Holding onto the yellowish-brown paper bag full of herbs, Bogda staggered out of the Lawson’s Folk Herb Store.
While waiting for a tracked carriage, he suddenly came to a realization.
He had spent ten pounds to buy a bag of stuff?
This was nearly a month’s salary for him!
If it wasn’t for his trust in Anna and Joyce, he wouldn’t have brought that much cash to the Divination Club!
Could it be that the reason why Mr. Moretti only accepted eight pence for his divination, had something to do with his collusion with the boss of Lawson’s Folk Herb Store, so as to earn more? This was a classic scam written on the papers! When Bogda made this connection, he even began to suspect Klein a little. He even began suspecting Joyce and Anna.
When a tracked carriage stopped in front of him, he looked at the herbs in his hand. Unable to bring himself to return, he entered the carriage with a heavy heart.
...
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Inside Lawson’s Folk Herb Store.
As the boss watched Bogda leave, he suddenly turned his head and shouted at the door where there was a pile of herbs, “Scharmaine, stop purchasing herbs from today.”
“W-why, Master?” A handsome-looking youth with disheveled hair walked out.
The boss smiled and said, “This is the sixteenth customer that has come because of my fame. If this carries on, I believe the Nighthawks, the Machinery Hivemind, and the Mandated Punishers will notice me. When the time comes, I’ll need to consider heading to other cities.”
“Then, do we need to sublease this store?” Scharmaine nodded in understanding as he asked with concern.
The boss chuckled.
“If you wish to stay, you can be the boss of this store. You are already capable at identifying herbs and concocting medicine. Of course, remember to deposit half of your monthly profits into my anonymous Backlund Bank account.”
“But, I haven’t learned what you are really good at.” Scharmaine was already sick of never staying in a city for more than a year, but he was unwilling to give up learning the magical formulas that his master was good at.
The boss leisurely rocked himself in his seat.
“That’s not something you can learn just because you want to...”
...
A blackish-green bubbling liquid appeared in front of Bogda’s eyes. It smelled of stinking socks and the color that makes one want to puke made him deeply suspicious about everything he had done today.
When the rooster blood was dropped into the medicine, Bogda’s father looked at his son worriedly and said, “I think surgery is the best option.”
The few drops of rooster blood bubbled with the boiling liquid before vanishing. Bogda took a deep breath and said, “If this medicine is useless, I’ll consider surgery.”
“The Lord will watch over you.” Bogda’s father gestured a triangular Sacred Emblem across his chest.
By the time the boiling liquid had cooled down, Bogda had no intention of wasting the ten pounds. He raised his right hand and closed his eyes. Flicking his head back, he gulped down the medicine in one go.
The pungent aroma that had the noxious smell of blood, swished around in his mouth as he nearly spat out everything he had just drank.
That night, Bogda had an upset stomach. He went to the bathroom six times, and by the time the crimson moon vanished, he fell asleep groggily.
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