The creaking sound of wheels graced the air as a carriage, carrying Richard and Bobbobovic, departed from the inn where they had temporarily stayed, traveling towards the distance. Finally, it came to a stop on a northern street of the city.
With a "thump," Richard leaped off the carriage, his gaze falling upon the shop next to them.
Bobbobovic followed suit, jumping down with a curious tone, "What are we doing here? Aren’t we supposed to be approaching our target? Although I must admit, I’m not entirely in favor of getting close to them, if we really need to approach, shouldn’t we meet with them face to face? What use is coming here?"
Richard replied, "Approaching them is true, but there are many ways to do so. We can be more active, or they can be; or we can make them take the initiative. If we opt for the third approach, their suspicion is minimized, and that’s why I am here."
"Hmm?" Bobbobovic remained puzzled.
However, Richard didn’t bother to elaborate further and stepped towards the inside of the shop.
Inside the shop, massive shelves lined the walls, displaying a wide array of goods: antiques, art pieces, and strange casting materials.
In front of the shelves stood a tall counter. Seemingly hearing the sound, a sixteen or seventeen-year-old boy rose from behind the counter. His features were somewhat delicate, but his body had begun to fill out, with an Adam’s apple protruding and the faint signs of a mustache, adding a touch of masculinity.
The boy greeted Richard with enthusiasm, asking, "Sir, what can I assist you with today?"
"I’m not looking to buy anything," Richard said calmly, his first words causing the boy to pause in confusion.
"I’d like to consign some items in your shop," Richard said, "I’ve heard that your shop offers consignment services, correct?"
"Yes," the boy nodded, "but we do take a certain commission."
"That’s perfectly fine," Richard responded, "First, take a look at the goods."
Richard pulled out a small wooden box from his bosom, placed it on the countertop, and opened it, saying, "What I want to consign is this, a rather special casting material meant for certain wizards..."
The boy peered into the wooden box, seeing only some grey powder with a pungent acidic smell that instinctively repelled him. Yet, with his experience, he could affirm that this was no ordinary substance.
If that’s the case...
"Right," Richard suddenly spoke up again, "there’s a condition to consigning this item, and you must remember, that is..."
Moments later, Richard and Bobbobovic handed over the materials in the wooden box to the young boy and walked out the door.
The boy watched Richard and Bobbobovic climb back onto the carriage and depart, his expression quite peculiar as he glanced down at the powder in the wooden box. Sinking into thought, he reached a decision after a short while.
As evening approached, in a quiet street to the city’s south, a small yet exquisite courtyard was located here, the residence of the old wizard Shamman.
At this time, Shamman had just finished his dinner and was lying in a wicker chair with his eyes closed, enjoying the rare tranquility. His feet were submerged in a basin of water while Shar, a young boy with delicate features, massaged them with appropriately firm pressure.
A few minutes later, Shamman opened his eyes and slowly lifted his feet.
Shar, intuitively understanding his needs, quickly took a clean white cloth to dry Shamman’s feet and then handed him some soft boots, helping him put them on.
After completing these tasks, Shar looked up and said, "Master Shamman, the carriage is ready. You can leave tonight at any time if you wish."
"Good," Shamman nodded approvingly, quite satisfied with the boy’s actions. After a day of recuperation, the soreness in his body had disappeared completely, replaced by a surge of vitality—perfect for a night of "relaxation."
Getting to his feet, Shamman stepped towards the exit.
Just then, someone knocked on the courtyard gate.
Shamman, startled, looked toward the gate.
Shar, quick-wittedly said, "Master Shamman, shall I see who it is?"
"Yes," Shamman nodded.
After receiving permission, Shar hurried to the gate. With a "creak," he opened a crack and cautiously peered outside, ready to see who was there.
In the next moment, he saw another boy, half a head taller than him, standing outside. His expression instantly changed as he blurted out, "Has, what are you doing here instead of watching over Master Shamman’s shop? Master Shamman has important matters to tend to; don’t disturb him."
"Ha! A sycophant you are!" The boy outside, Has, rolled his eyes at Shar, his voice dripped with disdain, "I have no reason to report to you; I have to speak directly with Master Shamman."
Finishing his statement, without waiting for Shar to fully open the door, Has, the boy named, pushed forcefully, barging in and rushing towards the room inside the courtyard.
Shar stiffened, intimidated by Has’s rough actions, but after casting several glances at his retreating figure, his eyes filled with anger, and he quickly gave chase.
The two boys, one after the other, soon entered the courtyard room.
There, when Shamman saw Has, he too was taken aback and inquired in surprise, "Has, why are you here so late? Has something happened at the shop?"
"Yes, sir," Has replied quickly, pulling out a wooden box from his chest, opening it carefully, and placing it on a nearby table, explaining, "Today, two peculiar customers visited the shop, wanting to consign an item. They didn’t set a price, only saying to sell it to any interested customer, and to record the buyer’s information for them to contact."
"Interesting," Shamman commented, raising an eyebrow, "From the sounds of it, the other party has no intention of actually selling; more likely, they are uncertain of what their item is and want to find someone who recognizes its value."
"That’s what I was thinking too," Has agreed.
"Let’s see what they’ve consigned, then," said Shamman, his curiosity piqued as he looked into the gray powder in the wooden box. After a few moments, he frowned deeply, his gaze growing serious.
After a few more glances, he uttered a "huh," his expression turning solemn.
"This material is not ordinary," Shamman murmured, with furrowed brows. "I can feel faint energy waves emanating from it; it truly is casting material meant for powerful wizards. And it’s not just any casting material—the energy it emits is particularly cold..."
Shamman continued to mutter to himself.