TradeHaven was a testament to greed and engineering. As Azrael stepped through the golden gates, the sheer scale of the place threatened to overwhelm his senses. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats and exotic scented oils and spices from the four Kingdoms.
He roamed the streets for hours. The lower tiers were a mosaic of stalls where one could buy anything from enchanted sewing needles to rusted Tier-1 and Tier-2 swords. He explored many shops, finding items that were "interesting" like a glowing jars of firefly nectar, self-sharpening whetstones, and even a pair of boots that claimed to make the wearer silent. But nothing really compelled him to buy.
Azrael began asking the local couriers for the best place to sell high-tier beast materials. The answer was almost unanimous, spoken with a mix of reverence and envy: The GoldenToad Merchant Shop.
Following the directions, he moved toward the Middle Tier of the city. The GoldenToad was a fortress of commerce, built with heavy stone and reinforced with gold-leafed pillars. Above the entrance was a massive, hideous statue of a toad clutching a gemstone in its mouth.
Inside, the atmosphere was quiet and professional. The walls were lined with shelves behind thick glass, displaying items that would make a common mercenary's jaw drop. Azrael walked toward the counter, where an elderly man sat hunched over a ledger. The man looked up, squinting through a monocle at Azrael's dusty travel clothes.
Seeing a lone youth without a royal crest or a merchant's badge, the man's attitude immediately slumped into a bored, dismissive mask. He assumed Azrael was just another low-level rogue hunter who had found a Tier-1 or Tier-2 pelt and hoped for a windfall.
"Get your items out," the man droned, not even bothering to stand. He pointed a thin, skeletal finger at the corner of a massive, reinforced evaluation table. "Just put them over there. Don't waste my time if they're scarred or rotted."
Azrael didn't argue. He simply nodded and raised his hand wearing a shining ring. To the observer, it looked like he was activating a standard Space Ring, but in reality, he was tapping into the System's infinite storage.
Then, the "flooding" began.
First came the Tier-1 and Tier-2 items.. fangs, claws, and pelts. They began to form a small mountain of organic wealth. The elderly man's eyes widened slightly, but he remained silent. Then came the Tier-3 hides and the crystalline hearts of Tier-4 beasts. The pile grew, the weight of the materials making the heavy wooden table groan.
Finally, Azrael pulled out the pièce de résistance: the large, shimmering beak of the Silver Owl. Due to its size, it covered the entire remaining surface of the table, its silver sheen reflecting the ambient light with a cold, predatory luster.
The elderly man was dumbstruck. His monocle fell from his eye and clicked against the wood. In his decades at the GoldenToad, he had seen large shipments, yes—but those came in wagons, guarded by dozens of men. He had never seen a single rogue walk in alone and manifest a massacre's worth of high-tier materials from his person.
"This... I..." The man stuttered, unable to shake his gaze from the Silver Owl's beak. He looked at Azrael, then back at the pile, trying to calculate the sheer amount of blood that had to be spilled to collect this much.
The commotion and the sudden surge of elemental energy from the items didn't go unnoticed. From the ornate staircase in the back, three men descended.
The first was draped in silks and velvets that practically screamed "Wealth." The second wore gold-rimmed glasses and carried a heavy tome, radiating the aura of "Scholarly Money." The third was a plain, ordinary-looking man in his fifties, whose calm eyes suggested the "Dangerous Money" of a veteran.
The elderly servant rushed to their side, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched the floor as he frantically explained the situation.
The three men were the founders of the GoldenToad, they slowly approached the table. The man dressed in riches stepped forward, his eyes scanning the Silver Owl beak with predatory intensity. He turned to Azrael and offered a polished, professional bow.
"Esteemed guest," he began, his voice smooth as oil. "I am Liam, the eldest of the three founders. I would like to apologize for any inconvenience you may have experienced. Our servant failed to recognize a man of your... standing."
He glanced at the piles of items, his mind clearly racing. "This discourteous stunt was a lapse in judgment. I hope you can overlook it."
"No need for apologies," Azrael said, his expression blank, his voice carrying the cold resonance of Master White's influence.
"Only a fair transaction. Evaluate fairly, and we have no issue."
