After getting Captain Luthen’s signature, Veronica returned to Steward Hadrian. He reviewed the document with a quick scan, stamped it, and counted out her payment: 500 vix.

  Veronica accepted the pouch with both hands.

  It was the first time in a while she had ever been personally entrusted with money.

  Viya had always handled her purchases, her payments, her fees—everything. Even when Veronica wanted to splurge on something frivolous at the academy, she simply told Viya, and then she would handle the exchanges herself.

  And gambling… well, that didn’t count. That was entertainment, not actual monetary responsibility. She can already hear Viya scolding her for playing games in secret.

  Five hundred vix wasn’t much in the grand scheme of things. Barely a few hours’ worth of simple work. But she was no one here; she was just a powerless Tier-1 mage with no prestige, no reputation, and no connections. For now, she’d have to endure.

  It was time for her to spend some of her newfound money.

  First things first, was food.

  She walked toward the food stalls in the market square, scanning each one like she was studying spell diagrams. Something affordable… but substantial. A bakery caught her attention: shelves stacked with warm loaves and pastries.

  “Five vix for a buttered roll,” the baker said.

  Veronica hesitated.

  Right… Viya isn’t here now. I have to pay this.

  Seeing actual prices again was… surreal. When the demons invaded, most people wanted either luxury food, or magical trinkets and artifacts. Things that could save lives. Money became useless a year into the war.

  She opened her pouch and counted out five vix. “Ah, here. Five vix.” She handed it over.

  The man took it graciously and passed her a buttered roll on top of a cooking parchment.

  “Thank you,” she said. She took it and left.

  Just like that. It was that easy to buy something herself.

  One bite later, she sighed with satisfaction.

  Warm, soft, salty—it was simple but comforting. Better than any berry she’d scavenged in the forest. Although she’d eaten better things in the capital—she didn’t have that same luxury when the demons attacked. She had to make do with any food available.

  Next was the a butcher’s stall, where a vendor roasted skewers of seasoned meat over a flame. The smell alone nearly pulled her toward him.

  “One skewer,” she requested.

  The man plucked one from the grill. “Three vix.”

  Veronica’s eyes widened.

  Three?

  Three vix for a whole stick of meat?

  She had watched Viya pay thousands for hors d’oeuvres smaller than her thumb. Was this man losing money? Were resources simply cheaper out here? Had she been… overpaying her whole life?

  She paid, took a bite—and froze.

  It was delicious. Juicy. Seasoned well. Shockingly satisfying.

  She stood in silence for a moment, staring at the skewer as if questioning her entire economic upbringing.

  Before leaving, she stopped by a sweets seller. It was a woman who had a small store with a variety of sweets and desserts. She did not know what half of them were, but sweets were sweets.

  Thank God Viya isn’t here, she thought.

  Veronica had a sweet-tooth, but Viya was always strict with her diet. She didn’t want her to gain too much weight. She had an image to maintain. That—and especially since she couldn’t exercise due to her body becoming rigid with Medusa’s curse. Right now though, that wasn’t a problem. It was all the sugar she could have to herself.

  She paid four vix for a small bundle of nuts covered in chocolate.

  It was heavenly.

  With food handled, the next thing was securing her stay. She made her way back to the inn, where she paid for her stay. The innkeeper was still there behind the counter. He gave a nod of approval as Veronica set down 200 vix pieces—extending her stay to a full 72 hours.

  Now, she had just a little under 300 vix left for the last thing on her list: clothing.

  She followed the wooden signboards into the tailors’ district, pausing at each window display like someone trying to decode a spell rune written in fabric. Tunics, cloaks, dresses—so many shapes and cuts. She had spent her life in heavy robes designed to hide her curse, with Viya handling every purchase. She’d never chosen real clothes for herself.

  How do people even choose these? If only Viya were here…

  It was really here that she realized how helpful Viya really was. And how much of her life was taken care of by the girl. If she were to see her again, she’d allow her more free time.

  She slipped into a modest shop where rows of neatly folded garments lined the walls. Behind the counter stood a sharp-eyed woman who sized Veronica up instantly.

  “Haven’t seen you around. I’m Melda,” she said. “What are you looking for? And your budget?”

  “Uh… under 300 vix,” Veronica replied. “Something practical. Easy to move in. Anything better than what I have now.”

  She wandered through the shop, touching fabrics with cautious curiosity. Travel tunics, fitted jackets, tailored dresses—pieces Viya would’ve analyzed in seconds. Veronica gravitated toward a plain dark tunic. Safe. Forgettable. Something she could disappear into.

  Melda’s hand shot out like a striking snake. “Oh no, not that.”

  Veronica blinked. “…Why?”

  “That tunic is for people who’ve given up on life,” Melda said flatly. “You’d look like a melted candle.”

  Veronica stared. “A… melted candle?”

