I grabbed the potion provided and, with shaking hands, broke its sealing and uncorked the bottle, downing its entire content in a single gulp, ignoring its disgusting bitter and slightly metallic taste.

The effect of the magically infused liquid was nearly immediate and flooded my body with a brief tickling sensation of energy and youngish vigor I barely remembered having these days.

It disappeared as suddenly as it came, leaving me with my good, old, and, unfortunately, aging body.

“It doesn’t work,” I growled under my breath, with both disappointment and anger. Not only do I feel the lack of desirable effect, but the price also doubled if not nearly tripled since the last time, leaving me quite displeased, to say the least.

The pharmacist grimaced and sighed.

“It does work, I assure you, Mr Wicht. It was a first-grade potion as per standards set by the Federal Academy and by the Ministry," he said. "But as I tried to explain to you…”

“Repeatedly…” he emphasized and continued, “Healing properties of the potions are unable to revert degenerative processes that are associated with aging. It may help momentarily with injuries and diseases, but the effects of aging will catch up on you, eventually.”

Snarling again, I looked up at the photo of the Chancellor hanging above the counter, one usually reserved for the government buildings and schools, rather than private business as this shop was. Photography was quite a novelty, after all.

But I couldn’t think of scientific advancement behind that, for it felt almost like Chancellor Helena De Vaux was taunting me as, for the reasons no one could understand, she couldn’t care about “degenerative processes associated with aging” any less - she was young as the photo showed her back in the days when my grandmother was a child and it seemed like she didn’t age a day; even though ways how to capture her appearance changed as years went down, the sorceress didn’t. And since she was around decades before the opening of the Precursor’s Gate, and meeting with Vatu species and their Shamans, the New World’s potion-makers, one thing was certain - if she could cheat death, then others could, too.

“...sorry, thank you,” I said automatically to the pharmacist, waving away any further comment he had while I, from his perspective, stared into the wall and at it. I gathered my documents that enabled me to purchase the highest grade of potions with normally regulated sales, and stuffed them into the inner pocket of my jacket.

“Mr. Wicht,” the Pharmacist vocalized calmly, but with emphasis, “We are happy to sell you the goods you have the right to purchase, but you probably shouldn’t place the expectation on them they cannot fulfill.”

“Hmmm.” I murmured in acknowledgment and with a brief, and in hindsight impolite, goodbye I left the shop.

The street outside welcomed me with the noise of the bustling city, filled with traffic and people going after their business and daily chores, or in the case of richer ones, on leisure strolls. Sadly, I was forced to leave my horse outside the city, in the rented stable - far too much traffic inside, especially at this time of the month after the planned opening of the Precursor’s Gate allowing the exchange for goods and people between the Old and New World.

This event was an ample opportunity for business, and with it, crime, and with a said crime, the chance for Bounty Hunters such as myself to make money. The money I would, as I already knew, invest back on the most expensive goods of these days - potions - in an attempt to stave off the effects the long life in the line of duty had on me. It was an investment of diminishing results of late, and despite the unique healing power condensed within those precious liquids that did save my life multiple times, a truly positive effect had been smaller and smaller as time went on. Rising prices didn’t help the situation either. Only if there was an improvement in the crafts…

A loud bang interrupted my thoughts.

Driven by honed instinct, I dove for cover behind the corner. I drew my revolver and peeked outside, looking for the assailant that would shoot at me, only to find out that the noise I took for the gunshot came from the rattling automobile carrying loads of heavy crates down the street, startling the horses which still took care of a good portion of traffic even inside the city like Bosona.

There weren’t that many automobiles back on the outskirts where I usually operated, and I found it difficult to adjust to the noise of the crowded metropolis, with a lot of background noise, not just the rumbling machines. At least the horses didn’t like the noise contraption made more than I did. I holster my gun back. A passerby gave me a weird look but didn’t do or say anything, even though I already expected I will have some explaining to do to authorities later on.

