To confirm his theory, Sakeer asked Friane to cast "Object Positioning" on him.The Result?
Friane's expression froze in confusion.
She sensed nothing.
For a moment, she even doubted her own proficiency, wondering if she had failed the spell due to inexperience.
However, Sakeer saw the confirmation message on his attribute panel—the spell had been cast successfully.
It simply couldn't be applied to his body.
Friane, still looking uncertain, hesitated.
"Should I try again?" she asked, a bit embarrassed.
Sakeer smiled, waving a hand dismissively.
"You've already helped a lot—there's no need," he said.
Now, he was certain—"remote tracking" magic didn't work on him.
Moving forward, the only thing he needed to account for was perceptual magic.
With that settled…
"I ordered some food earlier," Sakeer continued. "Feel free to enjoy it if you don't mind."
Then, his expression turned slightly apologetic.
"But I have some matters to attend to, so I'll take my leave."
Friane raised an eyebrow.
"Not bad for a small restaurant, but it's definitely not cheap," she remarked. Then, she nudged Arche, who had been sitting stiffly the whole time.
Arche flinched slightly, her cheeks flushing red.
"I-I'll walk you out!" she blurted, standing up abruptly.
Friane watched the two exit the restaurant, then picked up her coffee-like drink and let out a low chuckle.
"Didn't expect Arche to know such a handsome guy," she mused. "And black hair too… doesn't even look dyed."
Outside the restaurant…
Arche's blue eyes fixated on the ten gold coins in her hand.
She suddenly froze.
Wait.
She had never asked for Sakeer's name.
And he had never introduced himself.
A Bustling Street…
Horse-drawn carriages clattered along the cobbled roads, while armored soldiers patrolled the area at regular intervals.
Being near the Imperial Academy of Magic, the security here was notably stricter than in other districts.
On the sidewalks, most passersby were ordinary civilians in simple clothing. However, scattered among them were adventurers—easily recognizable by the weapons strapped to their waists and backs.
As the street neared the central plaza, the crowd became more diverse—people wearing exotic outfits that stood out even in the Imperial Capital.
Sakeer's priest robes billowed slightly as he walked, concealing his hanging arms within the folds of the fabric.
Beside him, his little Barghest trotted along silently.
His thoughts drifted.
"I need to speed up my plan."
Seeing Arche—a girl with such a grim future—only reinforced this sense of urgency.
Save her?
Sakeer wasn't the type to take on such a grand mission.
After all, even his own future wasn't guaranteed.
If Arche was someone who needed saving, what about the 100,000 soldiers of the Kingdom of Re-Estize, who were slaughtered in an instant?
What about the people of the Sacred Kingdom—enslaved and turned into "two-legged sheep", their intelligence lowered by magic until they were no different from cattle?
If anyone deserved salvation, wouldn't it be them?
But…
Sakeer wasn't a savior.
And he had no desire to become one.
If he happened to help someone along his path, so be it.
But he wouldn't go out of his way to do so.
As a player—someone who grew stronger through battle—the fact that he hadn't indiscriminately slaughtered the innocent was already the greatest respect he could show toward life.
Then—
"Huh?"
Sakeer halted for a brief moment, glancing toward the other side of the street.
But there was nothing.
A hallucination?
Dismissing the thought, he continued on his way.
However…
Across the street, in an inconspicuous corner…
A hooded figure in a tattered gray robe slowly lifted their head.
Their obscured gaze followed Sakeer as he disappeared into the crowd.
Though their face remained hidden, the slender silhouette beneath the shabby fabric suggested they were a woman.
And she… was watching him.
For the Next Two Days...
As Imina continued spreading the news, more and more people learned about a mysterious alchemist residing in the aristocratic district—an alchemist said to possess the ability to heal severe, permanent injuries.
This rumor caused an uproar among adventurers and laborers alike.
Especially because the treatment was free of charge.
But Free?
For a group of people who risked their lives daily, the idea of "free" was laughable.
They didn't believe in miracles—only in hidden costs.
However, the rumors clarified one crucial detail:
The treatment was free, not out of generosity, but because the alchemist's methods were experimental. The alchemy potions used in treatment were still unstable and carried the risk of death.
That changed everything.
With that understanding, skepticism softened.
But even so—no one dared to be the first.
The rumors spread.
Taverns buzzed with discussion.
Yet, not a single soul dared to venture into the aristocratic district to seek treatment.
Until the Third Day.
At last—two men knocked on the heavy gates of Sakeer's residence.
A father and son.
The father—a weathered, dark-skinned man, barely in his thirties, though his white-streaked hair made him look far older.
The son—a teenager, frail and silent, carried in a wooden basket.
