Laiyale looked at the full-length mirror in the clothing store, where a middle-aged man with a stubble appeared somewhat weary, his pale face adorned with a bright red, bulbous nose. "Sir, you really ought to drink less," the half-human old lady functioning as the store manager advised while she draped a shawl over his ’daughter,’ appraising Laiyale’s profile in the mirror.
"Sorry, Madam, sometimes a man can’t help himself," Laiyale let out a sigh as he said this—he and his companion Clover had been dodging in and out of the shadows over the past week, barely managing to escape Naples and reach Rongma.
The whole affair had started half a month earlier when Laiyale got involved with ancient beings who gave him a mission to retrieve an ancient part from a ruin in the Eastern Wasteland.
It was a difficult task, but the ancient beings said that if Laiyale could accomplish it, he would be rewarded, and Laiyale asked if he could get a new body for Clover, since she was frail and sickly, and he had always wanted to help her back at the orphanage.
However, until the orphanage was breached by bandits, he had been unable to provide any real help; the only thing he could do was escape with Clover using his newly awakened Transcendent power.
With no real talent, Laiyale could only wander from place to place with Clover, fleeing from the Eastern Kingdom to the north of Farole, then following the railway southwards to Naples.
Keen to help Clover, to let her regain her health, Laiyale took on the mission, then turned his attention to the automatons in an ancient building in Naples.
Although his Illusion Technique was ineffective against machinery, Laiyale had learned from a young age how to dismantle ancient machines—the orphanage would gather mechs from ancient battlefields, dismantle them, and then sell the parts to different organizations.
Laiyale was sure that there were indeed parts he needed on the mechanical bodies in the ancient buildings of Naples.
So, taking some materials from a local workshop to make a device that could short-circuit a mech, Laiyale, with his Spell Formation talents, activated it and managed to find the parts and complete the mission with no mishaps.
During the wait for a response, Laiyale came across several "fat sheep"... well, also the literal kind, and managed to pick a substantial amount of money from their pockets, making life much easier for them for a while.
That is, until a week ago, when he received a message from the ancient beings instructing him to go to 117 East Avenue.
Out of caution, Laiyale took Clover out of the hotel and settled her in the attic of a vacant house in the West City District—an abandoned property he had confirmed.
The reason was two-fold, for safety and because it was inconspicuous.
By "clean," he meant it wouldn’t draw attention. Laiyale had recently spent a lot of money and feared attracting the local thugs—not that he was afraid of them, as ordinary thugs were no match for him, just like those he had encountered in the North; they could never catch him.
But Clover was different, sickly and vulnerable, and if she fell into the hands of these thugs, Laiyale couldn’t imagine the torment she would endure. So, with the possibility that the upcoming outing might take some time, he had to secure Clover’s safety, leave her enough food, and accordingly, Laiyale went out to buy some canned goods, as well as easily stored black bread and water, enough for Clover to survive a week without lighting a fire.
If he didn’t return by then, Clover would have to leave Naples and live in the small town in the North that Laiyale had told her about, where he had purchased a small house by the street for her to live in until he returned to her.
And if he never came back?
Laiyale didn’t say, and Clover didn’t ask.
Laiyale had never been so pessimistic before.
"Sir, that’ll be twenty-four coins," she said.
"Expensive, but the materials and craftsmanship of such clothing are worth it," Laiyale replied, taking out three ten-coin Mowishes.
"You have a fine eye," the old lady said with a smile, then went to the counter to fetch change.
Laiyale patted Clover on the shoulder and continued to reminisce about the past.
On his way to number 117, he spotted a pedestrian by the roadside, dressed in very expensive clothing, carrying a small briefcase and a bulging shoulder bag that looked like a brand new "fat sheep."
On a whim, Laiyale plucked the contents from the man’s shoulder bag.
They were two items: one was a small gold statuette with a sapphire, which would be recognized as a standard piece of art in a big city, worth much more than simply melting it down into gold bars and a gemstone.
The other item was a sticky, egg-like object.
Laiyale tossed it into the gutter—it was problematic.
The young man had to wash his hands with a bottle of Holy Water afterward, yet still suffered corrosive wounds.
This was not a good sign. Therefore, upon nearing number 117, Laiyale took the precaution of using his Illusion Technique clone—his Transcendent ability could create a perfect, standard illusion that could speak and respond in basic ways to hearing, speaking, reading, and writing.
Laiyale sent his illusion with the statuette into the premises.
Laiyale had thought this was just an unnecessary measure, but he didn’t expect that the statuette would be troublesome—outside, he saw a group of people converging on number 117.