"Black magic? Never heard of it," said the little girl, shaking her head in confusion.
"Black magic is just a human label. It includes dark arts, necromancy, and the like. Essentially, any magic that seems unfriendly to humans gets lumped under the 'black magic' hat."
"Few human mages study these spells, and those that do, keep it secret. Nobody wants to bring it up in the open."
"Because you were so badly injured, you lost the natural strand of mana in your body, which is why you can't become a normal mage."
"But if you only practice black magic, your talent is sufficient, since life force can pay the cost of black magic. And as it happens, you’re brimming with vitality." Indeed, it was too much of a coincidence; how did this girl, with a life force twenty times that of a normal person, come to be? Murphy scoffed inwardly at his own crude lie.
During the magical health check, Murphy discovered something interesting: Pepe had no mana and never would, but her vitality was exponentially greater than ordinary people's—a perfect candidate for the risky style known as Bloody Magic.
"Will you accept it? To become a bizarre mage who loses blood to cast spells?" Murphy gave his ultimatum.
"Accepted! I'll become a mage. Even the weakest is fine by me," the girl asserted firmly.
"Very well. Today, your first lesson as a Bloody Magician is to learn meditation breathing techniques to recover your health."
---
When Murphy arrived in this world, he was given a myriad of odd knowledge, which, according to the angel Anna, was a ploy by the Transference Department for good reviews. This included some botany.
As they traveled the rest of the day, Murphy taught Pepe to identify various plants in the forest and passed on a simple healing potion recipe. It would save her life when there was no time for her blood-regenerating breathing exercises.
As the sun began to set, they saw the great walls of the City of Gath.
"Blimey, the earl's town is something else. Beats old Baker's ratty town hands down," Murphy marveled at the looming ramparts. Realistically, of all his companions, only Byron had set foot in a city before. They looked exactly like a group of commoners heading to City of Gath to scrape a living—especially Pepe, the most provincial of all. They had come from a village only two days' jaunt from Gath, yet her anticipation was clear as day.
"Attention, units! The demon race's human espionage squad's first mission is about to commence; repeat your assigned aliases," decreed His Majesty, or so everyone thought.
"I'm Byron, human, thirty-five, just an average adventurer."
"I'm Murphy, human, eighteen, a low-level mage and bard, the nephew of the average adventurer, seeking fortune with my uncle."
"I'm Pepe, human, ten years old, good for nothing but odd jobs."
"I am a dog..." Buster surprisingly began to talk like a human.
"Stop, stop, stop! Ever heard of a talking dog?" Murphy hoisted Buster from the backpack to face him, "Just be a good dog. Don’t cause a scene, got it?"
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"Got it," said Buster.
"Wrong answer, blockhead."
"Whine..." Buster corrected himself.
"Good. Remember, in City of Gath, you're only a dog," Murphy asserted with satisfaction.
Even though it was nearing the time when the city gates would close, the stalls near the gate were still bustling. Murphy eyed the food stands, different from those in White Wolf City, and thought of Tyre, who couldn’t resist food. What was that chap up to now?
After a lackadaisical check by the guards, the group nonchalantly entered the city and began to gorge at the food stalls with ravenous anticipation. Pepe was all too human, having suffered three days of dry bread. Murphy, true to his otherworldly gourmand soul, and the bionic Byron, well, he just wanted to fit in.
The trio and their dog spent eighty-eight copper coins at five different food stalls right by the city gate—a fair price affordable to most commoners.
Having snuck into the city, it was time to secure lodgings. Murphy led them to an inn with a stable. The sizable inn also featured a sizable yard converted into a stable, and two stories—the lower being the tavern and the upper the lodging area. After setting up his teammates, Murphy decided to venture out.
In uncharted lands, one must rely on friends. Surveying his meager social circle, Murphy resolved to seek the aid of a friend.
---
Ever since the succubus crystal market opened with Count Reed, and thanks to some under-the-radar buzz, it didn't take long for every notable in City of Gath to hear of such treasures. Superficially lauded at the earl's banquets, in reality, everyone probed for the crystal's source. Soon, the once insignificant smuggler, Alaric, caught everyone's eye.
Profitably plumped from his last endeavor, Alaric was now among Gath's most significant merchants. No merchant can wash their hands clean of their dealings; thus, his peers didn't despise Alaric too much, viewing him merely as nouveau riche. Meanwhile, some harbored more sinister designs.
In two days, Alaric would embark on another smuggling trek to the demon lands. The cloths Mr. Toras commissioned were tidily arranged in his own warehouse, and the advance from the high society was bagged. A simple tally revealed that if this next venture went well, he'd rank among the top three wealthiest in Gath. But he knew some had set their sights on him; this journey might not be as smooth as imagined.
At nine in the evening, a bleary Alaric, worn out from a day of schmoozing at the "upper crust" gathering, stumbled home to find not a single lamp lit, which irked him.
Since stepping halfway into high society, Alaric had changed significantly. The old Alaric would grumble about the excessive use of lamp oil, but after witnessing the brilliance of the banquets, he seemed to develop a phobia of the dark. He declared that the family needn't skimp on lamp oil any longer, desiring a bright home to return to each day, but today he came back to darkness.
Once inside, the unusual silence set off alarms. The drink sobered up in an instant. "Jamie? Mary? Are you asleep?"
Alaric bellowed his family's names and shortly after heard a befuddled response: "When did I fall asleep here?"
A woman with a gentle smile and an oil lamp emerged from the bedroom, followed by a boy rubbing his eyes.
"What happened?"
"I'm not sure. I was playing with the child this afternoon, then we just fell asleep until I heard you calling."
"What about the maid? Why didn't she light the lamps?"
"Ruby took the day off, leaving just the two of us."
"Alright, then. I thought there was a burglar. Go back to sleep." Comforting his wife and child, Alaric pondered his way into his study, only to find a crystal quietly resting on his desk, a letter underneath sealed with a skull.
That instantly banished any drunkenness.
Carefully slicing open the envelope, Alaric read by the dim light:
[Dear Mr. Alaric,
Long time no see.
I've heard about your windfall in City of Gath. I'm happy for you.
You’re quicker on your feet than your competitors, proving you’re a rare talent in business.
I’m sure you appreciate the foresight of our patron more than any threat could, and I trust it will keep your loyalty intact.
As a friend, I now need a little assistance: A few of my people require sanctuary in City of Gath—that’s all.
Rest assured, this won't delay your upcoming trade.
Should you agree, go to room four on the second floor of the Silver Cup Tavern in Gath’s southern district, Jerome Street. I've left your compensation there.
P.S. My inexperienced subordinates may have inconvenienced your family, for which I apologize. Please accept this crystal as compensation.
Your kind and sincere good friend, Toras.]