Just Business
"In respect of what Venden has done for me in the past, I'll give you the antidote for twenty percent off, but that's it," she said after some deliberation. "So pony up twenty-five thousand Lights."
Fate blinked in shock. 'It's that expensive?' That was 250 gold coins!
Fate didn't have that kind of cash, but Venden had thought ahead. Fate handed Jkn-ala a small ring containing thirty thousand Lights. He waited as she counted the coins within, keeping his hand extended for the change.
Jkn-ala slipped the ring on her claw and hopped off of her chair, plodding over to a drawer from which she pulled a vial of black sludge.
"Here," she said, the thought of giving Fate his change nowhere in her mind.
Fate took it without saying anything other than a mumbled "thanks." It wasn't his money, anyway.
"Leave me now. Make sure he drinks all of it, or it won't work. And if that little brat sends someone else instead of coming himself again, I'm going to bite off his arm!"
The fregog practically dragged Fate to the door and shoved him out, slamming the door behind him and rattling the charm dangling from it.
Fate shook his head wryly, storing the sludge in his storage ring and throwing up another barrier to shield himself from the rain.
He stepped through the thin layer of water along the ground to the end of the alley, but came to a stop thirty feet away from the main street.
There, standing in front of him, was a nice-looking man with spiky black hair and brown eyes. He was average in every way, from his physique to his height and his looks, but he carried himself in a way that made Fate's instincts scream in danger.
He had on a brown, buttoned-up trench coat, brown boots, and leather gloves. No barrier protected his head from the surging rain around them, but he was dry regardless, the water flowing off of him without protest.
Even the man's Master-Stage strength only seemed like a tiny portion of the very real, very lethal threat that this man presented. He was someone that could end Fate's life with a flick of his finger, and the way he seemed to have materialized out of thin air left Fate's hair standing on end.
"Hello there," the man said with a disarming smile. Even though the rain left no room for Fate to even hear himself talk, he could hear the man's words as if they were spoken right next to his ear.
The man beckoned Fate to walk forward.
Fate obliged, seeing no benefit in denying this man, and the man in the trench coat extended his gloved hand.
"I'm going to need that antidote you got from the fregog," he asked politely.
"What antidote?" Fate asked. He wasn't sure what all the man had heard. Best to play dumb for now.
"The one you bought for Venden not-Grendeven," the man replied, his smile unwavering. His eyes, however, flickered with barely concealed bloodlust.
"I don't know what you're talking about, stranger," Fate told him. "I just bought a cure for my Familiar's fever. Water Dracoks get very intense fevers, after all."
It was something he had read about in the manual he received from the Beast Nursery. Dracoks were much less susceptible to sickness, which in turn meant that anything capable of passing by their immune systems would hit hard and hit fast.
Fate said it with a straight face and a confident tone, having lied a few times before in his life. The best lies were told when the liar was poised.
But the man was having none of it, his fingers waggling as he waited. "I know what you have. I heard your entire conversation, so there's no use in lying."
"I'm sorry, but my friend needs this to get better. I'm not giving it up." He was careful to not mention Venden by name, refusing to buy into what might have been a bluff.
"This will end with my success one way or the other," the man smiled. "The question is whether or not you'll be joining the worms in the dirt."
"An interesting question, but – " Fate suddenly broke into a sprint, rolling past the man and entering the ground with Solid Surfing. He sped through the dirt with the speed of an arrow, resurfacing three minutes later with thousands of feet and hundreds of buildings between him and the Master.
He leaned against the wall, panting. His heart hammered in his chest like the beat of a drum, each thrum threatening to leap out of his chest.
That man was a monster in human skin. That was the only way to describe such a person. Just being near him felt like Fate was about to be violently ripped to shreds like a dragon tearing into its meal.
"I hate it when they run," the assassin said, his smile turning wry much like Fate's was earlier.
When Fate had run past him in a futile attempt to escape, the spiky-haired man had done nothing. He didn't even capitalize on the slip that Fate had experienced from all of the water on the floor. There was no point.
The assassin turned around, placing his hands in his coat pockets as his brown eyes seemed to bore through the many buildings between them and land perfectly on Fate. Reluctantly, he started walking.
None of his steps made a sound, the water covering the floor not rippling at all as he walked through the city. No one paid him more than a second glance, his attire strange but not excessively so.
They were more concerned with getting out of this relentless rain. Everyone in this city learned fast to mind their own business.
When Fate started running, the assassin didn't increase his pace. But in a contradictory fashion, his speed only increased, each step covering a hundred feet each.
The Black Dragon had a target, and they didn't care who or what they had to go through to get to him.
It was nothing personal. The assassin didn't enjoy snuffing out lives.
It was just business.