"I'm not here to buy," Aryan said calmly. He approached the counter and carefully placed the queen's poison sac on the polished wood.
"I'm here to sell."
The old alchemist, Master Elara, stopped her grinding. Her sharp eyes fell on the sac. She put her pestle down and, without a word, picked up the sac, her long, thin fingers surprisingly steady. She held it up to the light of a glowing spirit stone, her eyes narrowing as she examined the milky, iridescent fluid within.
"Queen of the Old Distillery," she said, her voice a dry rasp. It wasn't a question. "I heard the bounty was claimed yesterday. I did not expect the claimant to be a boy who still smells of his mother's milk."
"Does my age affect the quality of the venom?" Aryan asked, his tone unruffled.
A flicker of amusement crossed Elara's stern features. She placed the sac back on the counter. "No, it does not. The quality is surprisingly high. The queen was well-fed. The venom is potent, suitable for creating at least three vials of paralytic poison or for use as a catalyst in certain body-refining medicines." She looked at him, her gaze sharp and appraising. "I will give you twenty gold coins for it."
Aryan's mind instantly cross-referenced the offer with the system's background data on local market values. It was a low offer, but not insulting. It was a starting point for negotiation.
"The market value for raw venom from a 4th Layer Qi Condensation beast is twenty-eight gold. Given the purity of this sample, which you noted, and the fact that it is from a queen, which adds a premium for potency, a base value of thirty-five gold is more accurate. I will accept thirty-two for a quick, clean deal."
Elara's eyebrows rose slightly. The boy was not ignorant. He knew the value of his goods. "You have a good eye, boy. But you forget the alchemist's fee for purification and processing. Thirty-five is the price of the finished product, not the raw material. My final offer is twenty-five gold."
"Thirty," Aryan countered, his voice firm. "I am providing you with a material you cannot easily source elsewhere. The time and effort you save is worth the extra five gold."
Elara stared at him for a long, silent moment. She saw no youthful arrogance in his eyes, only a calm, unshakeable confidence. This wasn't a boy; it was a businessman.
A slow, dry smile touched her lips. "Thirty gold it is," she said. "It is refreshing to deal with someone who understands value." She counted out the gleaming coins from a heavy lockbox behind the counter, her movements precise.
Aryan accepted the gold, adding it to the pouch he'd received from the Mercenary Hall. He now had a respectable amount of liquid capital. He gave the alchemist a slight nod of thanks.
"One more thing," Elara said as he turned to leave, her voice stopping him at the door. "A young man with your nerve and resources is likely aiming for the Azure Dragon Academy. So, a piece of free information. The final trial this year is in the Whispering Beast Forest. A word of advice: the beasts there do not hiss to announce their presence. They are far more subtle. Come back when you need more than just gold."
Aryan paused at the door, his back to her. "Thank you for the information, Master Elara."
He stepped out of the shop, his mind already processing the new data. The Whispering Beast Forest. It was a notorious hunting ground on the outskirts of the Azure Province, filled with a diverse array of spiritual beasts. It was the perfect place to test his skills, hone his techniques, and understand the nature of the foes he would face in the future.
He returned home as the sun began to set, the weight of gold in his pouch a comforting presence. In the courtyard, he saw Rohan, punching a wooden dummy with a desperate, furious intensity, sweat pouring from his brow. His brother was trying to brute-force a gap he couldn't comprehend.
Aryan watched him for a moment, feeling no rivalry, no satisfaction. Rohan was just another variable in a complex equation.
He went to his room and closed the door, the frantic sounds of his brother's struggle fading away. He sat on his bed, his mind a quiet, whirring machine processing variables and probabilities. Rohan was training his body. Aryan was planning a campaign. He wouldn't just prepare for the trial; he would analyze its challenges, master its environment, and exploit its every weakness. The Whispering Beast Forest would not be his trial. It would be his laboratory.