3 bar menu

Chapter 689

On a Certain Day, A Certain Place

I’d heard the rumors, black hair, and beneath it, those jet-black eyes staring back.

I hate people. They only ever praise and cling when they’re sick, when the harvest fails, when monsters multiply and life becomes unbearable. At all other times, no one approaches, no one even tries to be involved… all because I am an alchemist. Branded suspicious, called one who practices a loathsome art, one who deceives with trickery little better than fraud.

My father created countless medicines and magic tools, saving towns and villages, but in the end he was driven out of them all, and we became wanderers. Though he saved so many people, he himself was never saved by anyone, and died that way.

I hate people. The town where I lived with my mother was a good place, or so I believed. I thought I had many friends, kind adults