Chapter 20

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For once, my subconscious anticipation of the coming fuck-up did not come true. I mean, there had been some narrow moments, but they had, the miracle of miracles, been resolved relatively peacefully, without the tensions and the conflict that had led to the destruction of the city. All it took was a little patience, a little money, and a little luck. The latter especially came in handy, for without it everything would have been much more boring and long, and perhaps bloodier.

It was clairvoyance, not the shadow sphere, that helped me the most in finding a house for sale. I had to find a good place to work with alchemical reagents, not to draw a map of the area. At the same time, not too expensive - so that I could pay without problems, without cheaters and scammers, without annoying neighbors and a dozen other "without" - this is a task for a clairvoyant. I even forgave this skill for regular and completely unnecessary insights, so it helped me in my search.

It was precognition that easily identified the lies and innuendos at the moment when they wanted to cheat me by simply pocketing the money and selling me a flat lot instead of a house. It was also easy to find all the tweaked and painted cracks and chips that could have caused the house to fall apart at any moment. In the latter case, that's why it was sold.

Another place was simply and uncomplicatedly cursed - I could see clearly in my Gaze the threads of spells embedded in the walls and foundations. The threads were pulling energy from everyone in the cursed house, like some kind of sickening ivy. A couple of hours, or even twenty-four hours, wouldn't do much damage, but a permanent residence would burn out the occupants in a matter of months. In principle, I could buy the house, since I could exorcise the curse with shadows, or with purely alchemical methods, like the negator. Except the sale price was the same as a new house, and there was no discount. Makes sense. Sell the room for a newbie, and there, until he understands, until he begins to understand, then no one to scratch his ass. And if he dies, so generally awesome - then exactly the problems do not even appear.

And the seller knew for sure that the house was "bad," even though he didn't do an official appraisal. Well, if he didn't care about my life, then I didn't care about his either. No, no, I didn't kill him, there were witnesses. I just left without even giving a reason, saying only that the place did not suit me, because it is too far from the market (also true). Already a kilometer away from home, managed to grab his leg with a shadow while the jerk went down the stairs. I did not understand whether he only broke his hip joint or his spine, but in any case, it was a worthy reward for his efforts.

A few other houses didn't fit, for a much more trivial and legally irrelevant reason: they were either too shitty, too small (I couldn't put a lab there), or too expensive. Actually, my money would have been enough even for a fairly decent mansion in rich neighborhoods, but I didn't want to spend it on something that would already paint me with a target the size of this very house. A modest dwelling that could house a workshop would suffice for my initial purposes.

It's worth a separate article to recall of a few guys who tried to rob me - if he's buying a house, he should have the gold with him, and he was alone, even unaccompanied. It's a sin not to take advantage of such a chance, especially for such honest fellows. As I understand it, the practice is quite popular and well established - there are a lot of newcomers, and many come here with a lot of money. All three attempts failed miserably.

I simply walked away from the first group, having spotted them beforehand, and listened to their intentions through the shadows. I would have also killed them, but that would have been too suspicious, and it would have been clear to everyone who had sent them to the ancestors. I hid from the second group too, especially since they, like the first, planned to just squeeze the money. That did not excuse them at all, but it also diminished the desire to kill. I simply marked them in my memory, promising myself revenge, and then took off in the opposite direction.

But the third group, set upon by the owner of the apartment for sale himself, I had the good conscience to meet them in the alley, where I wrung their necks. They went just to kill, and did this evil thing (I mean murdering a buyer) is not the first time. Either they were very lucky (it's easy to see a pattern, such as clients regularly dying to buy your house), or they bribed someone. Black realtors, really.

I stacked the bodies neatly in a corner, swearing to myself that after a couple of months I'd come back for the owner of the place. He did not work for the thieves' guilds, for they did not like to kill unnecessarily - the charge was quite different, as was the reaction of the guards to unnecessary corpses. He wouldn't run to the guards or the thieves' bosses to complain. He'd rather lay low.

That's where I'll meet him.

A suitable house was found on a whim - even the owner himself was not yet sure if he was selling the building. It was a rather old and dilapidated place, from which almost all but the most cumbersome furniture had been removed, but it was quite sturdy. Its proximity to the market, its fairly decent neighborhood, and its lack of problematic neighbors easily tilted my opinion in the right direction.

