The next day, after I'd finished my morning workout and showered at the hotel, I walked down to the waterfront and purchased a ticket to Praor Swa using my real name, then headed to the slums. Just one more breadcrumb, right? My older brothers would have some fun there. Maybe they wouldn't want to come back to get me.

Back in the red light district, it looked not much different from the industrial district during the day. A few people here and there. I found an absurdly lavish top-floor apartment above a mediocre brothel a few streets down from where Dina stayed and paid for a few months' rent with a gold ring. The System liked that.

After that, I headed to the slums. Just like the red light district, the place was different during the day than at night. I wanted to get a feel for both. I needed to get as accustomed to this city as possible so that I could lose someone in it if necessary. It smelled of urine and feces. It stank worse than the prison toilets. Worse than the sewer water that came up from the sinks sometimes.

Rats ran along the walls and crawled through the garbage piles. A half-elf wearing rags and a dirty shirt held a baby in his arms while he slept. A tiefling walked past me, holding a chicken by its neck and a piece of bread in one hand. She gave me a dirty look. I kept walking; that was the best way through the slums.

I barely made it another block when I heard a scream. I looked over to see a boy no older than ten clutching his throat and stumbling toward me. He fell to his knees, gasping for breath. Blood was pouring down his front. I reached down and held my hand to his.

I looked around to see what might've slit a child's throat, but the block was suddenly very empty. I didn't have enough time nor had I the means to make any healing potion, and he'd die on the way to the closest shop I knew that sold them.

"Put pressure on his throat until I get there," someone said, coming out of one of the buildings. An older woman with skin wrinkled and orange from too much sun. Her hair was long and white, pulled back into a tight bun.

"He needs a healer," I said.

"That's why I bothered coming out here. Move." She knelt down and placed her hands on the boy's throat. I saw his skin move under her fingers. "I'll help your brother."

Excuse me? Brother? I looked down at him. Well, that'd be an interesting cover. "Yeah. You can heal, right?"

She nodded. "I can heal it until a certain point, but after that, potions are what'll get him through it. I've got a shop just right there." She smiled. And I was going to love fixing it if she didn't have anything that'd save this boy's life.

"Wow." Convenient. So that was why I hadn't seen anyone around when the boy's throat was cut open. I looked at her. "You have any healing potions?"

"Plenty. Pick him up and follow me." She pulled her hands away, but the boy's throat was still a mess of blood so I couldn't see her handiwork.

Her potion shop wasn't nice. It was in the basement of a building that had been abandoned. The sign above the door read: POWER POTIONS. Inside, it was small and cramped and shelves were lined with dusty potion bottles.

I picked up one labeled Nausea. I sniffed it. "It smells like rat piss."

"Maybe that's a bad one. Put the kid back here. I have a room for patients back here."

I followed her into the next room. There was an unmade, small bed in the corner. Perfect size for a child. I put the boy on it. He wasn't conscious, but his breathing was strong and regular.

"How is he?" she asked, washing her hands in a sink in the other corner.

"Better," I said and stood up. "But I can tell you this. You're not a very good potion maker. if your nausea potion smells like rat piss."

"Listen here. I don't know what happened to that batch, but—"

"This is a common problem with this type of potion," I said. Did I know what I was talking about? Not exactly. Would she think I knew? Yes, if I kept talking like I did.

I continued, "You need to use fresh ingredients. No older than three days and high quality as well. They shouldn't have been used more than once or twice, and they have to be processed properly. And you have to be careful about what kind of container you use. The shape of the container matters. A round container will keep the potion fresher longer than a square one."

"And where did you learn all this?"

"You can learn it from books, but like with music, you need to practice and memorize things like the notes and scales. Otherwise, your music won't sound any good. Or in this case, your potions won't come out right. You can also go to a teacher and pay them to teach you, but that'll cost you a lot of money. So the best way is to practice by yourself."

"Are you a student at Caemor?" she asked.

"No," I said. My fake identity was coming together well. "My father was a potion maker and he taught me everything he knew before he died. Unfortunately, he left me with some debt, so I had to sell everything. So what does he need? As long as those potions are good, I'll buy them from you so that he's all fixed up." Then make her pay later.

She eyed me wearily. "Just a basic healing potion. Ten silver a piece. One a day for three days."

I counted out fifteen for her. "I'll take three and come back tomorrow when you've got some fresh ones. You know your potions aren't worth that much the way they are. Are you looking for an assistant?"

[Notice]

Congratulations!

You have completed your Quest [Save the Orphan].

Mastery of the [Lucky Number 7] Skill has increased by 1%.

"You think I have the money, kid?"

"I don't have anything to practice my potion making since I had to sell everything. I'll make potions for you if you let me use your shop here. I can get you fresh ingredients as well."

After all, my fake identity would need an income as well, and there was only one potion that was more popular than healing potions. Ones that we wouldn't be able to sell at the magic shop.