The private alchemy laboratory rented by Virelith felt impeccably sterile, yet its air was suffocating to the lungs. The sharp stench of hydrochloric acid and sulfur vapor dominated the medium-sized room. A clinical tension hung thickly, overpowering the odor of medicines.
I sat bare-chested on an iron examination chair. My completely dead right arm remained wrapped in thick bandages.
Before me, Virelith was drawing and dissecting the anatomy of human bone structure on a chalkboard. Her silver wire-framed glasses reflected the glow of the magic lamp above us.
"I have researched ancient literature regarding the materials you are after, Kael," said Virelith. Her tone sounded horrified and highly clinical. She pointed to the bone drawing on the chalkboard using the tip of her staff. "This is no miraculous healing potion from a holy temple. You must understand how it works before we take things too far."
I stared at the drawing calmly. "Explain it to me, Engineer."
Virelith took a deep breath. "Troll Heart Marrow possesses a fundamentally parasitic nature. The substance is not medicine, but rather a living organism at the cellular level. As soon as that fluid enters your veins, it will immediately attack and consume the old calcium in your cracked bones."
The girl looked straight into my eyes.
"The process forces highly aggressive cellular regeneration. Your old calcium will be destroyed, forcibly replaced by a far denser troll bone structure. The pain will be ten times worse than the blood magic explosion you experienced that night."
"I have already felt my bones being crushed," I replied flatly. "I can endure it."
"It is not merely about enduring physical pain, Kael," interrupted Virelith, her voice rising in pitch. "This is a biological invasion. If your mental defenses shatter amidst this merging process, those troll cells will seize control of your central nervous system. Your human brain will die. You will simply transform into a mindless, bloodthirsty monster."
The room fell silent for a moment. Only the bubbling sound of a boiling test tube in the corner of the table could be heard.
Proving my mental fortitude, I did not flinch in the slightest upon hearing that horrifying verdict. Instead, I offered a thin smile. My eyes implied the absolute certainty of a veteran who had cheated death.
"Pain is merely the signal of weakness leaving the body," I said softly yet full of conviction. "I accept that risk, Virelith. It is the absolute price I must pay so I can behead Orvelis next month. Now, we only need to wait for Ragnar to bring those materials home."
(Third Person POV)
At the same time, far from the academic tranquility of Aethelgard, Ragnar was sitting amidst a sickening sea of humanity.
The Underground Auction Market in the heart of the imperial capital was a tangible manifestation of moral decay.
The air inside the circular auction arena felt incredibly suffocating and filthy. Thick smoke from high-grade opium cigars billowed in the air. That scent mixed with the pungent perfume of scantily clad waitresses. Corrupt aristocratic luxury was visible in every corner. The gleam of jewels and gold decorations in the room was so blinding it hurt the eyes.
Ragnar wore a shabby, thick-hooded cloak to hide his giant posture. He also concealed his greatsword beneath the heavy fabric. The man sat stiffly in the very back row of wooden benches, an area reserved for lower-class guests who were merely spectators.
"Bastard nobles," mumbled Ragnar softly, spitting onto the floor beneath his boots.
His hand pressed tightly against a leather sack on his chest. The sack contained dozens of Nightbane gold bars that had been thoroughly laundered by the Morcant faction. His street predator eyes surveyed the stage and the surrounding arena.
In the VIP balconies hovering above the arena, high-class nobles sat leaning back on plush sofas. They covered their faces with various animal-shaped gold masks. Ragnar watched how they bid on illegal artifacts, cursed weapons, and even human slaves as casually as buying peanuts on the roadside.
This disgusting economic inequality made Ragnar's street blood boil.
"Distinguished ladies and gentlemen!"
The auctioneer's loud voice cut through the commotion of the room. The man dressed in a sparkling suit stood in the center of the stage. He pointed toward a cart that had just been brought in by two heavily muscled mercenary knights.
"We have arrived at the main item of tonight!" exclaimed the auctioneer enthusiastically. He pulled away the black covering cloth atop the cart.
There, under the spotlight of crystal lamps, rested a thick glass tube. Inside that tube was a viscous liquid pulsating with a sickening green color yet radiating an extraordinarily strong aura of life. Beside it lay a neatly rolled ancient parchment.
"Pure Troll Heart Marrow from the Northern Mountains, paired with an Ancient Bone Reconstruction Scroll from the First Era!" shouted the auctioneer. "This item is capable of restoring a shattered body into something as hard as steel! The auction bidding opens at the sum of five hundred pure gold coins!"
Ragnar's heart pounded fast. That was it. The item upon which his master's life wagered.
"Six hundred gold coins!" shouted a pig-masked noble from the western balcony.
"Seven hundred!" chimed in a fox-masked merchant from the eastern wing.
