Black Hearted Mage

Chapter 359: Trading with the Northerners 2

Dusk deepened, the last rays of the setting sun gilding the eaves of the Northland Trading Company with a bloody glow. Caesars and his fat dog returned with a laden load, clearing out the last of the barbarian beef, mutton, and various dried meats in the trading company's warehouse. In the trading hall, Baturu's gaze was fixed on the hideous skull of a massive beast in the center. Its five-meter-long dark red dragon horns shone eerily in the twilight, like a sword piercing the ceiling.

"Lord Baturu, allow me to report the accounts." The director of the Northland Trading Company held a thick birch bark account book, and the parchment pages rustled in the cold wind. "We still owe that magician 82,000 standard magic crystals, plus 163,700 kilograms of high-quality beef." He deliberately emphasized the pronunciation of the word "high-quality" and tapped his knuckles on the cinnabar mark that recorded the amount owed on credit.

Baturu caressed the raised, scaly lines at the base of the dragon's horn, feeling a palpable warmth. "A mere hundred thousand pounds of meat? Is that a big deal?" He scoffed, pointing north. "Before last year's great cold snap, hundreds of thousands of livestock were slaughtered. The piles of barbarian cattle carcasses in the tribe's ice caves are so thick they're likely to stain the glacier red!"

The supervisor's deerskin boots stomped the floorboards as he leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "Honorable Son of Blackstone, your three brothers are now scrambling over the patriarch's throne." His words condensed into white mist in the air. "To get meat from the tribal ice cellar now, you'll need real gold and silver—or a blood-stained battle axe!"

There was a sound of footsteps not far away, and Batulu suddenly found that the tip of the dragon's horn was reflecting the northern flag hanging at the door of the trading company. The flag embroidered with fangs looked like the ferocious faces of his brothers in the twilight.

Baturu dumped the contents of his storage ring into a corner of the hall. His rough fingers slid across the mountain of Warcraft materials, the light casting flickering shadows on his angular face. He squatted down and pulled out a few wrinkled pieces of salamander leather from the bottom layer. The dull scales on the leather shone a sickly gray-red.

He kicked the pile of leather with the toe of his boot, and the leather made a dry rustling sound. "These... and the yellowed skull in the corner over there, the one with the cracked cheekbones." His voice was as rough as the friction between sand and gravel, echoing under the dome of the trading hall.

A young apprentice stumbled over dragging a sack, with several crooked salamander fangs exposed from the opening of the sack - the roots of those teeth were still stained with dark brown dried blood, obviously they were pulled out with difficulty from the mouth of an old and weak salamander.

"Where are the magic steel weapons?" Baturu asked, turning his head. His eyes swept over the magic steel weapons belonging to the Roland Church piled against the wall. The magic crystals inlaid on those weapons had long lost their luster. The weapons were of good quality, but not suitable for the burly northerners. "Load the truck before sunrise tomorrow and send the magic steel weapons, salamander leather, and other miscellaneous items back to the tribe."

The head of the trading company came over, rubbing his hands together. There was a densely packed list on the parchment: "Lord Baturu, would you like to add these this time?" He tapped the words "fine silk" and "snow salt" with his quill pen, and the ink spread on the rough paper.

Baturu's frown deepened. He caught sight of the word "Dragon Horn" written at the bottom of the list and rubbed it away with his thumb, tearing a hole in the parchment. His voice suddenly grew dangerously low, like the rumble brewing in a volcano. "I told you, anyone who dares to mention this in the tribe..." His hand rested on the magic steel dagger at his waist.

"Lord Baturu, this is not a delivery list, this is the account book of our Northern Trading Company!" said the trading company manager with some complaints.

Meanwhile, in a small mansion in Fire Maple City's commercial district, crystal chandeliers illuminated the dining room as bright as day. By the time Rom Cavill filled Caesar's glass for the third time, his turquoise silk cuffs were already stained with crimson wine. The nobleman's gold-embroidered robe was clearly too loose, and as he bent, the jeweled buttons at his collar made a slight clinking sound.

"Roma, you're the master of the house." Caesars didn't immediately take the wine glass. Instead, he used a silver fork to pick up a piece of goose liver smothered in sauce and dangled it in front of the fat dog's wet nose. The fat dog's drool had already formed a small puddle on the carpet, and its tongue slapped against the toe of Caesars's silver-threaded boot. "Let the servants do this."

