“...Hmm. Five bottles of ‘Wormblood Brew.’ Sa quality as last ti.”
“Or, at the very least, ‘The Bulwark’ potion. Sa grade.”
“How does that sound?”
“As for my friend…”
“You can trust them. In strength and reputation.”
Pandora eyed the price.
Five bottles of high-quality Wormblood Brew. For any other alchemist, just getting the materials would be a month-long headache. The brutal success rate was a price all its own.
But for her…
The corner of Pandora’s lips quirked.
She didn’t hesitate. Her fingertip tapped the Palmfiend.
“Deal!”
The price was well within her range. More importantly, it bought ti.
“The Snow’s” connections and efficiency were worth the cost.
“You’re fast.” The Snow seed pleased with the swift decision. “Then tell the ti, the place, and what you need her to do. I’ll contact her right away.”
Pandora quickly fired back a long ssage, laying out the terms of the trade and the exact job she needed done.
The most crucial part: “Pin down a Third-Rank for a set period of ti. At a specific ti and place.”
To make that happen, this friend—who had to be at least a Third-Rank herself—needed to be in a designated spot near the Garden in advance. If she was late, the whole arrangent was useless.
And why not just hire the friend to help kill Wilbur?
“Killing a Third-Rank” and “blocking a Third-Rank for a while” were two completely different concepts. Not just in difficulty, but in risk.
It wasn’t just about the money. It was about Blighted Hand Wilbur’s boss, The Blood Tonic Aldrich, and the potential follow-up trouble from the whole Ascension Road faction.
To find, on such short notice, a powerful, willing Third-Rank to take on an “interception” mission to cover her escape…
Pandora was already satisfied.
Besides, this was just insurance. A plan for the worst-case scenario: “the plan fails.”
If she didn’t have a real shot, she’d just drop the whole “counter-kill” idea.
To truly kill Blighted Hand Wilbur…
she needed power that could match his.
..................
After sending the last of the confirmations—the trade details, coordinates, and contact signals—the ssage screen from The Snow went dark. The other side needed ti to contact their friend.
Pandora wasn’t in a rush.
She had the Palmfiend in her palm curl up and retreat back into its hidden compartnt in her backpack.
She straightened her collar, took a deep breath, and pushed open the side room door, walking back into the main room.
Her own efficiency had been high; less than two minutes had passed.
Glancing up, she saw Nicole’s was no less impressive.
With her brain running hot, almost overclocking, Nicole had already sketched the frawork of the plan onto the blueprints.
Seeing Ember return, she imdiately pointed to a few key points on the drawing and rattled off the details at a blistering pace.
They confird the most critical bits in a flash: the trigger, the signal, the priority order for the escape routes.
After getting Ember’s final nod, Nicole packed up the drawings, gave her a parting nod, and headed for the door. She needed to get back to her place and start preparing the most ti-consuming part of the plan: her “special thod.”
As for Pandora, or rather Ember,
she stayed.
She walked back to the window, her gaze cutting through the rain and fog toward the Botanical Garden, toward the flickering lights and shadows of the battle.
She was waiting.
Waiting for the final confirmation from The Snow.
Once the help was in place, her insurance policy was active.
Then, her own part of the plan could…
truly begin.
..................
Several kiloters away.
A high-rise bar.
In a past life, it was a gleaming glass tower. Now, after humanity’s grand exit, it was just another skeleton in the ruin.
Without maintenance, the building’s facade was a web of cracks. Pipes had burst long ago, leaving brown tear-stains from ceiling to floor. Black mold spread across the walls like a living thing.
The luxury apartnts that once commanded a fortune, symbols of status and wealth, were now just hollow windows, the empty eye sockets of a skull, staring indifferently at the broken city.
But on the 17th floor, things were different.
The floor had been a “sky bar” with a viewing terrace. Most of the equipnt was trashed, but the massive floor-to-ceiling glass panes were still intact, holding back the wind.
The space was vast, but not silent.
Faintly echoing through the air was a soft, soothing lody, though with the crackly hiss of an old recording.
The music ca from a record player next to the bar, its brass shell rusted. It was an antique even back before the Fall, a true fossil from another era. After the city fell, it was pulled from so deep ruin, cleaned up, and brought back to life with a new needle and a few replacent parts.
Now, its slightly trembling needle pressed against the spinning black vinyl, faithfully playing a classic tune that had survived a hundred years.
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