Adventurer of Many Professions

In truth, Raymond still owed Sylph and Lorene eight gold coins each.

The light armor he wore and the archer's gear Arya used had originally belonged to them. At the time, they'd lent the equipment without hesitation. But when Raymond spent every last coin enchanting his sword Dark Moon, he no longer had the gold to repay them.

Fortunately, both Sylph and Lorene were understanding. They knew how expensive enchanting a weapon like Dark Moon could be, and they hadn't pressed him about the debt.

Still, Raymond hadn't forgotten.

Of course, the situation with the longbow and the battered heavy armor was different. Those had been acquired when Raymond infiltrated the Crazy Baboon's lair alone. Since they were spoils from a solo mission, neither Sylph nor Lorene had any claim over them.

Even so, the debt weighed on him. Whether they minded or not, he would repay them. It was just a matter of time. Thanks to his hidden identities as a pharmacist and a craftsman, he could now earn gold by refining basic magic recovery potions and forging weapons. If he kept working, he could have the full sixteen gold coins repaid within a month.

The problem, however, wasn't when he would pay them back, but how he would explain the money.

Sylph and Lorene didn't yet know about his hidden professions. If they saw him suddenly flush with coin, suspicion could take root and suspicion, in a team like theirs, could be lethal.

So Raymond had made a decision. He would hold off on repaying the debt until he was ready to tell them the truth. One day, he'd reveal his other roles; Pharmacist, Craftsman, and more. But not yet.

Tonight, he had work to do.

Pulling a long gray hooded robe over his body, Raymond became someone else; Rose, the mysterious underground alchemist. He slipped out of the house and made his way alone to the South District's notorious Fengliu Street.

The street was alive in its own eerie way.

Bright with oil lamps and echoing with laughter, women of the night leaned into the streetlight, tossing flirtatious glances at passersby. Their makeup was bold, their postures bold. But when their eyes landed on Raymond; hooded, silent, his entire form wrapped in mystery, they instinctively turned away.

They knew his kind.

Men like him didn't come to relax. They came for other business, the kind people didn't ask about.

Raymond didn't spare them a glance. He walked past their colorful dresses and cheap perfume without pause, his boots tapping steadily along the stone pavement. Turning into a narrow alley, he wove through a maze of turns until the laughter and lights of Commercial Street faded behind him.

Here, the world grew quiet and darker.

No lanterns. No eyes. Just damp stone and deep shadow.

But Raymond wasn't hindered. His awakened professions, Assassin and Thief granted him sharp night vision. The darkness was no obstacle. Even so, he didn't want to draw suspicion when he met his contact.

He reached into his cloak and pulled out a White Stone, the pale glow illuminating his path.

Up ahead, seated calmly on a stone pier, was a figure cloaked in shadow. Even from a distance, Raymond's enhanced vision, aided by his Hunter and Archer senses, made the man's identity unmistakable.

It was Manik.

He wore tailored light leather armor, its seams reinforced for movement, and a short knife rested easily at his side. Though sitting, he was alert, knees bent, heels off the ground, ready to spring up and vanish at a moment's notice.

Raymond couldn't help but admire him.

No wonder Manik's lasted this long without being caught by the Knights.

Once, Manik had been a capable adventurer. He'd retired five years ago, stepped away from the danger. Most would've grown soft in that time. But not Manik. He'd kept his instincts sharp, even while making a living as an underground herbalist.

Raymond stepped forward. The glow of the White Stone reached the alley's far edge.

Manik turned toward the light, his eyes narrowing. He couldn't see the face beneath the hood, but the robe was enough.

"Mr. Rose," he said immediately, standing up with respectful speed. "You've arrived."

Raymond gave a slight nod. "Any trouble collecting the materials this afternoon?"

Manik shook his head quickly. "None at all. Everything went smoothly."

And he meant it. In fact, Manik was relieved. Deep down, he'd feared that Raymond, like so many others, was about to vanish.

That was often the pattern.

Underground pharmacists would make excuses: I'm busy, I'm out of town, I won't be refining for a while. But the truth? They were scouting new buyers. And if they found someone cheaper, faster, or more connected, they'd dump their old buyer with a few polite lies.