The corner of Rom's mouth twitched, and he glanced towards the corner of the restaurant - there stood two rows of servants in uniform, each of them as motionless as a statue. "Caesar, you are a marquis, and it is my honor to serve you!" He added another piece of golden roast meat to Caesar's plate, the fat slowly oozing out along the grain of the meat.

Caesars finally took the glass, but didn't drink. He casually tapped the bottom of the glass on the table, making the crystal glass make a crisp sound. At the same time, he used his free hand to scratch the fat dog's chin, and the fat dog's satisfied snoring was particularly loud in the quiet restaurant.

"Keep the fire salamander leather for yourselves. Don't sell it. It'll be useful during the cold winter. I don't go to the southern continent often, and fire salamanders are hard to come by!"

Caesars gave Lirom a piece of fire salamander leather, enough for him and Avril to make a robe.

Rom's pupils suddenly contracted, and he almost knocked over the salt shaker when he put down the bottle. He quickly said that he would not sell the gift.

Caesars suddenly laughed, put down his glass, took out a handkerchief embroidered with the Cavill family crest from his pocket, and slowly wiped the saliva left by the fat dog on his fingers. The fat dog suddenly barked at this time, it smelled the aroma of desserts coming from the kitchen.

Even before the first rays of morning sun pierced the clouds, Caesars had already opened his sleepy eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling exhausted from working so late last night sorting out the goods. But with his merchant instincts, he forced himself to work—he had to get to the Grand Plaza early to secure a good spot.

"Alchemical potions, wizard wristbands, and those few unused wands..." Caesars counted the items while stuffing his mouth with soft buttermilk. A rustling sound came from the corner. The chubby dog ​​was napping on its pile of gems, a few crystal magic gems looming under its belly.

When the morning light finally filled the flagstones of the great square, Caesars had already spread out the slightly worn hide. The chill of early spring, carrying with it the lingering frost of the previous night, forced him to wrap his cloak tightly around his waist and settle on the hide sofa he had brought with him. Fat Dog leisurely strolled over to the stall and pulled out a small pile of glittering gems, among which several shimmering magical gems stood out.

"Listen, you glutton." Caesars poked the fat dog's greasy belly. "A magic gem sells for 10,000 gold coins, and a regular one sells for 1,500." He held up a magic gem and examined it against the sunlight, a rainbow of colors flowing within it. "If you sell me one, not only will I have beef, I'll even make you puke with almond pastry!"

The fat dog's ears suddenly stood straight up, its wet black nose twitching excitedly, and a joyful hum escaped its throat. It used its paw to push the most beautiful magic gem toward the edge of the stall, its tail sweeping a fan-shaped trail across the hide. Caesars couldn't help but laugh as he began to arrange the various items into categories, awaiting the day's first customer.

The sun was shining brightly, its rays shimmering on the plaza's graystone floor, and the temperature was rising slightly. The once deserted plaza gradually became lively, with vendors gradually arriving and pedestrians milling around in groups of two or three.

Just as Caesars was bending over to sort the magic scrolls on his stall, a flash of dazzling red suddenly caught his eye. He looked up and saw Avril, holding the hem of her magic robe, briskly making her way through the crowd. Her fiery red robe was striking in the sunlight, and the golden magic patterns embroidered on the sleeves and collar flickered with her steps.

"Kaisas, setting up a stall again!"

Avril stopped in front of him and tucked a strand of her blond hair behind her ear. Her voice was so clear and melodious that several nearby customers couldn't help but look twice.

Caesar put down the scroll in his hand, smiled bitterly and shook his head: "There's nothing I can do, Avril." He pointed to the slightly rough magic items on the stall, "I need to get the resources for cultivation myself. Unlike you..." He swallowed the second half of the sentence halfway through.

Avril's smile faded slightly upon hearing this. She certainly understood what Caesars meant. Although she was four years older than Caesars and possessed considerable magical talent, she was still a low-level magician. Perhaps this was due to the favorable conditions her family provided, which had left her lacking the drive to strive.

"Gold coins from my family..." Avril repeated softly, her fingertips unconsciously stroking the magic runes on her robe. "I also make gold coins. I draw some low-level magic scrolls and usually put them on consignment at the magic shop!"