The house itself belonged to the seller's brother. That brother was no adventurer but sometimes went into the woods to get his loot. And recently his wife had died, having accidentally fallen into a cellar and broken her neck. He had no children, and he grieved for the loss too heavily and selflessly (at least, he did not feel sorry for himself in his sadness). As a result of his condition, he began to go deeper and deeper into unknown lands, either seeking death or tickling his nerves. At first, everything was normal - the levels were growing, dripping money. Until he ran into a too toothy monster. Up to the city, he somehow crawled, but they could not cure him: too far gone the effect of the poison on the claws of the monster and had already begun sepsis. It was a shitty death, to tell you the truth, especially after he did come out to people.

That's how it happens.

The seller had his own house, bigger than this one, and no adult children to live in the place yet. So he agreed to the sale with a light heart. Seven gold and fifty silver coins are quite normal payments. At first, he wanted ten, but I managed to objectively prove to him that for ten gold pieces the house would sell to middlemen, but he would get at best half that amount.

And I can go.

The deal with the potter was certified the same day, inviting an official solicitor from the magistrate to do the job. He was as official as his incredibly official position was, he certified all the documents and questioned me about my plans for the place. He even checked my permission to sell potions (I was worried that the old geezer was going to screw it up), and then he went on his way. It was only then that I could breathe, for his seriousness and complete lack of humor were making me sick to my stomach. Official fucking face!

The contented man, who could now double the size of his china shop and hire a couple of journeymen, offered to wash it all down. And he was even completely sincere, rather than intending to steal from me by getting me drunk to the point of complete inadequacy. I could hardly refuse, for there was too much to do and too much to spend.

Apparently, the rumor that I still had money to set up the lab was started by someone. And the fact that I had no patron yet, for that very evening I had already been attempted to be robbed. I kicked a figure through the window in the face and broke something, but he survived and even crawled away.

I have a feeling I'm in for some fun days.

The next week was spent feverishly fixing up my home-I had normal furniture, but I didn't have the rest of the standard utensils. I had to buy some. A couple more times they tried to rob me. They followed me, noticed that I always stayed close to the guards, and stepped aside.

The house was broken into only once. The idea of lubricating the outside of the window frames and door handles with a powerful contact laxative was very successful. Twice, however, I almost got into it myself. I had to go to the Shadow because it proved that not only did my body become ghostly there, but it also neutralized the poisons.

First, the removal of the mental effects.

Now there is also the neutralization of poisons.

Isn't that too many unmentioned in the system logs properties for a single skill?

In any case, after a couple of attempts to break into my mansion again did not try, although I was so prepared!

The alchemical equipment cost me almost nine gold pieces, even though I didn't buy the top-of-the-line stuff. The point is that I didn't need most of the more cumbersome equipment. The mythic class allowed me to make potions literally with my bare hands, which is available only to the coolest dudes from the alchemical art. Yes, it would be much easier with professional equipment, but, from a practical point of view, it would be better for me to get used to working only with my hands. I have this suspicion, which is also justified, that I will have to run away with a bare backside, throwing behind my back all the hard-earned money, more than once.

But it is still necessary to buy equipment, both for the sake of conspiracy and for its mastery. Just because I prefer not to use it does not mean that I have the right not to know how to use it.

Several different-sized cauldrons, a set of retorts and a huge number of glass containers, a couple of alchemical burners, and even a quite normal distillation cube. At the very least, I could make the moonshine if I got in a really bad mood.

The materials could be bought at the market, but there I would only find second-rate and tied-down crap because everything really valuable is deposited in the guild's storerooms. The only ones who could buy materials there were those who had received practice permits, but the prices were steep. So the majority of unaffiliated alchemists buy directly from gatherers, miners, and adventurers. The first two are often the latter as well, so in one way or another, but with a guild of legalized thugs in the service of the crown, I have to work. And I planned to go out into the field to kill monsters undercover, to level up, and to gather reagents.

In working with private individuals, as in the other world, the main thing is to find a bona fide and reliable supplier, not a cunning scoundrel or just an unreliable dickhead. It's a challenge, but I'm not eager to find one. In any case, I didn't come to town to pursue a career as a trader of my products. I came here to develop my alchemical and dreamwalking skills, to level up on forest monsters, to get used to the world around me, and simply to take a little break from the f*cking shit that's fallen on my head.

