CHAPTER 84: CHAPTER 84

The old man froze for a moment. Then realization struck—and fury ignited in his eyes.

"Hey! What’s the big idea, saying something like that? You trying to scare people off from buying my deer?! You’d really watch me end up homeless just because I can’t pay my debts?!"

He stepped forward, fists clenched.

"Well then—how about we settle this with a fight?!"

Blinded by rage, the old man lunged at the tattooed, middle-aged man who had insulted his deer. But before things could spiral out of control, several bystanders rushed in to hold him back and keep the scuffle from escalating.

The tattooed man didn’t flinch.

"What? Am I wrong?" he said coldly. "Your deer’s not worth it. And your debt? That’s your problem—not ours."

A wave of tension swept through the crowd. His words were sharp—brutal, even. Everyone could feel it. But no one dared speak up.

This was a world ruled by swords and sorcery. Mercy didn’t come cheap.

The old man looked crushed. Tears welled in his eyes again.

Clayton, standing nearby, was growing tired of the whole affair. He had only come to buy a deer and head home—not to get dragged into some tragic soap opera.

His patience worn thin, he stepped forward to end it.

"Alright. How about I buy the deer for 400 low-grade magic crystals?"

The old man shook his head firmly.

"No, kid. A thousand is the lowest I can go. This deer is special—you have to understand that."

But Clayton didn’t think it was worth nearly that much. Doubt crept in. Maybe he should just stick to his original plan.

As he stood silently weighing his options, the tattooed man spoke again.

"Hey, kid," he called out. "You’ve got a good heart—but don’t let this old man play you. He’s just trying to scam you."

He even gave Clayton a friendly push. "Walk away. Don’t waste your money on a dying animal."

The old man grit his teeth, seething.

"Fine! I’ll lower the price. Give me 900 crystals and the deer’s yours!"

Clayton still hesitated.

Seeing his uncertainty, the old man grew desperate.

"What now? I already dropped the price! What more do you want?!"

Clayton opened his mouth to respond, but the tattooed man cut in first.

"Tch. Look at him—panicking. Scared you’ll catch on to his scam, huh?"

That was the last straw.

The old man snapped and lunged at him again. The two started wrestling right there in the market—still not using mana, likely trying to avoid drawing the attention of city guards.

Clayton shook his head, exhausted.

"Alright, enough! Let’s just get this over with—I want to go home," he called out, though his voice was nearly lost in the commotion.

The old man heard him but didn’t stop fighting.

"I already said—900 crystals! No less!"

Clayton let out an exasperated sigh and made one final offer.

"How about 700? I’ll pay right now."

"No! It’s 900—final offer!" the old man shouted, still locked in a grapple.

The tattooed man scoffed.

"Just leave it, kid. Walk away. No one else is gonna buy that thing. Wait a little longer, and the price will drop even more."

Panic flickered across the old man’s face.

"Don’t listen to that nonsense! Fine! 800! I’ll sell it for 800 crystals!" he blurted out.

Clayton still thought it was overpriced. He considered countering again—but the two men were back to brawling.

He sighed in defeat.

"Alright. Here—800 magic crystals. The deer’s mine."

At his words, the old man immediately broke free, turned to Clayton, and snatched the crystals with a forced, reluctant expression—like he was the one being cheated.

Clayton scoffed.

If anyone got scammed here, it was me.

Without another word, he stored the deer in his spatial entry room. Then, turning to the tattooed man, he gave a polite nod.

"Thanks for the help, sir..."

"Yeah, yeah. Don’t mention it," the man replied proudly, glaring at the old man.

"I’m just that kind of guy—can’t stand injustice."

The old man snorted, looking ready to pick another fight.

But Clayton had had enough. He turned and walked away.

The onlookers slowly dispersed, some shaking their heads, others chuckling.

"What a show..."

"That kid definitely overpaid."

"He got played and doesn’t even know it."

Clayton didn’t care.

He believed he could nurse the deer back to health.

And once it recovered, it could help him farm. In the long run, he thought, it would be worth it.

After he left, the crowd slowly thinned out.

...

Meanwhile, in a narrow alley...

The tattooed man stepped out from behind a wall, waiting calmly.

Moments later, the old man strolled in.

"So?" the tattooed man grinned. "How was my acting?"

"Haha! Not bad! Though if I’d just sold it at the start, we might’ve gotten even more."

"Eh, doesn’t matter. We still pulled in an 800% profit."

The old man chuckled and began counting their haul.

The truth was—they were seasoned con artists operating in Sunlight City. The old man wasn’t a farmer. The crystal deer? Stolen—from the Bramble family’s magical livestock farm, one of the city’s agricultural powerhouses.

Originally, the plan had been for the tattooed man to act as a rival bidder and drive up the price. But when the deer’s condition proved too poor for that strategy, they changed tactics.

He became the "hero" instead—spinning a story to confuse the crowd and manipulate sympathy.

"This run was a big success," the tattooed man said proudly.

The old man grinned.

"Yeah—and the kid even thanked us after we tricked him."

They both laughed, split the crystals, and went their separate ways.

...

Back on the streets...

Clayton couldn’t shake a lingering sense of regret.

If he’d just been more patient, stuck to his original plan, he might’ve gotten the deer for far less.

And the more he thought about it... the more suspicious things seemed.

The old man. The tattooed guy. The way things played out.

It all felt too coincidental.

Frustrated, he clenched his fists—but told himself not to dwell on it.

He kept walking, staying alert.

Sunlight City had grown dangerous—robberies, scams, even open fights in the streets were becoming more frequent.

As he scanned his surroundings, something caught his eye.

A familiar figure—stealing from someone in broad daylight.

Clayton’s eyes narrowed.

It was him.

The pickpocket whose hand he’d once cut off.

Now, the thief was back at it—his remaining hand tightly wrapped in bandages.

Their eyes locked.

For a brief moment, everything went still.

Then the thief smiled. A wicked, knowing smile.

With no crowd around, he wasn’t afraid. He was confident. Confident that this time, he could kill Clayton—with help.

He gave a sharp whistle—quick and deliberate.

Several heads turned.

Half a dozen men looked straight at Clayton.

He felt the weight of their stares.

"Damn it... why does everything have to go wrong today?" Clayton muttered, preparing himself for whatever came next.

"This time," the thief whispered, "I won’t miss."