His legs—amputated.
The moment they stepped forward, everything changed.
The adventurer guilds. The worker factions. The major pharmaceutical workshops. The Herb Guild.
Even the Adventurers' Guild itself sent observers.
Before now, Sakeer had been nothing more than a low-ranked Bronze-level adventurer, hardly worth a second glance.
Now?
He was an alchemist.
A high-level one.
Who Were the Father and Son?
With so many powerful forces watching, their identities were uncovered almost immediately.
The father—a humble farmer from a village outside the Imperial Capital.
The son—a victim of a noble's cruelty.
Years ago, a minor aristocrat had broken the boy's legs with a whip.
The wounds festered.
Without treatment, the flesh necrotized, leaving amputation as the only option.
Hours Passed.
Under the silent, watchful eyes of so many, the heavy brown gate finally creaked open.
The father and son emerged.
And the boy—
He walked.
With two feet.
"!!!"
Shock. Disbelief. Awe.
Gasps rippled through the gathered crowd.
The farmer's son—who had been carried in—now stood on his own two feet.
Outrageous. Impossible.
The invisible shockwaves spread like wildfire.
Adventurers and laborers stared, wide-eyed.
To them, this wasn't just medicine.
It was a second life.
For those who lived by the sword, losing a limb meant a fate worse than death—a crippled, powerless existence.
Now, this alchemy potion had shattered that grim reality.
Not Just the Adventurers—Even the Apothecaries Were in Shock.
The Herb Guild and pharmaceutical workshops had always dismissed alchemy as nothing more than a supporting class.
Alchemy, to them, had never been a true alternative to traditional medicine.
Even when Sakeer sold diluted regeneration potions through Imina, the Herb Guild hadn't been concerned.
They assumed he was merely using troll blood in a common, crude alchemical process.
But this?
This was beyond comprehension.
A potion that could regenerate lost limbs?
That wasn't supposed to be possible.
This changed everything.
Alchemy was no longer just a tool to assist apothecaries in brewing potions.
It was a standalone healing system—a power on par with magic and medicine itself.
Then—Suddenly.
Before the stunned onlookers could fully react, a carriage appeared out of nowhere.
The father and son were whisked away in an instant.
And just like that—they were gone.
The Next Day...
The farmer and his son reappeared.
This time, they left the Imperial Capital altogether.
The reason was clear.
Someone had taken them.
Someone had tested them.
And someone had confirmed the truth—
The potion worked without side effect!
Early Morning, the Second Day
At the break of dawn, a sharp knock echoed against the heavy brown door.
Sakeer, still groggy, opened it—only to be momentarily taken aback.
A large crowd had already gathered outside.
Some were dressed in fine garments, others in plain, worn clothes, and among them stood several burly adventurers, their hardened faces betraying years of battle.
But despite their differences, they all shared one thing in common—
They were all injured. All crippled in some way.
The aristocratic district was usually a forbidden zone for adventurers and laborers—not because they were explicitly barred from entry, but because the environment was far from welcoming to their kind.
Yet here they stood.
Desperation, hope, and uncertainty flickered in their eyes.
Sakeer's gaze swept across the uneasy crowd, then shifted toward the edges of the street.
Scattered in the distance, ten guards in fine armor stood watching.
They were the patrol units responsible for maintaining order in the noble quarter.
But unlike usual, they weren't forcing the gathered people to leave.
They weren't intervening at all—only standing guard to prevent any potential chaos.
Sakeer's eyes narrowed slightly.
After a brief pause, he withdrew his gaze from the guards and turned back to face the crowd.
"Alone."
He uttered the single word flatly, his expression unreadable.
A moment of stunned silence followed.
Then—understanding dawned on the crowd.
The once tense yet orderly atmosphere suddenly grew heavier.
Clatter!
Thud-thud-thud!
The hurried clatter of hooves and the grinding of wheels against the cobblestone street broke the tension.
Heads turned as a luxurious carriage, pulled by two galloping horses, sped into view.
The carriage, lavishly adorned with gold trim, did not slow down.
Scowls crossed the faces of those gathered—yet, despite their displeasure, they instinctively stepped aside, parting to clear a path.
But to their surprise—
The carriage did not pass them by.
Instead—
It came to a sudden halt at the very entrance of Sakeer's courtyard.
Click!
The wooden carriage door swung open with precision.
A butler, dressed in immaculate attire, stepped down first.
Without hesitation, he produced a small, ornate bench and placed it gently onto the ground.
Then—
A young man emerged.
He looked to be in his early twenties, his golden hair shimmering under the morning light.
In his hand, he carried a ruby-studded scepter, a symbol of wealth and power.