I leaned against the counter of the potion shop, half of my body aching, the other half running purely on pride and caffeine.
"Twenty healing potions, ten mana, five antidotes, and, uh… anything that stops me from dying horribly in a hole, please."
The shopkeeper, an old man NPC with the same monotonous bark for years now, gave me a side-eye. "Dungeon run again, Sir Leonhart?"
I grinned. "Dungeon conquest, actually. I'm heading for floor fifty."
He raised a brow. "Fifty?"
"Or lower." I shrugged, resting my chin on my palm. "I'm feeling ambitious."
He chuckled dryly, like I just told him I was going to fight God with a wooden spoon. "As expected of the great Leonhart."
"Right? Sometimes I forget how filthy rich this guy was." I whispered to myself while shoving gold into his hands. "The limitless pouch of the elite. Bless your loaded soul, Leonhart."
