Three days later, a figure wearing a wide-brimmed bamboo hat and coarse hemp robes walked out of the misty treeline and onto the main road leading to Willow Creek Town.
Han Feng pulled the brim of his hat lower. He had stripped the armor off the dead guards and buried it deep in the forest; wearing it would have been a death sentence. Instead, he had ambushed a bandit group on the second day—killing three of them with efficient cruelty—to acquire these common clothes and a few taels of mortal silver.
The towering walls of Willow Creek Town loomed ahead. It was a small settlement on the edge of the Azure Empire, serving as a rest stop for hunters entering the Beast Mountain Range.
To a normal person, it was a bustling hub of trade. To Han Feng, who had spent six years in the pitch-black silence of a mine, it was an assault on the senses.
The smell of roasted meat, horse manure, and unwashed bodies hit him like a physical wall. The noise of hawkers shouting and carts rolling over cobblestones was deafening.
Civilization, Han Feng thought, a strange lump forming in his throat. He swallowed it down. Sentiment is a weakness.
He walked up to the gate. Two guards stood there, leaning on their spears, looking bored. They were merely at the 1st Level of Body Refining—stronger than a farmer, but ants compared to Han Feng's current state.
"Entry fee. Two copper coins," one guard grunted, not even looking up.
Han Feng flicked two coins onto the table. The guard waved him through.
Once inside, Han Feng didn't wander aimlessly. He had a goal. He needed resources to push his cultivation to the 4th Level—the Bone Forging Stage. To do that, he needed "Bone Tempering Pills" or high-grade spirit herbs.
He made his way to the center of town, where a three-story building stood, decorated with gold leaf and red lanterns.
The Treasure Gathering Hall.
This was a branch of a massive merchant guild that spanned the empire. They bought everything: monster parts, herbs, weapons, and secrets.
Han Feng walked in. The interior was cool and smelled of sandalwood. Glass counters displayed rows of pills, weapons, and armors.
"Welcome," a clerk approached him. He was a middle-aged man with a thin mustache and shrewd eyes. He scanned Han Feng's cheap clothes and his enthusiasm visibly dampened. "The first floor is for common items. If you're looking for scraps, the discount bin is over there."
Han Feng ignored the insult. He walked to the counter and placed a heavy sack on the glass.
Thud.
"I'm selling," Han Feng said, his voice raspy.
The clerk raised an eyebrow and opened the sack. Inside were the steel broadswords from the mine guards and several monster cores Han Feng had harvested during his three-day trek—mostly from Iron-Hide Rats and a Wind-Wolf.
The clerk picked up one of the swords. "Standard military issue. Slightly chipped. The monster cores are... low quality." He sneered. "Five low-grade Spirit Stones for the lot."
It was a robbery. The swords alone were worth that much.
Han Feng looked at the clerk. In his vision, the man's body glowed with a faint white aura—a weak cultivator at the 2nd Level. But more importantly, Han Feng could see the "value" of the items on the shelves behind the clerk.
"Ten stones," Han Feng said flatly.
"Hah!" The clerk laughed loud enough to attract attention. "You country bumpkins are all the same. You think picking up some trash makes you rich? Six stones. Take it or get out."
Han Feng's eyes narrowed under the bamboo hat. He could kill this man in a heartbeat. But causing a scene here, in a guild protected by powerful experts, was foolish.
"Fine," Han Feng said. He took the six stones.
As the clerk counted them out, smirking at his victory, Han Feng turned to leave. But as he passed a shelf of "unidentified materials"—junk that the shop hadn't appraised yet—his Akashic Root suddenly throbbed.
Thump.
A wave of hunger washed over him. It was the same feeling he had when he found the Root in the mine.
Han Feng stopped. He looked at the shelf. Sitting among a pile of rusted metal and broken pottery was a black, jagged rock the size of a fist. It looked like burnt coal.
To everyone else, it was trash. But to Han Feng's "Root Vision," the rock was pulsing with a dense, chaotic purple light.
[ Object Detected: Star-Iron Meteorite Fragment. ] [ Grade: Earth-Tier Material. ] [ Energy Content: High. ]
Earth-Tier! In this backwater town, the highest grade items were usually "Human-Tier." An Earth-Tier ore could forge a weapon for a Spirit Realm expert.
Han Feng calmed his heart. He couldn't let them know its value.
He turned back to the clerk. "Wait. I need something to sharpen my blade. That whetstone there." He pointed to the black rock.
The clerk glanced at the pile of junk. "That? It's just a lump of heavy iron. Too hard to forge. We've had it for years."
"It's heavy," Han Feng shrugged. "Good for training grip strength."
"One Spirit Stone," the clerk said greedily, trying to squeeze the 'bumpkin' one last time.
One stone for a piece of junk was highway robbery. But for an Earth-Tier ore? It was practically free.
"Done." Han Feng tossed one of his newly acquired stones back onto the counter, grabbed the black rock, and walked out before the clerk could blink.
As he stepped back into the sunlight, Han Feng allowed a small smile to creep onto his face.
You cheated me out of four stones. I cheated you out of a kingdom's fortune.