Beginning the Operation

After a moment of silent pause, the trade request initiated by this chubby, sharp-tongued fellow was skipped over by the old gentleman, Eye of Wisdom.

"Fine, no is no. I wasn't really expecting to buy what I wanted at a random gathering I stumbled into anyway, and I haven't even prepared the money yet."

The chubby guy's muttering drew a round of side-eyes—some speechless, some disgusted, and some impressed.

The admiration came from Cyril, who felt that this guy was a bit like him: wanting to freeload without a penny to his name.

Of course, he certainly wasn't as annoying as the other guy; he was no promising candidate for the Hunter pathway.

After grumbling to himself, he took advantage of the temporary silence to be the first to state his needs:

"I wish to sell a few Sequence 9 potion formulas: Seer, Apprentice, and Bard. Does anyone here need them?"

Three Sequence 9 potion formulas; if he could sell them all, he would net 600 pounds in one go, and he wouldn't have to worry about the upcoming transactions.

At least let me sell one, otherwise I won't be able to participate in the later trading sessions.

This was the reason he had initiated the trade request so quickly; he couldn't even scrape together 1 pound to his name right now.

After a brief silence, the old gentleman, Eye of Wisdom, was the first to take up the conversation:

"I would like a Seer potion formula. What is your price?"

Cyril answered without a second thought: "200 pounds. That is the price for all of them. No haggling; this price is already quite reasonable."

The old gentleman, Eye of Wisdom, nodded slightly: "A reasonable price. I have no objections."

Cyril's gaze swept across the crowd. He hoped to sell a few more formulas; 200 pounds was a lot for an ordinary person, but for a Beyonder, it was nowhere near enough.

Soon, someone else spoke up: "I want a Bard potion formula."

"Good." Cyril nodded slightly and continued to scan the room, but no one else spoke up after that.

400 pounds—that was decent enough. At least the remaining 200 pounds were within the range of a bank loan.

Thinking this, he placed the two sheets of paper he had prepared before coming—each inscribed with the Seer and Bard potion formulas—onto the tray held by the attendant beside him.

The attendant placed the folded papers in front of the old gentleman, Eye of Wisdom, who took them and glanced at them. A second later, a golden seal pattern appeared in the eyes behind his dark gold mask.

"Notarized. Valid!"

Cyril wasn't surprised by this, but the new, sharp-tongued guy beside him gasped.

"Impressive. No wonder he dares to trade potion formulas; it turns out he has a way to verify them."

"This old gentleman, Eye of Wisdom, is the second—no, the third most powerful Beyonder I've ever met."

Cyril looked at the chubby guy beside him in surprise, filled with the urge to retort.

The old gentleman, Eye of Wisdom, has always used mystical items and hasn't revealed his abilities or sequence at all, yet you've already ranked him?

Fat, sharp-tongued, looking for the Marrow Crystal of the Elf Spring... A figure of a fat man and a talking owl gradually emerged in Cyril's mind.

Is this guy that fat Apothecary from the Life School of Thought?

"What are you looking at? It's just a completed trade, isn't it?"

Noticing his gaze, the guy suspected to be the fat Apothecary curled his lip.

Cyril smiled indifferently, then said in a joking tone: "Do you need a Vampire potion formula?"

"No."

The other party refused without a second thought, looking at him warily to confirm his eyes weren't blood-red before letting out a slight sigh of relief.

After a brief pause, he added: "If you have the corresponding potion ingredients, you can trade with me."

Cyril shook his head: "You don't have the money."

The fat Apothecary was instantly triggered: "I will have money in the future! I definitely will!"

"You've already guessed I'm an Apothecary, don't you know how fast an Apothecary makes money?"

"Whether they are ordinary people or Beyonders, who can guarantee they won't get hurt, won't get sick, or won't need a little special assistance? Everyone here is a potential client of mine."

"That is not a good blessing." The old gentleman, Eye of Wisdom, chuckled with a sigh, taking the opportunity to interrupt their conversation before looking at Cyril and asking:

"You seem to have mastered quite a few potion formulas; I wonder if you have heard of the Scholar?"

