The Mana Recovery Potion

With no notable incidents to disrupt our journey, the wagon gracefully carried us to the bustling heart of the Outer Market.

As night cast its mysterious veil, the market came alive with vibrant activity, a tapestry of sights and sounds that painted the scene before me.

Eager to conclude my purpose, I swiftly settled my payment with the wagon driver, who wore a gleeful smile as he accepted the coins.

My arrival in the Outer Market held a singular objective - the acquisition of a mana recovery potion.

This coveted elixir, reserved for the wealthy adventurers and nobles, commanded a substantial price ranging from twenty to fifty gold coins.

My meagre wealth, consisting of a mere thirty-one gold coins, would be entirely depleted upon securing this potion.

However, such financial limitations did not weigh heavily upon me, for I already possessed a solution to this quandary, killing beasts and selling their precious body parts isn't a bad idea.

As I ventured deeper into the labyrinthine recesses of the Outer Market, a transformative shift engulfed the surroundings.

The ordinary lamps that adorned the outer reaches were replaced by luminous talismans and mana-infused lanterns.

The familiar sights of common folk dwindled, replaced by the presence of esteemed adventurers, noble patrons, and county officials.

I stood before the entrance of a quaint establishment named "Grakar's Apothecary," its weathered sign hanging precariously above the door.

Stepping inside, the shop appeared devoid of life, prompting me to ring the bell stationed atop the reception desk. A resonant chime reverberated through the air, signalling my presence.

"Coming," echoed a hoarse voice from the depths of the shop. My gaze wandered, taking in the assortment of vibrant solutions housed within small bottles neatly arranged on the shelves. Casting my eyes upward, I noticed an array of preserved creature heads submerged in a delicate, light-yellow liquid. Among them, an orc's head caught my attention, silently bearing witness to the peculiarities within this peculiar place.

"What do you want?"

In due time, my attention was drawn to the speaker—a haggard old lady, her countenance etched with the passage of time. Wrinkles adorned her face and sagging skin, while a magical staff supported her weary steps.

"I want a mana recovery potion, my budget is thirty gold coins, can you manage it?" I inquired.

"The potency of a potion at that price range would be modest, capable of replenishing a mere two percent of your mana," the old lady replied, her voice laced with a knowing tone.

"It shall suffice to avert a potential backlash." I muttered under my breath, unaware that my words had not escaped her keen perception.

Seemingly amused by my muttered comment, the old lady cast a peculiar glance my way before responding, "Of course, my products are the best in the entire Edren."

Without delay, she retrieved a green-hued potion and placed it delicately within my outstretched hand.

Familiarity coursed through me, as I had encountered similar potions during past missions before my regression.

However, this marked my first personal acquisition of such a potion. Hastily, I exchanged the agreed-upon sum, severing the last tether of my financial stability.

A wry chuckle escaped my lips as I acknowledged my newfound status of destitution.

As I examined the potion bottle, its elven script in the label revealed a plethora of inscriptions—a testament to the language commonly employed in all matters related to magic.