"Avril, sit down for a moment!"

Caesars waved his hand, and a gray magical light flashed, and a velvet-covered sofa appeared out of thin air beside him. He gracefully made a "please" gesture, with a faint smile on the corner of his mouth.

Avril sat down carefully, the soft sofa causing her tense body to unconsciously relax. Caesars's slender fingers tapped the armrest of the sofa, a silver glint in his eyes. "Let me see how far you are from becoming an intermediate magician."

"Caesar..." Avril suddenly raised her head, her blue eyes gleaming with curiosity, "Are you stronger than our dean?"

"Ha!" Caesars uttered a short, cold laugh, his long black robe fluttering in the wind. "That old guy couldn't even beat my fat dog." He leaned forward, his long black hair falling on Avril's shoulders. "Now, be quiet." His voice suddenly became serious, and strands of translucent magic tentacles condensed from his fingertips.

Avril pursed her lips, feeling the magical tendrils wrap around her wrists like living creatures. They were cool and light, like threads of moonlight, slowly seeping into her skin. She could feel the magic flowing through her body, exploring her magical veins inch by inch, sometimes gently stroking, sometimes pausing briefly.

A moment later, Caesars withdrew his magic power, and the tentacles transformed into tiny specks of silver light and dissipated into the air. "I've found the reason!" He snapped his fingers. "Your magic sea is overflowing like a crystal goblet, but..." He frowned. "Some of your magic veins are clogged like an old witch's spindle."

Avril twisted her fingers nervously: "Why is the demon vein blocked?"

Caesars suddenly revealed a mischievous smile. "The reason is ridiculously simple—you haven't cast a spell at full power in ages!" He reached out and tapped Avril's forehead. "Magic is like a sharp sword; if it's not often unsheathed, it will rust. Starting tomorrow, practice twenty consecutive spells for me every day. You'll definitely be promoted to an intermediate magician within three months!"

"Is it that simple?" Avril asked in surprise.

"Yes, promotion is that simple!"

Just then, several figures in dark blue magic robes, their academy badges pinned to their chests, approached through the bustling crowd. Caesars narrowed his eyes and spotted two familiar faces—Marco and Lions, middlemen who frequently resold magical materials at the market. They were known for purchasing various magical materials at low prices and then reselling them to alchemy workshops at exorbitant prices.

Half a quarter of an hour later, after these middlemen had sorted through the magic materials, Caesar's stall, once overflowing with materials, had been reduced by more than half. Most eye-catching were Fatty's pile of gems; two of the glitteriest pieces had been sold. Fatty, with a wide grin, clumsily used his paws to scoop the glittering coins into his storage ring.

"You dead dog, you pay for the snacks you ordered this time!" Caesars glanced at the fat dog's busy paws and deliberately raised his voice.

Upon hearing this, the fat dog turned its furry head, snorted, and then took out an empty crystal jar - this was a container it used to store special seasonings.

"I understand. We'll buy the materials this afternoon, and you'll pay for it!" Caesars added unhappily.

Hearing this, the fat dog immediately wagged its tail happily and purred with pleasure. In the eyes of this greedy fat dog, those golden coins were far less valuable than the special seasoning that could remove the fishy smell and enhance the flavor, making the food extremely delicious.

"Kaesus, did the gold coins just now belong to Fatty?" Avril, who had been sitting next to him, opened her eyes wide and her voice was full of surprise.

"That's right!" Kaisas rubbed the fat dog's head. "That small pile of gems was all found by it. This guy is running around all over the southern continent, even the most hidden caves under the lava river have been turned upside down by it."

As they were talking, a melodious chime echoed from the magic clock tower in the square. Avril exclaimed, "It's already this late!" She hurriedly straightened her robes and said, "I have to get back to the academy. I have a magic theory class this afternoon."

Watching Avril's hurried departure, Caesars, urged on by Fatty Dog, who kept nudging his calf with his nose, began to pack up his stall. The herbs needed to make those magical seasonings were all low- and medium-grade, and could be gathered simply by wandering around the large square where vendors from all over gathered. Fatty Dog, already impatient, stood up, his wet nose constantly sniffing towards the market, clearly searching for the scent of the seasoning ingredients.