Sam's last stop was at the exclusive Red Maple Auction House. He readied himself for the rejection he expected from the charming auctioneer herself, expecting little success.
This kind lady, on the other hand, saw Sam as having been dealt an unfair hand.
She offered him two suggestions. Firstly, he might approach the Inscription Association, speculating that they could be intrigued by his symbol papers for collection or educational purposes.
It was common knowledge that apprentice-level inscription symbols were scarce due to their low success rate, and Sam's possession of four made them even rarer.
Second, she suggested that he go to the city square and sell his things there.
Sam had never visited the Inscription Association. Lacking the credentials of a certified inscription master, even a top-tier practitioner in that field would struggle to decipher the intricacies of Sam's inscriptions.
The gulf between Starlight Haven Kingdom's technique and that of the Realm of the Gods was insurmountable.
Thus, Sam found himself with no alternative but to set up shop in the city square, hoping to find buyers for his symbol papers. Regrettably, securing a fair price was a forlorn hope.
Despite being a tiny trading hub, the city square was formally sanctioned by the government. A variety of things are available for consignment here. While the center charged a 5% commission, its reputation for trustworthiness made it a popular choice for many.
The entry threshold for the trading center was lenient; any genuine item, free from imitation, could fetch a reasonable price. Sam's inscription symbols, undoubtedly authentic, were nonetheless the work of an apprentice, and thus held modest value.
Following the assessment by the center's appraiser, a rotund figure, Sam was offered a paltry sum of 100 golds.
Hearing this figure, Sam could only gape in disbelief. Unbelievable!
The materials for these inscriptions cost between seven to eight hundred golds, and the trading center was offering a mere hundred for each. If he agreed to this price, he would only receive four hundred golds!
"Do you wish to proceed with the sale?" the appraiser pressed.
Gritting his teeth, Sam responded, "Yes, I will sell. I'll part with two."
Having recently depleted his funds, Sam would have been destitute were it not for the generous salary and excellent conditions provided by the Great Clarity Pavilion.
Even if he had to settle for a loss, parting with two seemed acceptable. The remaining two, however, he would withhold in hopes of a better offer.
"Please leave your contact information," the rotund appraiser instructed.
The trading center managed only the sale of consigned items, disbursing payment only upon successful transaction. Sam's symbols also faced no guarantee of immediate sale.
"As for rental space, the fees are as follows: one gold for a basic space, three golds for a mid-range option, and five golds for a premium space for one month. Should the item remain unsold after this period, it will be removed from display, and no refund will be issued," the appraiser informed.
Sam lamented his ill fortune. Even this required expenditure. He weighed his options. Clearly, the premium space offered the best visibility, followed by the mid-range option. The basic space, he surmised, would relegate his goods to a dim corner.
Sam produced five golds from his pocket, placing three on the table. "I'll take the mid-range option."
Such circumstances were a far cry from what he had envisioned. His inscription work was on par with masters, yet here it was, selling for a mere one hundred golds each. Adding insult to injury, he had to pay a five percent commission and rental fee. And all this hinged on the hope of a buyer!
Sam sighed, reflecting on the challenges of obscurity. He returned two golds to his pocket, forcing a smile. Forget purchasing rare medicinal herbs for martial cultivation; he'd be lucky if there was enough food on his table.
Devoid of resources and materials, Sam hesitated to approach his good brother, Alex, for financial assistance. Instead, he remained in the Calin Mountains, immersing himself in the "True Primal Chaos Formula," as days slipped by.
A full week had elapsed.
The city square's trading center, typically bustling, saw a steady stream of visitors. Savvy shoppers often unearthed hidden treasures at reduced prices, but they seldom perused medicinal herbs or inscription symbols, given the challenge of assessing their quality.
Thus, hundreds, if not thousands, of potential customers passed by Sam's symbols, oblivious to their presence.
That is, until today. A strapping figure entered the center, exuding an aura of formidable might. His muscular frame and rugged visage bespoke a life steeped in battle. Clad in iron, he carried a four-foot sword with an air of pride and menace, akin to a tiger hunting its prey.
The man's eyes were frigid, etched with scars from countless life-and-death encounters. He was a true killer, a league beyond the young trainees of the Martial House.
Observing this newcomer, the rotund appraiser shrank back. This man was at the fifth level of body transformation, a powerhouse at the zenith of bone forging.
This individual stood on the cusp of pulse condensation, a threshold that had eluded many lifetimes.
"What might the customer seek?" the appraiser inquired, rising to meet this formidable presence.
Without uttering a word, the man surveyed the wares. Observing with measured deliberation, he eventually singled out two yellow slips of paper, ensconced between glass panes.
