Academic gathering with Lich colleagues

Has he become more handsome? Just a little bit.

After a long day of travel, and following Cassandra's report, the three went their separate ways.

Lyle was planning his activities at Andrei tonight. The water-giving magic was not yet complete, and it seemed he would be spending quite some time with the scholar.

……

Brutus Bendo was a con man who had a legendary life in his youth. However, as he aged and his health deteriorated, he became a hunched old con man with dim yellow eyes and yellow teeth, but still sharp-tongued.

Unfounded rumors and a disdainful moral compass had squandered his last shred of reputation in his hometown. Childless and impoverished, he had no choice but to return to the land where he had once risen to power. The cunning master Brutus, though old, was still young at heart; he planned to use the "treasure" hidden inside his tattered cloak to indulge in one last act of romance.

His bulbous nose sniffed the air like a hunting dog, carrying a heavy, damp, and musty smell of decaying wood. This place was exactly the same as it had been ten years ago, even though the streets looked much cleaner now, the rotten smell in its bones remained unchanged.

Ten years ago, he would be scrambling with dozens of competitors in this run-down alley, vying for the fat sheep to be slaughtered. Now, it's just him here. Ha, this is much easier. Old Brut certainly didn't believe those scoundrels had reformed. More likely, those bad things simply couldn't outlast him. Haha, eighty-year-old Brut still walked briskly.

This alley connects to the main street, and Brut is like an old cat perched on a trash can, watching the pedestrians on the street.

He was no longer the impetuous young man he once was. Time had robbed him of his strength and vitality, but it had also given him cunning and experience. Those elegantly dressed people with arrogant expressions were not ideal customers. Standing at the pinnacle of their lives, they wouldn't accept treasures of dubious origin, let alone genuine ones. Those arrogant, meat-eating pigs with noses on their heads wouldn't be moved. They wouldn't believe the nonsense of a stinking old man, or even the words of a normal person.

Those gentlemen, their faces etched with hardship but their clothes slightly better—yes, those poor souls entangled in life's troubles—were like lambs, little in terms of fat, but quite slippery, enough to fill Brut's stomach. Worry forced them to confront reality, and also eroded their wisdom. Yes, they would never give up on the straw before them, even ignoring the driftwood that was originally meant to save them. Brut's good friend, we are all fellow sufferers in this world; helping each other isn't excessive, is it?

Brut had found his target, a suitable fellow. He wore an ill-fitting leather coat, perhaps left by his deceased father. His right hand was tightly inside the coat, just like Brut's—surely containing some treasure. His left hand gripped the collar tightly, the knuckles marked. He used to wear a large ring, a wealthy man's ring, now nowhere to be seen. He looked around warily, like a lamb surrounded by wolves. "Don't worry, my good friend, old Brut will help you. Good friends should exchange treasures, shouldn't they?"

Brut's eyes widened in panic, and he walked hesitantly toward the man, like an old man yearning for support.

The man saw the old man walking towards him.

In the past, he would have completely disregarded such a lowly person and kicked him aside. But his father had died, and he, being uneducated and incompetent, had failed to preserve the family fortune. He and his mother were destitute. He was despondent and complained; he had lost his friends, his comfort and luxury, and could rely on nothing except his mother. Just as she had nurtured him when he was a child, she taught her child to stand up again. He became a coachman, relying on his decent looks and the horsemanship he had learned, driving for a nobleman, barely making ends meet.

But her mother collapsed. She managed to cure her own lifestyle-related illness, but in her old age, she became the one who fell the most seriously ill due to the change in environment.

He panicked. How could a spoiled nobleman know how to cure illnesses? How could he cure his mother? The only answer in his mind was money, lots of money. He pawned his trinkets for an absolutely humiliating price. But there was nothing he could do; at this moment, he was just a helpless child.

When you're sick, you see a doctor. But Cassandra doesn't have a hospital now; those former medical professionals are just as desperate as he is. He has to resort to clandestine methods to get effective medication. Damn it, the transaction won't start until after midnight. His former self would definitely be lying in a soft bed by now. Damn the weather; he hopes no cold wind blows into his house.