I concluded it was better to resume walking rather than waiting whether someone would decide I didn’t belong here, and headed in the direction of the local Bounty Hunter Office. Luckily enough, I knew where it was, as I found it would be slightly embarrassing to ask for directions at this time. Only a few locals looked at me strangely as I went down the street - even though I assumed it was due to my clothing that drew attention rather than my weapon. My slightly worn duster and jacket, along with the outfit that fit more on the road in the prairie, were not exactly fitting in the local fashion.

The Federation of Hesperia technically held governance over six different intelligent species; it was strange, or perhaps strangely ironic that they still managed to distinguish who did or didn’t look like outsiders to them.

I wasn’t that far away from my destination when another loud boom came. This time, I tried to not overreact, expecting it to be another automobile, though judging from the expressions of the other people, they didn’t expect that one either.

It wasn’t an attack, just another vehicle that broke down in the middle of the road. A heavy and massive half-track stopped across the road, effectively blocking the traffic, much to the displeasure of many. Black, oily smog smoke rose from the huge boiler-looking engine.

However, this time, local authorities were already on the scene, albeit unusually, instead of the expected law-keepers, there was a platoon of orc soldiers trying to get the vehicle out of the road.

The half-truck was however far too heavy to move, with its metal plates and heavy tracks that just refused to move, even a group of orcs each most likely twice as strong as the human couldn’t simply push it aside in any timely manner. A few traditional horse-drawn carriages already waited, having difficulty turning on the street, with many others blocking the way. Horses neighed nervously, and a few bolder people tried to argue with the commanding officer, a captain judging from the insignia, that looked unsure if he should shout as his troops, or at the gathering crowd. I stopped briefly.

Orcs were hardly something unusual when it came to Hesperian armed forces. The pig-headed brutes both literally and figuratively were excellent for this kind of job, disciplined, strong, and loyal to the regime. What caught my attention was, aside from their vehicle, that it didn’t look like they were from the local garrison. They must have come through the Gate, which… was something I didn’t want to involve myself in. I resumed walking.

The Bounty Hunters Guild office in Bosona wasn't hard to find, even if I hadn’t been there before. Unlike the towns far on the outskirts, the large cities never experienced the slow decline in the business professional hunters experienced. Where the previously far too distant territories experienced after they had been better connected by the newly built railroads, or thanks to the airships essentially bypassing the terrain, law enforcement had more manpower and didn’t rely on outsourced assistance to catch those who fled the law’s reach. In large cities, rich businessmen and moneylenders always looked for a way to buy the premium services in dealing with people who wronged them or owed them money.

The office building reflected that situation. It wasn’t a wooden construction on the border town. It was all solid masonry, with a bright white facade, surrounded by lucrative shops and establishments. Even the pharmacist with the first-grade portions wasn’t in the area.

I headed straight in.

A receptionist, elegantly dressed young-looking human woman, with blonde braided hair and blue eyes, looked up from the documents she was inspecting at me when I stood at her desk.

“Good morning. Mr. Wicht.” She said, smiling pleasantly.

“You remember me?” I asked. My job required me to remember the faces, but I doubted the girl handling the paperwork needed to do the same.

“You reported to this office yesterday, asking for well-paying work.” She replied calmly, not dropping the smile, which now looked a little bit artificial, “You are in luck. I think we found a lucrative contract that would be equally beneficial to you and our Guild.”

“Thank you.” I answered, “What is it then?”

“I am certain the client can explain it to you in greater detail, considering the circumstances, as this is a special assignment that warrants our full cooperation.” She answered a sentence that was already too suspicious, gesturing towards the door to her left and adding, “They are waiting for you in the lounge.”

My expression turned to frown. I did personally meet with some of those who posted bounties before, and it was under varying circumstances, but it was rare and by all measures, this was highly unusual as the normal process involved dealing only with the office workers. I’ve seen people wanting revenge for lost relatives, or ones grateful the justice was finally served, just as people unsatisfied with the job being done. But this whole situation with the client explaining the deal without office representatives knowing was giving me an uneasy gut feeling. But I needed money, and the office did assure that all bounties and requests were strictly legal…

I nodded at the receptionist and headed towards the saloon.