"Are these inscription symbols?" he inquired.
"Yes."
"And they're priced at a hundred golds?" The man's tone betrayed a hint of surprise. Ordinarily, inscription symbols commanded well over a thousand golds. One hundred seemed remarkably affordable.
The appraiser offered candidly, "These are the handiwork of an apprentice inscriber, possessing a cultivation level of only the third stage of body transformation. The augmented strength they impart is estimated to be no more than ten percent."
"Ten percent..." The man's brow furrowed. The increment was indeed meager.
Yet, given his limited budget, even a thousand golds were beyond his reach, let alone one hundred.
This man was Jacky, a man of humble origins. His earnings were tied to his martial service, tasked with supporting both his elderly parents and his own medicinal needs. He couldn't afford the exorbitant prices that inscriptions typically commanded. Even a hundred golds was a substantial sum.
A month ago, Jacky had seized victory in battle, vanquishing an enemy leader at the bone forging stage. The spoils of war included a prized, albeit damaged, four-foot sword, a treasure of the human realm.
As per martial protocol, the fruits of victory were the victor's to keep. And thus, Jacky came into possession of a sword of immense potential, albeit with a broken tip.
This compromised the sword's effectiveness, and despite Jacky's skills, the lack of an inscription symbol further hampered its combat prowess.
Engraving an inscription was considered, but the expense and the sword's damaged state deterred him. Seeing Sam's apprentice-made inscription symbols, however, ignited a spark of hope.
Typically, a symbol that augmented a weapon's strength by thirty percent demanded a price of fifteen hundred golds. But this symbol, albeit raising strength by a mere ten percent, was priced at one hundred golds. The cost-to-effect ratio was alluring, but more importantly, Jacky could afford it.
The morrow marked the third round of the martial arts tournament, a mandatory competition for martial artists under thirty years of age.
Great rewards and potential promotions awaited those who excelled.
Jacky had accrued martial merits over the years and aimed for the rank of Captain of Ten Thousand Men. Beyond that, he sought the rewards to purchase Black Jade Paste, a rare medicine capable of healing broken bones.
Jacky's mother, who had sustained such an injury while gathering medicinal herbs ten years ago, lay bedridden since.
His pledge to buy the miraculous medicine for her remained steadfast. Yet, the price for Black Jade Paste was a staggering five thousand golds—unimaginable for him at present.
With this imperative in mind, Jacky was determined to secure victory. The tournament's third day loomed, with Warlord Qin Henry himself presiding over the proceedings. The stakes were too high to lose.
For his family, for his mother, Jacky clenched his teeth and made a resolute decision. He turned to the appraiser and declared, "I'll take this inscription symbol!"
"Unbelievable! You managed to retrieve ninety-five golds somehow?" Alex stared at the banknote in Sam's hand, scarcely believing his eyes. He refrained from vocalizing his inner thoughts—that some unwitting soul had spent ninety-five golds on what amounted to a mere piece of parchment.
"It's ninety-two golds," Sam corrected.
The city square's trading center expedited transactions promptly, disbursing his earnings the day after the sale. Originally one hundred golds, deductions for the five percent commission and three golds in rental fees left him with ninety-two.
A symbol whose baseline worth was a thousand golds now sold for a mere ninety-two. Sam couldn't fathom the buyer's rationale, but in such transactions, buyers bore the risk.
Ninety golds wouldn't suffice for the purchase of rare medicinal herbs. It could barely secure common herbs for treating wounds. Sam shrugged and ventured to a medicinal shop in search of materials.
Unbeknownst to him, a grand spectacle unfolded at the armor grounds—a martial arts tournament of unparalleled grandeur and significance—the Grand Martial Assembly.
Under the scorching sun, ten thousand martial artists clad in heavy iron armor stood in precise formation at the Ten Mile grounds. Their presence exuded an aura of war, evoking images of ancient battlefields and the specter of death.
These were Starlight Haven Kingdom's elite warriors, any one of whom could confront ten others with impunity.
Facing them, in rows of seats, sat a man adorned in resplendent golden armor.
Despite silver strands adorning his temples, his countenance radiated vitality, his eyes sharp as a hawk's. He exuded an air of boundless power, a true paragon among paragons—Warlord Henry.
The mere presence of this martial titan underscored the tournament's significance. The Hen family was also in attendance, including Hen Portia and her mentor, Mister Jonas.
At a century old, Jonas had reached the middle stage of Houtian, one of Starlight Haven's preeminent martial artists and an inscription master. Even the King of Starlight Haven Kingdom treated him with reverence.
In addition to the Hen family, many martial arts officials and onlookers filled the grandstands, numbering in the thousands.