Manik had feared he'd been replaced.

But now, seeing Raymond here in person; back to work, and still using him, he relaxed.

His reputation, for now, was safe.

"I've gathered everything on the list," Manik said. "If you're ready, I'll lead you to the drop point."

Raymond gave a small nod. "Let's go."

The night deepened as the two of them moved deeper into the back alleys, silent shadows conducting quiet business, far from the eyes of the law… and their unsuspecting teammates.

In the world of underground alchemy, trust was fragile and fear was currency.

One of the unspoken rules among the "underground pharmacists" was never to personally inform a buyer when a partnership was ending. It wasn't cowardice. It was self-preservation.

After all, both the pharmacists and their so-called "buyers" operated outside the law—under the nose of the Kingdom of Atlantis. Their dealings were illegal, unregistered, and subject to swift punishment if discovered. And for many buyers, this black-market trade wasn't just a side hustle, it was their only source of income.

So if a pharmacist suddenly said, "We're done," it could trigger more than just anger. It could invite murder.

That's why most underground pharmacists, when switching to a new buyer, wouldn't deliver the message themselves. They'd leave it to the new buyer to sever ties or simply vanish without a word.

But this dangerous ecosystem had its own strange balance.

Ironically, to protect themselves, the buyers had created a brutal deterrent: if a buyer ever killed a pharmacist they had worked with, all other buyers would hunt that person down.

It was an unspoken pact. A dead pharmacist sent a ripple of fear through the underworld, something the buyers couldn't afford. Trust was already rare. Fear would kill what little was left.

And so, any buyer who broke that rule would find themselves hunted from both sides; by the Royal Knights and by their own kind. With nowhere to hide, their end was all but guaranteed.

Yes, there had been a few who tried. But they didn't last long. Every one of them had been tracked down by the collective hand of the buyers and wiped out quickly, violently, and without mercy.

Still, underground pharmacists like Raymond, known to the black market as "Mr. Rose" remained cautious. Just because the system usually worked didn't mean there weren't maniacs out there willing to risk it all.

Which is why, earlier that afternoon, when the tavern runner came to tell Manik that "Mr. Rose" had returned and was asking for materials, Manik hadn't been upset by the short notice.

He had been relieved.

The moment he'd heard the message, his heart lifted. I'm still in business! I haven't been replaced!

He'd worried, genuinely worried, that Rose had found someone else offering better rates. The potions Raymond supplied were potent, and the profit margin had been enormous. The idea of losing a supplier like that was terrifying.

But no; Raymond was still working with him.

So when the two men met later that evening, deep in the twisting alleys of the South District, Manik was practically glowing with enthusiasm.

"Mr. Rose," Manik said respectfully, pulling a cloth bag from inside his coat. "Here are the materials I managed to gather today. I didn't have much time, so I couldn't collect everything."

Raymond took the bag silently and opened it under the glow of his white stone.

He raised an eyebrow.

Inside were eight stalks of Blue Spirit Grass; the rare, luminous herb that served as the primary ingredient for Primary Magic Recovery Potions.

Raymond hadn't expected more than five stalks at most. After all, he'd only sent the message out around three in the afternoon. Manik must have had less than four hours to collect anything and that was assuming he got the message immediately.

For him to return with eight stalks this late in the day was nothing short of impressive.

"Hmm?" Raymond murmured, eyeing the herbs with surprise.

Manik saw the look and smiled modestly. "Don't be too surprised, sir. I offer the best rates in the South District. Once I let the adventurers know I was buying again, they came right to me."

That was true, to a point. But Manik was hiding something.

What he didn't say was that he'd gone out personally to scrounge, barter, and call in favors, something he hadn't done in months. His legs had ached, and sweat had soaked his collar, but none of that mattered.

He wanted to leave a good impression. He needed Mr. Rose to stay.

And based on Raymond's reaction, it was working.

"Very good," Raymond said, nodding.

Then, from inside his cloak, he produced three glass vials filled with shimmering blue liquid.

"I used up a few potions from the last batch. These are the only ones I've got left."