The alchemy master whom the witch Audrey had recommended to Ronan looked to be in his forties or fifties.
He was slight of build, dressed in a wrinkled gentleman's suit. His hair was sparse, his skin aged, and his lower eyelids sagged over his high cheekbones. Half of the glasses he wore had been shattered, making him look utterly pitiful.
Old Jack, who by all rights should have been standing at a lectern teaching and guiding students, was curled up in a corner beside the gambling table. The corner of his mouth was badly swollen, with streaks of blood still lingering there.
There was no doubt about it—he had just taken a savage beating from life.
"Old Jack..."
A burly, scar-faced man clenched his fist with a vicious grin. "You're a regular here, so we should've given you some face. But you shouldn't have broken the rules of our Copper Anchor."
He raised two thick fingers. "I'll give you two choices. Either chop off one hand yourself, or we'll do it for you. Choose."
Old Jack wanted neither option. Trembling, he protested, "I've been wronged! I really didn't cheat, I didn't!"
"Wrong answer."
The scar-faced man shook his head. "Then let us help you. Don't worry, my blade is fast. It won't hurt much."
As he spoke, he drew a short-handled curved blade.
The snowy gleam of the blade instantly lit up Old Jack's deathly pale face. Instinctively, he tried to run, only to be seized by the men beside him and pinned hard against the gambling table.
"Aah!"
Old Jack let out a pig-slaughtering scream. "I was wrong! I'm willing to compensate you! Don't chop off my hand!"
As if he had heard nothing, the scar-faced man raised the curved blade high.
He did not care in the slightest