So even if there's no profit to be made from the trade, I'll live happily ever after until the money runs out. And then I'll either leave here, or I'll rob the magistrate and, again, leave here. That's the way I am, I can do it.

That night, thirteen days after my arrival in the city, I finally decided to go to see the poor and unhappy lonely woman whom I had dared to heartlessly leave alone. But seriously, I was getting really worried about Ygra, so it was worth spending at least a day with her.

Therefore, I set alchemical traps around the house, and only after they have been fixed do I begin to pack for the exit. By the way, the skill called trap-making was awarded to me, apparently, on the basis of the cumulative merits. I glanced around the room once more, so that I would not forget where and what I had placed, and then I left the house.

The traps ranged from the relatively harmless and humiliating "shitholes" at the entrances and exits to the deadly and far better camouflaged fragile vials, which contained a volatile and very poisonous mixture. And it disintegrated quickly in the air, so as not to poison oneself or one's neighbors.

Still, it was a nice house, even if it was cheap. The entrance hall, which I was going to turn into a sales counter, and the main room, which had the fate of a warehouse and storage for reagents, were on the first floor. A small kitchen, with its stove, though it had not been stoked for a long time, and two rooms were on the second floor. One room for me, one for the lab - it was very well ventilated, so the acrid odors wouldn't accumulate.

Hm.

How do the local neighbors feel about the alchemists next door? They might shit under the door if it stinks a lot, or even some kind of volatile poison comes out.

Speaking of shitting, the latrine was on the first floor and led to the local sewer system. The old, even ancient network of pipes and tunnels was the typical catacomb tunnels whose absence I mentioned in Ostmark. I was pretty sure I wasn't going to get into that shit for any money. The only thing I needed was shitdemons to make me happy.

In a fit of paranoia, I also planted a toxic slurry in the toilet. Just in case something bad decided to come out of there while I was out of the house.

I made my way to the forest, which reminded me of the forest where I had been thrown into the new world, without any difficulty, not even shadow-stepping. The only thing that sufficed was stealth and an open gate, through which another hunting party was just exiting. I saw a dozen well-equipped and menacing-looking men, loaded with weapons and other equipment so tightly that they could not even scratch themselves without cutting themselves. I slipped out with them and began to accelerate slowly, moving out of the sight of the guards standing guard. I only noticed that here they were more paranoid than on the other side, more in number and higher in level.

In general, the Kraj

If you translate literally, then the Edge

is a very peculiar city, combining in an odd way the features of a giant brothel, a military unit, and a trading hub. I could easily estimate the level of local crime myself, and from my own experience. The number of paramilitary units was also striking, as were the more than a dozen different markets scattered throughout the city. In fact, the place was already in uncharted lands - for a few days' journeys from here, people controlled only roads and few settlements. Yes, the days and years when villages were routinely slaughtered by monster raids were long gone, but the danger remained. And the city itself was located on the maps in such a way that resembled the tip of a blade stuck in a white patch of unexplored territory. A forward base of reconnaissance, gathering the most valuable spoils.

A couple of generations would pass and the surrounding lands would become almost safe, a couple more, and the city itself would gradually wither away, and the line marking the territory of the monsters would move forward a little. And everything will go in a circle - first the first settlements, more like military camps and fortified forts, then those of them that survive will become cities, and eventually, a new Edge will appear. Such was the case, for example, with Ostmark, which was once a haven for all the adventurers and cutthroats of the region.

I'll tell you, it's fascinating geopolitics. A kind of aggressive, but very unhurried expansion, now and then rolling back when the next legendary chupacabra is awakened and hungry, after which there is no living in a certain area, and the area for a long time, if not forever, is marked red. With the obligatory note "stay out of it - it'll kill you.

My thoughts did not prevent me from scanning the surrounding beauty, trying to find among the innumerable shadows and silhouettes the only signature that interested me. The Ygra was unwilling to be found, which made me a little nervous. But I found three goblin camps. Is there some kind of honey in this place? Yes, yes, honey, my clairvoyance told me.

The same problem of human meat: for goblins (to a lesser extent for orcs) it not only helps to gain levels and even stats (limited and up to a certain limit) of eaten, but also is the toughest drug. Once a goblin tastes human meat, he will never give it up, striving to get more and more. Sometimes this desire is even inherited by their offspring. Warriors from dozens of neighboring tribes come here. The number of tribes in the area is enormous, far greater than in the places I've been. There would have been more, but they just didn't have enough to eat.

