"Are these magical crops also for sale?" Ron asked, easily lifting the heavy lid off one of the stacked wooden crates and revealing the carefully sealed magical rice inside.
He broke the seal with a sharp snap and plunged his hand deep into the grains, feeling them slip through his fingers like tiny, cold pearls.
The quality was simply exceptional. Each grain was perfectly polished, translucent, and exuded a faint magical aura that made his skin tingle.
The quantity was so absurd it made him dizzy.
Throughout the Kingdom of Burning Ice, only five large farms produced magical crops, and as a rule, they supplied this resource exclusively to the twelve most powerful noble families in the empire.
"Yes, almost all of it. There must be around thirty thousand metric tons available for sale here."
"And your annual production?" Ron asked again, swallowing hard to keep the saliva from dripping down the corner of his mouth.
"Currently? About five hundred thousand metric tons per year."
