[Veiled Bazaar (Sewers), Lunia]
The air in the sewers beneath Lunia's docks was deadly to most, thick with the stench of stagnant water, rot, and evil aura that would make visitors uneasy.
This was the Veiled Bazaar, Lunia's festering wound of commerce. Flickering purple lights and dancing shadows could be seen in its corridors. Upon reaching the bazaar itself, the yearly dark market event where most of the acolytes from the association would meet, stands carved out of bone could be seen. The dark path acolytes, members of the association of more or less reputation and infamy, spoke and argued loudly as they traded items from past expeditions and missions.
Greem, Willem and Vanessa stood at the entrance..
The din of the market washed over them. Corpses, vials of blood, caged slaves from exotic species...The Black Widow Association really was a dark path acolyte organisation. There seemed to be no limits, all of its members seeking strength at all cost, disregarding morality and humanity. The only thing binding them was Elizabeth's crows piercing gaze, the rule of no internal conflict deeply engraved in their body.
Few tried to escape her rule, trying to backstab teammates or assault other members, but they all had one common trait. They were no longer part of the living world.
"I have errands to run", Greem said, his voice a low murmur barely audible over the din.
He adjusted the strap of the chest containing the Skull Sect's beast cores.
"Procurement and sales. I'll meet you back at the rendezvous point in two hours. Don't draw attention"
Vanessa watched him as he melted into the flow of shrouded figures, his movements economical and sure, like a shadow slipping through cracks. His clumsy steps had been replaced by steady steps, discreet yet powerful and robust. Vanessa still could not believe it.
'He's really become a knight in such a small period of time. Shadow affinity, four spells, knight physical attributes...He is a monster...', she analysed. Many took her for a savage, but she was one of the most hard working knight in the Town Watch, and one of the only captain who knew how to read and write, a rare skill. But despite her efforts, magical studies were never her strong point. She did manage to learn the [Rock Skin] spell when she was bedridden, but the [Petrification Gaze] she had studied for over four years now, to no avail.
When he was gone, she turned to Willem, the heavy silence between them more telling than any accusation.
The memory of the catacombs was still deeply embedded in Willem's brain, and the scars on her body from the confrontation with the ice acolyte from the magical court were deep reminders of their suffering. More than the discrepancy between their powers, it was their pride that was hurt. Four years ago, Greem was just a twelve-years-old boy they had accepted as their teammate because of his unyielding pair of eyes and magical talent, which Elizabeth had praised as one of the best in the Association.
They had encountered two unfortunate events in less than a month, going so far as to lose Willem's contact Iriana. Now this was a stain in their pride, both as acolytes but also because they had first accepted Greem when he was just 12, the lad only knowing one measly spell. The "cheap replacement" had become their leader, but now the discrepancies
"I failed", she muttered, the words ripped from a place of deep, festering shame, "First, I went down to that ice mage from the Magical Court. Then, in the Catacombs… we both let him down. I was in Lunia, injured, and you were there, weak. He had to face an intermediate rank alone"
She turned her head, her gaze, hard and resolute, meeting Willem's crimson eyes. "I won't be a burden anymore. I can't. Not to him, not to the team. Not if we want to survive what's coming."
Willem's hood shifted slightly as he studied her. He saw the rigid set of her shoulders, the grim, almost desperate determination that had replaced her usual energetic posture.
He knew the paths a body refinement acolyte could walk when pride was shattered and replaced by a cold, driving need for power at any cost.
"Don't tell me you're considering…" he began, his voice a dry, wary rustle.
Vanessa gave a single, sharp, definitive nod.
"The [Soul-Forge Draught]. I've heard the stories, Willem. The Three Demon Turtles, they were jokes before they drank it. Untalented brutes. Now? They shattered bandit gates with their bare hands and walk through volleys of arrows. They took over the bandit business and became Elizabeth's thugs"
Her voice was steady, but a faint tremor betrayed the enormity of the decision. "I have more talent, but it's not enough. Not anymore. This will make it enough"
The potion was legendary in the darkest circles. It didn't just train the body; it catalyzed a horrific alchemy within, burning the user's very life essence—their potential lifespan—as fuel to enhance strength. Elizabeth's skills in alchemy caused the potioneering business to be prevalent in the veiled bazaar. Several people were exchanging rewards they had gotten from missions for magic crystals or knowledge.
The Soul-forge draught was Elizabeth's masterpiece, and the reason that roughly half of the Association's acolytes walked the path of body refinement. With knight breathing techniques and potions, even the most untalented acolyte could become stronger than a regular knight.
Willem was silent for a long moment, the sounds of the bazaar fading into a distant buzz. He knew arguing was pointless. The shame of her perceived failures was a poison, and she had chosen the most drastic antidote.
"The price is higher than crystals" he finally said, the words heavy. He wasn't talking about the market cost.
"I know exactly what it costs," she replied, her voice now as hard as the stone around them.
Without another word, she turned and strode off into the chaotic throng, her broad shoulders cutting a path toward the reeking alcoves where other acolytes sold magical trinkets, books and notes of their own experiments.
Willem watched her disappear into the gloom, a sense of grim fatalism settling over him. Then he turned, his own purpose crystallizing. The fight in the catacombs had exposed a critical flaw in his own arsenal. His bat, Moe, was a superb beast, but against proper acolytes, it could easily be defended against. He had fought Elder Borin, past leader of the Skull Sect, and an emerit necromancer who cursed Moe and rendered it useless. He needed to be more than a facilitator; he needed to be a direct threat.