Listening to Phantom's words, Azhriel's eyes widened slightly. Someone—a demonic human—had died only a week ago.

That couldn't be a simple coincidence.

'If my guess is right… the demonic human is one of the seven I killed at the old museum.' He thought.

The pieces began to fall into place, forming a clear hypothesis in his mind.

Somehow, one of those seven had discovered Noel's skill in potion-making through the Black Market.

Then, he must have learned about Noel's family situation—likely through the information guild or another source.

After that, he probably approached Noel with the Phoenix Heart. Faced with his son's life on the line, Noel would have had no choice but to agree.

But when Azhriel killed the seven, that particular demonic human would have died as well, taking the deal with him.

Then Noel, believing he would never receive the Phoenix Heart, had decided to steal it himself.

And since the Phoenix Heart was a rare resource coveted by many, the demons had inevitably come for Noel.

Azhriel exhaled slowly, the sound quiet but heavy.

Just a single moment of my involvement… and so many things have already changed. It's insane.

His eyes narrowed faintly as the thought lingered. Well, it's not like I didn't want to change the plot… but oh well, let's deal with this first.

The chair legs scraped softly against the floor as he stood, pulling his hood down over his head. "Let's go."

"Where to, boss?" Phantom asked, rising as well.

"We're going to save my mone—uhm, soon-to-be potion and artifacts maker," Azhriel replied, the slip in his tongue masked with a quick, casual tone.

Phantom tilted his head slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. "Are you sure you're not just a conman, boss?"

"Heh, if I'm a conman, then you'd be the biggest fool for following one," Azhriel shot back, a glint of amusement in his eyes. They stepped out of the cabin, the door shutting with a dull thud behind them.

Behind Azhriel, Phantom's eyes shimmered faintly with a strange hue. The glow flickered once, then faded as his expression tightened.

Again.

It had never failed before—not even once. Yet, on this teenage-looking boy, his ability had failed twice. That alone was enough of a reason for Phantom to follow him.

"So Boss, how are we going to find him in the market?" Phantom asked, his tone curious but calm.

Without turning back, Azhriel answered, "If the demons are at his back and he's already survived a scandal, that means he's not the type to surrender that easily. Wherever there's commotion, that's where we'll find him."

Boom.

The sharp echo of an explosion rolled in from their right, rattling a few loose shutters along the street.

Azhriel's head turned slightly toward Phantom, a faint smirk pulling at his lips. "See that? That's where we'll find our guy."

*****

"Wow, that was some really nice acting."

The voice was calm, almost casual, yet it carried a weight that made the shopkeeper freeze mid-motion. Slowly, like the groan of an old door, he turned his head toward the source.

A boy stood there, his black hair darker than midnight, his eyes glowing with an azure light that seemed to pierce through the dim air of the stall.

A faint, knowing smile curved his lips as he looked straight at the shopkeeper.

The man forced his composure back, his features hardening. His eyes narrowed into thin slits, the glare sharp as needles. "Who are you, brat? And what are you talking about?" he growled.

"Oh, look at you trying to be scary," Azhriel replied, his tone edged with amusement. Then his voice dropped, deep and deliberate. "Stop it. We have to hurry, Noel."

The name landed like a blade.

The shopkeeper flinched, the mask of hostility cracking for a split second. "H-how—" he began, but his own words died as he shut his mouth abruptly.

"There now," Azhriel said lightly, "admitting it yourself."

Noel's body blurred, his form flickering as the power of the Artifact faded away.

The glow that had hidden his true appearance dimmed into nothing, leaving his real features exposed.

The Artifact itself caught Azhriel's interest—its energy, its nature—but he kept silent. Now wasn't the time.

"H-how… do you know?" Noel asked, his voice trembling as his uncovered face met Azhriel's gaze.

"Pretty obvious," Phantom said as he stepped in, his tone dry. "When there's a literal hand sticking out from under the stall table."