The simplicity of the response carried more weight than any bluster. The three brothers exchanged a glance and decided.
The "Wealthy" Liam signaled to the "Scholarly" brother. "This is a transaction of magnitude. Please, accompany us to the VIP Room upstairs. We shall conduct the evaluation in a more dignified setting."
Upstairs, the room was lined with velvet. Azrael sat in a plush chair while the brother with the gold-rimmed glasses.. Elijah began the accounting. The other two brothers stayed behind downstairs to manage the store, but the air in the room remained tense.
Elijah moved with precision. He categorized the Tier-1 and Tier-2 items with a nod, but his hands began to tremble slightly as he moved through the Tier-4 materials. However, when he reached the Silver Owl's beak, he stopped entirely. He looked at Azrael, his scholarly composure shattered.
"A Tier-5 Silver Owl," Elijah whispered. "Hunted within the last week. The Enos energy hasn't even begun to dissipate."
He excused himself briefly to consult with his brothers in the hall.
"Well, we expected this, White," Azrael said internally. "We've caused a stir."
"Their reactions are a bit too much," Master White replied, his tone dismissive. "They act as though they have never seen a Tier-5 item. It is merely biology and luck refined by the Law. Their amazement is a sign of their limited perspective."
Azrael wanted to laugh. "White, anyone seeing a seventeen-year-old selling a Tier-5 trophy alone would be terrified. You're the only one who thinks this is 'standard'."
"Also," Azrael added, observing the brothers' mannerisms through the door's crack, "They are from Aethel. Look at the way they defer to the eldest but decide through consensus."
"Correct," Master White noted. "Aethel follows an oligarchy. They don't believe in single-leader autocracy; they believe in the collective power of the elite. These brothers are a micro-version of their Kingdom's heart."
After a long ten minutes, the three brothers returned. This time, the plain, ordinary brother.. the one who had been silent, stepped forward. He held a small, heavy pouch made of exquisite-silk.
"Sir Cultivator," the ordinary man said, his voice deep and respectful. "I am Marcus. My brothers and I have reached a conclusion. The market value for these materials is 65 Enos Crystals. However, as a sign of our sincerity and a further apology for our servant's earlier conduct, we have added five additional crystals."
He handed the pouch to Azrael. "A total of 70 Enos Crystals."
Azrael opened the pouch. The interior glowed with a pure, pulsating blue light. Seventy crystals.. enough to buy a small mansion in most cities, or a small army in others. He nodded, a sharp singular motion.
"I am pleased by our first transaction," Azrael said, standing up. "I will consider the GoldenToad for my future sales."
The three brothers beamed with professional relief. "You are welcome anytime, sir. We hope this is the beginning of a long and profitable friendship."
They personally escorted him to the door, bowing as he stepped back out into the bustling streets of TradeHaven.
With seventy Enos Crystals in his pocket, Azrael was a man of significant liquid wealth. He spent the afternoon exploring the higher tiers of the city, watching the way the rich lived, the way they flaunted their power through fashion and guards.
Eventually, his feet led him to a section of the city where the air felt heavy, and the noise was replaced by a grim, clanking of chains.
The Slave Market.
Master White had expressed interest in this place. To Master White, a slave was not a person, but an "unclaimed resource." To Azrael, it was a place of discomfort. But as he crossed the threshold into the market, where rows of cages held people, something strange happened.
The System, which had been silent since the woods, suddenly flared to life. A notification window, golden and pulsing with a strange, ancient energy, appeared in the center of his vision.
[Conditional Environment Detected...]
[Requirements Met..]
[Status: Analyzing Soul Potential...]
[Notification: Legacies (Unlocked).]
Azrael froze in his tracks.
"Legacies?" he whispered.
Master White's presence in his mind surged, his cold curiosity reaching a fever pitch. "It seems, Azrael, that the system doesn't just want us to have power. It wants us to have... subordinates. Look at the cages. The 'Legacies' aren't just names. They are here."
Azrael looked at the rows of broken, chained individuals, but now, he saw them differently.
The journey to TradeHaven had been about selling the past. Now, with the unlocking of the Legacies, it was time to buy the future.