As Grayhill’s words fell, the room sank into silence. The attendees’ gazes all locked onto the box before him. Among these glances were eagerness, desire, doubt, and anxiety.
A mystic book that teaches one how to control dreams and step into the Dreamscape? A chance to obtain hidden knowledge within the Dreamscape?
To be honest, Grayhill’s Dream Seeker’s Chronicles tempted most of those present. Nearly all of them were seekers of the beyond, individuals connected to the realm of beyond, yearning for greater mystic knowledge and a path to true transcendence.
But… 500 pounds was an exorbitant price.
To put it into perspective, a detached house in the outskirts of Igwynt cost only about 300 pounds. For 500 pounds, one could purchase a house with a garden, fully furnished.
So this is the price of knowledge?!
Grayhill’s asking price immediately stumped the majority of attendees. While they were economically capable, not all of them were aristocrats or wealthy magnates. Most of the trades conducted earlier in the gathering ranged below 100 pounds. Now, with Grayhill asking for 500 pounds outright, many couldn’t afford it. Even those who could had to seriously weigh whether this sum was worth exchanging for a book that merely taught one how to enter the Dreamscape—a realm fraught with uncertainties.
This was an investment with no guaranteed returns. Even the wealthier attendees hesitated.
This sort of thing… only the truly rich could afford it.
At that moment, most eyes in the room turned to a gentleman in a mask. His codename was "Shepherd Dog," and he had made numerous purchases earlier. Regular attendees of the gathering knew him as a major spender.Feeling the attention directed his way, the gentleman clasped his cane and slowly spoke.
"My apologies, Mr. Grayhill. While this manual is indeed fascinating, it also poses additional risks of contamination. I’ve yet to complete the mystic book I previously acquired. If I were to forcefully study a new one without resolving my current contamination, I might lose control due to the accumulation of poison…"
Looking at Grayhill seated at the head of the table, the gentleman offered a polite yet apologetic explanation. Hearing this, Grayhill silently nodded. He swept his gaze around the room, and when no one else placed a bid, he raised his hand.
"In that case, today’s gathering shall—"
"Wait, please, wait!"
Suddenly, a high-pitched, youthful voice broke the silence. Hearing it, the attendees all turned toward the source. Their eyes landed on a small figure seated at the table, hand raised.
Seeing this, everyone present was stunned.
What on earth? That physique, that voice—was this a child? How did a child end up in this gathering?
"Mr. Grayhill, I wish to trade… um, trade for your mystic book!"
The voice was sharp and deliberately naive, clearly belonging to Dorothy, who raised her voice to sound even younger.
"Where did this brat come from? How did you sneak in here? Get out, now!"
One of Grayhill’s masked attendants shouted, pointing at Dorothy. Initially, they assumed she was just a particularly short adult, but it was clear now she was a minor.
As the attendant prepared to act, Grayhill raised his hand, signaling them to stop.
Amidst the confusion, Grayhill’s voice calmly echoed.
"It doesn’t matter who it is. As long as they sit at this table, they are a member of this gathering and entitled to participate in transactions."
Hearing his words, the attendants backed down. Grayhill then shifted his gaze to Dorothy, his stony expression hidden behind his mask.
"Very well, young lady. You say you wish to trade for my book. But do you have 500 pounds?"
"Um… I’m sorry, Mr. Grayhill. I don’t have that much money. But… but I do have something to trade! We can barter!"
Dorothy spoke in a deliberately childish tone, working hard to make herself appear younger.
"Something, you say? An item of equal value to this book?"
"Yes! Look at this…"
Dorothy reached into her robe, pulling out a small cloth pouch and placing it on the table. Opening the pouch revealed a glass vial filled with dark red liquid, containing two ghastly pale severed fingers.
When Dorothy presented the vial, the atmosphere in the room froze. Even Grayhill leaned forward slightly, and those who had been ready to mock Dorothy now held their breath. It became clear that this "child" was not joking.
"This… this is… let me see…"
After taking out the glass vial, Dorothy acted as though she wanted to say something but couldn’t recall the details. She scratched her head and pulled out a slip of paper from her cloak, reading it aloud.
