With the Iron-Faced Man's example to follow, Hammer was clearly quick to do as he was told.
But even after the transaction was completed to everyone's satisfaction, he was still writhing on the ground, unable to get up.
The crossbow bolt had clearly been enchanted with a special effect. Centered on the point of impact, crisscrossing wounds had torn across his entire leg, and even the cracks in his bones were visible.
Unless he had some talent that let him regenerate severed limbs, that leg was probably done for.
As for his teammate, he was frantically tugging at the mask on his face, trying to free his head from it.
For a conflict this trivial—not even enough to count as picking on the weak—Fu Qian felt absolutely nothing.
With a hammer in one hand and a crossbow in the other, he carried off the spoils of his trip and walked home to his rented room, thoroughly satisfied.
As expected, auction houses were a cultivator's paradise. The sages of old had spoken true.
This should be the place, right?
After returning to his lodgings, changing clothes, and resting a little to give the whole settlement time to digest what had happened, Fu Qian followed the address on Tir's card and found the place.
It was nearly dark. Beneath the stars, he could see that, compared to the area where he lived, this district was laid out in much greater disarray, and its buildings were far more dilapidated.
That wasn't surprising. The settlement had expanded little by little, and this was basically its oldest district.
Those still active in the area were, regardless of strength, among the oldest residents.
That was probably why Ji Yicheng had such an opinion of Tir.
In his eyes, Tir represented an outdated system of production.