Chapter 6: Gaining the Mysterious Orb

Walking along the exclusive nobles’ passage, Verin’s convoy moved unhindered. Compared to the congestion of the other lanes, their speed was many times faster.

Just then, a merchant stood atop his carriage, waving toward Verin’s group.

Seeing this, Verin gestured for his convoy to halt, urged his horse closer with a slap, and, his expression solemn, inquired, “Merchant, what business do you have?”

“Noble sir, please forgive my impudence,” the merchant hurriedly descended, kneeling before Verin to present his plea.

Onlookers along the passage, witnessing the scene, lowered their heads and pressed onward, pretending not to notice. The less one involved oneself with such matters, the safer one remained—out of a noble’s line of fire.

“I forgive your discourtesy,” Verin replied, curiosity flickering in his heart though his expression remained composed.

“My lord, thank you for your mercy,” the merchant said, scrambling to his feet. “My humble name is not worth mentioning. I dared to signal you, hoping to join your convoy.”

Glancing aside, Verin noted that the merchant’s convoy comprised eight carriages. With his status, Verin was exempt from city entry tax for up to twenty carriages; his own convoy held six, leaving room for fourteen more. The merchant had clearly observed this and risked everything to approach.

In this world, unless one’s power was enough to ignore worldly rules, one could only bow and scrape before the nobility.

“So, what price are you willing to pay?” Verin asked.

At this, the merchant’s face lit up with hope. “My lord, if you’ll assist me, I can offer you two fine half-elf slaves.”

“Half-elves?” Verin’s brow furrowed at the words.

The southeastern border of the Kingdom of Ilya abutted a powerful half-elf kingdom, whose strength slightly surpassed that of Ilya itself. Thus, the kingdom officially prohibited the capture and sale of half-elves.

But laws were laws, and for profit, many still took risks.

Clearly, this merchant was one of those. Moreover, many local nobles were entangled in this trade, forming a complex and vast network. The royal family, aware of these dealings, turned a blind eye, instead instructing provincial capitals to levy heavy taxes in secret to profit from the trade.

Seeing Verin’s expression change, the merchant thought his offer had been refused and hurried to raise his price, but before he could speak, Verin interjected, “I have no interest in your half-elves.”

“My lord, forgive my offense. I am willing to offer—” the merchant began, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Listen, merchant,” Verin cut him off bluntly, “if you possess something that truly interests me, I’ll allow you to join my convoy and spare you the exorbitant entry tax.”

According to the customary half-elf entry tax in Ilya’s major cities, the charge was typically ten percent of the total value of such slaves.

At this, the merchant’s face contorted with pain. He glanced back at his convoy, gritted his teeth, and drew two spherical objects from his coat, presenting them respectfully to Verin. “My lord, these are items I acquired by chance. I hope they please you. If they fall short, I’ll make up the difference in gold.”

Verin accepted the spheres, carefully channeling a trace of aura into them. There was a faint reaction, but it quickly faded.

The response was slight, but he noticed it nonetheless.

From the merchant’s anxious expression, Verin could tell the objects were valuable. Still, this was a prime opportunity to extract a little more—there was no reason to let a slaver’s coin go unclaimed.

“Merchant, you may join my convoy, but you must also pay another thousand gold coins for the privilege.”

“Thank you, my lord! Thank you!” the merchant responded eagerly, swiftly producing ten banknotes worth one hundred gold each, issued by the Royal Bank of Ilya, each marked with micro-engraved magical sigils for authentication.

Verin inspected the notes, then tucked them and the spheres away, and spurred his red phosphorus horse forward.

The merchant hastily ordered his men to follow Verin’s convoy through the noble passage toward the city gates.

At the gates of West River Province’s capital, the officer on duty recognized the Exe family’s eagle banner flying from Verin’s carriage and waved off the city guards, allowing them to pass without inspection.

“My lord, that slaver has eight carriages—at a glance, at least thirty half-elves. The entry tax alone would be no less than three thousand gold coins,” the scribe beside the officer remarked in confusion as Verin’s convoy passed.

“You think I don’t want to collect it?” The gate officer smacked the scribe on the head in exasperation. “That’s the Exe family’s eagle. Not some petty noble you can bully; they’re one of the five powers of West River Province. Would you dare tax them?”

“My lord, my greed got the better of me,” the scribe quickly apologized, not daring to argue.

Once inside the provincial capital, Verin gazed upon the bustling streets, his worldview instantly broadened.

Having spent eighteen years at Windsor Castle, rarely venturing out, and not being the heir, he was exempt from family social obligations and had thus grown rather indolent.

The streets were lined with shops of every variety: magical scrolls, staffs, mana crystals, the flesh and blood of fierce beasts—anything one could imagine.

“My lord, shall we rest a few days in the capital?” asked Baird, captain of the knightly escort.

“No, let’s head straight to the teleportation array. We’ll rest at Carrod, the provincial capital bordering the Grey Dawn Wasteland.”

Verin waved his hand, signaling the convoy to move. He had already calculated that a single night in the capital would cost at least one hundred gold coins—enough to buy two serfs.

At the outset of his endeavors, thrift was essential.

Two hours later, Verin led his convoy to a massive building.

A middle-aged man in mage’s robes stepped forward to greet him. “Good day, Sir.”

“Good day,” Verin replied with a formal noble’s salute. “My convoy requires teleportation to Carrod, the provincial capital at the border.”

“Please wait a moment.”

The mage summoned two apprentices, who examined the convoy and recorded the details on parchment for valuation.

After five minutes, the mage handed Verin a sheet filled with information.

“Sir, here is the estimated cost. According to the privileges enjoyed by the Exe family, you need only pay eighty percent of the full rate,” he explained.

“Thank you,” Verin said, glancing at the total—six thousand gold coins for the transmission. He thanked the mage, then led his group through the magical inspection into the building.

Handing his red phosphorus horse to Orlando, Verin took a banknote for ten thousand gold and headed to the payment counter nearby.

At the counter, a red-haired woman straightened from her lazy posture as she saw Verin approach.

“Madam, here is the payment slip,” Verin said, handing over the mage’s note and placing the Exe family’s eagle badge before her.

After completing the necessary procedures, Verin gave her the ten-thousand-gold note.

“My lord, would you prefer coin or a banknote?” the woman inquired.

Verin considered for a moment before replying, “A banknote for five thousand gold, and two hundred in coin.”

“One moment, please,” she replied, entering data into a magical device strikingly similar to the cell phones of his past life—a familiar sight.

At last, Verin tucked away a five-thousand-gold note and a finely crafted pouch holding two hundred gold coins, and strode back toward his convoy.