obsession chapter 14

This one had made a killing, in a different sense. Noxian watched Shariette, her movements practiced and efficient. The lightheartedness she’d displayed moments before had vanished. In less than three minutes, she returned from the dispensary with two vials. Ignoring one, she injected the contents of both into the surviving villager. As the man regained consciousness and saw his still, lifeless companion, he lunged at Shariette, grabbing her by the collar. “Why… why only me?! What about him?!” 

“Hey, calm down—” Other villagers tried to intervene, but he seemed not to hear. Shariette dangled limply in his grasp. A hand shot out from behind, peeling the man’s fingers away from her clothes. Noxian. Startled by the unexpected strength, the man hesitated, then fell to his knees, begging. 

“P-please, save him! You can save anyone! The villagers said you saved them…!” 

“He’s already gone.” Shariette’s voice was cold, her expression unchanged. “No medicine can bring back the dead.” The brutal finality of her words hung in the air. There was no comfort, no pretense of solace, but the people of Willowhill were used to this. The outsider was not. 

“No, that can’t be… Look again, please! He can’t be dead, he has to be alive, please…! How can you just—!” The man continued to wail until the other villagers finally dragged him away. A chilling silence descended upon the apothecary’s shop. Noxian, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke. 

“You seem remarkably unfazed by death.” 

“It comes with the job.” 

Shariette shrugged. She had seen far worse in Argen. The resentment for her inability to save them was also familiar. Nothing new. Noxian’s expression seemed to darken. He looked nothing like the villain, the fiend, the demon who had orchestrated that massacre. 

Is he worried about my skills now? Shariette added, almost as an afterthought, “Don’t worry. I can’t bring back the dead, but I can keep you alive as long as you’re still breathing.” Her gaze drifted to a box on the left shelf. An antique, vine-engraved box, securely closed. Yes, no medicine could raise the dead. Which is why the Argen family had poured all their resources into the secret research of immortality. 

Although they failed.

Medical arts, priestly blessings, witches’ potions, magic, and divine power. Nothing could conquer death. The man before her, Noxian Rubelot, was proof of that. Hadn’t he displayed their corpses on the city walls until they rotted? If the Argens had achieved immortality, they would have been resurrected long ago. ‘It’s good that they failed.’ It was for the best. A pity for the Argen family, who had dedicated their lives to that research, but for the best nonetheless. 

***

At dawn on the third day, a time when most were asleep, unless cursed with insomnia, chaos erupted. 

“Hey! Something terrible has happened!” 

CRASH! Someone burst into the tavern on the first floor of Ronya’s Inn. “Fire! Over by Shadow Forest! At Lady Raven’s apothecary!” 

By the time people arrived, Maylily’s was engulfed in flames. The apothecary, stocked with flammable ingredients, burned with increasing ferocity. “Where’s the Raven? Where’s the white-haired apothecary?” 

As bewildered silence met the question, a group approached, their presence immediately commanding attention. A strikingly handsome man with a dangerous aura, surrounded by knights in uniform. 

“My lord, it’s too dangerous!” Ignoring their pleas, the man walked straight towards the inferno. 

“My sleeping draught is burning. Vividly. What could be more dangerous than that?” 

“Pardon?” 

“Tell everyone to stay back. And you, find the culprit.” 

It was an order, declaring the fire an act of arson. One of the knights asked, “Arson, you say?” “I sense magic. Unless the owner was suicidal, there must be a perpetrator.” With a single sword against a raging fire, the man added, “And bring me her tongue.” 

The order was cryptic, devoid of context, but his subordinates, accustomed to his terse commands, quickly dispersed. Noxian pictured the interior of the apothecary, recalling the woman who had bustled within its walls for the past two days. He clicked his tongue. She had to be alive. 

“Fetching my apothecary is proving to be quite the challenge.” Turning, he approached a second-story window. Having assessed the entry point, he launched himself upwards without hesitation.