My magical sense flared when I took the door handle, and even if there was no ill physical effect to it, on the metaphysical level, it was almost like something was stealing the air from my lungs. Sensing the change in the flow of magic was theoretically useless as I was no sorcerer, no formal education or training in the matter, and feeling something I couldn’t affect was quite a laughable ability in itself, but I found it had its uses when I tracked people. Now it just made a bad feeling worse.

I stepped into the lounge. The existence of itself was quite unlikely, if not an impossible feature of a normal guild office, the richly decorated room with the expensive furniture reflected on the usual clientele involving the people with deep pockets.

Two people waited for me here. A human man. And the dryad - that explained the sensation, at least.

A human, a middle-aged man, with almost non-descriptive features, with the neatly trimmed beard and well-kept dark hair, dressed in the snazzy, brown traveling suit, with matching shirt and a string tie. He didn’t strike me as a merchant, let alone banker or moneylender, but his appearance did fit for local rich landowners. Being accompanied by dryad did fit the profile. One can’t run a plantation without one and stay competitive, not in Hesperia.

The dryad was more attention-catching. Her appearance would make it so even if I couldn’t sense how she drained even the scraps of magical energy in her vicinity. Even though they were ubiquitous in Hesperia, with at least one present in even small villages, let alone in large population centers, they always managed to stand out by failing to mimic the human women. She was dressed in a fashionable green dress, ideal for a relatively well-off lady that decided to go for a stroll through the city, but the rest of her was wrong. This one had dark skin in the perfectly wrong shade, which was in green-ish brown tint, a hair that resembled more dried branches of the willow tree, and lavender-colored eyes with oddly formed pupils that stared at me blankly as I approached. I would assume blindness from birth if she was a human, but in the case of a dryad, it was a common mimicry failure.

The man rose from the armchair he was resting in and gestured towards the free seat.

“Greetings Mr. Wicht, please join us,” he said. The man spoke with an accent I couldn’t place, but it definitely didn’t sound local. Suspicion immediately rose inside me. There was no reason for a person I have never seen before to recognize my face, but I decided to push it aside for the sake of business.

I nodded at him in a greeting and sat in the chair I was pointed at.

“I see you already know who I am. You have me at a disadvantage, sir.” I struggled to answer as politely as I could.

“Marcus Cato, from FDA.” He produced the golden badge, a shield-shaped cover with intricate leaf patterns, and a jagged flower symbol of Hesperia on the top. Federal Detective Agency, it read.

I frowned. The word "Detective" was a euphemism - in reality, the said Agency was the Hesperian secret police and counter-intelligence, and no person wanted to be even remotely involved with them.

“Why would the FDA want to hire a Bounty Hunter?” I queried. It was a very good question. I doubted I would have that one answered.

“In the last year and a half, you were involved in the capture of at least twelve outlaw gangs and other criminals that plagued the far reaches of Hesperian territory in the New World. In one case, you took down a group of twelve people all by yourself.” The dryad joined in, speaking in the monotonous tone without bothering to introduce herself, and continued: “In remaining cases, you assisted the local authorities in tracking, capturing, or otherwise incapacitating the criminals. Even in one case where neither you nor local authorities managed to do anything about the perpetrator, you did provide information that was later proven that was correct. You were very effective in your job.”

I gave it a little thought. Yes, banditry was an issue in the remote outskirt territories where various groups and daring individuals tried to raid the newly established plantations, often for low-quality potions they may produce, or alternatively harassing Vatu tribes to abduct people with know-how. Or robbed those small banks paying the workers both on plantation and mines, which both keep cropping up in the outskirts as more people moved in. Resource exploitation was the name of the game out there. Even if exotic substances paid better than gold, coal, copper, or iron per volume, the industry became ever-hungry for more mundane resources just the same. But none of those weren’t FDA business. Large scale operation, perhaps, but outskirts were just that, outskirts. Too small to care, too far away, and there were bigger fishes to fry.

“That doesn’t explain why you want a Bounty Hunter.” I couldn’t help myself but quip.

“That’s classified.” Dryad retorted, but her human colleague was at least seemingly more approachable, and joined in by: “We don’t want just a Bounty Hunter. We want you, specifically.”