Does this mean there's always a sluggish war going on here?

It turns out that it is.

I was almost tempted to go and slaughter one of the goblin settlements (or is it fortifications?), but that's when they were saved by Ygra's appearance on the radar. Solidarity of all the greens, or what?

Ygra was eating, chewing melancholically on the leg of some kind of monster. Judging by the remains, it was some kind of magically-affected bear. It was comparable in size to the prehistoric beast I had once killed, but it had just been eaten. My appearance was greeted with unprecedented enthusiasm, and I, taught by bitter experience, was at once ready to leap into the shadows.

The hilarious game of "chase me, industrial press" went on for at least ten minutes. The only thing that saved me was that I managed to get it into her head that I was about to cook a meal. I also forgot to use triggers, which would have saved me a lot of time and, more importantly, about a third of the reserve I wasted on shadow steps.

But I did find out that roasted bear heels are really good. I'm not sure I cooked them right, but it's still good. I even regretted, for the first time, that the ever-hungry ogre ate most of it. The claws and fangs of Winnie's fallen kinsman, however, I did not forget to get my hands on. At the very least, another "lust bomb" could be made. And then, I might find out where and how to use it, to minimize the risk and maximize the lulz.

It turned out that making a fire and roasting meat in the forest, which is very densely populated by goblins and other monsters is not the smartest idea. Not only was there no sleep allowed, but there was almost no experience given for low-level minutiae! Came hunting group and I and the ogre tore into shreds, but the moment was still ruined. For me, naturally, this fool was not aware of the concept of coziness. Or she did, but she perceived it very differently from the average person like me. Don't make her out to be stupider than she really is - it's already a very difficult task.

Separately, I note that my mentee did not eat goblins, and not out of solidarity with representatives of one species, but only because they are very unpalatable to her.

We moved farther away from the hollow that had become a branch of the slaughterhouse and camped out in the nearest comfortable spot. I remembered to cover my face with a mask and shade myself. Later, when I returned to the city, I would have to work on antidotes to all kinds of love potions and pheromone neutralizers. I'm sick and tired of hiding in the shadows from my subordinate.

As soon as I fell asleep, new concerns arose, strangely enough, related to Ygra - I had not abandoned the idea of teaching her to speak and behave normally in decent society. Alas, I did not achieve much success - while I updated the commands in her subconscious, while I watched the timeline of her actions while I was away, while I worked out an approximate plan of further action... The reserve began to show the bottom, so I was forced to fall asleep for real.

In the morning I was followed by a curious glance, clearly hinting at playing catch-up some more, preferably with my body as a reward for the one who had caught me. Heroically, as it should be, I refused, not wanting to leave my mansion unattended for long, which could have been robbed. Even though I carried the gold on me, even the alchemical equipment was quite valuable.

Enough to try to liberate it.

When I entered my new house after a day and a half of absence, I was not even surprised by some change in the interior. It wasn't the shadow sphere, which showed me all the details beforehand, but the banal predictability of the consequences of my absence. And this was not about the new furniture unless I counted as such four turning blue bodies with traces of poisoning by some bad toxin.

Three of them were lying right in the lab, apparently having collapsed while trying to move the distillation cube, thereby hitting the fragile flask with the insidious compound. The last of the foursome, it turned out, got into the place where I least expected it - the latrine. Though I was sure that I was setting a trap against something that could come out of the sewer, and not the other way around. I wouldn't complain, though.

But I have to solve the problem of the bodies of the dead. Well, not to disassemble them for reagents now that they came on their own? The alchemist's passive skill, meanwhile, began to obediently point to the parts of the bodies that were still quite suitable for extraction, despite the almost twenty-four hours since the death. Teeth, some skeletal parts, and if you're lucky, a couple of them might even have their hearts and livers.

With some regret I dismissed the idea: if whoever sent them here decides to send the guards here also, it would be inconvenient if they found the remains of the bodies of the missing. I had to create in the same latrine a small hole in the Shadow, where I threw the unlucky burglars. After a minute's silence and thorough cleanup of any shadow energy left in the breach, I cynically decided to use the toilet for its intended purpose. Shit be fluff for you guys.

