Malek and Hendrick left through a side door that opened into a narrow alley. The main crowd was still clustered near the front entrance. Families compared results. Kids showed off their new medallions. A few parents argued with clerks about classification appeals. No one noticed them leave.

  The alley led back to the market square. It was busier now than when they'd arrived at dawn. Bakers sold bread from carts. A man stood near the fountain cooking skewers of something that looked like snake meat. Two street mages had set up on opposite corners, performing minor tricks for a few Ran. One made colored lights dance in the air. The other levitated small rocks.

  People moved past Malek. A few glanced at the medallion hanging from his neck. Hendrick had told him to put it on the moment they left the hall. One stall owner nodded at Hendrick as they passed. Another looked at Malek's medallion, saw the mortar symbol, and turned away without interest.

  "They don't care about Zero-Class here?" Malek asked.

  "They care about money," Hendrick replied. "You've got a stamp now. That means you can spend, you can sell, and you can get taxed. You're part of the system. That's all that matters to them."

  They walked through the square and turned onto a side street. The buildings here were taller, pressed together. A covered walkway ran the length of the street, blocking most of the sunlight. Banners hung from the upper floors with guild symbols. Mortar and pestle. A leaf wrapped around a staff. A circle with runes etched around the edge.

  "Merchant Row," Hendrick said. "This is where the real trade happens."

  The street was lined with permanent stalls and storefronts. Most had proper doors and windows with shutters. A few had guards standing outside.

  Hendrick led Malek to a building near the middle of the row. The sign above the door read Vren's Emporium in faded paint. The windows were narrow and barred. The door was reinforced wood with iron straps.

  Hendrick pushed it open. A bell chimed.

  The inside was cramped. Shelves covered every wall from floor to ceiling. Jars filled with dried herbs, powders, roots, mushrooms. Bundles of plants hung from the rafters. Glass cases near the counter held items locked behind wards. Malek could feel the faint hum of mana even from across the room.

  An old man sat behind the counter, writing in a ledger. He didn't look up. "If you're selling trash, turn around."

  "Good to see you too, Vren," Hendrick said.

  The old man's pen stopped. He looked up. His face was angular. His ears had the slightest point at the tips.

  Half-elf, Malek thought.

  Vren closed the ledger. "Hendrick. I thought you were dead."

  "Not yet."

  "Shame." Vren's eyes shifted to Malek. "Who's the boy?"

  "My ward. Just got his stamp today."

  Vren's eyebrows rose. "You have a ward now? Is the world ending today?"

  Hendrick approached the counter. "Don't act like this."

  Vren stood up from his seat. "It's good to see you again, old friend."

  They hugged.

  Malek didn't know what to feel seeing these two being so close. Grandpa Hendrick giving someone a hug. Maybe the world was indeed ending today.

  "What brings you here, friend? Probably not just to see this old fool," Vren said.

  Hendrick pulled items from his satchel one by one. A cloth pouch of Mana Crystal Dust. A small jar of Volcanic Ash. Three sealed vials of basic healing salve. He set them out in a line.

  "Are you working again?" Vren asked with hidden excitement in his voice.

  "Not exactly," Hendrick replied.

  The reply made Vren grin.

  Vren picked up each item, examined it, set it down. He didn't speak until he'd looked at all of it.

  "Crystal Dust is Grade 2. No impurities." He tapped the jar of ash. "Volcanic Ash from Phoenix Breath." He held up one of the vials. "Salves are acceptable."

  "Amazing as always. Where the hell did you acquire the Volcanic Ash from Phoenix Breath?"

  "Old collection."

  Vren pulled out a small scale and weighed the dust and ash.

  "What do you want to do with this?"

  "I need that thing you showed me last time."

  "Absolutely not. This isn't enough to cover the entire cost. And the supply has gotten low after the escalating tension with the Darben Empire."

  Hendrick thought for a while, then brought something wrapped in cloth out of his satchel.

  He removed the cloth. Inside was a piece of emerald about the size of a middle finger.

  Vren looked surprised. His hand started to tremble. "Is that... is that the feather of a Coarse Bird?"

  Hendrick nodded. "I hope it's more than enough for it and also other things I need to order." He handed Vren a list.

  Vren took a good look at it. "I'm more shocked today than in three years combined."

  "What are you making that you need so many rare materials? Some of these are almost nonexistent."

  "It will take some time. Years, maybe, to collect all of them."

  Hendrick nodded. Then he reached into the satchel again.

  This time, he pulled out a bundle wrapped in oilcloth. He set it on the counter carefully. The wrapping was tied with multiple layers of string.

  "What's that?"

  Hendrick untied the string slowly. He folded back the oilcloth.

  Inside was a root about the size of a fist. It was dark brown, almost black, but veins of silver ran through it. The veins pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat. Even dried and wrapped, it gave off a low hum of mana.

