Morning arrived slowly over the Southern capital.
Golden sunlight poured across the city in long streams, illuminating rooftops still damp from the previous night's rain. Water shimmered along stone streets like scattered fragments of glass, reflecting the endless movement of the waking city.
The South in daylight felt entirely different from the night.
Less mysterious.
More dangerous.
Because darkness at least concealed intentions.
Daylight revealed ambition openly.
Merchants shouted over one another in crowded streets, noble carriages rolled through intersections with armed escorts, and mercenary groups moved between taverns and guild buildings carrying weapons without restraint.
The city pulsed with life.
Chaotic.
Unregulated.
Hungry.
And at the center of that endless movement—
The Grand Southern Square stood alive beneath the burning sun.
The square was enormous.
Circular in structure, surrounded by layered stone buildings and elevated balconies where wealthy merchants and nobles observed the crowds below. Large cloth canopies stretched across sections of the market, casting shifting shadows over stalls packed tightly together.
The air itself felt heavy.
Warm winds carried the scent of grilled meat, medicinal herbs, sweat, leather, and burning incense all at once.
Voices overlapped endlessly.
Negotiations.
Arguments.
Laughter.
Threats disguised as polite conversation.
Everything existed here.
And among the countless merchants and wandering adventurers—
Kel stood quietly behind a modest wooden stall.
His appearance had changed subtly.
Enough.
His black coat had been replaced by simpler dark-gray travel attire layered beneath a sleeveless outer robe commonly worn by Southern craftsmen. Leather gloves concealed his hands while a cloth hood rested loosely behind his neck.
The mask was gone.
In its place—
An ordinary face.
Calm.
Forgettable at first glance.
Exactly as intended.
Only his eyes remained unchanged.
Sharp.
Quiet.
Watching everything.
Several small glass vials rested neatly upon the stall before him.
Potions.
Five already missing.
Kel observed the crowd silently while adjusting one of the bottles beneath the sunlight.
Golden liquid shimmered faintly within the glass.
Pure.
Stable.
Far beyond normal quality.
Sairen's voice echoed softly through the soul-link.
"…You are intentionally underselling yourself."
Kel's fingers paused briefly.
"Of course."
His reply came calmly.
Far away—
At Scarder Lake—
Sairen sat upon the mist-covered waters, observing through his senses once more. Her pale silver hair drifted softly around her as she watched the crowded Southern square with quiet fascination.
"…Those potions alone would attract attention from royal alchemists."
A faint pause.
"Yet you sell them from a street stall."
Kel's gaze shifted toward a passing group of adventurers.
"Attention is exactly the point."
Sairen narrowed her eyes slightly.
Then understood.
Not excessive attention.
Controlled attention.
The kind that spread naturally.
Believably.
Kel needed people to associate "Heral" with quality.
Not mystery.
Not nobility.
But skill.
And slowly—
It was working.
Earlier that morning, an injured adventurer had purchased one of Kel's recovery potions after doubting its effectiveness.
The result—
Immediate healing.
Not miraculous enough to appear suspicious.
But refined enough to silence criticism instantly.
After that—
Sales followed naturally.
A middle-aged mercenary approached the stall now, studying the remaining potions carefully.
"You made these yourself?"
His voice carried skepticism.
But also interest.
Kel nodded once.
"Yes."
Calm.
Simple.
The mercenary picked up one of the bottles carefully.
The liquid inside glowed faintly emerald beneath sunlight.
"…This purity level…"
His brows furrowed.
"…you're charging too little."
Kel replied without hesitation.
"I'm building reputation first."
The mercenary stared at him for a second longer before laughing quietly.
"Dangerous way to do business in the South."
Kel's expression remained still.
"I know."
The mercenary purchased two potions.
Then left.
Nearby merchants had already begun observing him discreetly.
Some curious.
Some wary.
Because in the South—
Anything valuable appearing suddenly was either opportunity…
Or danger.
Sometimes both.
Hours passed slowly beneath the burning sun.
The square grew more crowded as noble carriages and guild representatives began appearing more frequently.
And eventually—
The atmosphere shifted.
Subtly.
But clearly.
People moved aside instinctively.
Not out of fear.
But recognition.
