It was easy to say "I'll take the commission," but in reality, this was a "Hard-Mode" quest...
After Glenn left, a few more regular customers stopped by Garlan's stall and bought the remaining five vials. Checking the stone clock on the plaza tower, he saw it wasn't too late yet, so he decided to stop by Locke's place one more time to try his luck before heading out of the city.
The result was as expected. The difficulty of harvesting this particular herb was so high that there was zero circulation in the open market—and even among underground dealers, it was non-existent.
"Look, let's get one thing straight. Red Mirror Flowers? I can't guarantee I can get those for you even if you beg. And didn't you say you were done with that kind of dangerous business?"
Locke was sprawled haphazardly in his chair, a wine bottle dangling precariously from his right hand. His face was as red as a tomato—though it was always somewhat red—and he was practically spitting as he shouted at Garlan.
"The things you're asking for are getting harder and harder to find! Do you think I'm the All-Knowing Goddess?"
"Give it a rest. If the Goddess were a scruffy, middle-aged alcoholic who didn't know how to use a comb, Glenn would probably cut off his own arm out of sheer despair."
The moment Garlan entered, he was hit by a wall of boozy breath. He pinched his nose, frowning. The smell was even worse than last time; he honestly wondered how Locke hadn't drunk himself into a grave yet.
"Alcohol is a medicine that cures a hundred ailments! They say the great Priest Heiter of the Holy Capital used to say the same... Hic!" He let out a loud, wet burp.
That 'Corrupt Priest'... how many people has he led astray with that logic?
"Anyway," Locke continued, "while I don't have the flower, I can give you a lead on the Red Mirror Dragons as a professional courtesy. Hic!"
"Go on."
"South of Rohguri. Deep in that massive forest, there's a sheer canyon. Word among adventurers is that there's a nesting ground there. Whether your flowers are there, I don't know. Maybe the dragons ate them as appetizers."
Garlan rose slowly and picked up his case, eager to escape the suffocating air of the shop. No wonder Lia looked so haggard after staying here just one night; anyone would wilt in this environment.
"Thanks. This helps a lot."
"You aren't planning on going yourself, are you? That's not your style. You're a pharmacist—are you rushing off to be a side dish for a dragon?"
"I don't want to get involved in this mess either, but I took on a troublesome commission." Garlan looked back at him and gave a thin smile. "Besides, don't underestimate a pharmacist."
He pulled the old wooden door shut, his figure melting into the shadows of the dim alleyway.
"Garlan? You said you'd be back before sunset."
Lia was sitting at the dining table, her legs dangling and swinging back and forth out of habit. By the time Garlan finished with Locke and made it home, the sky had been dark for quite a while.
Two bowls of cold mushroom stew sat on the table. It seemed she had been waiting for him so they could eat together.
"Sorry. I took a commission from an old friend. If I'm late next time, just eat without me. No need to wait."
Over the last few days, the two had grown comfortable with each other. While Lia was occasionally mischievous like a child, she was mostly well-behaved and considerate. After tasting Garlan's cooking once, she had insisted on learning. After wasting nearly half a week's worth of ingredients, she had finally mastered the mushroom stew. Garlan could now officially trust her to "conquer" the kitchen on her own.
Garlan set his briefcase on the cabinet, hung his coat, and sat down. He took a sip of the lukewarm broth.
It wasn't too salty, nor too bland. For him, it was just "passable," but for Lia, it must have taken a great deal of effort to get it right. Still, the feeling of coming home to a warm (or at least, waiting) meal was a strange one. Having lived alone since his reincarnation, having someone to share a space with felt... surprisingly good.
"You've improved a lot."
Hearing the praise, Lia beamed. Her lips curled into a proud, triumphant little smile.
"Garlan, you seem troubled."
For a while, the only sound was the two of them chewing. Even though it was cold, Garlan was hungry enough to find it delicious.
"Is it because of that commission?"
"Yeah," he answered vaguely, his mouth full of thick soup. "Can you tell just by looking? That 'gift' of yours is really something."
"I don't even need the gift to see this. Your expression is very heavy."
It was true. His brow hadn't unfurrowed since he left the city gates.
"It's a tricky one. I'm just hoping my luck holds out."
Going head-to-head with a Red Mirror Dragon wasn't a guaranteed loss—he recalled that Stark could take one down single-handedly—but the rumors said there were at least three in that canyon.
Are they social creatures now? That shouldn't be right...
If there was only one, he might get lucky and find the nest empty while it was out hunting. But with three? The odds of all of them being away at once were slim to none.
Garlan sipped his soup, his teeth clicking against the rim of the wooden bowl even after it was empty. He still hadn't fully gauged his own combat ceiling. He didn't know how a battle with a dragon would end. His predecessor's memories were full of assassinating humans, not slaying monsters. Shadow Warriors weren't exactly built for monster hunting.
Whatever. I'm a transmigrator. I won't know if I can do it until I try. Hesitating gets me nowhere.
He set the bowl down and took a large, aggressive bite of bread. He decided to head out tomorrow morning to scout the area and see if the flowers even existed.
"Garlan, can you teach me magic?"
While Garlan had been lost in thought, Lia had been watching him intently.
"Eh? Why the sudden interest? Yesterday you wanted to learn how to make hamburger steaks."
"Those two things don't conflict at all!"
"But I'm a warrior. Asking me to teach you magic is..."
He was about to say it was impossible, but then he thought of Fern. Since Lia had a similar talent—that terrifyingly fast casting speed—perhaps the training methods were universal. He could recreate the basics based on his knowledge of the world's lore. But for the finer details? He was no mage.
"Fine. I have some 'unorthodox' ways to help you train your mana. But I can't guide you on the technical stuff. As for spells... just focus on mastering [Basic Offensive Magic] and [Defense Magic] until they're second nature."
If she wanted to learn, it wasn't a bad thing. Garlan could feel the massive amount of mana she possessed now that she had recovered. If she trained well, she would eventually become a mage who could stand on her own. Then, he wouldn't have to worry about her anymore.
Though, given an elf's lifespan, he might not live long enough to see that day.
"Well, Garlan isn't a mage after all..." Lia muttered.
"But maybe I can find you a real teacher," Garlan said.
"Really?" Lia's eyes sparkled with anticipation.
"Maybe. Just don't get your hopes too high."
___
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