After a long pause, someone finally spoke up in the silent shed: "Lord Toras, what is this treasure?"

Murphy had long anticipated such a question and was ready with his answer. “It's merely a trivial relic left by the old Demon King, far from the treasure we seek.”

He felt no pressure in pinning the blame on the old Demon King. After all, the old fellow was long gone, and even if he were still around, he’d likely be too busy admiring the succubus image crystal to care about Murphy’s spin. Should the former sovereign rise and demand an explanation, a simple, “It's all part of the plan,” would suffice—who would question a grand Demon King with schemes aplenty?

“How about that? A real rarity, no? It may not be the treasure the old king hid away, but it’s certainly unique. I believe its value is clear to you all, isn't it?” Murphy’s voice, persuasive and soothing, filtered through his skeletal mask.

“Yes, my lord, it’s apparent—the value is astonishing. A treasure of unique worth.”

“True, but not entirely. While this crystal is indeed valuable, it’s not one-of-a-kind.”

With a clap of Murphy’s hands, a line of Goblins scurried into action, each bearing a tray full of little wooden boxes.

Another wave of his hand summoned a second Goblin troop, who lifted the lids off the wooden boxes, and instantly, crystals of every hue flickered throughout the room.

“My friends, before we proceed, allow me the honor of introducing this batch of crystals properly,” Murphy’s calm voice rang authoritative yet composed, as he gave a modest bow, resembling a dignified butler serving nobility.

“These crystals, discovered by my most capable ghoul in an old Demon King's secret vault, total two hundred. After inspection, I’ve named them 'image crystals'. Not only are they aesthetically pleasing, but each is truly one-of-a-kind—even the stored images are unique to each crystal. To activate, one simply does as our good sir demonstrated earlier—those with magical talent may use their powers, while those without can channel their own spirit energy. I trust, given your wits, you've already deduced their worth. But don’t rush; these crystals aren’t flawless. Our tests revealed that clarity diminishes with repeated plays, and they ultimately disintegrate into dust at the end of their lifespan. That makes the crystal's first play its most precious.”

“That’s all there is to say,” Murphy concluded as heat simmered in the otherwise quiet shed. He spread his arms wide and spoke softly, “Now, friends, let’s start the bidding. The highest offer may have the privilege to buy first.”

Silence enveloped the traders. Without doubt, the rarity of these crystals surpassed their wildest dreams—an ideal commodity with high value, easy portability, and inevitable consumption. Plus, they all foresaw these crystals becoming the rage at high-society soirees of noblewomen, as well as in the hands of those wealthy enough to afford ignorance.

Swallowing hard, they thought of the wealthiest in Heracles Kingdom—well, even the stray dogs knew nobility was flush with coins. These seemingly affluent merchants were mere paupers compared to the noble estates, amassed over decades. They knew that with the right moves, they could rake in profits several times over. Money was never shunned, but the burning question was: How much to spend for as many crystals as possible?

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

The happiest man in the room was Murphy. As the string-puller behind the scenes, he knew exactly what the merchants were pondering. He’d refrained from setting a base price, precisely to have them grapple for footing, stirring internal strife in the bidding process.

After a pause, one merchant exclaimed, “Lord, how about five gold coins per crystal?”

Murphy readied to laugh, intimidating the bidder, but someone else quickly upstaged him.

“Kent, are you taking us for fools? Five gold coins a piece? How many do you even plan to snag? Hope they don’t make you choke,” the robust merchant who had activated the crystal earlier cursed overtly.

“Yes, indeed. If you take us for fools, spare Lord Toras such jests. The lord went to great lengths to discover these treasures. Have you no consideration for his efforts? Forget five gold coins, even at ten a crystal, there’s profit to be made!” The chubby trader was already aligning himself with Murphy, seizing the moment to butter him up.

Though their discontent was clear, neither offered their own price, instead quarreling with Kent. Murphy chuckled silently, thinking, "What a bunch of crafty foxes."

Just as the verbal spat threatened to escalate, the second bidder appeared. “Lord, what say you to fifteen gold coins per crystal?”

The shed fell quiet, all eyes locked onto the skull mask.

“Sounds good to me," Murphy replied. "But you should be asking your peers if they're on board with that. If there's consensus, we can proceed with the trade.”

Before the echo of Murphy’s words faded, hostile glares targeted the merchant who offered ten coins. Standing his ground, he retorted, “What’s the matter? Disagree? Then outbid me! Go on, up it to a hundred coins and corner the market for yourselves!”

As yet another shouting match loomed, the chubby merchant turned to Murphy, respectfully inquiring, “My lord, to save you precious time, may we have a moment to discuss the price amongst ourselves?”

Seeing the bidding war take off, Murphy silently nodded. Merchants’ faces lit up with glee as they huddled together, murmuring in negotiation.

Moments later, agreement reached, the chubby merchant, now spokesperson, ingratiatingly relayed, “Lord, after our deliberation, we’ve agreed to purchase the entire batch at twenty gold coins per crystal, splitting it amongst ourselves later. How does that suit you?”

“Twenty coins each? No problem by me. As for your distribution—that’s your business. Two hundred crystals, minus the two I demonstrated and tested, makes for one hundred and ninety-eight. Time to pay up.”

The Goblins busied themselves once more, and Murphy reveled in his near four-thousand coin haul, while the merchants divvied up their crystals like spoils of war.

In the end, the wealthiest smuggler defiantly took forty crystals, while the last—and perhaps least flush with cash or too thrifty—settled for just three.

Thus ended the dirty business. Murphy had his money, the merchants their cherished goods, leaving only naive nobles to tend their wounded wallets.

As traders loaded their precious cargo, readying to depart, Murphy approached. “I’m quite pleased with this turnout. I hope we’ll continue to cooperate in the future. But let it be said, don’t try any tricks. Bring the goods when due; I’ve no desire to intervene. Converging like today wastes my time and eats into your profits. I'll not tolerate it again.”

“Lastly, the goods I want you to bring next time: fabrics. A variety of colors, no special requirements on quality or quantity. Have at it, gentlemen. Oh, and aren’t I such a fine employer? Wouldn’t you agree?”

The traders nodded, bowing to Murphy with due respect before they set off on their return journey.

Watching their retreating figures, Murphy smiled to himself and muttered, “I'll leave the rest to time.”