The old man with the same embarrassed expression as him walked over.

He couldn't help but ask, "Are you here to make a deal? Did you bring any medicine?"

Chapter 119 The Wolves

Old Brut realized he'd struck gold. Suppressing his excitement, he became furtive, covering his mouth with his right hand while his eyes darted around.

"Did you bring the money?"

"I brought it." The man shook the money pouch on the back of his clothes, and came the voice that Brut loved most—Jules' voice.

"Very good, let's exchange them quickly."

"Wait, let me see the medicine first."

“Of course, of course.” Old Brut lifted his moldy robe, revealing a hemp rope belt around his thin, bony side. From the belt was a crystal-clear glass bottle. Inside was a bright red liquid. It was a mixture of old Brut's skillful handiwork: cow's blood mixed with a little juice from rotten fruit, unevenly blended. If you looked closely, you could see bits of fruit peel on the surface. But in this darkness, who could see what was inside? As for its medicinal effects, it would probably cause diarrhea, but Brut wouldn't disappoint his good friend. Since he wanted medicine, this bottle contained medicine.

"what is this?"

"A miracle drug, a miracle drug that cures all diseases."

The man was clearly not stupid. "Do you think I would believe your nonsense and let my mother drink this murky stuff in your hand?"

His mother is sick, but she is doing well.

Old Brutus quickly clutched his robe, a hint of struggle in his eyes.

“You’re right, this isn’t medicine. In the eyes of a medical professional, this liquid has no effect whatsoever…”

The man's mind was filled with anger at being manipulated; he wanted nothing more than to beat this bastard to death.

"This contains the holy blood of the Church."

"Holy Blood, what is that?"

“The blood of the gods, child, I can see your surprise. Let me tell you a story. I once had a sickly child, about your age, but she was ill and medicine could not save her. In desperation, I prayed to the Holy Light, and the merciful Holy Light took pity on my little angel. He gave me this vial of holy blood, but forbade me to tell anyone, because this gift meant injustice, and a poor old man like me would definitely arouse the dissatisfaction of those nobles.”

"But the Holy Light came too late. My little angel didn't live to see this vial of holy blood. I've come with the Lord's grace to exchange for my little angel's burial expenses and his ticket to heaven." Old Brutus was already sobbing uncontrollably by the end.

The man was touched by a similar experience, and when he thought of his critically ill mother, a wave of sorrow welled up in his nose.

“I am willing to exchange all my wealth for this bottle of holy blood. Thank you, sir. May your child rest in peace.”

"Thank you, kind man. Your mother will be so proud of you." Old Brutus smiled as he watched the money bag approach his hand.

A chill ran down the old swindler's spine; a sense of being watched by a wild beast made him shiver.

He also missed out on that bag of treasures.

A tall figure, like the darkness of night, with crisp clothing, pale skin, and an insignia on his chest.

A sheriff.

He lifted the man up with one hand, and the man struggled in the air, clutching the money bag as if it were his life.

The chilling tone was like the wide-open gates of the underworld.

What are you doing here?

Black market trading is explicitly prohibited, as enshrined in Cassandale's laws.

He was finished, and it was too late for his mother too. Despair overwhelmed him, and the man actually knelt down on the ground.

"Please, sir, have mercy! I need that medicine to heal my mother. I really need it, I really need it."

With each plea, those cold eyes, like solid ice, plunged the man's heart into an icy abyss of despair.

"Professor Manserstein, Professor of Respiratory Systems, No. 26, Takahashi Street. Professor Carbint, Professor of Cardiopulmonary Research, No. 14, Dark Flower Street. Professor Brove, Professor of Digestive Systems, No. 8, New Street..."

The man listened as the sheriff rattled off this information, as if registering a contact list. He remained stunned for a long while.

“Since you have the courage to kneel before me, I think you also have the courage to endure the anger of these best medical professionals in Cassandra being disturbed in the middle of the night. Do to them what you did to me; they are much more reasonable than I am.”

"Thank you, sir." The man, carrying his money bag, ran towards the path of true redemption.