The next week was much more peaceful and almost devoid of sudden corpses. The guards still came, even coming up with a perfectly normal excuse, sort of preventing them from being suspected of some bad intentions. With a clear conscience, I led them through all the rooms and through my laboratory (the forbidden compounds were previously hidden) and even offered to have dinner with me. That last offer made the leader of the foursome twitch his cheek nervously before recovering his good-natured expression.

He really must have known something, though he didn't want to show it.

There was nothing to fine me for, for I had not yet even had time to begin production, so, wishing me well and prosperity on behalf of the magistrate and the city guard, they left my humble abode.

In the evening, some inconspicuous guys from the local underground came in, politely, I'll say it again, politely, offering to donate a small monthly sum for the peace of the streets. And I, after thinking about it, even agreed - the amount is not very large, rather moderate, but it should save me a lot of trouble. I didn't come here to reduce the number of criminals, so I didn't complain. If they talk nice, I'll negotiate nice, too, because where would I hide their bodies if the negotiations became more aggressive? Should I throw them in a latrine through the Shadow? That's the way I can lure some real shit demons.

There were some much cheekier fellows from a couple of tradesmen, who I listened to carefully and told them that I could manage on my own for the time being and was not going to open my ass. Or rather, I was not going to take their patronage. They nodded and threatened me with a lack of profit, which did not scare me too much, and then they left.

I found out the attitude of those around me toward my alchemist neighbor - quiet envy and anger at the frequent pungent smells. On the other hand, normal alchemists, acting on proven recipes, rather than creating new ones based on pure intuition and foul language, often do not cause much trouble, except for the smell. So I have to be careful with experiments and not screw with people's brains. Well, I wasn't going to give them gazenwagen anyway, I can guarantee that. Let them sleep peacefully and without fear of gas attacks and chloride pandemonium.

I bought a bag full of reagents. Mostly fairly common herbs and roots. Every local, if he was not afraid to go outside the walls, could easily gather them. They were widely available at the market, but the quality of the goods was not great. I had to haggle and sort through the goods to get the most "charged " examples (the latter did not always look the most beautiful and fresh). Everyone without exception tried to cheat, and three times they were going to rob me.

In the last case, the pickpocket was set upon by the salesman himself, to whom I pointed out the not very high quality of his goods and suggested that he not bother me if he did not have normal reagents in stock. He diverted my attention with his apologies. I had to make the thief an accident, in the course of which he tripped and broke his arm. The other, immediately taking advantage of the hiccups of those around him who were looking at the howling injured man, suddenly bumped into a fat and surprisingly broad merchant with a guard, and was beaten to the counting of teeth by that guard. He was clearly a thief, and had his paws stretched where they should not have been stretched! Who robs respectable people like that? The thieves' elders themselves would kill for such a thing!

He let me go with the merchandise, and with a huge discount on the sale (so that he would be sure to be distracted and not get off the hook), but not so accommodatingly. I can't help but wink at the man, which pisses him off to the limit. I couldn't help smiling, though it looked a bit like a grin at the end. I could tell right away that the service was of a high class.

Thanks to the generous scammer, I even bought quite a few really valuable ingredients, and they were barely above production cost. However, at these prices, I'm better off farming myself than picking through these chicken droppings anyway. The latter is no joke: they tried to sell me dried and grinded chicken droppings under the guise of smoky wolf claws.

Just for fun, I threatened to throw acid in the smart guy's face (I even took out a test tube) if he did not devour the counterfeit goods right away. In the end, the man was already green and clearly poisoned by a very toxic substance, but let him think about the lesson he had been taught while he was puking.

I returned home a little exhausted but satisfied with the result of my efforts. So I could find the body of another agonizing thief in the lab (this time I chose a simpler, less toxic poison).

They're fucking kidding me!

I sent this one straight to his colleagues and went to the bathroom at the same time. My joke about my handmade shitdemon was no longer funny. For Gaze notices a strange, barely perceptible, darkening in the place where the latrine sits. Though the matter and conditions of the Shadow have dissolved the bodies of the hapless burglars, and the bones have been scattered by the small and unintelligent Shadows that dwell in all the dark corners, but the fact of such an obscure formation is slightly worrying.

"Why is it so expensive?" The big guy, one of the local stonecutters, scratched his head in bewilderment. "The others sell cheaper."

There aren't many stonemasons in the city and even fewer who have class. There's not much stone in the city, nor are there any mining sites, so they have to work with the material they've brought. Huge caravans of all kinds of things are regularly brought to the Kraj, including good building stone, or they wouldn't have built this place. Neither would my home, by the way.

