The Extra Villain: I Made a Contract With The Dragon Empress!

"That's really unlucky. If I can't earn money, how can I cure my grandmother?" Tharvis muttered with a wry smile.

He was still too young to do heavy labor like an adult, and the wages were far too little.

Tharvis needed a lot of money to cure his grandmother completely. The only way was to sell potions, but people saw him as a swindler—even though his potions were real.

With a deep sigh, he hobbled off into the distance. People shunned him as if he were some kind of pest.

Suddenly, a boy's voice called out from behind him.

"Wait a minute!"

Startled, Tharvis turned around and saw a boy in a gray cloak, his head hidden under a hood.

His brows furrowed slightly as he asked, "Do you need something from me, kid?"

Merlin rolled his eyes. Judging from his posture, Tharvis couldn't be more than eleven years old. Yet this boy had the nerve to call him "kid," which left him a little displeased.

Still, he was too lazy to argue and replied indifferently, "I want to buy your potion. But let's go somewhere else."

Without waiting for a response, Merlin turned and walked into a narrow alley on the left.

Tharvis hesitated, uncertain. He didn't know Merlin and couldn't tell if the boy had bad intentions. After a few seconds of thought, however, he gritted his teeth and followed.

He had no choice—any chance to cure his grandmother was one he had to take.

After the two walked deeper into the narrow alley, Merlin suddenly stopped and looked back.

Tharvis tensed up instantly but still tried to maintain a calm demeanor.

Seeing that, Merlin chuckled. "Don't worry so much. I have no bad intentions. Besides, you're older than me, so you should be stronger too."

Those reasonable-sounding words made Tharvis nod slightly. His caution began to ease. "Alright then, let's get to the real topic. Do you really want to buy my potion?"

He glanced at the blue potion bottle resting in his left palm with doubt in his eyes.

"Yes, I want to buy it," Merlin replied without hesitation. "Just tell me the price, and I'll pay."

"Why are you so interested in my potion? Isn't it considered fake?" Tharvis asked skeptically.

He had tried selling it to various shops and passersby, but all of them dismissed it as flawed and even branded him a swindler. Merlin's eagerness only confused him further.

"It's fine. I'm just interested in your potion," Merlin said briefly.

Despite his doubts, Tharvis didn't overthink it and gave a small nod.

"Alright, I understand. As for the price..." He paused for a moment, as if considering. "How about ten bronze coins?"

He knew his potion was considered flawed, even worthless. But he was hungry, and his grandmother still needed medicine to suppress her illness.

"Ten bronze coins, huh?" Merlin muttered, rubbing his chin.

Tharvis' body trembled. He hurriedly pleaded, "If it's too expensive, then how about just five—no, three—bronze coins?"

He bit his lower lip, his face filled with sadness and distress, which made Merlin burst into laughter.

"You misunderstood. Actually, the price you're offering is far too low," Merlin replied casually. "How about this—I'll pay you five silver coins."

As he spoke, he reached into his wallet, pulled out five silver coins, and handed them over.

Tharvis froze, unable to believe what he was seeing.

"This…" His lips quivered, opening and closing. After a long pause, he carefully refused, "I can't accept this. Five silver coins is too much—my potion isn't worth that much."

Let alone five—just one silver coin was already far more than enough. He couldn't tell if Merlin was being serious or just toying with him.

Watching him refuse, a smile spread across Merlin's face.

'He really is an interesting person,' he murmured softly.

Anyone else would have taken the money without a second thought. Yet here was Tharvis, rejecting it, insisting his potion wasn't worth such a high price.

As expected of a supporting character in a novel—he still upheld morals and ethics.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Merlin pulled back his hand, then firmly placed the five silver coins into Tharvis' palm.

"Take it," he said as he picked up the potion from his left hand.

Tharvis stared at the coins in a daze. In his entire life, he had never held this much money. Before, he had always believed it was impossible for him to ever have it.

But now, whether by luck or something else, the coins were truly in his hands. It felt like a dream.

Clasping the coins tightly in his right hand, he looked at Merlin with deep gratitude and bowed low.

"Thank you, Young Master! I don't know how to repay your kindness!" he said in a hoarse voice.

Tears welled up and streamed down his cheeks. He had no idea what Merlin's intentions were, nor did he care. The kindness itself meant everything to him.

With this money, he could finally buy food, clothes, and medicine for his sick grandmother.

Merlin quickly reached out and straightened him up, stopping him from bowing any further.

"Alright, I accept your gratitude. So don't bow like that," he said gently.

Tharvis wiped away his tears, and his respect for Merlin grew instantly.

"By the way, I want to ask you something," Merlin said, his gaze fixed on the potion bottle. "How did you make this potion?"

Judging by the color, it was clearly a healing potion. In terms of quality, it should be around level D, maybe even C.

Although not particularly high, Merlin didn't dare to underestimate it. For a poor child Tharvis' age, without proper tools or equipment, the result was remarkable.

"There's no special method. I just followed a recipe I found in my grandmother's room. She told me my grandfather used to be an alchemist, and I became interested in learning. So, I gathered the ingredients from the mountain behind our house and mixed them in a big pot, like boiling water," Tharvis replied shyly.

Merlin was stunned. His eyes widened as he repeated in disbelief, "You make it… like boiling water?"

"Yes," Tharvis nodded, making Merlin take a deep breath to calm his suddenly racing heartbeat.

'System, are you sure Tharvis isn't the main character? His talent is way too good, isn't it?' Merlin complained inwardly.

Normally, alchemists had to study theory for at least a year before even attempting to concoct potions.

And even then, the results were uncertain—most of the time they faced several failures before succeeding.

Yet Tharvis had managed it with nothing but a simple recipe from his grandfather, producing a D-level healing potion!

Although not perfect, it was still an impressive result.

"[Ahem! The main character is still Abel, Master. And it's only natural for a supporting character like him to have talent, right? Otherwise, how could he help the protagonist?]"

Hearing that answer, Merlin nodded in agreement. Refocusing on Tharvis, a faint smile crossed his lips as he patted the boy's shoulder.

"Your talent is truly amazing. What if I give you a chance to rise?"