Holding the bundle of herbs wrapped in brownish-yellow paper, Bogda left "Rosen's Folk Herb Shop" in a daze.
While waiting for the tram, he suddenly came to a realization:
Had he just spent a full 10 pounds on this little packet of stuff?
That was close to a month's salary!
If he hadn't trusted Anna and Joyce, he would never have brought so much cash to the Divination Club!
Could it be that Mr. Moretti only charged 8 pence for a divination session to partner with the unscrupulous owner of Rosen's Herb Shop and make a bigger profit? This, this was exactly like a classic scam case in the newspapers! Connecting everything that happened, Bogda actually started to suspect Klein, and even began to doubt Joyce and Anna.
The tram stopped. He looked at the herbs in his hand, but in the end, he couldn't muster the nerve to go back. He could only board the car with a heavy heart.
…
*Rosen's Folk Herb Shop.*
The owner watched Bogda's receding figure, then suddenly turned his head and shouted toward the back door where the herbs were piled:
"Shermin, starting today, don't go buying herbs anymore."
"Why? Teacher, why?" A handsome young man with messy hair walked out.
The owner chuckled and said:
"This is the sixteenth customer who came because of my reputation. If this continues, I think the Nighthawks, the Punishers, and the Machinery of Desire will notice me. It's time to consider moving to another city."
"Then do we need to transfer the shop?" Shermin nodded in sudden understanding and asked with concern.
The owner gave a snort. "If you want to stay, you can be the owner of this shop. You're skilled enough at identifying herbs and mixing potions. Of course, remember to deposit fifty percent of your monthly profits into my anonymous account at Backlund Bank."
"But I haven't learned the things you're truly good at yet." Shermin was both tired of the lifestyle of never staying in a city for more than a year and reluctant to part with the wonderful formulas his teacher was skilled in.
The owner sat down in a lounge chair, swaying leisurely. "That's not something you can learn just by wanting to…"
…
A cup of blackish-green boiling liquid appeared before Bogda. The smell of dirty socks, the color that made one want to vomit — all of it made him deeply question his actions today.
Freshly drawn rooster blood was dripped into the potion. Bogda's father looked at him worriedly. "I think surgery is the best option."
The small amount of rooster blood swirled a few times in the boiling liquid before disappearing. Bogda took a deep breath. "If this potion doesn't work, I'll consider surgery."
"The Lord will bless you." Bogda's father made the triangular holy emblem over his chest.
After the liquid cooled, Bogda clung to the thought of not wasting the 10 pounds. He raised his right hand, closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and gulped down the entire potion.
A foul stench mixed with the smell of blood lingered in his mouth, almost making him throw up everything he had just drunk.
That night, Bogda found that he had eaten something bad, and he went to the bathroom a full six times. It wasn't until the Crimson Moon was about to disappear that he finally fell into a drowsy sleep.
Some time later, he suddenly woke up, because he had dreamt of his boss yelling at him.
"Thankfully, I took three days of annual leave. I don't have to rush to the office." Bogda let out a relaxed sigh and suddenly realized that his spirits were exceptionally good.
This was in stark contrast to the low-energy state he had been in for the past few weeks.
Bogda instinctively reached out and pressed on the right side of his abdomen. The area that previously, with just a little pressure, couldn't bear the piercing pain, now felt normal, just with a general ache on pressure.
"It can't actually be working, can it? That pharmacist clearly looked like a charlatan…" Bogda was surprised, delighted, and confused as he turned and got out of bed, stretching his body. A feeling of health he hadn't felt in a long time had returned.
He pondered for a long time, then muttered to himself: "According to that pharmacist's instructions, I still have to take the potion twice. After I finish, I'll go to a hospital and find another physician to take a look…" "That pharmacist didn't even mention how many times a day I should drink the potion…" "…I still feel like he's some kind of swindler…"
…
Inside the office of the Civil Staff of Blackthorn Security Company, Klein had made an advance request and secured a quiet, undisturbed environment.
Holding his engraving knife, exuding his spirituality, he carefully carved incantations and symbolic signs onto two silver ornaments.
These were Hermes words for warding off misfortune, and two occult symbols representing the Evernight Goddess and the Queen of Calamity and Fear.
Besides these, Klein added the Goddess's corresponding spiritual number, "7," and related magical emblems.
Additionally, both sides of the charms and amulets had to be engraved, and what symbols, incantations, and emblems were placed on each side, their positions, and specific formats, all belonged to the advanced scope of occultism, which the versions spread among ordinary people were full of errors.