Mr. F's peaceful respite was abruptly interrupted by the cacophony of loud voices and crashing noises emanating from the tavern area. His eyes narrowed as he wrapped himself in the fresh white robe that Lily had thoughtfully laid out for him. With a frown, he stepped out of the bath and made his way toward the source of the disturbance.

As he approached the tavern, the noise grew louder and more chaotic. The sounds of tables and chairs breaking, accompanied by the shattering of glass, filled the air. Upon entering the tavern area, Mr. F took in the scene: a group of men clad in rough leather armor were confronting Lily. They looked like typical street thugs, each wearing a scorpion pendant around their necks, an emblem that marked their affiliation with a local gang. The once orderly tavern was now in ruins, with broken plates and vases strewn across the floor.

Mr. F's gaze hardened as he assessed the situation. "What's going on here?" he asked, his voice steady but imbued with an unmistakable authority.

One of the thugs turned to face him, sneering in contempt. "Who are you supposed to be, old man?" he spat, his tone dripping with arrogance.

Lily, clearly distressed and struggling to maintain her composure, attempted to step forward, but one of the thugs grabbed her arm roughly, pulling her back. "Stay out of this," he growled, his grip tightening as Lily winced in pain.

Mr. F's eyes darkened at the sight, a flicker of anger igniting within him. "I suggest you let the lady go and leave this place immediately," he said, his voice calm but laced with a deadly undertone.

The thug who appeared to be the leader of the group laughed derisively, clearly unimpressed. "And what are you going to do about it, old man?" he taunted, his confidence unwavering.

Mr. F took a deep breath, and in an instant, the atmosphere in the room shifted dramatically. The very air seemed to hum with a hidden power, an invisible force that sent a shiver down the spines of the thugs. Even they, dull and brutish as they were, could sense that something was terribly amiss.

"Last chance," Mr. F warned, his voice now a low, menacing growl. "Leave now, or face the consequences."

The leader hesitated for a brief moment, uncertainty flashing across his face, but then he scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. "Get him!" he barked, commanding his men to attack.

The thugs lunged toward Mr. F, but before they could even reach him, he raised his hand. With a simple gesture, the men were hurled back as if struck by an invisible tidal wave. They crashed into the walls and tables, groaning in pain and clutching their bruised bodies.

Mr. F stepped forward, his eyes blazing with a fierce, almost otherworldly power. "Next time, think twice before causing trouble in this establishment," he said coldly, his words carrying the weight of a threat that left no room for doubt.

The thugs, now terrified and desperate to escape, scrambled to their feet and fled the tavern, leaving behind a stunned and deeply grateful Lily. She looked up at Mr. F, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and relief. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Mr. F nodded, his expression softening as he regarded her. "It's nothing, Lily. Now, let's get this place cleaned up."

With a simple flick of his wrist, a small whirlwind formed in the center of the tavern, gathering all the shattered glass, broken wood, and other debris into its swirling vortex. With another wave of his hand, the whirlwind swept the collected debris out of the window, depositing it in a neat pile outside the tavern. Lily watched in astonishment, her breath catching in her throat as she murmured, "Telekinetic power... You're a Tier 6 mage," she said in amazement, her voice barely above a whisper.

Although Lily herself was only a Tier 2 mage, she knew from her studies that only mages of the sixth tier and above possessed the ability to move objects with their will alone.

Mr. F offered a modest smile. "Just a small trick," he replied, his tone dismissive. "Now, tell me, what exactly is going on with these bandits?" he asked, his curiosity piqued and his expression turning serious once more.

Lily took a deep breath, still reeling from the extraordinary display of magic she had just witnessed. "Those men... they're part of a local gang that's been terrorizing this district for months now. They call themselves the Scorpions. They extort money from businesses, threaten shopkeepers, and destroy property if they don't get what they want."

Mr. F listened intently, his face growing more severe with each passing word. "And the authorities? What are they doing about this?" he asked, though he already had a grim suspicion.

Lily shook her head in frustration. "The guards are either too scared to intervene or are being bribed to look the other way. It's been like this for a while, and the people here have no one to turn to."

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Mr. F's frown deepened. "That's unacceptable," he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for disagreement. "No one should have to live in fear in their own home."

Lily nodded, her eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and a glimmer of hope that had long been absent. "Thank you, Mr. F. It means a lot to hear someone say that."

Mr. F smiled reassuringly, though his mind was already turning over possibilities. "We'll see what can be done about these Scorpions. But first, let's make sure the tavern is in good shape. I have a feeling this place will be lively again soon enough."

Lily returned his smile, her spirits lifted by his confidence. She had a feeling that with Mr. F's help, things might finally start to change for the better in this troubled district.

