Chapter 45: One Last Drink Before Leaving
Richard raised his gaze, looking at the alchemist's face, and spoke:
"I have a way to give you more time, but we'll have to get the Lunar Dew Flower to continue your treatment."
"We'll make the exchange in person," he added, leaving no room for misunderstanding, "unless you want Seo-Yeon to find out if you decide to send someone else."
The alchemist lowered his eyes, contemplating Richard's words.
It was tempting; it wasn't as if he had a better alternative. He wouldn't survive long enough for the operation to be carried out—he was sure of that if his calculations hadn't failed.
His brain would be contaminated by the time Seo-Yeon returned from the mission, and she would only find a beast without emotions willing to kill her when she came back; and if the stages of an infected were correct, he would retain his rationality but with a strong murderous intent toward humans.
"Alright, see you tonight before the squads depart."
With that, the conversation ended.
The monitors on the walls went dark, concluding all interaction with the alchemist, and the room filled with a sepulchral silence that calmed every thought in Richard's mind.
He rested his hands on the armrests, fingers drumming calmly on the cold metal. His gaze got lost in the faint reflection the glass returned, while a sharp thought slid through his mind.
He could have taken advantage of the alchemist easily; he had the means, the opportunity, and themotive, but he did not. Not out of naivety, but because of a strange sympathy toward those two brothers.
He had felt their emotions clearly enough to know they were not bad people... just two souls clinging to a purpose, worn down by guilt and the need to survive.
Luna had also spoken well of them. So at least he would get his share of that prodigy of alchemy and begin to accumulate strength slowly.
If his calculations did not fail, at least he was sure the leech matriarch would not finish off his family—at least not for now... he didn't know how that damned rat had managed to travel, but he did know that if it still harbored hatred toward him it would only seek to make him suffer.
It would not torture his family unless Richard was present to witness it with his own eyes.
The sound of light footsteps snapped him out of his thoughts. The door opened with a hydraulic hiss, letting in a gust of icy air.
"Richard!" Seo-Yeon's voice cut through the silence. "Did the alchemist tell you anything?"
Richard looked up. The small figure of the woman was silhouetted against the bluish light of the corridor. Her white hair still reflected a crystalline glow, and tiny snowflakes floated around her, melting in the air before they could touch the ground.
The room, however, was still a mess. Some monitors were covered in frost; others crackled with faint sparks, victims of the previous outburst of the "snow fairy."
Even so, the call had been stable.
Luna Plateada's technology was better than it looked.
Seo-Yeon took the first step into the room, standing before him and meeting his eyes.
She crossed the threshold with a firm stride and stopped right in front of Richard, staring at him with an intensity that spoke far louder than her composed expression.
Richard shook his head.
"You should know that I can't tell you what we talked about… Your brother asked me not to tell you anything unless it was absolutely necessary."
Her fists tightened, turning into dangerously heavy weapons as she listened to the words leaving Richard's mouth.
"Yes, but I'm his older sister," she shot back, her voice trembling with contained fury. "I have the right to know if my brother is doing something stupid without consulting me first."
Richard hesitated for a few brief moments, as if he were fighting himself over what to say next. In the end, he sighed and offered a faint smile, hoping to calm the explosive woman.
"I can't tell you… but I can tell you that your brother believes he has a ninety-five percent chance of a successful recovery."
He thought that would calm her down.
God, how wrong he was.
Seo-Yeon's face turned red with rage. The air around her froze as her power flared outward, the temperature in the room dropping sharply.
"He told me he had a one hundred percent chance of recovery!"
"And now you're telling me there's a five percent chance he could die!?"
The place became complete chaos shortly after. Though, really, there was nothing more one could expect from someone like her. Richard could only retreat toward the elevator, leaving Eimy to restrain her furious leader.
Women were complicated—and his lack of interaction with them in his previous life had probably saved him from a lot of trouble. At least he could say that love was blind, and Emma hadn't been like that… or at least, that's how he remembered it.
Whether any of it had been real was another matter entirely—one only a person truly in love could ever hope to judge.
When he left the underground facilities, Richard was greeted by the bartender who was standing behind the small, crowded bar.
He hadn't really noticed him before, but the man was one of those rare individuals who had managed to become an Awakened without the excessive consumption of cores—much like most of the members of the Silver Moon group.
"Want me to serve you something?"
The man wiped a mug with a worn cloth and slid it smoothly across the counter.
"Tomorrow's going to be a long day," he said, pulling out a dark bottle that seemed to absorb the light around it. "So I recommend our favorite—the Dead Riser."
Richard raised an eyebrow as he took the bottle. The aroma that escaped from inside was so strong it burned his nostrils. It smelled of fire and gunpowder, all mixed into one abomination of nature.
"Pour me one."
The comment drew immediate laughter from the nearby group."It's never just one when it comes to our favorite," replied the bartender, pouring the thick liquid into a short glass.
Richard downed it in a single gulp. The fire slid down his throat, searing every nerve, every fiber. It was like swallowing a piece of molten volcano.
He clenched his teeth, feeling the heat spread through his chest and rise to his temples, bringing tears to his eyes.
The bartender watched him with amusement.
"That, my friend, is what happens when you underestimate our favorite. They say it wakes the dead… though some prefer to stay asleep rather than feel it again."
Richard set the empty glass on the counter. His breathing was heavy, and the heat inside him made him feel more alive than he had in days.
"If it really wakes the dead, maybe I should bottle it and sell it at the front," Richard murmured with a tired smile.
The bartender raised an eyebrow.
"Believe me, they already tried. The last one who did lost his tongue… and his soul, or so they say."
The laughter slowly faded. Only murmurs remained—the clinking of glasses and the distant sound of wind slipping through the cracks in the door.
Outside, the city glowed with an artificial light: neon signs flickering through the smoke, the echo of engines, and the faint wail of a siren far away.
Richard looked at his reflection in the bottom of the glass. The remaining liquid trembled with every vibration of the ground.
"Busy day, you said," Richard finally commented, breaking the silence.
The bartender nodded, resting both elbows on the counter.
"Yeah. You're heading into the forbidden territory tomorrow, aren't you?"
He pointed toward the soldiers and members of the Silver Moon group.
"Today's the last day for some of them, so it's best they leave without regrets… that's why some of the young ones went off to the brothels."
The man tried to sound amused, but his voice came out hollow, as if he were hiding his true emotions behind the mask of a bartender.
The oil lamps flickered in their holders, casting shadows that danced across the blackened walls. Some men played cards, gambling away what little money they had, while others simply drank in silence, staring into the bottoms of their glasses as if searching for answers there.
Richard turned his glass between his fingers, watching the blurred reflection of his face in the dark liquid.
"And you?" he asked without looking up. "Do you also think it's worth forgetting before you die?"
The bartender let out a rough, raspy laugh.
"Forgetting…" he repeated, wiping the rim of another glass with an already dirty cloth. "No one forgets, kid. We just learn to toast with our ghosts."
A heavy silence fell between them. In the farthest corner of the bar, the faint melody of an old gramophone slipped through the static—a female voice singing about broken promises and dawns that never came.
The perfect song for a night like this. Artists really did know how to write the right words for the right moment.
Richard looked up. The people around him laughed, drank, and talked as if the world outside weren't rotting away.
It was the kind of night where hope disguised itself as intoxication.
Richard finished his drink in one swift motion. The fire of the alcohol slid down his throat, igniting a bitter warmth in his chest.