The door rumbled shut behind us, sealing off the space with the heavy weight of ancient stone. I took a step forward and found myself instinctively tilting my head back. The cavern wasn't just big—it was monumental. Every corner had been carved and constructed to fit someone at least ten times our size. Shelves stretched up toward the darkened ceiling, their ends lined with thick iron brackets etched with glowing runes. The tables resembled altars—broad, worn from use, and cluttered with flasks, vials, and tubes that could easily drown a grown man. Even the smallest beaker on display could've passed for a bathtub.
Hunter whistled softly, his eyes scanning the towering shelves. "Even the supports are reinforced with runes," he said. "Gods. Whoever built this must have spent decades on it."
He wasn't exaggerating. I could spot at least three different styles of rune carving layered across the ironwork—each etched with the precision of a master. These weren't just for show. Every sigil hummed faintly with mana, as if the entire structure was held together not just by stone and steel, but by sheer will.
A deep chuckle echoed through the chamber, rolling through the air like distant thunder.
"Most humans gawk when they see this place," the giant said, his voice rich and gravelly. "You're no different."
He stood just a few steps ahead, but even from that distance, he felt like an immovable wall. Gruffy—that's what the auction records called him. He was bare-chested, sporting a shaggy brown beard, and his arms were as thick as tree trunks. Honestly, one of his feet could probably crush a horse.
Hunter crossed his arms. "Did you build all this yourself?"
Gruffy shook his head. "I'm no builder. I had some help."
I squinted. Help? That made sense given the precision of the place—but who would assist a rogue giant in putting together a secret lab of this scale? Definitely not your average mason. And no dwarf I'd ever met, either.
His gaze shifted back to us, one bushy eyebrow raised.
"Names?" he asked, his voice more curious than menacing.
I stepped forward. "Luenor Sureva. This is Hunter Gardan."
I noticed something flicker in his eyes at the mention of Hunter's name, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he scratched his stomach absentmindedly, waiting.
"What's your business?"
I held up the Crimson Vein pill between my fingers, its faint red glow pulsing softly.
"This," I said. "I want to know more about it."
Gruffy leaned down, squinting as if he needed to confirm it was what he thought. Then he broke into a grin, a deep rumbling sound escaping from his chest.
"Ahhh. Crimson Vein. I was wondering who picked that up. Most nobles are after shiny swords or enchanted chalices. But not you—you came to me."
"I needed to understand what I bought," I replied. "Its effects, its risks. And who made it."
The giant nodded and lumbered over to one of the large tables, moving with surprising grace for someone his size. "You've come to the right place."
Hunter looked around, still examining the runes. "How does a giant end up in a place like this? Hidden away in a cave in the forest?"
Gruffy answered without missing a beat. "I got cast out of the village."
That made both of us stop in our tracks. Giants don't usually exile their own.
"Didn't sit well with my kin," he went on, casually lifting a glass container that was about the size of a keg. "I've always been the odd one out. Alchemy didn't interest them. They called it wasteful, dangerous. Too 'human.'"
"You created all this after they kicked you out?" I asked.
He chuckled softly. "I did. Found this cave—quiet, dry, and remote. I had some help building it from someone who understood my vision."
"A human?" I inquired.
He nodded. "Long gone now. But he helped me shape this place, gave me the blueprints, even taught me the first runes."
Whoever that man was, I was curious to learn more. But I decided to set that question aside for now. Better to stay on track.
"Tell me about the pill," I prompted.
Gruffy brought the beaker close to his nose, sniffing it absentmindedly as he spoke.
"It's volatile," he explained. "A blend of four alchemical lines. You've got enhanced etheric flow—boosts mana control. Then there's bloodroot essence—stimulates neural feedback but can lead to hallucinations. Toss in dusk-wolf fang extract and crystal lake sediment, and you get Crimson Vein."
"Why make just one?" I asked. "Why not produce more?"
He let out a slow grunt. "Two reasons. First, it's unstable. The side effects vary from user to user. I don't even fully grasp what it does in the long run. It could be harmless… or it could eat your heart from the inside out."
"And the second reason?"
He pointed at me. "Ingredients. Most of them are rare, some even dangerous. I can't just stroll into human lands without causing a scene. Dusk-wolves, crystal lakes, bloodroot vines from swamp-temples—it's not exactly easy work."
I felt the opening. Took it without hesitation.
"Let me get them for you," I said. "You keep making your work… and in exchange, it stays exclusive. No selling to anyone else."
He stared down at me, expression unreadable.
"Exclusive?" he repeated.
"Yes," I said, stepping forward. "I'll provide what you need—reagents, components, even rare tools. You focus on the alchemy. No other clients. Just me."
Hunter shifted beside me, but stayed quiet. I could feel him watching, judging the risk.
Gruffy scratched his beard, the thick hair crinkling beneath his nails.
"Hmph. Bold little human."
"I prefer ambitious," I replied.
He laughed, genuinely this time. "Fine. You get me what I need. We'll talk again."
I nodded. One step closer.
_____
Burizan sat rigidly on the edge of his bed, the communicator crystal feeling cold and lifeless in his hand. His heart was still racing. The masked man's voice lingered in his mind—a mix of warning, threat, and promise all rolled into one. If that knight came for him, he wouldn't have time to scream.
Then, he heard it. A cough. Too intentional.
He glanced up to find Thalanar standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. The elf's expression was hard to read, but his eyes—sharp and clear like ice—were fixed on Burizan with an unsettling intensity.
"Interesting little gadget," Thalanar remarked, nodding toward the crystal.
Burizan attempted a laugh, too loud and too quick. "Just a trinket. Nothing special."
"Who were you talking to?"
His mind raced. Then, a spark of inspiration—or maybe desperation—struck him.
"A girl from the Rose Quarter," he blurted out, forcing a grin. "She swiped it from a client. Likes to play at being royalty, calling me through enchanted crystals. You know how they can be."
Thalanar raised an eyebrow slightly.
"A prostitute?" he asked, his tone flat.
"Yes," Burizan replied, leaning into the fabrication. "You know my tastes. Not exactly subtle."
A long silence stretched between them, one that could tip in any direction. Finally, Thalanar sighed and rubbed his temple.
"You're reckless," he muttered.
A wave of relief washed over Burizan, though he kept his expression neutral.
"I don't have time for this," Thalanar said. "Telmar has crossed into Baron Palmero's territory. You're going to meet him. Help him. Right away."
Burizan blinked in surprise. "Me?"