Holding the herbs wrapped in yellowish-brown paper, Bogda left " Rosen's Folk Herb Store " in a daze.
While waiting for the horse-drawn carriage, he suddenly realized:
I only bought this one bag of stuff for a full 10 pounds?
That's almost a month's salary for me!
If I hadn't trusted Anna and Joyce, I would never have brought so much cash to the Divination Club!
Could it be that Mr. Moretti's low fee of only 8 pence for Divination -telling is a collaboration with the unscrupulous owner of Rosen's Herb Store to maximize profits? This... this sounds like a classic newspaper scam! Bogda, connecting the dots, began to suspect Klein, and even Joyce and Anna.
The horse-drawn carriage stopped, and he looked at the herbs in his hand. In the end, he couldn't bring himself to go back, and could only enter the carriage with a heavy heart.
At Rosen's Folk Herb Store.
As the boss watched Bogda's retreating figure, he suddenly turned back and called out towards the back door where the herbs were piled up:
" Shermane, starting today, stop buying herbs."
"Why? Teacher, why?" A handsome young boy with messy hair stepped forward.
The boss smiled and said:
"This is the 16th customer to come because of my reputation. If this continues, I think the Nighthawks, the Mandated Punishers, and the Machinery Hivemind will all notice me. It's time to consider moving to another city."
"Does this shop need to be transferred?" Shermane nodded in realization and asked with concern.
The boss chuckled and said:
"If you want to stay, you can be the owner of this shop. You are skilled enough in identifying herbs and preparing potions. Of course, remember to deposit fifty percent of your monthly profits into my anonymous account at Bank of Backlund."
"But I haven't learned what you're really good at yet." Shermane was both tired of living in a city for less than a year and reluctant to part with the magical formula her teacher was good at.
The boss sat down in a recliner and leisurely rocked back and forth, saying:
"That's not something you can learn just by wanting to..."
A cup of boiling, dark green liquid appeared before Bogda's eyes. The stench of stinky socks and the nauseating color made him deeply suspicious of everything he had done that day.
The freshly drawn rooster blood was dripped into the medicine. Bogda's father looked at his son with worry and said:
"I believe surgery is the best option."
The small amount of rooster blood tumbled a few times in the boiling liquid and disappeared. Bogda took a deep breath and said:
"If this medication doesn't work, I'll consider surgery."
"The Lord will protect you." Bogda's father drew a triangular emblem on his chest.
Once the boiling liquid cooled, Bogda, determined not to waste 10 pounds, raised his right hand, closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and gulped down the entire potion.
A foul stench, tinged with the smell of blood, filled his mouth, almost making him vomit up everything he had just drunk.
That night, Bogda discovered he had food poisoning and went to the bathroom six times. He finally drifted off to sleep just as the Crimson Moon was about to disappear.
He didn't know how much time had passed when he suddenly woke up, because he had dreamed of being scolded by his company boss.
"Thank goodness, thank goodness, I took three days of annual leave, so I don't have to rush to the company." Bogda breathed a sigh of relief, suddenly realizing that he was in surprisingly good spirits.
This stands in stark contrast to the gloom of the past few weeks.
Bogda subconsciously reached out and pressed his right side of his abdomen. The area that had previously been unbearably painful with the slightest pressure was now normal, with only ordinary tenderness upon palpation.
"Could it really work? That pharmacist was obviously bluffing..." Bogda, surprised, delighted, and doubtful, rolled out of bed and started moving around, feeling a long-lost sense of health return.
He pondered for a long time, then muttered to himself:
"As the Apothecary instructed, I need to take the medicine twice more. After I finish that, I'll go to the hospital to see an Doctor..."
"The Apothecary didn't seem to specify how many times a day to take the medicine..."
"... I still think he's a bit of a conman..."
Inside the office of a clerical worker at Blackthorn Security Company, Klein pleaded beforehand for an undisturbed environment.
Holding a carving knife, he expressed his Spirituality, meticulously carving incantations and symbolic symbols onto the two pieces of silver ornaments.
Those are Hermes prayers for protection from Calamity; they are two mystical symbols representing the Evernight Goddess, the Empress of Misfortune and Horror.
In addition, Klein added the goddess's corresponding numerology "7" and related magical symbols.
Furthermore, both sides of the talisman and amulet must be engraved. The specific symbols, incantations, and markings to be placed on each side, their respective positions, and their special formats fall into the advanced realm of mysticism, and what is commonly known among ordinary people is full of fallacies.
