Archmage from Another World: Gaining Administrator Access [LitRPG Isekai]

32. Terms

Archibald hobbled out from the backroom with a small jar of what appeared to be green paste, a vial of red liquid, and a bolt of golden cloth. He worked swiftly at applying each, wiping the bite wound clean, slathering on a thick covering of the paste, and pressing the golden cloth against Flint's skin—perhaps it was some much-stronger version of the healing bandage Morgana had used.

"Explain what you're doing," Vesper said.

Archibald ignored her. He seemed to have taken her threat as credible, but he recognized that he didn't need to follow her commands beyond keeping Flint alive. Vesper's expression soured when the old man didn't respond, but she was hardly going to interrupt him while he was working. Could kill her brother through proxy, doing that.

Next, Archibald poured the vial of red liquid into Flint's mouth, massaging his neck to force the unconscious boy to swallow. Morgana tried to [Inspect] the potion, since it was almost certainly System-linked, a creation of an [Alchemist] if not Archibald himself, but she was rejected, the item refusing to explain itself to her. She already knew that was possible. Equipped items couldn't be [Inspected] without their owner's permission either. Likely, the potion counted as Archibald's possession and the old man had refused, either actively or passively.

After giving Flint the healing potion, or whatever it was—maybe an antivenom—Archibald tended to his head injury next. He cleaned the wound, shuffled around inside his rolling cart, and applied what he pulled out: this paste a muddy brown color. Another bolt of that golden-cloth bandage went onto the injury.

Already, Flint was looking better. The sweating and shaking had stopped, and his face was no longer screwed up in pain. He seemed to have fallen into a regular sort of unconsciousness, limbs relaxing and some of his color returning.

Seeing that, Vesper seemed dizzy with relief.

"He'll live?" she asked.

"Gonna slit my throat if he doesn't?" Archibald sneered. "I did what I could. More than you three idiots deserve."

Vesper was too relieved to match the apothecary's vitriol. She looked down at her brother, who was visibly regaining his health by the second. Whatever Archibald had given him, it was potent, and worked fast. Morgana suspected he really had given him the best he had on hand.

And if the simple bandages they could afford were already expensive, Morgana wondered how much these golden ones cost. And the poultices or mixes he'd applied to Flint's wounds. And the potion.

Regardless, the immediate threat had passed. Vesper's gambit had paid off.

Now, they were left with the enormous problem of the apothecary himself.

Vesper turned to him. Archibald read the hesitant expression on her face. His lips pulled up in scorn.

"Yes, yes, congratulations. You saved the idiot boy's life, but condemned all three of you in return. You think you'll get away with this? Attacking a healer? They'll send trackers for you. You won't even be able to flee."

This chapter upload first at NovelUsb.Com

Vesper considered him. She might have been intimidated, or stressed, but her face didn't show it. Calm brown eyes took the man in with utter calmness. A nearly unnerving ease.

Vesper had been here, done this sort of thing before—not exactly the same thing, obviously, but something close in spirit.

"We can—" Morgana started.

"Morgana," Vesper cut in. "Let me do the talking."

Her teeth clicked shut. She didn't like being a spectator to this entire event, standing around helplessly. But Morgana had the good sense to listen. When it came to threatening or forcing out a promise of silence from a difficult, spiteful old man, Vesper was by far the better suited to the task. Morgana had a set of talents she excelled in, but none were applicable here. That was the truth of the matter.

"You're right," Vesper said. "I'm pretty sure we're fucked."

Archibald paused. That, he hadn't expected. "Ah. Not entirely empty in the head. You can recognize the obvious, at least."

"If you turn us in, there's not much we could do. Threatening you is pointless also—soon as we leave, threats don't hold any weight. Not like I can stop you from showing up with guards, tomorrow or a week from now. Can't stand watch over you the rest of your life. Don't got the money to arrange something, either. And even running won't work. Of course, if guards did show up, I might get away, and come get my revenge. Or I might set something up in advance to make you regret it. But you're spiteful. You'd try anyway."

Archibald stared at her with annoyed wariness. He could sense the 'but' coming.

"But maybe we can work something out," Vesper said with a smile.

"Work something out," he repeated flatly.

She shrugged, over-casual. Her dagger remained in her hand, and Morgana wondered whether her not sheathing it was part of the act.

Act?

This wasn't an 'act.'

"The potion's gone," she said. "So is that other stuff you used. Turning us in won't do shit for recovering those losses, will they? How much was it worth?"

