novelraw Chapter 167: Pandora-Grade Wormblood Brew
Chapter 167: Pandora-Grade Wormblood Brew
A few days later, on a certain street in Eden’s East District.
The place looked a lot “cleaner” than most. Broken glass was replaced. Graffiti scrubbed off walls. Holes in the pavement patched.
Shops lined both sides of the street.
As the main hub for Demon Hunter Apprentices in the Ruined Capital, Eden worked hard to keep up a twisted, fragile kind of order. A fake prosperity.
But among all the rough, practical buildings—the kind clearly rebuilt from scrap after the world ended—one shop stuck out like a sore thumb.
A flower shop.
The storefront wasn’t big, but the window was spotless. Inside, you wouldn’t find guns, ammo, zombie parts, or weird alchemy gear.
Just potted plants, arranged neatly.
Not the aggressive, overgrown, or poisonous mutant stuff from the wilds. Real flowers. From before.
A small pot with pale pink blooms. A succulent with fat green leaves. Even a white lily—a straight-up luxury in the ruins.
The front was painted a warm beige. The sign was raw wood, the shop name written in a soft script with hand-painted vines around the edges.
The door was open. A string of wind chimes, made from seashells and little glass beads, hung from the frame. When the breeze caught them, they produced a light, clean tinkling sound.
The whole vibe was the exact opposite of the Ruined Capital’s usual gloom, grit, and constant danger.
Maybe the owner’s idea was to carve out a little “oasis” with this old-world style. A place to forget the misery for a minute.
That might have been the plan.
But right now, looking at the flower shop from down the street—so different it looked almost fake next to everything else—it just felt… ironic.
The shop’s main trade was, of course, flowers.
But in a place where you could die any second and killing was a daily chore, how many apprentices had the time, the mood, or the spare coin for flowers?
Not many.
To make up for the money this clearly “sentimental” business was losing, the flower shop’s second floor had been turned into a small… Tea Room.
It sold simple sweet drinks made from dried flowers, hoarded honey, and fruit from the few trees that still grew.
Right now, in a small private booth on the second floor, separated by bamboo blinds, Nicole sat at a little round table with a plain cloth.
Two drinks were already there.
Inside the clear glasses was a pale yellow liquid. A few lemon slices and tiny golden petals sat at the bottom. Ice cubes floated on top. Condensation coated the outside.
The shop’s signature: Lemon Blossom Honey Water.
One glass was in front of Nicole. The other was across from her, at the empty seat.
Nicole’s fingers tapped lightly against the cold glass. Her eyes kept flicking toward the stairs, or out the window. From here, she could only see the stained wall of the building opposite.
“We agreed to meet here, right?” she murmured, her voice low with a thread of restlessness. “Don’t tell me she’s not coming?”
She lifted her own glass and took a small sip. The cold spread, carrying the sour lemon, the sweet honey, and a faint ghost of flowers. Although the flavor was indeed excellent, she found herself in no mood to truly appreciate it.
“If I’d known…” She set the cup down with a soft sigh. “…I wouldn’t have picked a spot inside Eden.”
Her eyes darted to the stairs again. Still empty. Just the faint, clean sound of the wind chimes downstairs.
Then, Nicole’s ears caught a subtle shift. Voices, talking downstairs. Not loud, muffled further by the blinds and walls, but she could just pick out a… familiar tone.
Nicole’s heart jumped. She stood up, walked softly out of the booth to the top of the stairs. She leaned forward slightly and looked down.
Sure enough.
A somewhat familiar figure stood at the first-floor counter, talking quietly with the always-smiling shopkeeper who wore her hair pinned up. The figure wore a plain grey-brown cloak, hood pulled low, face hidden.
But Nicole knew who it was.
She watched as the figure reached into a plain cloth bag at her waist and pulled out a small, palm-sized box. It was fancy—velvet-covered, edges reinforced with silver metal. She handed it to the shopkeeper.
The shopkeeper’s gentle smile vanished the second she took the box, replaced by solemn focus. She didn’t hand it off to the freckled girl assistant like normal stock. Instead, she whispered to the girl to mind the shop, then cradled the box herself and walked—not fast, but with steady, careful steps—toward the back door, disappearing behind a curtain.
That box, and what was in it, needed safer handling.
Right then, the figure downstairs seemed to feel the stare from above. She looked up.
From under the hood, Nicole saw the lower half of a face. Their eyes met at the top of the stairs.
Nicole’s gaze sharpened.
She noticed.
Pandora was wearing makeup. Not the pretty kind. Camouflage. The careful sort that changes shadows and highlights to alter the shape of cheekbones and jaw. She’d probably even tweaked her eyebrows and nose.
To a stranger, this face wouldn’t easily connect to the name “Pandora.”
But since Nicole was waiting for her, and had just heard her voice, she knew.
Nicole gave a slight nod downstairs, signaling her to come up. Then she turned and went back to the booth, sitting down.
A moment later, light footsteps approached. The bamboo blind was lifted gently. Pandora stepped in. She smoothed the blind back into place with one hand, then softly closed the wooden door behind her. It had good soundproofing.