Alas, the years of the construction boom are over, and there is not enough work for the guys in his profession. On the other hand, he has enough to support himself and his family, which means he is indeed a good stonecutter. No one else would be allowed to work the stones that would be used to build the houses in the rich quarters.

Rich neighborhoods, by the way, are very small in the Kraj. Still, the city is dangerous, criminal, and more mining than actually suitable for living. But even here some would like to boast of their status and wealth - the guild bosses, the rich merchants, a few families of aristocrats who came here for a better life and free land and settled here. In short, there was something to build and something to prepare the building materials for.

That's what Pathy told me, while he was waiting for the potion to be prepared. And no, what he needed was not a philosopher's stone or even a potency enhancer, but a banal hangover cure. The man, despite his size, was very bad with alcohol - he drank if he had to, but the hangover was more like a serious illness, after which a couple of days to go away. And his aunt is getting married on the same day, so he will have to get drunk at the big wedding, or they might beat him up.

"Expensive." I nodded accordingly. "But it would also work with a guarantee because I boosted the standard mix. It is almost like a healing potion, even if it is very narrowly focused, rather than the usual hangover remedy."

He heard my words, of course, but he didn't fully believe them, still having doubts. The wedding was in a few hours, and he hadn't had time to prepare earlier, at the alchemist he knew, because of an important order. Now he did not have enough time to purchase his favorite hangover, because he would be running to the celebration soon. And according to local customs, it is good form for close relatives to come a couple of hours early to see the bride not yet dressed up. This, they say, adds to the marital happiness of the already married.

Seeing that he's still in doubt, I decided to add my resolve so that he either leaves or, on the contrary, buys it. I'm right now, merrily experimenting with the potion's regenerative enhancement with a distillation cube, and there's a hangover to worry about.

"If you come to me and look me in the eye and tell me that my remedy didn't work, I'll give you your money back." I calmly meet his incredulous gaze.

"All right." He agrees doomfully. "Give it to me."

I took a handful of coppers, exactly a hundred, giving in return a small glass flask with dark blue stuff. It was made of relatively cheap reagents, but it was of sufficient quality to remove even mild poisons. Good work, as I had planned, worth a whole silver coin. Almost six times the profit, even with the cheap vial!

However, if you count my alchemy skill, which at this rate can come up to the rank of the great master, and multiply it by the bonuses of a mythical class, even if barely developed, you get a more realistic result. It's not alchemy that's so profitable, it's just me wasting my efforts on all sorts of unhelpful little things. On the other hand, without that little stuff, I can't create normal and complex potions. In crafting classes, you always have to work up a hand at trash recipes: it's cheaper in terms of price, and the price of mistakes in simple formulas is low.

The next morning, a disheveled, disheveled Pathy burst into my house and tried sincerely to squeeze me in his arms. He was barely calmed down, and he immediately demanded a dozen of my miracle potions, promising to come back for more. I took the payment, this time is given only in silver, tore the incoherent man away from me, and went to accelerate the distillation cube. At least I had not begun to produce anything, or else I would have lost time and not only reagents.

While I was working in the lab, Pathy waited patiently near the counter, not even trying to steal anything in my absence. When I finished infusing the energy and left the concentrate to stand, I went back to keep the conversation going.

It took much longer to make potions using equipment, but it was much easier and with less risk of failure. If in instant potions you had to carefully watch the energy supply and its intensity, at the same time controlling the interaction of your power with the magic accumulated in the reagents (and magic of the reagents with each other), here you could just pour in the energy, stir, pour some more and just wait for the reaction to end. If one tried to accelerate and amplify, the quality of the product increased, but so did the risk of failure.

Right now, for example, what I was doing was enough. If I took it all out, using my skill, my class ability, and all the advantages of the equipment at the same time, the potion would be too cool to be called a hangover potion and sold for one silver piece of money.

The joy of Pathy, who had been badly affected by his intolerance to alcohol, was understandable - now he could drink with the men as equals and not be a ghost for the next several days.

Hm.

I hope the poor guy didn't drink himself to death because of my efforts.

After escorting the stonecutter out the door and marveling at the way he clutched the jars he had bought to him like a mother to her child, I could only shake my head and then went to the laboratory to use the perishable herbs.

