Synthesis-type adventurers

Chapter 28 Collect some interest first

Rod's eyes lit up: "Found it!"

As expected of a master alchemist, this high-quality item, which is extremely rare and hard to find elsewhere, was casually thrown among a pile of scrap metal.

He rushed over and grabbed the two bottles of medicine.

"Old man, since you have good stuff, I won't waste my bottle of inferior water."

Rod walked back to old Hansen's side, trying to hold his breath and avoid the nauseating smell of black blood.

He grabbed old Hansen's chin and pried it open, first pouring half of the blue, high-purity tranquilizer into his mouth, and then pouring the red, potent cell activator into his mouth.

"Glug...glug..."

The effects of high-level potions are immediate.

As the medicine flowed down his throat, Old Hansen's convulsing body calmed down almost instantly.

The chaotic aura emanating from him, on the verge of collapse, seemed to be suppressed by an invisible force.

Although the ancient god's pollution still exists, at least it is no longer overflowing wildly, and even the rise and fall of his chest has become steady and powerful.

"Not quite dead yet."

Rod breathed a sigh of relief and casually stuffed the remaining half-bottle of tranquilizer into his pocket.

This is a great thing to combat mental pollution, we can't waste it—anyway, he has several bottles here, so a little more won't make a difference.

Rod stood up, looked around, and finally fixed his gaze on the unfinished drawing on the workbench.

Although he couldn't understand the complex runes and formulas, he could recognize that it was a sophisticated mechanical structure.

"An alchemy master... hiding in this godforsaken place, and he's gotten himself into this state."

Rhodes shook his head.

He didn't know the old man's story, nor did he want to know.

In Aethergard, a world also known as "Above Ruins" or "Shadowlands," the more you know, the faster you die.

All he knew was that he had just made an investment that might be the highest-return, or the riskiest, investment of his life.

"I'll make a note of this debt for you too."

Rhodes took out the small black notebook and opened a new page after the page about the Hohenheim family.

[Debtor: Old Hansen]

[Outstanding Debts: Emergency Medical Services (including advanced potion retrieval and feeding techniques, tentatively 10 gold), Lifesaving Debt (tentatively 100 orms), Compensation for Emotional Distress (I was just startled, so let's say 50 orms).]

After finishing writing, he closed the notebook, took out a clean handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped the stains off his hands.

Then, Rod did something very befitting of his status—he walked straight back to the inconspicuous shelf he had just been standing on.

Although he dared not keep [Analysis Vision] active for any longer, he quickly reached out and scanned the shelves, relying on his memory of what had just happened.

Aside from the two life-saving potions he had just mentioned, which he hadn't taken, he found several bottles of warm-feeling potions.

One bottle was labeled "[High-Level Mana Recovery]", another "[Unstable Alchemy Explosive]", and there were several other bottles with blurry labels whose specific functions were unknown.

Rod didn't care about the specific ingredients and stuffed them all into the pockets of his trench coat and trousers.

Compared to raw materials that still require smelting and processing, these finished potions made by masters are the real hard currency. Each bottle can be exchanged for several bags of gold coins on the black market.

"Taking a little interest now isn't too much to ask, is it? I'm being very kind; I didn't even take the life-saving medicine to restore health and sanity."

Rod patted his bulging, jingling pockets, walked out of the hut with a clear conscience, closed the broken iron gate behind him, and hung a "Closed Today" sign outside.

He certainly wouldn't dare send the person to the clinic.

Even if the local black market doctors had extraordinary skills, they couldn't possibly cure the disease caused by the ancient god's corruption, since Old Hansen himself was a top-tier alchemy master.

Needless to say, stripping away the entries was even more difficult. Rhodes almost got mentally corrupted just by activating [Analysis Vision], so he dared not try again.

"With my current mental strength, I won't dare to recklessly activate [Analysis Vision] when exploring ancient dungeons in the future."

Rod muttered to himself, then glanced back at the cabin one last time.

As for whether this unfortunate old man can wake up, that depends on whether he's lucky enough.

-----------------

The air in the early morning in Rupiah is always thick and humid. Breathing it in feels like swallowing a mouthful of seawater covered with coal dust, especially during the thunder month of May.

Although the underground safe house was secluded, the ventilation was terrible, with only one barely passable iron-barred window, and the deep-seated dampness lingered all day long.

Rod sat at an old wooden table with one leg missing, the red bricks under its legs worn smooth and without any sharp edges.

He held the black-covered ledger in his hand, the charcoal pencil scratching across the rough paper, leaving a soft, scratching sound.

"Hey, can you be a little gentler?" He didn't even look up, his gaze still fixed on the accounts, complaining to the tin can in the center of the room that was battling against the air. "Even though this muddy floor isn't worth much, if you break it, we'll still have to pay that stingy landlord at least three copper coins. This isn't the hard, compacted soil of the training ground; it can't withstand this kind of stoking."

In the center of the room, Avira Griffin was wearing the full plate armor made by Torin—the steel shell was so heavy it was suffocating, and every plate exuded a sense of oppression.

She was practicing basic slashing techniques, each swing of her sword accompanied by a whistling sound as it cut through the air.

"I'm sorry, sir."

Avira abruptly stopped her sword strike, her iron boots slamming heavily on the floor, causing the charcoal pencil on the table to jump slightly.

Despite her best efforts to control her muscle contractions, the extra-thick plate armor itself was a burden, and with the standard longsword in her hand, any slight movement would generate tens of kilograms of inertia.

"I've been very careful," Avira said in a muffled voice, the sound carrying a dull echo as it passed through the visor's grille. "But the joint bearings of this armor are severely lacking lubrication, creating too much resistance. I have to exert much more force to complete the movements."

"Lack of oil? That's top-grade whale oil, a rare commodity that only deep-sea whaling ships can bring back. A small bottle costs five copper coins." Rhodes curled his lip, making a heavy mark on the ledger with his charcoal pencil. "Your current total debt is 2483 orms and 46 copper coins. Let's consider the structural damage to the floor from that kick just now as a depreciation cost of one copper coin."

"Yes." Avira did not refute, nor did she show any dissatisfaction.

She simply adjusted her center of gravity silently, the armor plates pressing against each other, and continued with the next slashing motion.

For her now, this astronomical debt is not a shackle, but rather a source of security in this cruel world.

As long as the debt exists, and as long as Rod is still meticulous in his calculations, she has value in living, and will not be like those useless pawns in family feuds, casually thrown into the gutter to rot.