Outside, the tavern sank into a heavy silence, pierced only by the stench of fresh blood and the sound of it dripping from scattered corpses of the "Blood Fang" gang members. Emilia, with the composure of a seasoned assassin, pulled her dagger from the head of the last man drawing his final breath. She wiped the blade calmly against his torn shirt, then muttered coldly: "Good... we're done with Blood Fang. Now, should I go inside? Or wait for that boy..."
Her eyes kept watch on the tavern door, her body ready for any emergency. A few meters away, Jamie approached with confident steps, as if strolling through a park, despite the heavy scent of death lingering in the air. His eyes scanned his surroundings, a subtle smile playing on his lips as he pondered how easy it was to eliminate the gang. Suddenly, he stopped, closed his eyes, and focused the mana within him. A gentle wave of energy surged from him, expanding in a circle with a ten-meter radius. In an instant, a clear mental image of his surroundings formed in his mind: two rooms on the tavern's upper floor, filled with coins, piles of treasure, and several rare magical artifacts.
A cunning smile formed on his lips as he muttered: "Heheh... this wasn't just a heroic deed; it was a profitable transaction." As he walked toward the tavern, a thought occurred to him, and he began reviewing calculations aloud to himself: "The currency system in the continent of Afrir, used across all empires and kingdoms: Bronze coins, Silver coins, Gold coins, and Platinum coins. The exchange rate is as follows: 10 Bronze = 1 Silver, 10 Silver = 1 Gold, 100 Gold = 1 Platinum."
Jamie then unleashed the First Circle spell: "Short-term Mental Communication," a spell with a base range of seven meters that could be expanded depending on the caster's strength. He sent a brief mental call: "Hey Emilia, come here. I found things that will be useful to us."
He stepped inside firmly, kicked the first door open with enough force to make its hinges screech sharply, and rushed inside. Losing no time, he began filling a large sack rapidly: "Hahaha! Good thing I brought more than seven sacks!" His hands moved swiftly, stacking silver and bronze coins and picking up magical artifacts with an expert eye. He then paused, panting and laughing out loud: "Hahaha... finally! I can't believe these scumbags are richer than me! I went from 'below poverty' to 'poverty'! What bliss!"
At the entrance, Emilia observed him in silence, her expression neutral, though a mocking thought echoed inside her: This boy... loves money more than his own family. She approached with quiet steps and said softly: "Young Master... Jamie."
Jamie replied: "Haha, Emilia, great that you're here. Grab a sack and fill it."
Emilia answered: "However, Master... I have a Spatial Storage Item." She pointed to an elegant metal bracelet gleaming on her wrist.
Jamie froze in place, his eyes widening in genuine shock: "What? A Spatial Storage Item?! Those sell for hundreds of silver or tens of gold! How do you have one? My annual income as a 'Baron' doesn't exceed five silver coins! And the cheapest storage item costs 80 silver... that's 16 years of my income!"
She smiled mockingly as she examined him: "I am a Fourth-rank Assassin, and my mission salary exceeds one thousand silver, which is ten gold pieces. Didn't you know?"
Jamie replied: "Ahem... I didn't know. Anyway, store everything."
With professional skill, Emilia stored the loot from both rooms within minutes. The coins vanished into the spatial dimension, and she neatly organized the rare artifacts inside her bracelet's space. Once finished, she asked casually, as if discussing routine matters: "Master, is that fool we brought with us dead?"
Jamie glanced at Ghalib, who lay unconscious on the floor, then said indifferently: "That bastard? Unfortunately, he's still alive. We will execute him tomorrow. We have only one day left before my duel with Otana Weiser. As for the money, we collected: 510 silver coins, 4,000 bronze coins (equivalent to 400 silver), and magical artifacts valued at 90 silver + 70 silver worth of bronze. The total... is about 1,110 silver pieces, which is roughly 111 gold pieces."
Jamie sighed as he looked over the figures: "The amount is good, but it's not enough to develop the barony. It will be sufficient to stabilize it economically and militarily for a while... but I have a plan to increase our funds soon." They exited the tavern together, Jamie dragging Ghalib by his clothes as if he were a sack of potatoes, while Emilia walked beside him with steady steps. She turned her head toward him and said coldly: "I know a place that will pay a better price for magical artifacts than the normal market."
Jamie asked her: "Where? The underworld?"
She replied: "Correct. What do you think?"
Jamie said: "Agreed... but after the duel with Otana Weiser."
Deep in the forest, the sky was obscured by intertwined branches, through which pale rays of sunlight broke against the light fog hanging between the trees. The air had a heavy scent—a mix of damp mud and decaying leaves—and the roars of beasts echoed between the trunks like a distant yet ominous echo. Viscount Haron Weiser stood at the edge of a natural clearing, behind rows of his soldiers who formed a semicircle, watching the scene before him with a practiced eye. In the center, Ceron Silver was battling D-rank beasts.
His movements were not mere strikes; they were like a dance of death. Every step was calculated, every spin closing the distance with lethal precision. With his powerful hands, he gripped the hilt of his sword as if it were an extension of his arm, the blade gleaming whenever it pierced a beast's hide. Beast blood splattered around him like splashes of dark paint on a canvas, but he did not pause for a second. His features remained impassive, his eyes as cold as the surface of a frozen lake on a winter night.
The Viscount spoke in a calm voice, akin to a narrator describing a legendary painting: "The one known as the Silver Wolf... a 2-Star Mid-tier Swordsman. His will is unyielding, and his combat style is swift and decisive. Even I, as a 3-Star Mid-tier Swordsman, engaged in a long battle with him before I managed to defeat him." Otana Weiser raised his eyebrows, as if hearing unexpected news: "Is he the strongest and most talented in the Silver family?"
The Viscount laughed—a short laugh packed with confidence: "Hahahaha, no. Although Ceron Silver reached his current standing through sheer effort, he possessed neither innate talent nor support from his family. Even so, after years of war, he proved himself to be a warrior not to be underestimated. But there is someone stronger... the former head of the family, his younger brother Mark Silver, known as the Owl's Eye. A High-tier Swordsman." Otana's tone grew sharper: "Father Viscount, I know Ceron's achievements, but what were Mark's?"
Haron replied seriously, his voice cutting through the din of battle: "It's natural that you wouldn't know. Mark was one of the prominent figures in the mountain dragon subjugation campaign twenty years ago." Otana turned to him, his eyes widening: "A dragon?" Haron nodded firmly: "Yes. Even though the dragon was young in age and size, slaying it required five High-tier, ten Mid-tier, and twenty-six Low-tier swordsmen. The former Baron, Mark Silver, delivered the final strike. However... he is now between life and death due to his illness."
Otana shook his head slowly in disbelief: "Impossible... How could a High-tier Swordsman..." At that moment, Ceron interrupted their conversation without turning around, his voice steady amidst his measured breaths: "I respect my brother, but that doesn't stop me from being jealous of his talent and power." He then finished off the last beast with a side slash, wiped the blood off his blade with a white cloth, and asked: "How much time do we have left, Viscount Haron Weiser?"
Haron answered after glancing at the horizon: "Roughly... we will arrive the day after tomorrow, Ceron Silver."
Ceron gave a brief smile: "Good."