As the night drew on, Mr. F decided it was time to leave the tavern and explore the city. The problem of his dwindling lifespan still loomed large in his mind, and he needed inspiration—perhaps even a breakthrough—to plan his next steps. It was dusk, and the city was bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. Sporadically, he saw children playing in the streets, their laughter echoing off the stone walls, while merchants began to close their stalls for the evening. However, these businesses of the common folk were not his target. He set his sights on the city center, where the wealthier population resided, hoping to find what he sought.

In the heart of the city, a large plaza stretched out before him, bustling with activity despite the late hour. Many shops with elegant signs and graceful decorations lined the streets, catering to the city's elite. One building, in particular, caught Mr. F's eye. It bore the name "The Thistle Branch," its façade adorned with gold-colored decorations that shimmered in the last rays of sunlight. The shop's opulence was undeniable, and Mr. F sensed that this place might hold the answers or resources he needed.

As he walked through the bustling plaza, Mr. F observed the elegant shops, each one a testament to the wealth and refinement of the city's upper class. Jewelers displayed glittering gems in their windows, tailors showcased exquisite fabrics, and apothecaries boasted rare potions and elixirs. Even at this hour, the area was alive with activity, a stark contrast to the quieter outskirts of the city.

Arriving at The Thistle Branch, Mr. F took a moment to admire the craftsmanship of the building. The golden accents glowed warmly in the twilight, giving the shop an almost ethereal quality. He took a deep breath and pushed open the ornate door, stepping inside.

The interior was just as impressive as the exterior. Polished wooden floors gleamed under the soft lighting, richly upholstered furniture invited visitors to relax, and shelves lined with rare and valuable items promised to fulfill the desires of even the most discerning customers. The air was filled with a pleasant, calming scent, a subtle blend of exotic spices and fragrant flowers.

A well-dressed attendant approached him, bowing slightly in a gesture of respect. "Good evening, sir. Welcome to The Thistle Branch. How may we assist you tonight?" the attendant asked, his tone polished and professional.

Mr. F returned the bow with a polite nod. "Good evening. I'm looking for something that might extend one's life or perhaps offer insight into prolonging it. Do you have anything of that nature?" he inquired, his voice measured.

The attendant's eyes widened slightly at the request, though he quickly regained his composure. He scrutinized Mr. F from head to toe, trying to assess whether the old man before him was truly serious. However, nothing about Mr. F's plain white robe—devoid of any emblem indicating his magical tier—suggested that he was anything more than an ordinary citizen. The attendant couldn't help but feel slightly irritated, assuming Mr. F was just another commoner with unrealistic aspirations.

"I'm sorry," the attendant apologized, though his tone carried a hint of condescension. "Due to the auction happening shortly, all our life-extending elixirs have been sent for auction. If you have the time, you might try your luck there."

Mr. F furrowed his brow in thought. He had anticipated the possibility that such an elixir might be difficult to obtain, but he wanted to explore all avenues. If he couldn't purchase what he needed directly, perhaps the auction would provide an opportunity—or at the very least, a lead.

The shopkeeper, observing Mr. F's contemplative expression, found it amusing. To him, it was clear that this old man had no chance of even approaching the auction, let alone securing an invitation.

Mr. F, ignoring the attendant's condescending attitude, pressed further. "Where and when is this auction taking place?"

The attendant, still dubious but maintaining his professional demeanor, replied, "The auction will be held tomorrow evening at the Grand Hall in the center of the city. It starts at dusk. You'll need an invitation to attend."

Mr. F nodded, absorbing the information. He thanked the attendant and left the store, heading back into the bustling streets. The auction sounded like his best bet for obtaining the elixir, but now he needed to figure out how to secure an invitation.

As he walked, he considered his options. He could use his magical abilities to influence someone with an invitation, or perhaps there was a way to earn one through a task or favor. Whatever the case, he needed to act quickly.

Returning to the tavern seemed like a logical first step. Perhaps Lily might have some connections or information about the auction that could prove useful.

However, as Mr. F neared the tavern, a sense of unease settled over him. The unmistakable scent of blood hung heavy in the air, a scent that sent alarm bells ringing in his mind. His senses, honed by centuries of experience, went on high alert.

He quickened his pace, his heart pounding as he pushed open the tavern door. The scene inside was one of chaos: overturned tables, broken chairs, and shattered glass littered the floor. But what drew his attention most was the figure lying in the center of the room—Lily, motionless, a pool of blood spreading around her.

A cold fury welled up within Mr. F as he surveyed the devastation. Whoever had done this would pay dearly. The peaceful night had been shattered, and with it, any remaining vestiges of calm within him. Now, vengeance and justice would guide his hand.

In this unexpected moment of reflection, Mr. F felt an unfamiliar wave of sentimentality wash over him. It was a strange and almost alien sensation for someone who had devoted his life to the disciplined and often cold-hearted practice of Soul Magic. Years of solitude and ostracism from society had taught him to view emotions as a weakness, something that would only distract from his profound, albeit often taboo, studies.

But now, in the twilight of his years, could it be that he was becoming sentimental?