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Chapter 102: Battlefield Saint
Aiden nodded in quiet understanding.
So this was Dian Cecht. He recognized the name from his knowledge of the world, but this was his first time seeing the man in the flesh.
Watching Dian Cecht's domineering, tyrannical posturing, and then looking back at the absolute fury burning in Naaza's eyes, the entire situation suddenly became crystal clear.
It was no wonder Naaza had been so desperate to pay off the debt, even going so far as to commit the foolish act of shortchanging her own friends.
To endure this kind of targeted mockery and brutal humiliation day after day—coupled with Miach's financially ruinous habit of giving away their stock to anyone with a sob story—all of that suffocating pressure had been placed squarely on her slender shoulders. It was a miracle she hadn't collapsed entirely.
"So, do you have this month's payment ready, Miach~?"
Dian Cecht crossed his arms over his chest, demanding an answer from his lofty, metaphorical pedestal.
"This...!" Miach's face flushed a deep crimson, utterly incapable of forming a coherent reply.
"Hmph. Looking at that pathetic expression of yours, it seems you haven't prepared a single Valis, have you? Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!"
Dian Cecht erupted into another bout of ear-piercing, maniacal laughter. "You lot really are a bunch of deadbeats who never pay what they owe."
Both Miach and Naaza gritted their teeth simultaneously, the force so severe it sounded as if their molars might shatter.
"Out of my boundless mercy, I have let you off the hook countless times already."
Dian Cecht's smile vanished, his eyes turning cold and serpentine. "However, I can no longer tolerate this fickle, irresponsible attitude of yours. If you cannot cough up this month's payment by tomorrow, I will personally kick you out onto the street and sell this dilapidated shack of a headquarters. You had better tighten your belts."
He roared, saliva practically flying from his lips, before tossing his head back in another bout of unbridled, arrogant laughter.
Then, his tone abruptly shifted. A sickeningly false smile of 'mercy' plastered itself back onto his face. "Ah, never mind. I know full well you can't possibly pay it back this month. So, I will be deeply compassionate and give you one final chance."
He raised a single, heavily jeweled finger.
"Introduce me to the healer who makes that Healing Spray. Have her transfer to my Familia, or at the very least, sign an exclusive contract to work with me."
"If you agree to this, I will wipe this month's debt clean. How about it? Aren't I just the most generous god alive? Ha-ha-ha-ha!"
At the mention of the "Healing Spray," the gazes of Aiden and Robin immediately zeroed in on Hyacine.
The Healing Spray Hyacine had formulated was currently taking the lower and middle-tier adventurers by storm. It was incredibly effective and fairly priced. They hadn't expected it to attract the greedy attention of Orario's top medical faction quite so quickly.
Hyacine's potions were sold exclusively at the Azure Pharmacy, and they had indeed brought a significant influx of foot traffic to the struggling shop.
But the core problem remained: most customers came strictly to buy the Healing Spray and left immediately after.
Furthermore, because Hyacine frequently ventured into the Dungeon with her own party, the volume of potions she could supply was strictly limited. While the Azure Pharmacy's financial situation had improved slightly, it was merely a drop in the bucket.
The crushing debt that could not be paid remained exactly that—unpayable.
Of course, Aiden knew perfectly well that the primary culprit for this disaster was the prodigal god, Miach.
On this particular point, his sympathies lay entirely with Naaza.
Their own home was practically starving, drowning under a mountain of debt, yet the deity continued his relentless crusade of charity, giving away exorbitantly expensive spiritual medicines without blinking an eye.
His actions might have genuinely saved the lives of many impoverished adventurers, but the one left to suffer the agonizing consequences was Naaza, the child forced to hold their crumbling household together.
Just as Dian Cecht's grating arrogance and the humiliating silence of Miach and Naaza wove into a suffocating net, a soft, soothing voice drifted in from the doorway.
"Lord Dian Cecht, please, that is enough. Stop causing such a scene."
Everyone turned toward the source of the voice, spotting a petite figure standing quietly by the door frame.
It was a young girl with flowing, silken silver hair, her features as exquisitely flawless as the most expensive porcelain doll in a high-end boutique.
The immaculate, pristine white uniform of her Familia sharply contrasted with the dim, dusty interior of the rundown pharmacy.
She immediately offered a deep, formal bow to the stunned occupants of the room. Her clear, crystalline eyes were brimming with genuine apology, as if she were taking the full weight of her patron god's boorish behavior upon her own shoulders.
"Bwa-ha-ha! Airmid, your heart is simply too soft."
Dian Cecht spared her a brief glance. Far from reining in his behavior, he laughed even louder. "Debts must be paid! It is the unbreakable law of the world. Besides, I am already showing them boundless mercy by offering an alternative!"
Airmid, the young girl, frowned slightly, clearly wanting to interject again, but a steady, calm voice beat her to it.
"Lord Dian Cecht."
Aiden stepped forward, moving out from in front of Hyacine to calmly meet the domineering god's oppressive gaze.
"I am Aiden, Captain of the Focalors Familia."
He introduced himself without a trace of subservience or arrogance. "The healer who crafts the Healing Spray is a core member of our Familia. She will absolutely not be joining the Dian Cecht Familia, and there is no need for any collaboration."
He stared directly into the older god's eyes. "Crafting potions is merely her side hobby. Being an adventurer is her primary profession."
Dian Cecht's booming laughter abruptly ceased.
His arrogant eyes narrowed as he assessed the white-haired youth standing before him.
His gaze then drifted lazily past Aiden, landing directly on Hyacine. With just a single glance, he accurately locked onto his target.
But surprisingly, he didn't press the issue. Instead, he erupted into another fit of mocking laughter.
"Is that so? If she is unwilling, then so be it."
He haughtily turned his head back to Miach, delivering his final ultimatum.
"Have the payment ready by tomorrow. Otherwise, do not blame me for casting aside my courtesies."
With that, he didn't spare another look at anyone else in the room. He spun on his heel and strode toward the door.
"Airmid, we are leaving."
"Yes, My Lord."
Airmid replied softly.
Before turning to follow, she offered another deeply apologetic bow to the room. Her exquisite, glass-like eyes lingered on Hyacine with a flicker of genuine curiosity for a brief moment before she hurried out after Dian Cecht.
Clack.
As the battered wooden door swung shut, profound silence reclaimed the pharmacy.
"Lord Miach," Aiden spoke, breaking the heavy quiet as he looked at the utterly defeated god. "If you are truly in a bind, we have some funds we can spare."
"No, no, absolutely not."
Miach waved his hands frantically in refusal.
He forced a smile that looked infinitely more agonizing than if he had simply burst into tears. "Don't mind Dian Cecht's harsh words. He has made those exact threats countless times before, and yet, this shop is still standing, isn't it? I will... I will figure something out."
Aiden looked at him quietly, choosing not to press the issue.
"Very well."
He nodded slowly. Since Miach stubbornly insisted he could resolve it, pushing the matter further as an outsider would only strip away whatever fragmented dignity the man had left.
Some pride had to be protected by one's own hands.
Of course, if the Miach Familia truly found themselves facing total ruin with no way out, Aiden wouldn't just stand by and watch. To him, money was important, but it certainly wasn't everything.
And besides, if money couldn't solve the problem, he had plenty of other methods at his disposal.
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