Before long, a tavern attendant placed a thick pile of black slips in front of Count Evan.
Count Evan chuckled and nodded at him, then the attendant respectfully bowed and retreated.
"Are these the lottery tickets?"
Sallya picked up one black slip, looking at the white numerals on it, and asked curiously.
Count Evan also picked up one, examined it carefully, and then lit it with a candle.
The black slip gave birth to an orange flame, burned to the white numeral section, a purplish-blue flame flared up, and a unique acrid smell quickly spread.
Count Evan discarded the almost burnt-out lottery ticket and said, "This uses the same type of paper as bonds, but the dye is different."
"So?"
"When the bonds first came out, I conjectured that Count Angler had mastered a more advanced paper-making craft. Now it seems, indeed he has. This shows that, be it lottery tickets or bonds, neither can be imitated."
"Why is Count Angler issuing these lottery tickets? What is he up to?"
