The familiar crackle of torches welcomed you as you stepped into the ruined stone corridor, boots echoing against the cracked floor. At the far end, nestled beneath a half-collapsed archway, was the Merchant’s stall—glowing lanterns casting flickering light over the glint of gunmetal and glimmering gemstones. He was already there, of course, looming tall in his dark hooded coat, face half-shrouded in shadow, and that unmistakable gravel-soaked voice cutting through the silence.

“Ah, there ye are,” the Merchant said, folding his hands behind his back. “Got one more quest for ya.”

You exhaled a tired breath, hand resting on your hip. “Let me guess. More medallions to shoot down? Or do I get the joy of killing more vipers this time?”

The Merchant chuckled—a low, throat-deep rumble. “Heh... not quite.”

“Got anything new in that coat of yours?” you asked, raising a brow.

“Just the same old stuff,” the Merchant replied with a shrug, stepping aside to gesture to his wares.

You stepped closer, glancing over the familiar arsenal. “Your body armor’s looking a bit worn down,” the Merchant noted, tapping a heavy vest with one gloved hand. “Need a new one?”

“Pass,” you replied, eyes already scanning for anything remotely useful.

“How about any trinkets to sell?”

“Not yet.”

The Merchant leaned in slightly, voice softer now. “What about that knife of yours?”

You reached up to draw it—but froze.

Your breath hitched.

A streak of black was crawling up your forearm—thick, dark veins snaking from beneath your glove. The Plaga. It had begun to spread again.

“...Damn it,” you muttered under your breath, pulling your sleeve back down.

The Merchant stiffened, tone losing some of its usual calm. “Stranger?”

“I’m wasting my time here,” you snapped and turned to leave, the rising panic poorly masked by frustration.

“Wait there, mate,” the Merchant called out behind you.

“I said I can’t take another quest right now.”

“Stranger!” The sudden sharpness in the Merchant’s voice made you halt mid-step.

Turning around, your eyes widened as you saw the Merchant holding something up. A syringe glinted in the firelight, filled with a swirling, faintly glowing serum.

“Is that...?” you asked, throat tight.

“Mhmm.” The Merchant nodded once, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his hood.

“How much?”

“Ye have little faith.” He curled his fingers slowly, gesturing for you to come closer. “Come here.”