Rosacer stood before a chemist shop. He sighed. It was the only one in the district, and coincidentally, it was located on the eastern side of the Eastern Sector.
For once, he was unprepared.
He stepped inside.
The interior was lined with glass-covered shelves displaying various solutions, some liquid, others reduced to fine powders. Each substance was stored in a separate container according to its nature. Darker vessels were placed deep within shaded corners to protect their contents from light, while transparent glass held more stable compounds. Some items were sealed in containers far smaller than the rest, yet their prices were exorbitant.
Such advancement startled him. He had never expected this level of chemical knowledge in a fantasy city. It felt almost modern. Too modern for this era. For a fleeting moment, the thought crossed his mind that the shopkeeper might be a transmigrator like himself.
"May I help you?"
The voice came from behind the counter, low and measured. The speaker was nearly swallowed by the darkness of the shop.
As he moved forward, his presence grew heavier. His expression was dark and grim.
The shop's entrance opened directly into narrow shelves, blocking Rosacer's view upon entry. When the voice rang out, he was momentarily startled.
The man finally came into view. He wore a long white coat. His eyes were green, narrow, and serpentine. Jet-black hair framed sharp facial features, and an oppressive, suffocating aura clung to him like a second skin.
"What do you need?" he asked again.
Rosacer quickly regained his composure. "I am a bounty hunter. There is someone who uses…" His gaze shifted toward a bottle containing a transparent liquid.
"…ethanol to erase blood smears and traces," the chemist finished calmly. "So you want me to provide a list of clients who have purchased ethanol."
Rosacer nodded.
"But what will I receive in return?" the chemist asked, his eyes unwavering.
Etched upon the breast of his coat was a name.
Christopher Wright.
Rosacer slipped a hand inside his coat and withdrew the remaining eight vials. He had consumed one the night before.
"Only eight?" Christopher's eyes narrowed.
Rosacer remained standing. He had no intention of offering more.
"Fine," Christopher said at last, after a long pause.
He took the vials from Rosacer and turned toward the counter. Reaching beneath it, he produced a thin ledger, its pages yellowed and tightly bound. He opened it with fingers slickened by saliva.
From time to time, his long, snake-like tongue flicked out to wet his fingertip as he turned the pages. The sound of paper filled the shop.
This continued for a while.
Then he began to speak, as if idly.
"I heard a merchant was killed in the southern sector," Christopher said. "Those savages kill even the ones who feed them."
Rosacer did not respond.
"The Merchant Union has halted business there, I hear. Entire routes closed overnight."
Another page turned.
"I also heard someone stole a naga heart from storage." Christopher scoffed softly. "No merchant could kill a naga. And even if they could, selling it would be suicide. Naga soldiers answer directly to the Mistress of Head."
As he said this, his gaze lifted, locking onto Rosacer's eyes. The look was firm, searching.
"What do you think?"
Rosacer remained silent, feigning disinterest.
Christopher chuckled and returned to his ledger.
At last, his finger stopped.
"Here," he said. "Two names."
He read them aloud.
"Naira Colt. Zero Danilo."
He frowned slightly. "Only these two, I believe. Even I find the list… thin."
Rosacer's eyes narrowed. "Zero Danilo."
Christopher nodded. "Your man is likely him."
"Why?" Rosacer asked, his expression carefully puzzled.
"Naira is an officer," Christopher replied. "I doubt you take bounties on officers." His eyes traveled over Rosacer from head to toe, and he smiled faintly.
Rosacer exhaled. "Then give me the date, time, and quantity of ethanol he purchased."
Christopher rotated the ledger, turning it fully toward Rosacer.
"I could," he said slowly. "Or I could alert you when he returns."
He paused.
"But that will require additional payment."
The ledger remained open between them, a silent invitation.
In the mist-curling city, a man clad in dark garments moved with his frame drawn small and short. His steps were light, his movements swift, slipping through the fog before it could cling to him.
He stopped before a building.
At its front hung a sign.
Chemistry of Mist.
He approached the entrance, and as he did, the bandana covering his face slipped loose.
"Christopher!" he called.
From the darkness within, a man with serpentine eyes emerged.
"The usual, I presume," Christopher said calmly. "Mr. Darious Daken."
Wrinkles deepened across Darious's face as his expression soured. He turned sharply, intending to leave, but he did not make it two steps.
A sound rang out.
Snap.
Yellow flames erupted, devouring him in an instant.
A heartbeat passed.
Then shrill screams tore through the fire.
Darious clutched at his robe, tearing it open as he forced himself out of the burning inferno. His skin blistered and split, pus oozing as his flesh screamed alongside him.
"Traitor!" Darious howled.
Still ablaze, he staggered out into the street.
There, with shaking hands, he drew a knife and began to skin himself, carving away the burning flesh. The severed skin hit the mist-covered ground with a sickening hiss as the flames died upon contact.
"Every one of them," he screamed. "Every single one a traitor!"
Then he collapsed onto the street, his body slouching against the cold stone. His movements slowed, then stilled entirely.
Moments passed.
The mist thickened.
When it finally seemed that the man was dead, Rosacer stepped out from the dark alley. His footsteps were cautious as he approached the charred corpse. He raised his hand.
[Corpse Memory]
Nothing happened.
Rosacer's eyes widened in realization.
He attempted to snap his fingers again.
Too late.
The corpse moved.
Darious surged upward in a single motion, knife already in hand. The blade flashed toward Rosacer's throat, its edge darkened with dried blood.
Rosacer abandoned the activation of Blight Burn and reached instead for his Gewehr.
As the mechanism began to load, he felt it. His blood was being drawn, siphoned to fuel the shot.
It was not fast enough.
The knife pierced his neck cleanly, skewering straight through.
Darious twisted the blade sideways.
With one savage slash, Rosacer's throat was opened.
His head was sent tumbling across the street, rolling into the mist as his body collapsed where it stood.