Elian stood ten feet away from the stall, hidden behind the flow of the crowd. He wasn't looking at the potions. He was looking at her hands.
They were shaking.
Luna, the future "Witch of the West," the woman who would one day incinerate legions of undead with a snap of her fingers, was currently terrified of making eye contact with strangers.
"P-potions..." she squeaked. Her voice was drowned out by a boisterous blacksmith next door hammering on an anvil. "Fresh... fresh potions..."
She pulled her hood lower. She looked miserable.
Elian took a deep breath. His heart was hammering against his ribs—a traitorous reaction from his Level 1 body. In his mind, he saw the Luna of the 75th floor: bloodied, smiling, shoving him into the escape portal while fire consumed her.
Calm down, Elian ordered himself. She doesn't know you. To her, you're just a stranger with a rusty dagger.
If he rushed in and dumped a bag of gold on her table, she wouldn't feel relieved. She'd feel suspicious. In this world, charity usually came with a hidden price tag.
He needed to approach this like a dungeon puzzle. Step by step.
Elian stepped out of the crowd and walked up to her stall.
Luna flinched when his shadow fell over her table. She looked up, her thick glasses sliding down her nose. She saw a young man in a ragged tunic, covered in goblin blood, looking at her with an intensity that made her want to hide under the table.
"I... I'm sorry!" she blurted out, her instincts set to 'apologize first'. "If you're looking for the Guild recruitment, it's... it's over there."
Elian didn't answer. He reached out and picked up one of the small red vials on the table.
The glass was cheap. The cork was crooked. It looked like garbage compared to the shiny, factory-made potions the NPC merchants sold.
"Did you brew this?" Elian asked. His voice was rougher than he intended.
Luna swallowed hard. "Yes. I mean... I'm a novice Alchemist. I know the color is a bit off, but the ingredients are fresh! I picked the herbs this morning in the East Woods and—"
"Quiet," Elian said softly.
Luna clamped her mouth shut, her face turning red. Great, she thought. He's going to yell at me for selling trash.
Elian held the potion up to the sunlight. He wasn't looking at the color. He was looking at the mana density.
[Item Analysis]
[Minor Healing Potion (Homebrew)]
[Creator: Luna (Level 1)]
[Effect: Recovers 35 HP.]
[Special Trait: High Purity. Cooldown reduced by 10%.]
Elian's eyes narrowed.
Standard shop potions recovered 30 HP. Hers recovered 35. But the real treasure was the Cooldown Reduction. In a boss fight, being able to drink a potion one second faster was the difference between life and death.
Nobody else in the square knew this. They just saw a cloudy liquid in a cheap bottle.
"You used Moon-Moss instead of Sun-Grass for the base," Elian observed, lowering the bottle.
Luna blinked, stunned. "H-how did you know? The recipe book says Sun-Grass is standard, but... I thought Moon-Moss might stabilize the mana flow better if I stirred it counter-clockwise and..."
She stopped, realizing she was rambling. "I'm sorry. It's weird, right?"
"It's efficient," Elian corrected. He placed the bottle back on the table gently.
He looked her in the eye. "People aren't buying these."
Luna's shoulders slumped. "No. The NPC shop sells them for 6 copper. I'm selling for 5, and still... nobody trusts a player-made item. I've been here for six hours. I haven't sold one."
She looked down at her hands. "Maybe I chose the wrong class. My party... they kicked me out this morning. Said a Healer is cheaper than an Alchemist."
Elian clenched his fist at his side. He remembered that party. The Iron Fists. A group of bullies who used Luna as a pack mule until she almost starved.
He wanted to tell her she was going to be greater than all of them combined. He wanted to tell her that one day, Kings would beg for a single drop of her brew.
But he couldn't. Not yet.
"I have fifty copper," Elian lied. He actually had sixty-five from the goblins.
Luna looked up.
"I'm going to the Blacksmith," Elian said, keeping his voice even. "I'm planning to hunt near the Wolves' Den tonight. I expect to get hit."
He pushed a small pile of copper coins across the wooden table.
"I'll take ten."
Luna stared at the money. It wasn't a fortune. It was barely enough to buy a decent meal and rent a room at the inn for the night. But her eyes began to water.
"Ten?" she whispered. "You trust... my brewing?"
"I trust the stats," Elian said, turning away so he wouldn't have to see her cry. If he saw her cry, he might do something stupid like hug her. "If I survive tonight, I'll be back for more. Don't close up shop."
He started walking away, his heart heavy but his steps light.
"Wait!" Luna called out.
Elian paused.
"My name is Luna!" she shouted to his back.
Elian smiled. He didn't turn around. He just raised a hand in a lazy wave.
"I know," he whispered to himself.
"I'm Elian," he called back.
He disappeared into the crowd, heading toward the clang of the anvil. He had secured his healer. Now, he needed a weapon that wouldn't shatter when he swung it.