  Vren stared at it. Then he looked at Hendrick. "Where in the hells did you get Aursulang?"

  "The boy found it," Hendrick said evenly. "Couldn't sell it before."

  Vren reached for it. "You know what this is worth?"

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  "I know what it's supposed to be worth. I want to know what you'll pay."

  Suddenly someone entered the shop. "Do you have—"

  Vren screamed. "We don't have it! Leave! The shop is closed!"

  It scared the man who immediately left the shop.

  Vren stood up. He walked around the counter and went to the door. He locked it. He flipped a sign in the window that read CLOSED. Then he came back.

  Hendrick called Malek, who hadn't paid a single bit of attention to their conversation because most of what they talked about went over his head.

  "It's your herb and you're going to handle selling it," Hendrick said. "You don't need my help, right?"

  Malek nodded, finally having something to do. He'd been looking forward to selling the Aursulang for some time.

  It was very hard to preserve and even harder to sell for someone of his standing. A merchant would have probably scammed him or taken the herb without paying anything.

  He'd given the herb to Grandpa Hendrick for safekeeping and preservation. Hendrick had told Malek he knew someone who could buy the herb at a good price.

  Malek approached Vren and sat down opposite to him, calmly.

  Vren looked at the bold behavior and gave Hendrick a glance before starting to talk.

  "Let me be very clear," Vren said. "This is a Restricted Ingredient, Tier 2. Zero-Class citizens can't possess it without a guild waiver. Selling it without proper documentation is smuggling. If the Consortium finds out I bought this without papers, they'll fine me into dust."

  "I have papers," Hendrick said. He pulled a folded document from his coat. "Signed by the Registrar this morning. Transferring ownership from me to the boy. Legal inheritance claim. The boy's registered now, so the sale is clean."

  Vren took the paper and read it. His eyes scanned every line. Finally, he set it down.

  "It's legitimate," he admitted. "But it's still going to draw attention. Aursulang hasn't been harvested in this region for twenty-five years. People will ask questions."

  "Then don't tell them where you got it," Malek said.

  Vren picked up the root carefully. He turned it over in his hands, examining the veins. He held it up to the light from the window.

  "The veins are still active. Judging by the mana signature, it's high-grade." He paused. "How did you find it, boy?"

  "Graywood," Malek said. "Near the old direwolf territory."

  Vren looked at him for the first time with something other than dismissal. "You went into Graywood at twelve?"

  "I didn't know it was dangerous."

  "Lucky you didn't know. Stupidity saves lives sometimes."

  Vren set the root down carefully, his expression shifting from curiosity to something more serious.

  "Before we talk price, boy, you need to understand what you're holding," Vren said. "This isn't just a rare herb. It's more than that."

  He gestured to the root. "Aursulang. Some call it Dawn's Vein. Others call it the Golden will. The old texts call it the Flower of Sacrifice."

  Malek leaned forward slightly.

  "Aursulang doesn't grow like normal plants," Vren continued. "It doesn't need soil or water or sunlight. It grows from memory. Specifically, from places where a life ended willingly to save another. A soldier who threw himself on a blade to protect his comrade. A mother who gave her last breath to shield her child. A guardian who stood alone against impossible odds so others could flee."

  He picked up the root again, more reverently this time.

  "The herb remembers that sacrifice. It anchors itself to the spot and feeds on the lingering resonance of that final selfless act. That's why its locations are unpredictable. You can't farm it. You can't cultivate it. You can only find it where true sacrifice occurred."

  "Why does it grow at all?" Malek asked.

  "The old stories say the goddess of mercy died shielding humanity from a celestial calamity. When she fell, her blood soaked into the earth. Every place where someone repeats her choice, where someone chooses another's life over their own, the soil remembers. And Aursulang grows."

  Vren set the root down and leaned back.

  "The veins you see running through it? Those aren't just decorative. They pulse with residual life force from the person who died there. That's what makes it so potent. When you use Aursulang, you're not just using a plant. You're channeling the last gift of someone who loved enough to die."

  Malek looked at the root differently now. The silver veins pulsing faintly. The dark surface that seemed to absorb light.

  "What can it do?" he asked.

  "What can't it do?" Vren replied. "The liquid inside the veins, we call it Vein Tincture, can stop bleeding instantly. Internal, external, doesn't matter. A single drop can knit broken bones in hours instead of weeks. It reverses blood poisoning and infection absolutely. No disease can survive contact with it."

  He counted on his fingers. "It restores stamina and life force. It treats chronic illnesses. There are records of it regrowing lost limbs, though that requires repeated applications and ritual assistance."

  "It sounds perfect," Malek said.

  "Nothing is perfect," Vren said sharply. "Aursulang has limits. Severe ones."

  He held up one finger. "First, the body must want to live. If the patient has already surrendered mentally or spiritually, the herb does nothing. It responds to will. If there's no will to survive, Aursulang is just expensive plant matter."

