Korval leaned slightly forward.
It was not a bow of respect…
But the lean of a hunter staring at prey whose true size he had not yet understood.
He began inspecting the goods suspended in the air, one by one.
He did not touch them.
There was no need.
His gaze alone was enough to judge their value… and their danger.
With each item, his pupils narrowed by a fraction of a millimeter.
Psychic powders sealed with precision…
Metals saturated with ancient consciousness…
Forbidden ritual cores…
But the true shock…
Was not in the contents.
It was in the container.
Korval slowly raised his eyes to the red ring on Ashen's hand.
The ring looked silent, modest, as if it held nothing at all.
But Korval felt it.
He felt a vast spatial extension…
An organized void…
A capacity that did not belong to an ordinary treasure.
He spoke in a low voice, for the first time showing a trace of emotion:
Korval:
"A spatial storage of this size…"
He paused, then added:
"Even among imperial treasures, this is not common."
Ashen did not reply.
Korval continued his inspection, then suddenly stopped before a specific item.
Something different flickered in his eyes…
Recognition.
A brief silence passed before he spoke:
Korval:
"These markings…"
His gaze moved over a set of seals.
"They belong to the Golden Blood Group."
The air in the hall shifted.
Even the merchants who had previously lost their will shuddered unconsciously.
The Golden Blood Group.
A name alone, enough to close markets… or ignite wars.
Ashen raised his head slightly.
Ashen:
"Oh."
Then, with the same cold tone:
"So that is their name."
He looked at the goods again, as if viewing hunting spoils.
Ashen:
"They blocked my path.
They attacked me."
He paused.
"So I destroyed them."
There was no pride in his voice.
No justification.
It was a simple report of an event that had ended.
Then he added:
Ashen:
"So… how many boxes can you exchange for this?"
Korval laughed.
A short, political, calculated laugh.
Korval:
"You are a reliable partner… in the long term."
Then he said, with unusual honesty:
"That is why… I will not deceive you."
He looked over the goods one last time.
Korval:
"I cannot accurately evaluate the total value."
He raised his head.
"But my estimate… is around one hundred and fifty boxes of lower spirit stones."
The moment he finished the sentence—
The aura exploded.
It was not a wave.
It was pressure.
A crushing, savage aura burst from Ashen, cold, dense, without killing intent…
Yet it made the walls groan.
The throne beneath Korval shifted slightly.
Ashen spoke in a calm voice…
So calm it was terrifying:
Ashen:
"Korval."
He paused.
"No foolish tricks."
Korval felt the space tighten.
As if the air had grown heavier around his neck alone.
He smiled.
But his teeth clicked slightly before the smile settled.
Korval:
"Hahaha… no need for such seriousness."
He raised his hand.
Korval:
"What do you say… to two hundred boxes?"
The aura did not disappear.
It condensed.
Ashen's gaze fixed on him.
For a moment—
Korval felt that those eyes were not looking at his body…
But at the possibility of his death.
He clenched his teeth.
Korval:
"All right… all right."
He took a deep breath.
"Three hundred boxes."
He said it slowly, as if cutting flesh from his own body.
Korval:
"This… is as far as I can go.
Truly."
For a long second…
Nothing happened.
Then—
The aura vanished.
As if it had never existed.
Ashen:
"Fine."
One word.
No gratitude.
No satisfaction.
No threat.
At that moment—
Something moved behind them.
A sound…
Like ancient bones rubbing together.
The giant abomination moved.
Its massive vertical eye flared, then settled directly on Ashen.
It spoke.
Its voice was not a voice.
It was a chorus.
Thousands of throats, thousands of souls, thousands of twisted desires… speaking together.
The giant abomination:
"Ashennnn…"
A broken laugh spilled from the mouths of the human faces on both sides of its head.
"Let us… fight."
Silence fell.
Korval smiled slowly.
The smile of a king who knows that the storm…
Has not begun yet.