Chapter 7
In the dark elves' territory, the Sun's Tear was truly iridescent. The amber liquid inside the transparent glass vial made the bottle itself glow with that same hue. It was breathtakingly beautiful, but... the problem was the scant amount. In Korean terms, it was barely enough to fill a small soju glass to about eighty percent.
According to the count, this quantity would extend my life by roughly one month. Needless to say, it wasn't nearly enough.
"Less than you expected?"
"No, not at all. Even this much must have cost a fortune... I am truly grateful."
"It's only good for a month. I know full well that's not sufficient. But this was the best I could manage. Sun's Tear isn't something you can just buy with money, no matter how much you have."
The count let out a slight sigh.
"It's a supply issue—too many people chasing it. Sure, it's used as medicine for rare diseases like yours, but knights, mages, and spiritists prize it as an elixir that boosts their mana capacity. Demand outstrips supply every time. And since it can't be mass-produced, shortages are inevitable."
His words made me clutch the vial tightly. A medicine you couldn't buy even with money. Until now, I'd been so obsessed with scraping together cash after my terminal diagnosis that I never looked into how Sun's Tear was made or distributed. What if it suddenly ran out just when I needed it most? Worry crept in, but I shook my head to dispel the thoughts.
For now, it bought me one more month. That was what mattered.
I stood and bowed deeply to the count. "Thank you, Count. This was exactly what I needed."
"If you keep thanking me every time, your back's going to give out."
I looked at him, puzzled. He grinned back at me.
"You're a pretty important figure in my territory now. Can't have you dropping dead from some incurable disease. I've already worked out a plan for a stable supply of Sun's Tear."
My eyes widened. "H-how? How exactly?"
"Simple enough. Go straight to the source—the producers—and ask them to supply us regularly. I've got connections in the alchemy guild. Already spoken to the guild master. Secured a promise for one vial a month."
His booming laugh eased the tension from my shoulders. This was why you networked with the elite. One massive weight on my life had just lifted effortlessly. I bowed again.
"Thank you so much, Count."
"Save the thanks and keep reading fortunes diligently. Yurtel will prosper even more thanks to you! Haha!"
The count extended his hand once more. I shook it respectfully with both of mine.
And so, I lived happily ever after in Yurtel, telling fortunes, growing rich, never worrying about Sun's Tear again, and living to a ripe old age...
...Or not.
The very next day, the alchemy guild master reneged on the deal. Naturally, the count and I were livid.
The alchemy guild master sat before us, fidgeting nervously. The count wore an incredulous expression; I looked desperate.
"What do you mean regular supply is off the table all of a sudden? Money's no object. Yurtel's a tourist hub—cash flows like water. Don't tell me you don't know who I am? I told you multiple times this was for treating the great sage here, our local luminary's terminal illness."
"I know, I know, Count. But this isn't a money problem."
I didn't need to hear the rest to know why. My Oracle skill auto-activated, after all. Whether I wanted to or not, the guild master's past and future flooded my vision—I knew his story like it was my own.
"The dark elves have halted raw material shipments, haven't they?"
The guild master's eyes bulged. "How did you know? That's not public knowledge outside our circles."
"I read it. By the way, Guild Master, you should cut back on those sweet snacks you love. Diabetes within three years. I saw you suffering complications in your old age. Avoid that, and you'll live trouble-free."
His eyes went wide as saucers. "Who... who is this gentleman?"
The count burst into hearty laughter. "Yurtel's new pride and joy! What, you don't read magazines holed up in your lab? This is the great sage who sees past and future like the back of his hand!"
"I'm buried in experiments, so I miss the gossip..."
"He's no street hustler. He foresaw my assassination attempt and warned me first. A monumental figure. He'll be Yurtel's new landmark."
The guild master glanced between us in shock, then sighed deeply with pity.
"No wonder you want regular Sun's Tear, Count—for someone like him. I'd love to provide it, but with raw materials cut off, I can't brew it even if I wanted to."
"Why? Why stop shipments out of nowhere?"
"We don't know. They just sent a notice saying it's over—no explanations since. We're going mad. Soul Flame is essential for Sun's Tear—it only grows in dark elf lands. Without it... impossible. I'm sorry."
Was this how I died? If only I could see my own future. Annoyingly, Oracle didn't work on myself.