  “Come here.” Melda guided her to a rack of nicer garments. “You’re young, fit, and clearly not afraid of bolder cuts. Don’t dress like you’re trying to hide.”

  “I wasn’t going for flashy,” Veronica muttered.

  “Not flashy,” Melda corrected. “Tasteful. No reason to dress like you’re trying to vanish. Why do you think dresses and makeup are so popular among the young ladies?Fashion and dressing to impress makes you more confident.”

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  “I don’t know if I’m really the ‘fashion’ type.” she replied.

  Melda’s expression didn’t budge. “No one starts out as the fashion type. We make you the fashion type. Try this on.” She pulled out a set of clothes from the top shelf near the back of the store.

  Veronica sighed. “Fine. But if I don’t like it, I’m going back to the boring one.”

  “Of course,” Melda said with a smirk. “Confidence is optional. I can supply that too.”

  Veronica took the garments and stepped toward the fitting area, a simple partitioned-off section with a curtain for privacy. She pulled off her “borrowed” clothing, replacing them with the new outfit.

  She turned in front of the mirror.

  The bodice traced and fit snugly on her torso; it curved into a striking space above that subtly highlighted the upper slope and edges of her chest. Large straps arched across the top of her shoulders, close to her neck. These supported the sleeves, which held open tops, revealing her shoulders and upper back, though most of the latter was covered by the fall of her hair. The shorts fit snuggly, and the long stockings covered most of her legs.

  She turned in front of the small mirror.

  It… looked good. Better than she expected.

  Stepping out, she braced for gushing praise. Instead, Melda simply tilted her head.

  “You’ve got some elven blood in you, don’t you? Dark elf, maybe?”

  Veronica stiffened. “What makes you say that?”

  Her ears were hidden. No one should’ve guessed.

  Melda shrugged. “I’ve dressed plenty of dark elves back in the capital. They like freer cuts. And you went straight for dark fabrics—even that ‘practical’ piece was too striking to be called plain.” Her eyes flicked over the outfit. “And you’re not shy about showing skin. Most folk here blush at an exposed shoulder. You look right at home.”

  Veronica had to admit: “You really do have a good eye.”

  Melda grinned. “Naturally. And that outfit suits you far better than that sad tunic.”

  She wasn’t uncomfortable with outfits like this; she had worn similar styles long ago. Dark elves as compared to regular elves valued practical clothing that showed the body rather than hiding it—shoulders, back, legs. It was something her mother used to call a form of self-respect.

  It was a difference in culture between the elves. Regular elves preferred modesty; elegant clothing to show class and discipline. Dark elves preferred the more natural method; do not hide what Yggdrasil had given you.

  After Veronica’s curse worsened, robes and layered garments became her norm—anything to hide the creeping stone and avoid constantly refreshing her illusion charm. There was no nature there. Just deformity. It was an embarrassment that affected her more than she believed.

  Even her mage robes had once featured an open back, a small echo of the style she preferred… before she grew out her hair to hide it.

  People often stared at her. She saw those looks. Looks of disgust and pity. Her only recourse was to hide behind large robes. To use enchanted artifacts to temporarily make herself look normal. She had missed most of her social youth because of this. Too focused on magic. Too focused on trying to survive.

  Maybe for once—she could be herself. Without the fear of looking like a monster.

  She sighed softly, shaking her head.

  “Fine. You win this round.”

  Veronica reached into her pockets, pulling out a bit under 300 vix. “But… how much is this? My budget’s only 290 vix. This looks way more expensive than that. I really was only planning to spend maybe under 100. It’s not a simple set of clothes like I was originally looking for.”

  Melda sighed and shrugged. “Good eye. The shorts aren’t extravagant—forty vix for those.” She paused, giving Veronica a knowing glance. “That top, though? You’re right. It’s worth at least 700 vix.”

  “What—?” Veronica’s shock was cut off as Melda shook her head.

  “Relax,” the tailor said, waving a hand. “Not many folks here would be comfortable wearing something like that, so it’s gone unsold for quite a while, not to mention pretty expensive. You’re not full dark elf, right? You probably know how much human styles differ from dark Elven ones. I actually made that top as part of a trade deal with a dark Elven tribe, but I moved out of the capital before the transaction went through. Would be a shame for it to go unworn, so…”

  She gave Veronica a casual smile. “I’m willing to part with it for the 290 you have.”

  Veronica nodded thoughtfully. “Alright… then. I’ll buy it. Thank you, Miss Melda. Ah, but I also need some undergarments and shoes, if possible.”

  The woman returned the nod with a satisfied smile. “Don’t worry about it. I can get you covered. And if you ever need more clothing, I’d love to custom-tailor something for you.”

  With that, she handed over 290 vix as payment.