The sheriff's indifferent gaze shifted to the hunched-over Brutus.

Cold eyes, but a warm heart, at least for now; experienced, and able to see through acting.

This was the first time Brutus had encountered such a troublesome sheriff.

However, there was a reason why Brutus became a master of deception; he was bolder and more observant than most people.

Handsome with a naturally melancholic face and skin smoother than those of wealthy young ladies, this sheriff cared a lot about his appearance. Yes, loving beauty is human nature. Brut liked people with such natural charm.

What's that in your hand?

“It is the most precious gift, sir. This is the essence of vampires, which I have concocted.”

"Oh, the essence of a vampire, and you're also a legendary alchemist."

“Yes, sir, your alchemist of Cassandale, Bakkin, may be unfamiliar to a sheriff like you, but he is quite a figure here. He is my best apprentice, and we were drinking together last night for this great invention we completed together.” Brut was full of passion; he knew how to play the arrogant madman.

The sheriff's eyes held a hint of mockery. "Oh, the great invention of the great alchemist, Mr. Ba Jin, is it? I'll definitely find an opportunity to pay him a visit another day."

Old Brutus smiled and said, "Old Bajin, don't blame me for this. Who asked you to be so useful?"

"What's the purpose of this serum?"

"It will protect your appearance, sir. As everyone knows, vampires are beautiful and dangerous creatures. They are immortal and their appearance is eternal. This bottle of essence is their original blood. Of course, it has been processed by me. It has only benefits and no drawbacks. Vampire blood cannot be drunk directly by humans."

The sheriff fiddled with his long, slender fingers, clearly very interested in this bizarre piece of knowledge. Brut knew that these bored government officials loved gossip.

Brut also decided to reveal some of the truths he had heard from others.

“Vampire blood is not easy to obtain. Even the Embrace ritual only involves the exchange of a small amount of blood. But there were also witchers who killed vampires. Some of them were driven by foolish superstitions and used human bodies to inject vampire blood into their own bodies. They all became monsters.”

"What monster?"

Brut lowered his voice, trying to maintain an air of mystery, and moved closer to the sheriff, hoping to see his surprised expression.

“Werewolf, sir, a beast that roars in the night.”

"They have wolf heads and human bodies, covered in fur, are agile, and possess superhuman strength. Their sense of smell is extremely sensitive, and they can detect the stench of vampires from kilometers away. Yes, they and vampires are mortal enemies."

"What are the werewolves' weaknesses? Silverware, the full moon?"

Bruta mocked the sheriff's ignorance.

"Werewolves are not the weak monsters in stories. They have no weaknesses. They can disguise themselves as humans and are much more comfortable than vampires. The only things that can drive them mad and turn them into wolves are extreme anger and the stench of vampires. They are hunters, vampire killers not recognized by God. They are not immortal, but they are not far off."

The sheriff adjusted his top hat.

"Very useful knowledge. How much is this bottle of vampire essence?"

Brut smiled; this was exactly what he was waiting for. Finally, he could slaughter this arrogant pig.

“One hundred jules, sir, it’s worth it.”

The sheriff smiled, his slightly narrowed eyes very friendly. "You're right, it's definitely worth the price."

The small bag of money finally reached old Brutus's hands.

The old swindler smiled and handed the medicine bottle to the sheriff.

As I was about to leave, I was grabbed by those iron-like hands.

The old swindler felt a sudden jolt in his heart, but turned back with a smile on his face.

"Is there anything else, kind sir?"

"You're under arrest for selling counterfeit medicine. We've caught you red-handed. Come with me, you old liar."

"You have no proof that this is fake, sir. You arrested me without cause. I can file a complaint against you," the old swindler roared, his voice sharp but his words weak.

The sheriff smiled, in a strange voice, like a bellows being pulled violently, like a monster.

Old Brutus finally saw his face, and the pair of blood-red vertical eyes with golden pupils, by the crimson moonlight. His shadow was stretched long in the moonlight, like a vicious wolf on the hunt.

His voice was like the call of death.

"You and I both know this isn't vampire blood, right?"

Chapter 120 Recognizing a Master