"Clearly," Elyon said, clutching the pouch as if it might vanish. "Do you have any idea how long this could have fed my tribe if they were still there? Or fund my missions? This is enough to live like a king for ten years or even more."
Lin Mu simply smiled, his eyes steady. "Then use it well. We'll need your senses when we go down. Little Shrubby and the others can't smell here well due to the ash."
Elyon stared at him for a moment longer, then tucked the pouch away with a subtle nod. But his thoughts were racing.
'Who was this man?'
He looked at Lin Mu again—at his calm demeanor, the way elemental energy clung to his form like a second skin, and the quiet intensity of his gaze. The Sword Intent that occasionally flickered from him was like a living thing, sharp and dignified, but not cruel. And now, this… wealth, casually dispensed like loose change?