  It wasn’t obvious, but Melda had definitely realized Veronica had been walking around without innerwear, but said nothing. Melda also tried to convince her to get more… lavishly eccentric ones, ones meant to…. impress at particular times.

  Veronica however, wasn’t particularly concerned with such things at the moment.

  The transaction was quick, and she left the shop feeling lighter, not just from the weight of her coin purse, but from the subtle shift in her own self-perception.

  Still… a thought lingered in the back of her mind.

  Had Melda been completely honest about the story about her trade with dark elves? About the price? Or had she just been thoroughly swindled?

  After all, she had originally planned to spend 100 vix on a full outfit, not all of her remaining money. And didn't common people usually... haggle? Or negotiate prices? Was Veronica even allowed to do that? Usually she just paid in full for everything, no matter how expensive. Well—Viya paid.

  Maybe she should have demanded a lower price from Melda?

  But because she didn't—now she was broke.

  I wasn’t scammed. Right, Viya?

  The forest was alive with its quiet sounds: birds chirping, leaves rustling, and small animals scurrying. The crisp air brushed against her skin, the soft rustling of bushes and small leaves falling from above. All-in-all, it was a pleasant afternoon, if not a little chilly.

  As she continued, the trail began to narrow, the trees growing denser. Veronica kept her senses sharp, her eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of danger. The forest was peaceful, but she knew better than to let her guard down.

  Right now, she was heading towards the old quarry, and past that—the ruins.

  Old Thom’s story had lingered in her mind like an itch she couldn’t ignore. Something about it unsettled her, enough for her to take action and investigate herself.

  Every so often, demons invaded the world, sometimes by chance, sometimes by force. And sometimes… they were summoned. Cultists, warlocks, desperate people willing to sacrifice anything for power.

  These were the kinds of people responsible for the world’s downfall.

  If such ritualists in dark robes existed, it fell to her to stop them. If they resisted, she’d cut them down without hesitation. She had no intention of being merciful; not to people like them. She had done so once in the past, and it wasn’t a mistake she was keen on making again.

  After all, it was hard to contain the Path of Ruin, from doing what it did best.

  Eventually, the trees thinned, revealing a barren stretch of land ahead. The old quarry.

  Her steps slowed as she looked around. It had clearly been abandoned for a long time—wooden scaffolds had collapsed in places, rusted tools lay scattered in the dirt, and a few overturned carts sat forgotten near the edge of the pit. Larger, broken mining equipment lay scattered near the crumbling wooden shafts, remnants of whatever work had once been done here.

  The silence here felt different from the quiet of the forest. It was almost palpable.

  She stepped forward; her shoes crunched against the gravel. There were no signs of recent activity, no footprints, no disturbed earth. If cultists had been here, they were long gone. Or maybe they hadn’t visited the quarry at all.

  She continued on and moved past the quarry, heading up the hill, following the directions Garrick had given her. The ruins should have been beyond.

  The incline was steeper than she expected, forcing her to brace herself against the uneven ground as she climbed. Above the thinning trees, a rocky outcrop offered a view of the abandoned quarry. From here, she could see just how empty the place was. It was a hollowed-out pit of forgotten labor, left to the mercy of time.

  Descending the other side of the hill, the forest grew darker, the canopy overhead thickening as the land leveled out again. The path twisted, winding between boulders and gnarled roots that jutted from the earth like skeletal fingers.

  She continued forward for a few minutes until she finally saw it.

  A crumbled structure of weathered stone stood among the overgrowth, partially collapsed. Moss and vines clung to the remaining walls, and shattered columns lay in heaps where they had long since fallen.

  It was larger than she expected.

  She stepped forward, ready to inspect the area, until she heard a sound.

  Footsteps.

  They were slow, crunching against the forest leaves, heading in her direction. There was more than one; a group of them were coming. It sounded far, but for some reason, she could hear it, even if it was quiet.

  Veronica froze instantly, muscles tensing. Without hesitation, she darted behind the nearest tree, lowering herself into a crouch, her fingers pressing against the rough bark. She held her breath, listening.

  Then, she saw them.

  A small group of cloaked figures emerged from the shadows, their hoods drawn low, dark masks obscuring their faces. They moved with purpose, weaving through the undergrowth in a direct path toward the ruins. Their voices were hushed, murmured words slipping between them, too low for her to hear.

  But something was obvious about the way they moved.

  They weren’t wandering. They knew where they were going.

  Veronica narrowed her eyes, watching silently.

  Looks like Old Thom wasn’t just rambling after all, she thought.

  [Veronica—]

  Yeah, I see them SAGE.

  [No—]

  “Hey, you spying on them, too?”

  “Yeah,” she replied instinctively. “I—”

  A voice.

  From behind her.

  Alongside it came a gentle poke against her back.

  Veronica whipped around immediately, barely biting back a half-scream—until their hand pressed against her mouth, silencing her.

  “Shhh, don’t make any noise.”

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