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The cloth curtain that covered the shop entrance did not flutter like normal fabric. It moved like skin.
It was soft. It was heavy.
As if it had soaked up years of smoke and secrets until it learned to cling to them.
Sekhmet pushed it aside and stepped in.
Shhhk...
The sound faded quickly, swallowed by the shop’s silence.
Inside, the air was colder than the market outside. Not winter-cold. Not natural-cold. It was the kind of chill that sat in the bones like a warning, like the room itself was telling visitors not to get comfortable.
A faint red glow lit the space from lanterns that were not lanterns. They looked like glass bulbs filled with thick crimson liquid, swirling slowly as if alive.
Drip... drip...
A slow sound of liquid dripping echoed somewhere deeper in the shop, steady and patient.
The shelves were packed.
Not with weapons.
Not with artifacts.
With jars.
Hundreds of jars.
Some small as a fist.
Some large as a head.
All filled with different shades of red, black, purple, green, even golden.
Blood.
Fresh blood sat in glass, thick and glossy like it had been collected minutes ago. It clung to the sides of the jars, moving slightly as if it still remembered being inside a living thing.
Other jars were older. Their contents were darker, congealed into clots. Some were dry, flaking like paper when light touched them. Some had become hard chunks, like frozen stones. Some were ancient enough to look like fossils trapped in resin.
Bat Bat’s claws tightened on Sekhmet’s shoulder.
Bat Bat sniffed the air loudly, then whispered with the intensity of a starving child looking at a banquet.
"Very hungry," it said. "Smell... very good."
Sekhmet’s throat tightened slightly, not because of fear, but because his own hunger answered the scent.
It was different from hunger for meat.
Different from hunger for water.
This was a pull.
A craving.
A voice in the blood itself.
Bat Bat’s tiny body trembled.
Then it leaned close to Sekhmet’s ear and whispered again, lower this time.
"But... old lady smell dangerous."
Sekhmet’s gaze shifted toward the counter.
The shopkeeper was there, sitting behind a low wooden desk that looked older than the city itself. The wood was stained dark, not from age alone, but from use. The desk smelled faintly of iron.
The woman behind it looked... small.
Very small.
Her back was hunched, and her shoulders were wrapped in a gray shawl stitched with thread that shimmered faintly like spider silk. Her hair was white and thin, tied back with a bone pin. Her face was wrinkled like dried fruit, but her eyes...
Her eyes were sharp.
Not bright.
Not glowing.
Sharp like a needle.
A predator’s eyes inside an old body.
She did not smile.
She simply watched Sekhmet as if she had been expecting him.
Sekhmet’s blood eye activated.
The world sharpened again.
Information flickered over the old woman’s head.
[Name: ???
Race: Witch
Chaos Rank: 4
Overall Battle Power: 50000-]
Sekhmet’s jaw tightened slightly.
"Under fifty thousand, he thought. Chaos Rank 4."
That was not a small number. That was the kind of number that made city elites cautious, the kind of number that could wipe out small gangs alone.
And she was sitting here, selling blood like it was dried fish.
"So, she is a witch." He said out loud.
Bat Bat whispered, "Witch."
Sekhmet muttered, "Yes."
The old woman’s gaze flicked to Bat Bat.
For a heartbeat, Sekhmet felt the air tighten.
Then the old woman’s lips twitched as if she found something amusing.
"A bat," she said, voice dry. "How cute."
Bat Bat puffed up instantly.
"Not cute," it said. "Strong."
The old woman’s eyes narrowed.
"Talking bat," she corrected. "How strange."
Bat Bat nodded proudly, as if "strange" was a compliment.
Sekhmet stepped forward.
The shop smelled like blood and herbs and old paper.
And underneath it all, a faint scent of something bitter.
Cursed salt.
Witchcraft.
Sekhmet’s instincts did not tell him to run.
They told him to be polite.
Because some predators did not chase.
They waited.
Sekhmet stopped at the counter, hands relaxed, posture calm.
"Good evening," he said.
The old woman stared at him as if deciding what kind of evening it would be.
Then she spoke.
"Evening is irrelevant underground," she said. "Time is a concept for people who think they will live long enough to waste it."
Sekhmet blinked once.
Bat Bat whispered, "She is rude."
Sekhmet muttered, "She is honest."
The old woman leaned forward slightly.
"You came for blood," she said.
It was not a question.
Sekhmet did not deny it.
"Yes," he replied.
The old woman’s gaze slid to his throat, then to his eyes.
For a moment, Sekhmet felt like she was looking through his skin.
Then she leaned back again.
"Human," she said, tone faintly amused. "Not common to see humans buying blood unless they are desperate... or stupid."
Sekhmet’s expression did not change.
"I am neither," he said calmly.
Bat Bat whispered loudly, "Master sometimes stupid."
Sekhmet’s eyes twitched.
"Quiet," he murmured.
The old woman’s lips curled slightly, a half-smile without warmth.
"Alright," she said. "Look. Do not touch."
Sekhmet nodded.
He moved along the shelves, careful.
He activated Blood Eye again, this time focusing on the jars.
The first jar he looked at was a thick red liquid sealed with black wax.
[Blood Type: Beastkin (Boar)
Age: 3 days
Purity: Low to none
Notes: Not suitable for minor rituals. Nutritional value: moderate.]
Sekhmet shifted to the next.
A jar with dark purple blood, slightly glowing.
[Blood Type: Shadow Lizard
Age: 11 days
Purity: Low
Notes: Contains trace shadow affinity. Summon compatibility: low.]
He frowned slightly.
So his blood eye could read blood too, not just people and items.
That meant he could shop with knowledge, not guesswork.
He scanned more jars.
Some were simple.
Some were strange.
One jar contained green blood that bubbled slowly.
[Blood Type: Poison Swamp Troll
Age: 20 days
Notes: High toxicity. Not recommended for consumption.]