"This contains spiritual fingers created through a ritual. These two fingers are imbued with abundant ’Chalice’ spirituality. Consuming both will greatly advance one’s path toward transcendence. With a bit more ’Chalice’ spirituality, it’s enough to fulfill the requirements for becoming a Thirster…"
Dorothy finished reading the note in her hand and looked around. The room was utterly silent, and countless eyes were fixed on the glass vial before her, brimming with ravenous greed. This hunger was even more intense than when they had looked at the mystic book earlier.
Spirituality! A spirituality-rich mystic item! Unlike other random items, this could be consumed directly, offering immediate improvement and significantly narrowing the gap to becoming true Beyonder.
Desire permeated the gathering. If not for Grayhill’s presence, someone might already have attempted to snatch the vial from Dorothy. Amid the sea of covetous gazes, however, two were filled not with greed for the item, but with malice directed at Dorothy herself.
The atmosphere grew increasingly tense. With Dorothy presenting her offering, an unspoken unease hung over everyone. Seated at the head of the table, Grayhill stared at the contents of the vial for a long moment before speaking slowly.
"Young lady... do you know what it means to openly sell something that originally belonged to the Crimson Eucharist in this city? Are you sure you dare to sell this?"
The Crimson Eucharist...
At Grayhill’s words, a collective gasp rippled through the gathering. Those greedy glances vanished instantly. Upon learning the item’s origin, no one dared entertain further ill thoughts.
In fact, once they realized Dorothy’s item was associated with the Crimson Eucharist, the attendees seated beside her instinctively shifted their chairs to put more distance between themselves and her.
Dorothy, however, continued in a tone of feigned innocence.
"Huh? The Crimson Eucharist? What’s that? I don’t know... But..."
She paused, pretended to think, and glanced theatrically at the note in her hand before adding,
"But even though I don’t know what the Crimson Eucharist is, I’m sure it’s something Mr. Grayhill wouldn’t care about. So, as long as Mr. Grayhill dares to take it, I dare to sell it!"
The room fell silent at her words. After a few moments, Grayhill suddenly burst into laughter.
"Hahaha… If I dare to take it, you dare to sell it? Well said, young lady! Tell me, who taught you to say that?"
At this, Dorothy quickly feigned fright. She hid the note behind her back and hastily replied, "N-no one taught me! I came up with it myself!"
"Heh... fine, fine… you came up with it yourself… you came up with it yourself..."
Amused, Grayhill chuckled softly. He motioned to his attendant, who immediately brought the box before Grayhill and placed it in front of Dorothy, taking the vial from her in exchange.
"The deal is done. Young lady, you may take your item and leave. But let me offer you some advice: don’t come to places like this again. No amount of money is worth risking your life."
With that, Grayhill stood and waved dismissively.
"Meeting adjourned."
As Grayhill announced the end of the meeting, the attendees rose, bowed to him, and began filing out. Dorothy, clutching the box containing the book, ascended the stairs and left the basement. In the dispersing crowd, however, two pairs of eyes never left her figure.
Exiting through a wooden door, Dorothy stepped into the dim streets of Darkwater Alley. Glancing around, she quickly started running in one direction. Behind her, two figures followed at a distance.
Still cloaked, Dorothy weaved through the city’s narrow streets, turning corner after corner, while the two shadows remained close on her trail.
As she ran, a sly smile played at the corners of her lips beneath her mask.
They’ve taken the bait, haven’t they? Crimson Eucharist lackeys… While thinking this, Dorothy discreetly removed the book from the box and hid it within her cloak. Then, after making another sharp turn, she darted into a dark, narrow alley where a figure stood with their back to her.
Dorothy paused slightly in front of the figure, waiting until her pursuers arrived. Holding up the now-empty box, she loudly proclaimed in a childish voice, "Sir! I’ve completed the task you gave me! Here’s the item I purchased—please take a look!"
As her voice echoed, the figure slowly turned around, revealing their face.
Sunken eyes, a hooked nose, a pale and gaunt complexion. Dressed in a dark red suit, with a bowler hat and a cane, his gaze was chilling.
This was Edrick Grandi—Dorothy’s corpse marionette.