I spent the night picking my things up and moved into a different mansion with Alexander. The Ville doctor deemed him unharmed after my treatment and the family sent him the latest and most expensive military-grade prosthetics they could find.
I went out into the mansion to have breakfast and saw Alexander tinkering with a rectangular piece of platinum.
"Your prosthetics look cool," I commented on his newly attached tech miracles.
"Of course they're…."
He went on a rant explaining every little intricacy of the prosthetics. They were interesting creations. The prosthetic eye was a marvel of engineering, indistinguishable from a natural human eye at first glance. Its sclera had the same milky white, slightly veined texture, while the iris gleamed with perfect clarity, mimicking the exact hue of Alexander's original eye.
Inside, though, it housed a microprocessor that could instantly adjust to various light conditions, zoom in on distant objects, and display holographic overlays for augmented reality. He said every blink felt natural, each shift of the gaze seamless, and behind his calm exterior was the silent hum of advanced technology, enhancing perception beyond normal human limits.
The golden hand, on the other hand, was a statement of elegance and power. Each joint was articulated with perfect precision, its surface smooth to the touch and complex, gleaming under the light. The golden alloy wasn't just for show—it was reinforced to provide superior strength, while still maintaining the dexterity required for delicate tasks.
The fingers moved with the fluidity of a natural hand, bending and grasping without hesitation. It held a regal air, a fusion of art and technology, where functionality met luxury in a single, gleaming form.
"Thank you, John, It means a lot that you saved when there was nothing to be gained."
"I still don't know why but I'd say your information is worth at least that much." I left to search for the other challenges and hidden instructors in the city.
I had access to a larger part of the city so I went around for a bit to familiarize myself with the new surroundings.
A notification appeared suddenly.
[Quest [Poisoner's Ordeal] started: Help the poisoner prove his innocence, he can be found in the local holding cell.]
'A poisoner? In the Ville?'
While passing through the streets I could hear the news on almost every tongue, someone well-respected had died, a man named Eldret. He was murdered, and a poisoner named Harrow had been arrested for it.
But as I listened, I heard something else—a rumor that they used as evidence, that the poison used wasn't just any poison, but Atra Mora, a toxin so rare and deadly that it was thought to be more myth than fact. A poison Harrow specialized in.
I didn't know Harrow, but I knew a lot about poisons. Atra Mora wasn't something you just used. It was a weapon of precision, designed for a purpose, not some public spectacle like the one that claimed Eldret's life.
I made my way to Harrow's workshop after hearing the locals whisper about it.
.
.
Inside, the place was a mess. The guards had done their job terribly—vials shattered, shelves overturned, ingredients scattered everywhere. The faint smell of poison still hung in the air, a sickly sweet odor that reminded me of darker days.
I crouched down near one of the broken vials, running my finger through the residue left on the floor. Whoever had been here wasn't looking for evidence—they were looking to destroy something. To cover their tracks.
'Interesting, this is a healing poison, not a harmful one,'
I didn't know much about the poisoner, but from the healing poisons in his workshop I knew this much: he was a healing poisoner who just happened to be interested in Atra Mora. The murder, I felt that it was someone else's doing. Healing Poisoners were gentle people from my experience, the types that found the good in the bad and aimed to aid those around them no matter the method.
There was room for error but my instincts told me I was most likely spot on.
'There's nothing else to see here, let's go find Harrow,'
I found no traces of newly made batches of Atra Mora, the latest batch seemed to be three weeks old and was no longer guaranteed to be deadly, which meant that the poison used in the murder could not have come from Harrow's lab.
The moment I left the workshop, I noticed something strange, a pattern very few would notice. Six men mixed into the crowd had the same boots and all wore the same shade of grey coat. All of them acted busy while throwing looks in my direction periodically.
'Let's ignore them for now, or I'll scare away the big fish.'
I ignored their glances and made my way to the guard cells where they held Harrow.
He was kept in the smallest and darkest cell of them all the people liked Eldert quite a bit, and his murder made Harrow a lowly villain in their eyes.
I knocked on the door several times and didn't receive any response.
"…..who are you…?" A weak sound came from within.
"John Gray." I had no reason to hide my name, mentioning it was the only way I made it into the cells in the first place.
"..Gray..?..a successor..?…why me..?" He could barely, just from his voice I could tell he was beaten an inch from death.
"First, give me your hand."
"..."
He hesitated at first and then his hand came out of the sliding opening. Even just his hand was bleeding from multiple places.
I released my Prana into his body and slowly but surely he started healing back to normal.
"It feels good!" In a few minutes, his talking was normal.
But I was also running out of Prana. The biggest downside of such a miraculous energy was its rate of consumption, it drained both Mana and Aura at an extreme rate and left me mentally drained.
"I'm ashamed to call myself a healer, Lord Gray," He stood up and came into the light.
A man with dark green eyes and hair. His features were sharp and he looked nothing like a healer but instead a deadly poisoner.