Ragnar did not waste time. He stood from his seat, threw his cloak hood back, and shouted with a booming voice that silenced the arena.
"One thousand gold coins!" roared Ragnar, staring sharply at the stage.
The room fell silent for a moment. Several nobles turned back, looking down upon the shabbily dressed man who dared to bid such a massive sum. The auctioneer looked surprised, but immediately smiled broadly seeing the profit before his eyes.
"One thousand gold coins from the man in the back there! Is there anyone daring to bid higher for these artifacts of immortality?"
Ragnar gripped his leather sack. One thousand gold coins was the maximum limit of all the wealth he had brought from Silas's vault. If anyone bid higher, he would lose legally.
"One thousand gold coins, going once!" exclaimed the auctioneer.
Ragnar held his breath.
"Going twice!"
Ragnar began to smile. Victory was already in sight. He would bring those materials home for Kael without having to spill blood.
"And going..."
"Two thousand gold coins."
A voice that was calm, relaxed, and full of arrogance cut off the auctioneer's words.
All eyes abruptly turned to the highest VIP balcony situated right in the center of the arena. There, a mysterious man in a maroon silk suit sat cross-legged. He wore a gold mask shaped like a raven's beak.
The man bid twice the price of the entire total of gold Ragnar brought, and he did so with merely a very casual snap of his fingers without altering his tone of voice in the slightest.
"Two thousand gold coins!" shrieked the auctioneer, his voice trembling with elation. "The Gentleman in the Raven Mask offers two thousand gold coins! Any other bids?"
Absolute silence enveloped the room. Not a single noble dared to challenge that absolute financial power.
Ragnar stood completely frozen in his place. He clenched his fists so tightly that his nails pierced his own palms. Fresh blood dripped slowly, soaking through his leather gloves.
He had just been slapped mercilessly by the absolute wealth structure of Aethelgard. He lost completely in the financial war.
"Sold to the Gentleman in the Raven Mask!" the auctioneer struck his gavel.
The items legally fell into the hands of the mysterious man. The auction was officially concluded.
Cold night drizzle washed over the outskirts of the imperial capital. The cobblestone road bisecting the elite residential district appeared incredibly quiet. The dim light of street lamps penetrated the curtain of rain, creating long shadows in every alley corner.
The raven-masked man had left the auction arena. He boarded a luxurious, glossy black horse carriage pulled by four premium thoroughbred horses. Two mounted mercenary knights rode on the right and left sides of the carriage to provide strict escort.
Inside the warm carriage, the man was surely enjoying expensive wine while staring at his green crystal tube.
However, amidst the despair in the auction arena earlier, Ragnar recalled the absolute instructions Kael had given him before he departed. The Commander's words echoed clearly in the street thug's head.
Buy it if you can. Kill and rob if forced.
Ragnar would not return home empty-handed. He was a Deck Hound. If the law of money rejected his will, then he would employ the law of the jungle he mastered so well.
The luxurious carriage sped increasingly fast across the deserted cobblestone road. The sound of horse hooves clashed with rainwater puddles.
Suddenly, from the direction of a dark alley shadow on the roadside, a giant cobblestone rock the size of a grown man's body was hurled with brutal force. The rock flew, cleaving the curtain of rain.
CRASH!
The giant rock struck the front wheel of the horse carriage squarely. The iron-plated wooden wheel shattered to pieces instantly. The luxurious carriage violently swerved to the side and ground to a forced halt with a horrifying sound of scraping wood.
The draft horses neighed in panic, rearing their front legs into the air.
"Attack! Protect the Master's carriage!" shouted one of the escort knights.
The two knights immediately jumped down from their horses and drew longswords from their scabbards. Their eyes watched penetratingly through the dense rain.
"Who goes there? Show yourself, bastard!" barked the other knight.
The sound of heavy footsteps was heard breaking through the patter of the rain. From behind the dense drizzle and the shadow of the dark alley, Ragnar's giant figure stepped out slowly. He was no longer wearing his cloak hood. The rain soaked his unkempt hair and flowed down his thug face, which was covered in scars.
Ragnar walked closer with slow and menacing steps. He reached his hand to his back and drew his giant greatsword. The sound of scraping steel rang incredibly loud. The giant steel blade began to radiate a golden Aura glow that was savage, wild, and bloodthirsty.
Ragnar grinned widely amidst the pouring rain. He stared at the broken luxury carriage with eyes blazing like a predator that had locked onto its prey.
"Forgive my insolence for halting your journey in such a rough manner, Noble Sir," said Ragnar with a heavy baritone voice full of a mocking tone. "But my master is in desperate need of the medicine you just bought. And just so you know, he is a man who truly hates waiting."