Ivy had just found a sliver of hope…
Only for it to be smothered by a heavier fog.
Even if the Winter Witch had stayed in Brookwood Town, even if she'd written a spellbook there—how could Ivy possibly dig it out?
This wasn't some nameless mage's casual notebook.
This was a legendary grimoire left behind by the Empire's once-strongest Elemental Shaper.
If news leaked—even unconfirmed—countless people would flood the borderlands. Measured by the Containment Bureau's standards, it was unquestionably Tier Five or higher—something the Director and the central experts would have to handle personally.
The captain and his "friend" were taking enormous risk just mentioning it.
This single rumor could spark a war.
Ivy's mind raced… but no matter how she turned it, she couldn't figure out where such a grimoire might be hidden, or who in a backwater town could possibly be worth the Winter Witch's time.
Her gaze drifted over the loud crowd.
And landed on Ethan.
Then she saw what was in his hands.
Two beers.
Magic-book thoughts were instantly blasted out of her head.
A hot rush punched straight into her skull.
Ivy had the grim certainty that working with Ethan would kill her early.
She left for mere minutes to buy information, and this idiot had already been scammed by a beer hustler!
She knew what a guild clerk earned. Saving two gold lions would take him ages. Those two beers could easily erase months of scraping by.
He'd promised her—hand on chest—he wouldn't be duped.
Ivy approached with a stormy calm, listening to Ethan's conversation.
They were discussing the earlier youth. The guards hadn't dragged him away yet—customers with a cruel streak wanted him kept here a little longer, just so he could witness what came next.
A gentleman in fine clothes chuckled.
"He came looking for his fiancée. Apparently he mortgaged his house just to get an entry ticket."
The gentleman pointed.
"But his fiancée? Her gambler of a father sold her long ago. That dancer over there—she entertains on this ship. If she's lucky, some rich merchant or noble might take her in… maybe even buy her freedom."
"No wonder he fought in the tavern," Ethan said, nodding.
From this point onward, the deck reeked of minotaur energy.
Ivy, sneaking up behind them, shook her head.
Ethan would get scammed in an instant—and worse, he was about to sprout some ridiculous sense of justice in Wallhearth Bay.
That kind of person only had one ending: debt, desperation, and eventually being pawned off like livestock.
Ethan asked, "But… doesn't the Empire ban human trafficking?"
"First time in Wallhearth Bay?" The gentleman stared like Ethan was a fossil.
"You used teleportation to get here, didn't you? This place isn't inside the Empire. Imperial law doesn't apply."
He let the words hang with casual cruelty.
"You can buy anything here. Including living people."
That was Lofik's promise.
Then he added, voice darkly amused.
"Honestly, Empire citizens are one of the best-selling commodities here."
"Brother, thanks for the explanation!" Ethan said warmly. "Come—let me toast you!"
That single brother clearly hit the gentleman right in the ego.
He accepted the beer and chugged loudly—glug glug glug—proving how delighted he was.
Ivy almost stepped in—
And then she saw something strange.
Midway through, Ethan abruptly stopped drinking.
A few hulking men surged out of the crowd, surrounding them.
Ethan calmly handed his beer to the middle-aged hustler at their head.
The man chuckled and paid Ethan fifty silver antlers.
"…Good beer?" the gentleman finally noticed the men around him, his face turning green.
Ethan lifted his thumb.
"Refreshing! Brewed by a master from Windless City—top-grade hops and wheat. You can only taste craftsmanship like this in Wallhearth Bay!"
He leaned in, voice bright.
"Now only one gold lion!"
What followed was a friendly private conversation between the hustler's men and the gentleman.
Ethan politely stepped away, leaving them the space.
Only then did he notice Ivy.
"Oh, you're back!"
Ivy took an instinctive step away, as if distancing herself from a contagious disease.
"What… were you doing?"
"Selling beer. Side hustle."
Ethan spoke like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"There's a crowd watching, and people let their guard down when they're entertained. Most folks know the bartender, so I negotiated a cut—every beer I sell, I get fifty silver antlers."
He added, almost academically, "It's basic psychology."
Ivy went silent.
Her assessment had been completely wrong.
Ethan hadn't been scammed.
He'd tried to profit off a stranger's tragedy.
He had no justice in his bones at all—he moved like someone who'd been crawling around Wallhearth Bay for years.
Ethan sighed in honest admiration.
"Wallhearth Bay is great. You make money way faster than working a job."
At this rate, he might earn enough for books in no time.
As for the youth's misfortune—well, if you slapped the minotaurs in the face, wasn't that a kind of help?
The gentleman, freshly squeezed for a gold lion, shot Ethan a murderous look and stormed off, no longer interested in watching the show.
Ethan, it seemed, was not alone in his crusade.
Then—
Footsteps cut through the crowd, and a young man in a luxurious white suit drew every eye.
A silver whip hung at his waist—rare in the Empire. He had shoulder-length golden curls, and even with a mask on, his stride and confidence screamed nobility.
After hearing the situation from the guards, the golden-haired young master waved his hand.
"How much is their redemption fee?" he said lightly. "I'll pay."
Silence fell across the deck.
Expressions twisted.
Even the victim youth stared up at him in disbelief.
Everyone thought the newcomer was insane.
Redemption fees for causing trouble on Lofik turf weren't small. Troublemakers usually had only two endings: slavery until their debt was repaid—or being pawned off, piece by piece, until nothing was left.
"One hundred gold lions. And his fiancée," the guard announced after consulting with the ship's manager.
Smiles immediately bloomed—predatory and delighted.
They were thrilled to watch the shining noble get stuck with a price he couldn't pay.
Who would throw away a hundred gold lions for a stranger?
And then a black-haired maid in a veil came rushing over with a box, panicked.
"Young master, what are you doing?!"
"Oh, perfect timing," the young master said casually. "Pay them the hundred."
"A hundred—?!" The maid nearly choked. She lowered her voice. "If the lord finds out you're wasting money—he'll be furious!"
"You told me I could buy anything in Wallhearth Bay."
The young master didn't waver.
"I found what I want."
He raised his chin.
"I want to buy… justice."
Ethan, watching behind his mask, looked down at the fifty silver antlers in his hand… then looked back up at the young master.
That day, he met the world's unfairness face-to-face.
The maid might be sighing, but—
They really did have a hundred gold lions.
"Miss," Ethan murmured, rubbing his eyes behind the mask. He pointed at the young master and asked Ivy, "Is it just me, or is that guy… glowing?"
He swore the man radiated golden light.
The color of gold lions.
And he looked like a pure-love warrior too—same faction as Ethan, clearly.
Ivy pinched the bridge of her nose.
"…Are you short on money?"
"A little," Ethan admitted.
He hadn't been—until he came to Wallhearth Bay and saw those books.
"If you're short, borrow from me. I can give you money."
Ethan's eyes sharpened instantly.
"What's the interest?"
Ivy stumbled like she'd been struck.
Her voice turned icy.
"No interest. The only condition is you stop mingling with beer hustlers."
She paused, disgusted.
"I can't afford to lose face like that."
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