Noel turned sharply, and his breath caught. Indeed, there was a pale hand protruding from beneath the wooden counter, motionless. He swallowed hard.

"S-so… does that mean—" His voice cracked under the weight of dread.

"Yes," Azhriel answered smoothly, cutting him off. "You can't fool the ones who are literal workers of deception."

Noel's face drained of all color.

"Now that you're aware of your… dire situation," Azhriel continued, his tone shifting to something almost warm, "let's talk business." He gave a smile that was carefully measured—pleasant, inviting.

But to Phantom, it was the grin of a man who had just found his next victim. He shook his head faintly, already guessing how this would play out.

After all, not too long ago, it had happened to him.

"I'll be straight to the point—since we don't know when we'll be attacked," Azhriel said, pulling a folded sheet of paper from his space ring and placing it in Noel's hand.

"Work for me."

"What the fuck? Are you a peddler or something?" Noel stared at him, completely dumbfounded. He was running for his life, and this random stranger was… offering him a job?

Azhriel didn't even blink. As he extended the paper.

"Read it."

Noel hesitated, suspicion etched into his face, but eventually unrolled the scroll.

His eyes moved quickly over the words—then his expression darkened. His hand trembled, as a vein bulged at his temple, and his jaw locked tightly.

"I'm sorry—you're not a peddler," Noel said, his voice rising into a sharp shout. "No, you're a fucking scammer! A goddamn scammer!"

His voice echoed in the shop as he pointed accusingly at the paper. "What the hell is this? 'Work anytime I ask'? And this ridiculous income share—eighty to twenty?! Do you want me to be your slave or something?"

"Huh, I thought it was fair. After all, I'm saving your life." Azhriel tilted his head slightly, his tone almost innocent. "That guy works for me at sixty-forty." He pointed at Phantom.

"You fucker…" Noel growled, his whole body taut, fists clenching like he was one second away from lunging at Azhriel.

"Oh well, that's a shame. I thought a genius like you would love to work with Atherium. But it's your choice—maybe I'll find someone else," Azhriel said, his tone almost casual.

"If you're going to lie, at least make it believable. A kid like you talking about Atherium and offering me a chance to work with it? How ridiculous. Haha." Noel let out a mocking laugh, shaking his head as if the very idea were absurd.

Azhriel only smiled, saying nothing.

"Hey, boy, do you even know what Ather—" Noel's voice stopped mid-sentence. His eyes went wide, his jaw slackening so much it looked like it might hit the floor.

Resting in Azhriel's hand was a small piece of violet-blue metal. Though modest in size, the energy it radiated was overwhelming—deep, heavy, and undeniably real.

"H-how—?" Noel stuttered, his hand instinctively reaching out, only for Azhriel to draw the piece back before he could touch it.

"W-wait, kid, let me see it! I need to know if it's real!" Noel said quickly, his voice betraying his sudden urgency as he stepped closer.

Got you, Azhriel thought, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he finally placed the ore into Noel's trembling hands.

"It's real. Damn, this is real Atherium," Noel breathed, turning the small ore in his hands, inspecting it from every angle. In his awe, he seemed to forget entirely about the serpent heads lurking nearby.

"You can work with much more if you decide to come under me. Oh, and I'll take care of your family too," Azhriel said evenly.

Noel fell silent, the weight of the offer settling over him.

"Fifty-fifty, and I'll work for you," Noel countered at last.

In an instant, a thin thread of energy whipped out, snatching the ore from his grasp and returning it to Azhriel's palm.

"It seems you just don't want to see another day," Azhriel said with a sigh, turning away. "Let's go, Phantom."

"No, wait! How about sixty-forty? Please—having more than half is already huge, you know!" Noel called out, desperation creeping into his tone.

Azhriel didn't stop, but his path shifted. He walked casually toward a stall, his fingers closing around a knife resting on the counter.

"This is your last chance, Noel Arvis," he said, his voice calm but edged with steel. "Seventy-thirty… or death." His azure eyes flared, casting an almost ethereal glow in the dim light.