Chapter 46: Deception? No, an honorable deal.
He left a few coins on the counter, enough to pay for several more rounds, and stood up.
As he stepped outside, the murmur of the bar faded behind him, replaced by the howling of the night wind. The streets were empty… the calm before the storm.
Richard adjusted his coat and walked without hurry. The moon, high and red like blood, followed him like a watchful eye.
Tomorrow they would enter the forbidden territory.
Although before that, he would have to prepare some materials to deliver to the alchemist. The alcohol had managed to keep his emotions more controlled, fulfilling its purpose… how he had missed that feeling of intoxication that could take your worries away in moments like this.
That elixir could be dangerous in excessive amounts, but at least it knew how to fulfill its function. That dizzy feeling along with the momentary oblivion of all worry was one of the great addictions that led to excessive drinking.
Isolda manifested on his shoulder.
"So what are we going to do now?"
Her small, semi-transparent figure was ignored by all the passersby nearby. No awakened one was around, so the little troublemaker started watching the surroundings.
Richard shook his head.
"We have to buy a few things before we leave…"
Ignoring the pout on Isolda's face, his steps were lost among the crowd. He knew the general's men were following him, so he at least had to behave like an ordinary citizen.
It was an annoyance, but he would endure it for now.
Isolda spun around, watching the shadows move between the buildings.
"Do you think that alchemist will survive?"
Richard stopped for a few seconds before continuing to walk.
"I'd like to know that too… beyond any deception, that moon dew flower was the key ingredient to keeping him alive…"
Both stopped in front of a shop. The place wasn't luxuriously decorated, but from what the alchemist had told him, he knew he would find what he was looking for, even though they weren't particularly hard-to-find items.
The jingling of the bell marked his entrance like an echo fading into the stale air of the shop.
The smell of old paper and damp wood enveloped him immediately. It was a small place, with cramped shelves rising to the ceiling, covered by a thin layer of dust.
The light, yellowish and flickering, fell from a hanging lamp that seemed to survive only out of habit.
Behind the counter, a young man with a tired look was leafing through a wrinkled newspaper filled with propagandistic headlines.
"Mandatory recruitment, let's save the homeland."
Richard raised an eyebrow. The same empty speech as always.
The young man looked up, surprised by the sound of the door. When he saw Richard, he forced a polite smile, as if his merchant's instinct still refused to die in that forgotten corner.
"Welcome. We haven't had customers in hours, so if you're looking for something… today might just be your lucky day."
The place was neat—too neat for what appeared to be an ordinary supply shop. But the lack of movement spoke for itself: no one had bought anything in a long time.
Richard noticed immediately. Perfect. A desperate business was always an easy one.
His gaze drifted along the shelves until he found what he was looking for: a package of collection quills, finely carved with almost imperceptible inscriptions.
"Are you taking the quills?" asked the young man, trying to sound natural.
"Depends on the price," Richard replied, without taking his eyes off the product.
The merchant hesitated. He looked at the package, then at Richard.
"Take the whole box. No one else buys them. And… no returns."
Richard raised an eyebrow, hiding the satisfaction that spread across his face.
He pulled a few bills from the inner pocket of his coat and placed them on the counter with a soft snap.
"Deal."
The young man nodded with relief, quickly bagging the quills. The transaction was completed without words.
Isolda, floating near the ceiling, watched curiously.
"Old quills… I didn't know you liked calligraphy so much to be buying those."
Her eyes moved toward all the things Richard had bought: a calligraphy quill, a bottle of ink, and a few necklaces.
Although the last ones had nothing to do with calligraphy. It wasn't the usual thing someone would buy a day before a dangerous mission. But one could say everyone had their last indulgence.
Isolda's judging gaze burned into his back, so he didn't have much choice but to answer her.
"It's not for practicing calligraphy… I plan to engrave those necklaces with some runes. If everything goes well, we'll have a necklace that could pass as an artifact and later could serve as our means of transaction."
Isolda tilted her head, letting her translucent hair float like a veil of mist.
"A means of transaction… or a trap?" she asked with a playful smile.
Richard didn't respond immediately. He took the package and examined it carefully, making sure the quills were complete and the ink uncontaminated. The necklaces, simple in appearance, were made of a metallic alloy with a dull sheen.
At first glance, they were cheap necklaces that could be bought two for one.
"They might only give small buffs to energy absorption in the body, but for now, this is nothing more than a treasure in the eyes of others."
Isolda let out a small whistle. "That's exactly what a swindler would say."
Richard didn't smile, but his eyes reflected a spark of tired humor.
"Who knows… one man's trash can be another man's treasure."
They left the shop shortly after. The sound of the bell rang once more.
* * * *
The art of enchantment was, in essence, an extension of the universal runic art.
Michael, its creator, had conceived it as a language capable of shaping reality itself—versatile and alive, as much as the intent of the one who wielded it. It was no coincidence that it bore resemblance to the ancient Norse tongue.
That language of the gods, according to the oldest chronicles, was one of wisdom and sacrifice. It was said that Odin had hung his body from the World Tree for nine days just to glimpse the secrets of the runes—a price few would ever be willing to pay...
Richard emerged from his thoughts.
Before him lay the necklaces he had bought a few hours earlier. They were simple trinkets, dull and unremarkable, no different from the piles of cheap jewelry that cluttered secondhand shops.
Though he couldn't really be blamed. He had no money, and in a world where law had ceased to matter, currency still circulated more out of nostalgia than utility. A remnant of an age that no longer existed.
Was it a good idea to keep using it? Probably not. But no one thought too much about that.
Gold, silver, diamonds… once symbols of power and status, now were worth no more than corroded copper. Any Awakened could raid a bank and take a fortune without effort. Today, the only things of real value were resources: medicine, water, energy. Everything else served only as paperweight.
His hands paused over the jar of paint.
The liquid, which had once been a dull black, now shimmered with a golden hue—as if it had always been that color from the start. Though all of that had to do with his blood.
Runic art required pure energy, and unless one could obtain an artifact capable of serving as a catalyst to enchant a quill, there was no choice but to stick with the primitive method of drawing runes by hand.
The quill slid over the metal with meticulous slowness. Each stroke left behind a fleeting glow, as if the liquid gold resisted being contained. The lines crossed, forming spirals, though some of the symbols were more aesthetic than functional.
All for the sake of keeping his future client happy.
It was a basic enchantment, barely a minor vitality enhancement. It didn't even reach the level of an E-grade artifact—a gap as vast as that between a novice's forged knife and that of a master craftsman.
His hands froze when he heard a flutter coming from the window. A brief, precise sound. He smiled before turning. Just as he imagined, there was Luna.
The raven perched on his shoulder, her claws brushing the coat with familiar elegance. Her eyes, however—cold and piercing—regarded him with obvious irritation.
"Next time, don't talk to me if you're going to send me hunting infected out in the outskirts…"
From her beak fell four cores of an intense amber hue, almost on the verge of transforming into second-class cores. The glow they emitted bathed the desk in a warm light.
Richard nearly hugged her."Come on… in terms of reliability, you're the best. And what you brought proves it. This is perfect."
Luna let out a dry caw, fluffing her feathers slightly.
"Perfect for you, maybe. An armored-type infected nearly tore my leg off."
Richard picked up one of the cores between his fingers and held it up to the light. The amber glow reflected in his eyes, giving him a distant, almost reverent air.
"That only means your aim is still impeccable," he remarked with a distracted smile, as he placed the cores into a small metal bowl.
One by one, they began to vibrate, releasing threads of golden energy that drifted like dense smoke. The air in the room grew heavy, and the runes engraved on the necklace responded with a faint tremor.