“So you are not going to tell me what this is about?” I summarised.

“Assistance with the outgoing investigation. It seems that issues regarding the Medicines supply aren’t limited to faraway regions. The shipment went consistently missing of late, and when we arrived at the New World to investigate, the Governor here in Bosona informed us that this month’s shipment is halved, and is not even remotely fulfilling the quota.” Agent Cato admitted.

It was no secret that potions, especially the high-grade ones, or the Pharmacons as people from the Old Worlds sometimes called them when they felt fancy, were strategic resources. A miraculous cure that bypassed conventional medicine and were only substances, aside from the indestructible material Precursor’s artifacts were made of, that retained magical energy inside them. Even among living creatures, there were only a few that we were able to draw the magical power in, and even then, it was always unique to species. While all dryads had powers, and few humans did learn magic, none has proven able to learn each other’s craft, and canine humanoids called Vatu species remained the only ones able to craft those precious concoctions. And Hesperia sought control over it all.

“It still doesn’t explain why you need me. Isn’t this a matter of state?” I offered cautiously, while silently wondering if it was indeed better when they revealed who they were.

“You are certainly aware of the difficult political situation in the Old World.” FDA’s agent answered patiently, and after a brief moment of silence, he continued, “Chancellor De Vaux was particularly insistent that Hesperia guarantees the independence of Zekia, and any aggression towards it will be met with a military response. The Empire of Chon, however, is moving the troops towards the borders, and so we are. If they aren’t going to back down, there will be war.”

I shook my head. I had only a vague understanding of what Zekia was, a small, mountainous country in the middle of Primis Continent in the Old World, and couldn’t quite fathom why it was important for anyone, let alone for major powers. Though I had never been there, as far as I knew, it was just a tiny country with particularly crazy faeries, even for faery standards.

“I don’t understand what it has to do with matters here,” I said.

“We can’t afford to pacify the New World regions when we have a war to fight in the Old World. Hence, outsourcing help from the ones like yourself before we commit ourselves would be best. After all, you have experience with caravan attacks, missing shipments, and tracking the perpetrators.” Agent Cato explained. His dryad partner just frowned at me, visibly displeased they have to explain anything to me.

I did have the experience, I admit, but all those were small-time bandits who robbed small-time companies, not the state. And the word “pacify” left an implication that Hesperia wanted to send an army through the Gate to the New World if it wasn’t tied elsewhere, which also left me wondering how much they lost to warrant such an extreme response - and if they lost that much, why to hire external help. It didn’t make sense.

But it was also obvious they weren’t going to tell me the truth.

“And how much are you going to pay me?” I asked, even if something inside told me it was a bad idea to get myself involved in the fishy business where I wouldn’t be told the complete truth, and have a chance to get tangled in some nefarious plot.

“Four times your usual rate, considering this is a government contract over pressing matters. Along with the reward for the missing goods.” the dryad finally joined the conversation, her expression unreadable.

“And somehow I am supposed to handle this alone?” I expressed my doubts.

“We would, of course, hire a larger group we can ask you to lead.” The human part of the duo admitted, “But none of them could offer over twenty years of experience than you have, Mr. Wicht. In your line of work, many retired or died already.”

Normally, I would argue that I worked alone but considering the extraordinary circumstances having help would certainly help as if there was anyone daring to rob the state’s transports, assuming it has really happened, wouldn’t be a group of a random, barely coherent group of people with few guns.

“And you think it is worthwhile to hire the private contractors to handle your problem?” I asked.

“If you stay reasonable, more certainly,” the dryad said.

I thought about it for a brief moment. I desperately needed money, and if they went here instead of hiring assistance from less savory sources, it was supposedly entirely a legal endeavor, and I felt that this office, if not the entire Guild, put a great amount of faith in this as it was critical for them to stay in good graces with authorities.

The dryad bobbed her head as she stared at me with her weird eyes. I had a bad feeling about this, not the gaze, the job itself, but it was probably the fastest way to get close to the highest grade potions, with significant compensation involved too. I took a deep breath.

“Fine, I’ll take a job. Where do I start?”