So far I've worked mostly with the cheapest ingredients, which automatically eliminated the really serious consequences of my failures. So with a clear conscience, I spoiled the raw materials for fun, trying to make something funny and cool out of the raw materials.

I got quite a few remedies for various ailments, antiseptics, and even anti-allergic ointments in the assortment. A lot of mid-level love potions and a small number of above-average ones came out. There were also all kinds of poisons and healers. I even got a very exotic gas grenade, which caused diarrhea in all living things, and large concentrations even death by the gastrointestinal disorder. I also buried it, just in case.

Already in the evening I was looking into the smallest of my cauldrons, the contents of which had almost completely evaporated in the process of reaction, and thinking about the idiocy of the System and the world.

At the very bottom was a small, shapeless lollipop, which caused a chronic boner (or nymphomania in women) in those who took it. It's like permanent potions are very expensive, but the effect...

Should I feed this crap to that asshole at the guild? With his temper, it wouldn't hurt to vent a little.

After Pathy, customers came to visit me, even if not in droves. Still, I did jack up the prices, even for the most ordinary formulas, but I made them with a good conscience. And the guarantee of a refund in the case of failure of the drug was a great many people. Clairvoyance easily identified those who really need my work, from those who just wanted to get my creation for free. I simply did not offer them anything about a refund - just offered to either buy or leave.

"What about... Is it, you know, return the money, if something's wrong?" Another very clever man asks.

"No way." Answer.

"But you, that's what you said!" And there must be sincere indignation in the voice.

"Well, I didn't say that to you." I always find it hard to hold back my laughter at this point.

No one could be more outraged than a scammer who not only got robbed of an opportunity to make money on you but also made a fool of him. Maybe that's why there aren't as many clients as there could be.

Sometimes I helped for a token price, simply because I could help when others refused. It was not that I was giving alms, but rather that I was giving a little nudge to solve the problems of those who were already struggling to be saved.

There was an ancient, almost crumbling grandfather who was looking for a cure for his small grandchildren. The twins, a boy and a girl, not even ten years old, caught some kind of particularly severe pneumonia. Not a viral disease (epidemics and pestilence are harsh here), but just a bad cold. Their mother and father had long been buried, and the efforts of their grandfather, who sold wooden figurines, were enough only for food and drink, and some clothes for all three of them. There was no money to cure them.

So the grandfather went around to healers, alchemists, and merchants, hoping to sell his handicrafts and, at the same time, to report his accumulated copper, if someone would agree. The only hope was to find a cure, though the old prick didn't even know what his grandchildren were sick with. And I didn't know either, to be honest, I just knew by clairvoyance.

He was sent, of course, sometimes also kicked, and painfully. How he wasn't robbed, that's what's surprising. However, it is possible that in the opinion of the thieves, he had nothing to take. They wouldn't let him beg, though, threatening to count his ribs - all the pavilions here had long been divided up, and without permission and payment of "taxes", begging would be a risky business.

There was reason to despair, or simply to forget everything and go get drunk, but the grandfather kept cheerful, which is surprising. Only a fourth level, no fighting skills, except for woodcarving for that matter, senile infirmity, but still young and strong in spirit.

I could easily prepare a strong enough antibiotic, adding to it a weak healing and cleansing potion, so that the small children could survive such a harsh drug. At the same time and the general tone of the body would be corrected. But the price of this splendor, even if you take only the reagents, would be a little more expensive than all the money Grandpa has, even taking into account the fact that I will buy from him his crafts, and even all at once. Add to that the fee for my labor, and I'm not the weakest alchemist, not according to official papers. I can not dump my pricing policy, or there will be problems from the guild.

"Okay." I interrupt the old man's rather calm, though indistinct due to his missing teeth. "Bring all the wood you still have, and I'll prepare the compound. Come back in the morning and tell me the results. If the symptoms don't go away, we'll think further."

I took all the money, as well as all the figurines, but I also made a very strong medicine. Alchemical sense, combined with intuition, asserted that the contents of this vial (divide equally, add to boiling water and drink in small sips) could put even a half-dead man on his feet, not to mention two children.

There were no snotty thanks, no long assurances of eternal gratitude. He just looked intently and bowed silently at the waist, despite his old age and sore back. It wasn't a shame to help such a man.

However, my research was waiting for me, eating up most of my reserves and exhausting me so much that I didn't have the will for shadows and dreams. I had to finish a proper recipe book (and find a place to buy a diary and writing utensils, preferably not very expensive, but of high quality), and then I had to write it all down...

