After some searching, Freya found the place named in the envelope.
The Broken Axe Tavern stood at the far end of a narrow alley. Its location was secluded, and the building looked ready to fall apart.
Even the sign had not been mounted above the entrance. It simply stood upright beside the door.
Freya had to study the cracked and faded wood for some time before she could make out the words “Broken Axe.”
“So this is the place?”
She had already washed the blood from her face.
Her injured right hand still left her pale, and cold sweat continued to bead across her forehead. She looked even more fragile than usual, like a porcelain vase that might shatter at the slightest touch.
Freya did not hesitate.
She pushed open the door and entered the tavern.
The stench hit her at once.
Cheap tobacco, strong liquor, and the sour odor of unwashed bodies filled the room.
It was only around six in the evening, so the tavern was not especially crowded.
Freya looked around.
There were only two customers.
One sat alone in a corner, slowly working his way through a drink. The other leaned against the bar and seemed to be chatting with the owner.
Freya walked toward the counter.
The owner looked up at her and spoke without much interest.
“A kid? We don’t serve juice or milk here. You sure you came to the right place?”
The customer at the bar gave a whistle when he saw her.
“Well, aren’t you a pretty thing?”
When Freya stepped up to the counter, the man reached for her without warning, aiming a hand at her backside.
She quickly turned aside and put some distance between them.
The man clicked his tongue.
“You came to a place like this and still want to play innocent?”
He gave her a greasy smile.
“I’ve got plenty of interesting things at home. Why don’t you come have some fun with me later?”
Freya ignored him and looked at the owner.
“One Frosted Tangerine.”
The owner paused.
He studied her with visible confusion before answering.
“Sorry, kid. We don’t serve anything by that name.”
He leaned against the counter.
“Are you sure you haven’t made a mistake?”
Freya had no interest in wasting time trading coded phrases with him.
She went straight to the point.
“I know you have Demon Path potions.”
“You’ve been handing them out all over the city, haven’t you? I want one now.”
The owner fell silent again.
“Are you serious?”
He looked Freya up and down.
“I don’t know how you learned about any of this, but a Demon Path potion isn’t a child’s toy.”
“You need human flesh and blood to keep your mind intact after drinking it.”
His mouth curved into a faint smile.
“Can you actually kill someone? It would be embarrassing if you starved yourself to death.”
Freya said nothing.
Actions would make her point far more clearly than words.
She turned toward the customer who had tried to touch her and walked over.
The man smiled when he saw her approaching.
“What, changed your mind? I knew you’d come around. I can show you a wonderful…”
Freya interrupted him.
“You were right about one thing.”
“People who come to places like this usually aren’t decent.”
Her left hand emerged from beneath her clothes.
The barrel of the Loco 191 pointed directly at his face.
“Neither you nor me.”
Bang!
Freya fired once at close range.
The bullet struck the man in the head.
Before anyone could react, his body hit the floor with a heavy thud.
Only then did Freya turn back toward the owner.
She tilted her head slightly, wearing an almost innocent expression.
Her voice remained as soft and sweet as ever.
“What about now?”
The owner stared at her for several seconds.
Then he laughed.
“Hah… Hahaha!”
“How surprising.”
The way he looked at Freya changed completely.
A small, beautiful girl whose harmless appearance could fool almost anyone had just killed a man without the slightest change in expression.
To him, that was fascinating.
Perhaps even perfect.
“You killed Rex, didn’t you?”
The owner smiled.
“And then you took the envelope from his body.”
So the watcher’s name had been Rex.
Freya nodded without denying it.
The owner’s smile widened.
“I’m not giving you a Demon Path potion.”
“You deserve something better.”
He glanced at the unfortunate man Freya had just shot.
“First, though, we need to get rid of this body.”
The owner turned toward the tavern’s other customer.
The drunk in the corner was still staring down into his glass.
“Take the body somewhere and dump it.”
“I’ll cover your drinks for the next three days. How does that sound?”
The drunk slowly lifted his head and let out a belch.
“Where do you want it?”
“Wherever you like.”
The owner waved a hand dismissively.
“There are plenty of forgotten corners around here. Find somewhere without people.”
“No one will care if another corpse appears in one of them.”
With that, the owner left the tavern.
Freya followed him.
They wound through alley after alley.
Just as Freya began to feel completely lost, they reached a three-way intersection.
A man carrying a briefcase passed them.
Without slowing down, he handed the case to the tavern owner.
Neither man spoke.
The exchange looked perfectly natural.
The owner took the briefcase, turned toward an ordinary house nearby, and unlocked the front door.
Freya noticed that he had not taken the key from a pocket.
It had already been hidden in his palm.
Had the passing man slipped him the key along with the briefcase?
Once inside, the owner set the briefcase on a table and opened it.
A single bottle rested securely in the center.
The liquid inside was red, thick, and constantly shifting, like molten rock trapped behind glass.
The briefcase was roughly the size of a laptop case, yet it held nothing except that one potion.
The presentation gave the entire exchange a strangely formal feeling.
It reminded Freya of scenes from movies where someone presented an expensive gift in an oversized case.
Inside, there would be only a single lighter, a bottle of wine, or an elegant watch.
The owner removed the potion and offered it to Freya.
He did not explain what it was.
“Drink it.”
Freya accepted the bottle.
Without hesitation, she removed the cap and swallowed everything in one go.
There could not have been more than three fluid ounces inside.
It felt like drinking a mouthful of scalding herbal medicine.
An indescribable mixture of bitterness and burning heat spread through her mouth and throat.
Then her entire body seemed to catch fire.
Her temperature rose sharply.
If someone had measured it, it would probably have been well above 110 degrees Fahrenheit.
Freya’s legs gave out.
She collapsed to the floor as large drops of sweat rolled down her forehead.
It was not only her face.
Her shirt and trousers were soon soaked through.
Visible white steam rose from her body.
The process continued for at least five minutes.
Only then did her temperature begin to fall.
As the heat faded, an endless surge of strength flowed through every part of her body.
Freya rose to her feet again.
She looked down at her hands and slowly clenched them into fists.
She could not yet tell exactly how strong she had become.
But the injury to her right hand had already healed most of the way.
The tavern owner had watched the entire process.
Now he smiled.
“That was the first-stage potion of the War Path.”
“Its effect is simple. It provides an enormous improvement to the drinker’s physical abilities.”
He gestured toward Freya.
“Even an ordinary, frail person can become a super-soldier capable of fighting a hundred men after drinking it.”
“The War Path?”
Freya’s surprise was genuine.
The War Path was one of the twelve Paths humanity had already studied.
More importantly, it was an official Path controlled by the state.
The government kept strict control over both its potion formulas and the materials required to produce them.
For an ordinary person, there was only one reliable way to obtain a War Path potion.
Enlist in the military.
Serve with distinction.
Then exchange military merit for the potion.