"Pass me a Spider Fang."
"Here."
"And a Ghost-Candle Fruit... Hey, not a pig fang, a Spider Fang! Spider, as in the eight-legged crawler!"
Garlan stood before a large, bubbling cauldron, stirring the potion with an alchemist's ladle and periodically tossing in ingredients according to his precise formula.
Lia seemed to be witnessing the potion-making process for the first time. Her eyes darted everywhere with curiosity, and she had volunteered to be Garlan's assistant. While he would have much preferred her to do some actual housework, he hadn't the heart to kick her out of the cellar seeing how high her spirits were.
"Don't touch that! That's the concentrated acid of a Yellow Venom Spider!"
"Hey! That's Sun-Moon Grass! I spent seven whole silver coins to get my hands on that!"
Garlan's cellar was a treasury of rare herbs, each one painstakingly harvested from dangerous locales or bought from specialized dealers over the years.
But right now, those sealed bottles containing his precious treasures were being plucked from the wall shelves one by one by Lia's wandering hands. Watching his years of hard work swaying back and forth in her grip—as if they might shatter on the floor at any moment—Garlan felt like his own heart was about to burst.
"I really should have tied you up and sent you back to Locke... Keeping you was probably the worst decision I've made in years..."
Lines of frustration darkened Garlan's forehead. If the brewing process weren't so complex and demanding of his constant attention, he might have actually lost his temper and dragged this mischievous elf out. One moment she was the pitiable, sweet girl; the next, she was a heartless brat, seemingly dedicated to testing the limits of his patience.
Glug... glug... glug...
After a frantic boil, the purple liquid in the pot gradually shifted into a pale orange. As Garlan added the final component, the orange deepened into a rich, translucent amber.
"Phew—it's finally done."
Now he finally had a free hand to lecture this "three-hundred-year-old little girl." Though that age was an astronomical number for a human, for the long-lived elves, she was undoubtedly still in her adolescent phase.
"Garlan, Garlan! Is that a healing potion? That's amazing!"
Sensing the dangerous glare coming from behind her, Lia reflexively put the herbs back on the shelf and ran to Garlan's side, sticking out her tongue playfully and pouting to act cute.
This girl... she's hopeless...
Garlan found his resolve crumbling again. He sighed at his own "softness."
I am a Shadow Warrior, and I can't even handle a three-hundred-year-old girl?
Fine, fine. I'll be the bigger person and let her off this once.
"Don't play with my collection next time. I'll be truly angry," he said, lowering his voice into his best "stern elder" impression.
"Mm-hm!"
Looking at Lia's still carefree expression, he remained highly skeptical of that promise. Garlan took several prepared vials from the table and began bottling the medicine.
This was the second batch of healing potions he'd brewed this week. The first batch—made with the Purple Moon Dragon Grass—had yielded four top-tier potions. Those were the best Garlan could produce with current technology; as long as the victim didn't die instantly, they could pull someone back from the brink of the grave.
As excellent as those were, he felt it would be a waste to sell them. The best stuff was meant to be kept in his own pocket for emergencies.
However, after spending a small fortune on Lia's clothes and daily necessities two days ago, his wallet was feeling the pinch. To ease the financial pressure, he had to start a second pot, substituting the rare Purple Moon Dragon Grass with more common Blue Thistle and Ghost-Candle Fruit. It took two days, but he had produced a batch of slightly lower quality.
Still, thanks to Garlan's refined techniques, they were far superior to the mass-produced junk found in common shops.
Having another mouth to feed... the cost of living has truly skyrocketed...
By the time he filled the last vial, the pot was empty. Fifteen vials of healing potion. They should fetch a decent price.
"Pharmacist Garlan" had built quite a reputation in Rohguri over the years. Even without a permanent storefront, whenever he set up a stall in the city, seasoned adventurers would flock to him. They didn't mind the slightly higher price; for them, you got what you paid for, and you didn't cut corners when it came to staying alive. When things went south in a dungeon, regret wouldn't save you.
Especially for veteran adventurers who spent their lives hunting monsters and clearing labyrinths, injury was a daily occurrence. They took their essential supplies very seriously.
The city of Rohguri was as bustling as ever.
Garlan followed his usual routine, heading to the fountain plaza where the stalls were clustered and finding an open spot to sit. This was a gathering hub for adventurers and mages; many were there with the hope of finding a bargain or a hidden gem.
He opened a brown leather briefcase, displaying the sealed potions.
"Oh! It's Garlan! Long time no see."
Before he could even decide if he should shout a bit to attract attention, a familiar voice called out from nearby.
The speaker was a handsome, middle-aged man. His right arm was heavily wrapped in bandages, and a massive, conspicuous greatsword was strapped to his back.
"Black Sword" Glenn, a warrior of great renown throughout the Northern Lands. Rumor had it that he had once sparred with Eisen, the strongest warrior of the Hero's party, for dozens of rounds without being defeated. Not long ago, he had purchased a large stock of medicine from Garlan to join the Northern armies in a campaign against the remnants of the Demon King's army.
"Yo. You made it back in one piece again. Congratulations," Garlan said, waving to Glenn with a genuine smile.
When he wasn't on a mission, Glenn would occasionally grab a drink with Garlan. He was blunt, outspoken, and incredibly loyal, making the two of them good friends.
"All thanks to you. That batch of medicine I bought last time was the real deal. Ten times better than the crap those swindlers in Virsahst sell."
"Keep praising me like that and I'll get a big head. But look at you—what's with the 'Bandaged Hero' look?" Garlan pointed at the thick wrappings on his arm. "Are you badly hurt?"
"Well... the opponent this time was a General-class Great Demon. The Northern Lands lost a lot of good mages and warriors trying to take him down."
Glenn pulled up the hem of his shirt, revealing a massive, jagged black scar on his left waist. It pulsed with an eerie, lingering demonic mana.
"Coming back alive was purely by the Goddess's grace."
"It certainly looks that way."
Garlan walked over to Glenn and took a closer look at the scar. The wound had been deep—it must have missed his vitals by only a hair's breadth.