him by the coat, dragging him down into the mud with a growl of fury.
"Think you can just take a man's livelihood, you gutter rat?" The man's voice was a guttural snarl as he slammed another punch into Theo's face, blood splattering across his shirt. He could taste the metallic tang of it on his lips, oil and blood mixing as it dripped down his chin.
Before Theo's mind could grasp what was happening to him or why the person had suddenly attacked.The man's punches came faster now, relentless, each one fueled by rage, leaving him no chance to speak, no room to plead his innocence.
From the way Theo's face was battered and his shirt stained, the man assumed him to be nothing more than a beggar, a thief who had gotten too bold.
Each blow sent waves of pain through Theo's body, his vision flickering as he struggled to stay conscious. The man's strength was overwhelming, and Theo could feel his body giving way to the onslaught. When his limbs finally went limp, the man paused, panting heavily, before shoving him aside. He left Theo there, crumpled in the muck, his body broken, a discarded ragdoll.
Around them, gawkers gathered. Factory workers in drenched overcoats stared blankly with dull eyes, a pair of corseted women huddling beneath a patched umbrella, too indifferent to intervene. No one moved to help. No one cared. Fights in the lower districts were common, and when the men labeled Theo a robber or thief, the crowd, already satisfied with the sight of him being beaten, simply moved on, more concerned with the rain soaking their clothes.
High above, through a foggy window, two pairs of eyes watched the scene unfold in silence. One of the women, her face partially obscured by a large woven straw hat and a sheer veil, turned to the young girl standing beside her. The woman's blonde hair cascaded down her back in loose waves, and her expression was calm, almost detached, as she studied the struggle below.
"Take them here," she said softly, her voice carrying a quiet command.
As the man finished venting his rage and took his cart back, leaving Emil's limp body on the street like a discarded piece of refuse, a girl approached, appearing to be about the same age as Emil, stepped forward, her movements fluid and assured her eyes fixed on both of their bodies.
With ease, the girl bent down and, as if they weighed no more than feathers, she lifted both unconscious boys into her arms. A faint crimson aura shimmered around her, enveloping their bodies in a soft glow. She moved with surprising grace, her steps light as she carried them toward the building.
Inside, the woman in the veil stepped back from the window, her gaze following the girl's movements as she entered the room. She gestured toward the bed without a word.
The room was simple: a wooden bed with plain, unadorned sheets, a cabinet along the far wall, steam vents hissing quietly, and a window that offered a panoramic view of the district. The girl gently placed both of them onto the bed, her crimson aura still flickering around them like a protective shroud.
The woman approached Emil first, examining his injuries with practiced hands. She touched his wrist, feeling for a pulse. "He's lost too much blood," she murmured, her voice cold and matter-of-fact. "His life is hanging by a thread."