I just wish I had time for all my tasks.

The next day, early in the morning, the old man was already near my house. As I had not experimented with dreamwalking that night, but simply reduced my sleeping time to an hour, spending all the time I had free to rearrange the reagents, I knew perfectly well that he was here at first light, despite his fatigue and hunger. Hunger, by the way, was no joke - he had fed the children, but he had not eaten himself. And for what, if all his money had gone on medicine, and he had not had time to carve new figures, even though he had already made the first piece.

My potion worked well, quickly leading the patients to recovery, allowing them to skip the most severe consequences of a long illness. The antibiotics did not cause intoxication either, though I recommended more liquid food, just in case. After listening to my recommendations, Grandpa bowed silently once more, and then turned around and went home.

Nothing about the fact that he had nothing to eat. Moreover, he was determined to finish the bear figurine today, then go to his place at the market and sell it, hoping to get enough money to buy food. Oh, and new figurines, or even a flute, could start carving right there in the marketplace. He doesn't care if he hasn't eaten in three days, and he'll be hoofed from exhaustion by the time someone maybe buys his art.

I brushed the vision aside, and then asked myself a legitimate question: is this guy even from this world? Because all the time I've been on Alurea, I've met a lot of assholes, very few normal people, and no one like this guy. It's not even about his kindness to his grandchildren and his desire to save and educate them. It's about his amazing will to live and his inability to give up, which even I could learn from.

Already on the street, he is stopped by my question, for which I had to crawl out into the light of day, which resulted in squinted eyes and dust in my nose.

"Stop." I didn't even have to raise my voice. "You want a job?"

"Yes, good master, I really need it." Mumbled back to me.

"I need someone to stand behind the counter while I'm in the lab." By the way, I really do, even if it's not so much that I have to look for it personally. "Are you literate?"

Grandpa just shook his head, slouching even more. Yeah, well, there it was, the perfect chance to last a little longer. Not for his own sake, but for the sake of others.

"Do you have a good memory?" I asked the next question, thinking to myself that if he was useless, then let him go. I'm not Mother Teresa, no matter how much respect I have for him, and no matter how stubborn he is. If you help one person once, a dozen will try to get on your neck at once. Back on Earth, I hated charity and beggars.

"A good, good master."

"Okay, come on in." Without waiting for his reaction, I turn my back and enter the hall, not even doubting that he will follow me. "Now I dictate to you a list of goods and their prices. If you remember it the first time, the place behind the counter is yours. I pay three silver coins a month."

Then I dictate from memory (a hundred in concentrations, allowing entire stacks of documents to be memorized, not to mention recipes or prices of goods) over two dozen compounds that I marked as "saleable," at the same time adding the price to them. Most of the prices aren't hard to remember - I always round up so I don't have to bother myself.

To my surprise, the old man didn't lie, really remembering from the first time, failing to remember the price only once. Despite his worries, I still decided to take him on as my "staff. I was too lazy to sit behind the counter all the time, and I was even lazier to go down every time. In fact, if I manage to dump the trade on him, it's not a bad way to win some free time. At least rest, just rest will be able to properly, and not to train another skill. And I offered him an average salary for this kind of work - no more, no less.

I gave him an advance of one silver copper and sent him off to make himself presentable, so he could eat something at least. In the meantime, I began to sort the ingredients once again.

I will never buy so many at once again!

The next day the old man came in clean clothes, in which, of course, he looked a bit poor, but at least he could stand behind the counter without embarrassment, and I was spared a lot of fuss and trouble. He remembered the prices, by the way, and clairvoyance knows how - he just repeated what he had learned all night and all morning, afraid to forget and not daring to ask again.

His whispering might have put some customers off my shop, but that only made me feel better, so I didn't even think to complain. The main thing was that he didn't die right there, or I'd be ****ed off looking for a new salesman, and a reasonably honest one at that.

The same day I finally finished counting the crap I had in my hands, vowing not to be greedy anymore and to buy as much as I needed. And that night I began to work with dreams, and there were plenty of them.

The roughest and most stressful days since my arrival in the city were over, so I had every right to breathe easy, going back to normal workday mode.

There were relatively peaceful days ahead, which should serve me well, so that I could build on it a solid foundation for my future well-being.

For a while they were like that.

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