"Old man, what the hell do you want?!" the middle-aged man said grimly, frustration etched deep in the lines on his face. He glanced at the ornate jade case on his belt, its intricate carvings reflecting the sunlight, and sneered, "You're a Runic Cultivator, this thing is worthless to you."
The old man chuckled, a mischievous glint flickering in his eyes. "Worthless, you say?" he jeered, his voice laced with amusement. "Perhaps I can't utilize it myself, but I can certainly fetch a handsome price for it," he added, spitting on the ground to emphasize his disdain. "You little thief, stumbling upon this in Frostfell, it rightfully belongs to us runic cultivators."
"Belongs to you?" The middle-aged man's laughter sliced through the air, cold and filled with incredulity. "What kind of absurdity is that? Frostfell belongs to no one."