"More than you could ever hope to pay back, if that's what you're suggesting," he sneered.

"Ever? You sure about that? A year? Two? More? Constant payments from a delving party, and one that'll be working into deeper floors every month? Maybe we don't make much per trip now, but when we're delving lower floors?"

"You'll get yourselves killed well before you make it to the mid-ranks, idiot child." He gestured angrily at Flint. "If this wasn't proof enough. You people never learn."

"Maybe," Vesper said. "In which case you'd have the same satisfaction as seeing us hanged. Honestly, dead in a dungeon's even more brutal—so that's better. And so long as there's no hangman you'll be getting weekly payments. Like you said, we can't reasonably expect to leave town. For assaulting a healer, they really would send trackers after us. And you think we have the resources to dodge that? Us?"

Some of the smoldering hate had cooled. Archibald considered her in the way he might something that needed to be scraped from his boot, but he did consider her.

"I think I'd prefer the immediate satisfaction."

"No, you wouldn't," Vesper said with total confidence. "A regular person would've agreed to help soon as they knew I was serious, but you didn't. Had to put a knife to your throat. You're a hateful old man, sure, but that's only half an explanation. What I think is," she said, "you need the money. Bad. And you were counting on making a profit on whatever fancy healing items you used on Flint. We fucked that up for you. So now you need to keep us around to squeeze us as much as you can, because a partial payback is better than nothing."

Archibald stared. "Interesting theory," he said.

Even Morgana could read the bluff in his voice—him pretending that Vesper hadn't hit the nail on the head.

How had Vesper guessed all of that? It wasn't that much of a stretch, no enormous leap of deduction, Morgana supposed, but she certainly hadn't been thinking clearly enough to make that analysis. Then again, people had never been her strong suit.

"And we will pay it back, eventually," Vesper said. "In full. Increasing payments every week. That or we'll die in the dungeon. You win either way. Only way you lose is throwing us to the gallows. Guess it would be satisfying, though."

The two of them engaged in a brief staring contest. Morgana could see the conflict in his eyes. He was tempted to get his revenge, even if Vesper was right about him needing the money. And he was a wild card, because his hostility in face of a woman who had literally pressed a dagger to his throat spoke to no small level of disregard for his safety. This man wasn't some stable, rational actor that they could trust, even if a reliable promise of future payments could be given.

The staring was interrupted by weak coughing. Vesper turned immediately to check on her brother, but Flint hadn't woken—though the coughing, feeble as it sounded, seemed like a good sign rather than a poor one. Indeed, even since the start of Vesper's negotiation with Archibald, Flint seemed to have improved massively.

When it became clear Flint wasn't conscious, Vesper faced back to Archibald.

"Well," she said, shrugging. She sheathed her dagger. "It's in your hands now. I've said my piece. And…for what's it worth…he's my brother. I had to do something." She grimaced. "I'm…sorry."

If Vesper had thought a genuinely offered apology, however reluctantly given, would mean anything to Archibald, she was sorely mistaken. That only brought the scorn back in full effect. He outright sneered at her.

"If you cared about him, you wouldn't have brought him into the dungeon. What the hell were you doing, dragging an unclassed to the second floor? Idiotic. Malicious, if you ask me. You were trying to get him killed."

Vesper shared a brief, stricken look with Morgana, one of the few times she'd looked over. Morgana could read her expression; a part of Vesper agreed with what he'd just said. A chill went down Morgana's spine, because maybe he was right. What had they been doing, going down into the second floor, much less tackling a boss, in their current state?

Sure, there were extenuating circumstances, and they'd had arguments for why it should have been safe, but why hadn't they played things actually safe? Stayed on the first floor until they'd geared up and gotten Flint a class? Hell, even if they'd taken more precautions in general, this worst-case scenario could've been avoided. The short of it was that the three of them had gotten greedy, and Flint had paid for it.

Well, all of them would be paying for it now, but Flint especially.

"How long till he's up and walking?" Vesper asked.

"Awake?" Archibald grunted. "Soon. Walking? Clear-headed? No idea."

Vesper eyed him, and Archibald returned the foul look twice over.

"There's a limit to what even a healer can do. The boy ought to be dead. He isn't. I did everything I could—he had a prince's treatment. Don't blame me if he's crippled or stupid, now."

Morgana's stomach turned. "Is that likely?"

Archibald turned the venomous look her way. He seemed to have forgotten she existed, briefly.

"No idea," he said. "All there is to do is wait and find out."