Chapter 51: Haggling
Ambrose wasn't exactly friends with Flynn. Their only real connection was an alchemical debate more than a decade ago, one that had led Ambrose to a startling realization: among humans, there were people who looked even scarier than he did as a skeleton.
Gustavo Flynn wasn't ugly. On the contrary, his features were well-defined, the sort of dignified handsomeness that came with age.
But his skin was dark, and when his face went slack—utterly devoid of expression—he radiated a natural, oppressive authority. There was even a rumor that once, without saying a single word, he had stared an alchemist into a fatal heart attack.
Couple that with Flynn's near-fanatical strictness toward alchemy, and it was said that many alchemists who had worked under him would have their legs turn to jelly at the mere sound of his footsteps.
Privately, plenty of people whispered that Gustavo Flynn was a lich in human guise. Otherwise, how could he possess such an innate aura of terror?
When Ambrose named his price of twenty million gold, Flynn countered without hesitation. "Five hundred thousand."
"Eighteen million."
"Eight hundred thousand."
"Seventeen million, nine hundred ninety thousand."