  A second finger. "Second, overuse shortens lifespan. It doesn't kill you instantly, but it consumes a measure of your future vitality. Use it too often and you'll die young. Warriors who rely on it too much in their youth often don't see forty."

  A third finger. "Third, it cannot heal wounds inflicted by hatred or curses. Its essence is rooted in selfless love. It rejects malice. A cursed blade wound or a hex-induced illness won't respond to Aursulang at all."

  Malek absorbed this information.

  "Different cultures interpret it differently," Vren continued. "Elves call it the Flower of Second Dawn. They use it only for children and pregnant mothers. They consider using it for anything else a waste of sacred potential."

  "Human kingdoms restrict it to royalty and war heroes. That causes conflict. Nobles hoarding it. Conspiracies and theft are common."

  "Dwarves consider it cursed. They believe no healing should come from death. They refuse to touch it."

  "Nomadic tribes treat each plant as a grave. They let the herb guide them to locations where heroic spirits still linger. They leave offerings and tokens of remembrance before harvesting."

  Vren paused. "There's also a legend about a order called the Dawn Wardens. They locate and protect Aursulang. They believe if the herb ever goes extinct, compassion itself will fade from the world."

  "Do you believe that?" Malek asked.

  "I believe scarcity drives value," Vren said. "And I believe this root is worth a fortune."

  He looked at Hendrick. "Where exactly in Graywood did the boy find this?"

  "Near the old cairn," Hendrick said. "The one marking where the Verant militia made their stand during the orc raids thirty years ago."

  Vren's expression shifted. "The last stand of the twelve?"

  Hendrick nodded.

  "Then this root grew from their sacrifice," Vren said quietly. "Twelve men held a narrow pass for three days so the reinforcement could reach Verant. None survived."

  Malek felt something tighten in his chest. He'd found the root by accident while foraging. He hadn't known the story behind it.

  He never would have thought that such a small herb could hold such depth.

  "Ten thousand Ran," Vren said. "That's fair market price for something this rare."

  "One million Ran," Malek said immediately. "If finding such a rare herb doesn't give me reason to research its value, I'm either dumb or blind."

  Vren laughed. It was short and sharp. "You're out of your mind. Fifty thousand Ran. That's it."

  "You can try selling it anywhere you want," Vren continued. "I'd like to see how much you can get, if anything at all."

  "What makes you think I can't wait a few years before trying to sell it again?" Malek asked.

  "Because Aursulang is most effective the faster it's used after extraction. The longer you wait, the less desirable the herb becomes. The veins will fade. The potency will drop. In five years, this root will be worth maybe ten thousand Ran if you're lucky."

  Vren crossed his arms. "Two hundred thousand Ran. Final offer. And I'll throw in a vial of Condensed Ley Essence. Worth an additional hundred thousand Ran."

  Malek was quiet for a moment.

  He didn't really have a choice. He understood the situation clearly now. It was like the paintings in his previous world that sold for millions of dollars. Wealthy people purchased those paintings, which in turn increased their price even more. But if the same expensive painting was with a poor person, bought by a poor person, despite the painting being identical, its value would not be the same. The reason was the standing of that person and the perception of people.

  That was exactly his current situation.

  Gritting his teeth, Malek glanced at Hendrick, who moved his head to avoid meeting Malek's pleading eyes.

  Then he nodded. "Deal."

  "Done." Vren held out his hand immediately.

  They shook on it. One happy. The other depressed.

  Vren went into the back room. Malek heard the sound of a lock opening, then another. When Vren came back, he carried a small wooden box and a sealed glass vial. He set the box on the counter and opened it. Inside were bills of one thousand Ran counted out carefully. Two hundred thousand Ran total.

  He handed Malek the vial. It was filled with a liquid that shimmered faintly, like oil on water. "Ley Essence. Use it sparingly. A single drop in bathwater will help stabilize new channels. Use too much and it'll burn you from the inside out."

  Malek pocketed the vial.

  Vren reached under the counter and produced a small crystal, no bigger than a thumb. It glowed faintly blue.

  "Mana-charged," Vren said. "Low-grade, but it'll power basic tools for a month. Call it a bonus for not wasting my time with garbage."

  Malek pocketed that too, then asked one question he shouldn't have.

  "How much was that Aursulang really worth?"

  Vren smiled. "Five million Ran. Maybe more to the right buyer."

  They left the shop. The street outside was quieter now. The afternoon sun was angled low, casting long shadows across the covered walkway.

  Malek looked at the money in his hand. More money than he'd ever seen in one place. Enough to buy a house in the town. Enough to live on for a few years if you were careful.

  "That root was mine. I shouldn't have sold it," Malek said quietly.

  "It was," Hendrick agreed. "And now it's money. Which is more useful."

  He patted Malek on the shoulder.

  Malek laughed without a soul. "I won't forget this, Vren, you scamming bastard."