A carriage bearing dark silver insignias entered the square accompanied by mounted guards. Their armor was polished but functional, carrying visible signs of real combat rather than ceremonial decoration.
At the center—
Landon Veil.
He rode calmly through the square atop a black warhorse, dressed in refined dark attire suited for Southern nobility. His long coat carried silver embroidery along the shoulders and sleeves, while a sword rested naturally at his waist.
He no longer looked like merely a knight.
He carried authority now.
Not inherited.
Earned.
The surrounding crowd lowered their voices slightly as he passed.
Whispers spread naturally.
"Viscount Veil…"
"…that's him…"
"…the Northern-born noble…"
Kel observed quietly.
Then—
At the exact moment Landon approached his stall—
He acted.
"Good morning, Lord Landon!"
Kel's voice rose clearly enough for nearby people to hear.
Warm.
Respectful.
Perfectly natural.
Landon's horse slowed immediately.
His gaze shifted toward the stall.
Toward Kel.
Sairen's voice echoed faintly with amusement.
"…You two are terrible actors."
Kel ignored her.
"I hope your day will be pleasant, my lord."
Kel continued smoothly while lifting a small crimson potion bottle from the table.
"To make it even better…"
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"…this potion will prevent the Southern heat from draining your stamina."
Nearby merchants immediately looked over.
Interested.
Curious.
Because openly speaking to a Viscount required confidence.
And confidence usually meant value.
Landon dismounted slowly.
Controlled.
Measured.
His expression remained calm as he approached the stall.
"Oh?"
His voice carried faint interest.
"A stamina potion?"
Kel nodded respectfully.
"Yes, my lord."
Landon took the potion carefully.
Examining it beneath sunlight.
The liquid shimmered brilliantly within the crystal bottle, its purity immediately obvious to anyone experienced with alchemy.
Several nearby adventurers visibly reacted.
Even merchants leaned slightly closer.
Landon uncorked the bottle.
The scent alone caused his brows to rise faintly.
Then—
Without hesitation—
He drank it.
The effect spread almost instantly.
Warmth moved through his body like flowing fire, dispersing accumulated fatigue and restoring mental clarity at an alarming speed.
Landon's eyes narrowed slightly.
Not because the potion was suspicious—
But because it was genuinely excellent.
"…Interesting."
He looked directly at Kel now.
"How long have you been making potions, Mister…?"
Kel bowed his head slightly.
"My name is Heral."
A brief pause.
"And I have been making potions for approximately two years, my lord."
Whispers spread faintly around them.
Two years?
Impossible.
The potion quality suggested someone far more experienced.
Landon studied him carefully.
Then spoke again.
"I currently require a skilled potion maker for my guild."
The surrounding crowd quieted further.
Attention deepened instantly.
Landon continued calmly.
"If you agree…"
A slight pause.
"…I will provide every material and resource you require."
Kel lowered his gaze thoughtfully.
As though considering the proposal seriously.
Exactly as planned.
"I am honored by your offer, Lord Landon."
His voice remained respectful.
"However…"
A brief hesitation.
"…I am currently bound by another contract."
Landon's expression remained composed.
"I see."
"But…"
Kel lifted his head slightly.
"…once my work is completed…"
A faint smile appeared.
"…I will gladly visit your mansion."
The surrounding crowd absorbed every word carefully.
A Viscount personally recruiting a potion maker publicly—
That alone carried significance.
Landon nodded once.
"Very well."
Then—
"I will await your arrival, Mister Heral."
Kel bowed respectfully.
"As you wish, my lord."
And just like that—
The arrangement became official.
Publicly.
Naturally.
Believably.
Sairen's voice echoed softly through the soul-link.
This time openly amused.
"…You truly planned every detail."
Kel calmly reorganized the remaining potion bottles while Landon returned toward his carriage.
"People trust what they witness themselves."
The Southern square slowly returned to motion as the Viscount departed.
But whispers remained.
About Lord Landon.
About the mysterious potion maker named Heral.
And about the unusually refined potions now appearing within the Southern capital.
Exactly as Kel intended.
Because foundations were never built loudly.
They were built quietly.
Carefully.
Like poison spreading through clear water—
Until it reached everywhere unnoticed.