At this moment, Klein had a lot of discarded carving materials on his right. Only after repeated practice and confirming that he had mastered the craft did he dare to make amulets for his brother Benson and sister Melissa.
With a calm and focused mind, his Spirituality burst forth from the tip of his engraving knife, outlining the number "7" on the surface of the silver ornament.
He had already finished carving the incantations and symbols on the other side of the silver ornament, and was just waiting for this side to be completed.
As the final blow fell, all the Spirituality connected, and Klein suddenly felt a strange, powerful, and terrifying force surging within the room.
The surge quickly subsided, and the runes on both sides of the silver ornament completely merged into a whole in Klein's " Spirit Vision," radiating a tranquil and peaceful black aura.
He put down his carving knife and stroked the silver ornament composed of a "circle" and a "vertical" line, feeling a warm touch with a hint of coolness.
"All done!" He happily put the amulet he had made earlier and the one he had just finished into his pocket, planning to give them to his brother Benson and sister Melissa when the opportunity arose.
--This kind of amulet, made by Beyonder, has certain effects, allowing the wearer to unknowingly avoid a considerable degree of Calamity, but it won't be too exaggerated. Moreover, its Spirituality will gradually diminish. Unless a high-level Ritualistic Magic is used to pray for complete solidification, its use period is limited to one year. High-level Ritualistic Magic has terrible requirements for Spirituality, which Klein is currently unable to bear.
"I'll redraw it with my Spirituality later..." Klein nodded thoughtfully and began tidying up the messy table.
He hasn't crafted any items for himself yet, because amulets of this level have limited effect on him. Therefore, his goal is to further master the art of talismans and, in conjunction with Ritualistic Magic, create several talismans that can be activated with special syllables for self-defense.
After finishing the finishing touches, Klein had just stepped out of the clerical office to hand over the scrap materials when he saw Captain Dunn approaching in a black trench coat.
Dunn's deep gray eyes swept over them, and the corners of his mouth curled up as he said:
" Klein, the Holy Cathedral has approved your membership; you are now a full member."
"Really? That's wonderful!" Klein feigned surprise.
Dunn smiled and nodded:
"You can collect your £3 pay now, and £4.50 every week thereafter, until the advance is paid off."
"By the way, did I mention the Nighthawks ritual?"
"Every official Nighthawks must complete a task independently; only in this way can they gain the recognition of their comrades. Considering your previous outstanding performance, I think you can be given a regular assigned task instead. At that time, I will formally introduce you to all the Nighthawks in Tingen City."
Klein answered without hesitation:
"OK!"
With £3 plus the reimbursed £7, buying another formal suit is no problem at all!
And there's still a considerable amount left over!
Hmm, I wonder when I'll get a mission...
Klein waited until Sunday, when Selena's birthday dinner finally arrived.
After changing into formal attire and cleaning his half-high silk hat with a brush and handkerchief, Klein looked in the mirror and walked downstairs with great satisfaction.
At that moment, Melissa was looking Benson up and down.
"Is there a problem?" Benson raised his cane, feeling a little guilty under his sister's gaze.
He examined himself and felt that he had done nothing wrong; he was dressed presentably enough.
Melissa looked away and said seriously:
" Benson, that's a very old suit."
"Many distinguished ladies and women are attending today's birthday dinner, and I believe your attire is disrespectful to them."
Klein was initially full of questions, but after hearing Melissa's emphasis, he suddenly realized what was going on, and with a smile, he leaned closer and said:
" Benson and I are about the same size, so he can wear my other tuxedo."
He had already told his brother and sister about the new suit he had bought, saying that it was damaged by thorns while inspecting some cultural relics, and the company had generously compensated him. Of course, he concealed the fact that he had been promoted and received a raise, afraid of scaring Melissa and Benson, and planned to tell them in six months.
Benson and Melissa were very envious of this explanation, thinking that Blackthorn Security Company was truly an impeccable employer.
"Isn't that necessary?" Benson asked, still not quite understanding the situation.
"No, absolutely necessary." Klein nudged Benson by the shoulder and led him towards the stairs. "My tuxedo is hanging on the coat rack."
After watching Benson walk upstairs with a blank expression, Klein turned to Melissa and smiled:
"Do you hope Benson can use Selena's birthday dinner as an opportunity to start a beautiful relationship with a certain lady?"
He had read a lot of newspapers and magazines during this period and knew that banquets of the aristocracy and the middle class often served as matchmaking events.
Melissa nodded seriously and said:
"Yes, Benson has missed out on so much for us."
"Sis, how come you're living like Mom?" Klein looked at Melissa, then suddenly shook his head and chuckled.