As I hung my head grimly, the count eyed me briefly before turning to the guild master. "You have connections with the dark elves?"
"Of course. Years of trade."
"Write me a letter of recommendation. Looks like we'll have to meet their leader in person."
The guild master's eyes widened. "You mean meet the queen herself?"
"Exactly! We can't let Great Sage Aiden die like this. This affects the whole territory. Time to negotiate directly."
"That's... not a great idea, Count."
"Why not?"
"The queen's temperament is... well, putting it bluntly, foul."
"Foul?"
The guild master unleashed a torrent of pent-up grievances about the queen, lasting a good ten minutes. Summing it up in one phrase:
"Terminal paranoia patient?"
"Precisely, Count. Even if you go, she probably won't see you. Aside from her inner circle, no one's laid eyes on her. I've only met her subordinates a few times."
"What a mess..."
The count clicked his tongue and scratched his head. That's when the guild master's gaze shifted to me. Why me?
"Or we could try another approach."
"Like what?"
"You or I would get turned away at the gate. But Great Sage Aiden? Someone who peers into past and future like an open book?"
The count's expression shifted. I stared at the guild master intently too.
"Elaborate. What's your plan?"
"Dark elves are superstitious. They cling to omens, curses, native faiths—sometimes excessively. To them, a prophet who nails the future isn't just revered; he's worshiped."
The count looked at me. The guild master too. Their eyes brimmed with expectation.
"What if the Great Sage visits their village, demonstrates his power? Earn their trust, gain an audience with the queen?"
"An audience might be possible. If we're lucky, we could persuade her to resume Soul Flame exports?"
Why was everything spiraling like this? But on second thought, it wasn't a bad idea.
"Count, didn't you say you'd demolish my little fortune stall and build a proper big shop?"
"I did. Already contracted the builders. Won't be done for a while."
"So I've got time to kill anyway?"
"Right. Posted notices closing the old place and moving to bigger digs—no one'll be waiting on the street."
"Then I've got nothing better to do. A trip to dark elf territory doesn't sound half bad."
The guild master suddenly seized my hand. "Please, I beg you. You have far better odds than us. Soul Flame—plead for them to resume exports. It's vital... not just for Sun's Tear, but all sorts of potions. Please..."
His desperate gaze matched my own longing to live long. I nodded.
The count wanted his territory's new landmark alive longer. The guild master needed Soul Flame for potions. And I, obviously, wanted to survive.
Our three minds aligned.
The next day, the guild master and I set off for dark elf lands, escorted by knights dispatched by the count.
Shadow Forest. A vast, labyrinthine underground cave brimming with bizarre plants. Amid flora thriving by absorbing light from the ceiling's luminous stones lay Kaien, the dark elves' kingdom.
A realm more attuned to shadow than light, home to a melancholic yet hot-blooded race. Their leader resided in Echoing Castle, a palace with a swirling, vortex-like architecture. Even light footsteps echoed throughout, designed to thwart assassins.
And at its heart dwelt the dark elf with the most twisted temperament of all: Queen Mirien.
"Your Highness, the tribe leaders request an audience."
"Begone."
"Your Highness! It's been over a month! Please, meet with the leaders and tend to state affairs!"
"I said begone!"
The subordinates flinched at her irritable tone and retreated from her chambers.
The queen was capricious by nature. But she'd never secluded herself so abruptly before. Whispers spread among the dark elves: illness, newfound love, madness—rumors galore, none close to the truth.
"Ugh!"
Alone in her opulent room, Queen Mirien cautiously shed her clothes, gazing at her exposed body. The voluptuous, sensual form bore a hideous wound.
She endured the pain, chewing raw Soul Flame and smearing the remnants directly on the gash. But it was mere temporary relief.
The wound had festered for a decade. Flesh splitting, pus oozing—a grotesque, unnatural affliction.
Poison. A meticulously crafted chronic toxin from some unknown culprit.
The issue? No clue who. So she hid it from everyone. She trusted no one.
Couldn't trust anyone.
But exhaustion was setting in. Paranoia gnawed at her mind and body.
Over the past two months, it had worsened dramatically. She'd halted exports of Soul Flame—a key kingdom product—hoarding it all for herself, yet the agony persisted.
"Ahh... please... anyone..."
Mirien murmured to her unseen poisoner amid the pain. As always, no reply came.