"This Windseed Octopus horn is of very good quality."
In a small underground appraisal room at the Adventurers Association, a professional appraiser in an Association uniform said this to Xia Nan, who sat across the table from him.
He was in his forties or fifties, with graying temples and round copper-rimmed glasses, carrying himself with utmost professionalism.
He did not even directly touch the long horn on the table before him.
Instead, wearing black gloves of some unknown material, he held a tool resembling an iron spoon in his right hand and lightly tapped the horn's surface.
The Magic Particles throughout the room suddenly churned into disorder, gathering toward the horn in a vortex. A faint sound like a howling storm could be heard.
Only afterward did they gradually settle, like ripples fading across water.
Windseed Octopuses were rare magical beasts born amid storms, spending their lives chasing gales and thunder before breeding in torrential rain.
As the core of their power, the long horn growing from their heads was also the most valuable material on their massive bodies.
An appraiser of merely average skill might not even be able to identify its origin without the seller's introduction, much less judge the material's quality.
The refined man employed by the Adventurers Association was clearly not among the "average."
Xia Nan, seated across the table, did not know how the other man had reached the conclusion that the horn was "of good quality." But his sharp Perception still allowed him to notice the appraiser's gaze carefully sweeping over the patterns at the horn's tip, as well as the slight furrow in his brow from his intense concentration when the sound of the storm echoed through the room.
"Although the Windseed Octopus this came from has likely been dead for some time,