Chapter 36: FRIH - 36
"Don't joke," the shopkeeper sneered. His lips curled back with a mixture of disdain and disbelief, as though the very idea offended the foundations of his livelihood. The lights in the shop flickered slightly, not because of magic, but because of the fraying connection of the floating glowstone above. The soft humming it gave off suddenly felt louder in the tense air between them. He leaned forward, protectively closing the appraisal book just a little, as though afraid Ronan might snatch it. "I won't sell it, even for three hundred gold coins."
The number hung in the air like a drawn blade, sharp and deliberate. It wasn't just a price—it was a declaration. But to his surprise, Ronan didn't flinch.
"Three hundred? That's cheap?" Ronan was surprised, not by the shopkeeper's attitude, but by the openly stated minimum price.
His voice carried no malice, only mild curiosity. He stood relaxed, almost too casual for someone dealing with an obviously opportunistic merchant. He tilted his head, blinking slowly as if calculating the value in his head. It was the kind of look a person gave an innkeeper offering an extra room for a silver piece—mild skepticism, not outrage.
He wasn't serious about selling. He was a seasoned haggler.
The kind who tested the boundaries for fun. Not out of desperation, not even out of greed—just for the principle of the thing. The number, to him, was abstract. The cost of convenience. Whether it was thirty or three hundred didn't matter; what mattered was utility, and whether he wanted it.
Three hundred was too high, but Ronan didn't care; it was worth it.
The shopkeeper, however, was shocked. His brain reeled, his internal sense of economy trembling. Three hundred? Cheap? That book wasn't even worth a hundred when he bought it ten years ago—sure, it had gotten him through countless appraisals and dozens of scams, but still... cheap?
Three hundred? Cheap? This kid had no concept of money!
His initial assumptions came rushing back. Ronan's glance at Frieren had led him to believe the tools were hers. She had that look—an air of quiet power, tempered with patience. Elves were long-lived and deliberate. If he could fool her with some jargon and confidence, maybe she'd fall for inflated pricing.
Elves were slow; he could easily overcharge them.