Ch.131Chapter 131 – Countless Requests for Handshakes

“Ahem, ahem. First, let me introduce myself. My name is Brute. Until just a few years ago, I was working as a mercenary.”

Lottery number 83 was a man named Brute.

A mercenary…

“You mentioned being a mercenary, but where did you mainly operate?”

“I worked in a small mercenary group called the Cold Wind Mercenaries. We weren’t particularly famous.”

Brute mentioned the name of his mercenary group, but nobody showed any sign of recognition.

It seems that, as he said, the Cold Wind Mercenaries truly weren’t well-known.

“I might look rather unimpressive now, but when I was active in the field, I had decent sword skills and had quite a few clients who sought me out.”

I examined Brute’s hands.

If he had been a swordsman, his hands should certainly bear calluses from years of sword training.

‘Judging by the thick calluses on his palms and fingers, he definitely handled a sword.’

He seems to have trained diligently enough to develop calluses, so why did he quit being a mercenary?

“At this point, some of you might be wondering why I quit the mercenary life. And what this cracked potion bottle with dried-up contents has to do with anything.”

Oh my. Perhaps because he was a former mercenary who had to pitch his skills to potential clients, Brute knew how to capture an audience’s attention.

I stepped back a bit and quietly listened to what story he was about to tell.

“I acquired this potion several years ago. Those of you who have worked as mercenaries might be familiar with this story. At the time I bought this potion, it cost about ten silver coins.”

The moment I heard Brute’s words, I wondered if the potion bottle in his hand was really worth that much.

Ten silver coins for a single potion.

So that’s why the glass bottle had such elaborate engravings.

“Ten silver coins for what appears to be an insignificant potion. Looking back now, it was truly an outrageous price.”

Brute’s statement was true.

The price of the most basic healing potion available in the market was about one silver coin.

According to him, there must have been some event that caused potion prices to drop to one-tenth of their original value in just a few years…

‘Did they establish a mass production system for potions? Or was the manufacturing cost of potions made public?’

I decided to quietly listen to what Brute had to say.

There’s something oddly satisfying about listening to someone tell their story.

“Back then, potion prices were ridiculously high due to collusion among alchemists. But for us mercenaries who risked our lives to earn money, potions were essential items to have, regardless of their cost.”

Brute gazed at the cracked potion bottle in his hand with a wistful look.

“So I saved money for several months, cutting back on expenses, to buy this single potion. I was so careful with it. But not long after, tragedy struck.”

Tragedy…

Ah, just get to the point already instead of making people wait.

“During a mission to clear out a goblin village, an arrow shot by a goblin archer hit me right in the chest. At that moment, I thought I was dead. But… this potion bottle stopped the arrow.”

“If it hit your chest, how did the potion bottle block the arrow?”

“It was such a precious item that I wrapped it with a cord and wore it around my neck. That way, I could use it quickly if I got injured.”

Hmm… is that so? I’ve never worked as a mercenary, so I wouldn’t know.

Since someone who actually worked as a mercenary says so, I guess that’s how it is.

“Not realizing what had happened, I continued clearing out the goblins… and only after the battle ended did I discover that the potion bottle had cracked and all its contents had spilled out. After that battle, I kept this potion bottle instead of throwing it away. Strangely enough, whenever I had it with me, even the most difficult missions seemed to go smoothly.”

“So it became a symbol of luck?”

“You could say that. For me, this potion bottle became a symbol of luck and a reliable support that helped me through difficult times.”

Brute held out the potion bottle to me.

“So, could you repair this cracked potion bottle to its original state?”

“Sure, let’s give it a try.”

I think I understand the story behind this potion bottle.

It’s like a coin, pendant, or amulet that saved someone’s life in a moment of crisis.

If someone were to ask whether this qualifies as a memento, I would answer YES.

After all, memories are relative and subjective.

I placed the potion bottle on the table.

I carefully positioned my hammer over the potion bottle on the table, then tapped it three times at regular intervals.

—Tap, tap, tap.

Since it was a cracked item, I used the hammer with a gentle tapping motion rather than striking it forcefully.

Then, just like with other items, the potion bottle began to glow and gradually return to its original form.

The cracks in the potion bottle slowly disappeared, leaving a smooth surface, and from the dried potion residue, new potion began to fill the bottle.

“Ah, what?”

“Why is the content filling up in a cracked potion bottle?”

People were amazed to see the cracked, dried-up potion bottle being repaired and filled with new contents.

Especially the sight of new potion filling up from the dried residue—it was truly a phenomenon that defied common sense.

‘I was also shocked when I first saw this.’

While restoring items damaged in an explosion, I discovered that the contents inside containers would also be replenished.

My ability literally ‘repairs’ everything, so perhaps when a container is ‘damaged’ and its contents leak out, the concept of ‘the container being repaired so the contents didn’t leak out’ is applied?

I never thought that the contents inside a container could also be a target for ‘repair’ through my ability.

‘But it doesn’t work when transferred to another container.’

When I tried using my ability on contents that I had distributed among several bottles, nothing happened.

Perhaps the state where I had transferred the contents was considered the normal state.

As an experiment, I broke a bottle and used my ability again, and found that it only filled up with the amount I had put in.

In other words, my ability doesn’t create something from nothing.

However, when I transferred the contents to another container, broke the original, and then used my ability, it returned to its original state.

But… did Mr. Brute never use this potion?

‘Well, he did say potions were rare, so he probably didn’t use it much.’

I handed the perfectly repaired potion bottle, now filled with contents, to Brute.

“Ah, aah… thank you. Thank you so much.”

Brute received the potion bottle I handed him and repeatedly expressed his gratitude.

Seeing teardrops falling to the floor, it was clear how precious this potion bottle was to him.

As Brute returned to his seat, I noticed a change in how people were looking at me.

What, what’s going on? Why is everyone’s reaction suddenly changing?

“What an amazing ability. Not only did a cracked potion bottle with dried contents become like new… even the contents were completely restored.”

“I’ll have to send an invitation to the next banquet, though I can’t this time.”

“Use the family’s intelligence network to gather information about Count Pathos Severio.”

Ahem. Ignoring the attention, I randomly selected people and repaired their mementos.

“Thank you! With this, I can continue fortune-telling for another 30 years! If you ever want your fortune told, find me in the central square!”

One fortune teller brought a crystal ball passed down from her parents, which I restored to look brand new, as if just purchased from the market.

“Thank you. If you ever need my help, contact me. Despite appearances, I have disciples in various knightly orders.”

A man who appeared to be a retired knight brought a sword broken in two, which I restored to look as if it had just been forged at a blacksmith’s shop.

“Thank you! Thank you so much! Now I can propose to her!”

A young man brought a token of promise that he had shared with someone he had promised to marry in childhood, which I neatly repaired.

“Thank you… These are shoes my children wore. They were burned in a fire, and I thought they could never be restored… If you ever need help, contact me. There isn’t an alchemist who would refuse my request.”

A stern-looking old man brought almost completely burned shoes from children he had lost in a fire when they were young, which I restored to new condition.

“This concludes today’s demonstration. Thank you.”

I ended the demonstration after selecting a few more people and repairing their mementos.

“Count! May I shake your hand?”

“Would you be able to attend a banquet hosted by our family?”

“Could you reform the troublemaker in our family?”

And then, countless requests for handshakes began pouring in.