Cyril nodded slightly: "A Beyonder pathway mastered by the Church of the God of Knowledge and Wisdom. Its characteristics are being versatile due to being learned, capable of identifying, seeing through, remembering, and imitating abilities one has witnessed."

"If you need the corresponding formula, I don't have it for the time being."

The old gentleman, Eye of Wisdom, followed up: "Only for the time being?"

"Yes." Cyril nodded slightly. Since he had already joined the Twilight Hermit Order, there would always be another chance to view the Blasphemy Slate; he would just take an extra look then.

"I hope this 'time being' won't be too long." The old gentleman, Eye of Wisdom, sighed, then moved on from the topic.

Because he had displayed his learned side, many people asked Cyril about potion formulas during the subsequent trading session, but not a single person offered to buy; at most, they just asked for the price.

It was clear that these wild Beyonders were all poorer than the last.

At 10:00 PM, after the streets outside had become deserted, Cyril silently performed a Door Opening to slip out of his house and arrived at the place he had agreed to meet Owen.

As soon as he arrived, he saw a figure wearing a black hooded robe, gloves on both hands, and a mask on their face, covering themselves completely.

Powerful spiritual intuition allowed Cyril to identify the figure the moment he saw them.

"Why are you dressed like that, standing under a streetlamp? Are you afraid you aren't drawing enough attention to yourself?"

The person in the black robe, who had been completely covered, was startled by the voice that suddenly appeared behind them, reflexively turning around and reaching for a gun.

It wasn't until he saw Cyril's face that he let out a sigh of relief, holstered his weapon, and pulled down his mask, revealing Owen's still-youthful face as he complained to Cyril:

"Why did you suddenly walk up behind me? You scared me; I almost pulled the trigger."

Cyril shrugged: "Walking through walls is a faster way to travel."

"Besides, I don't think you have the guts to actually pull the trigger."

Ignoring the latter part of his comment, Owen asked directly:

"Are you ready? Should we head out now?"

Cyril glanced at him and said speechlessly: "Before we leave, stow away that outfit. We're still a distance from the East District. If a passerby or a patrolling officer sees you like this, we'll likely end up at the police station before we even reach the Blood Axe Gang."

Owen: "Don't you have extraordinary abilities?"

Cyril: "Those are just for walking through walls and Door Opening, not teleportation."

Under Cyril's strong insistence, Owen took off his black cloak, removed his mask and gloves, and then boarded a public carriage heading toward the East District.

Throughout the journey, Owen wore a sullen expression; this was completely different from the operation he had imagined—it was neither exciting nor spectacular.

Cyril glanced at him, roughly guessing what he was thinking, and could only shake his head helplessly. There was no helping it; that's just how chuunibyou teenagers are.

East District, Old Elm Street, one of the most chaotic streets in the entire East District. Out of every ten people lurking here, nine had connections to gang forces, and the remaining one was a criminal wanted by the authorities.

Cyril and Owen got off the carriage two streets away. At this hour, even if they had wanted to take a carriage all the way here, no driver would have agreed to it.

As soon as they approached Old Elm Street, Cyril felt a series of gazes filled with blatant scrutiny and malice cast upon them from the surrounding corners.

The vagrants who had spent years lingering here had already identified them as newcomers. If they could, they wouldn't mind becoming thieves, robbers, or criminals, as long as there was a gain to be had that would allow them to survive.

Ignoring the malicious gazes around them, Cyril turned his head to look at Owen beside him: "Do you have the Fate Crystal Ball with you?"

"Of course." Owen patted the pocket under his black cloak.

"Let me borrow it."

He had originally intended to have the other party directly divine the specific location of the Blood Axe Gang, but seeing the faint black hue emanating from Owen's spirituality, he changed his mind.

He wasn't yet sure what this black color represented. If it were bad luck or a curse, he might also be affected, just like when they encountered that group of Highlanders blocking the road to rob them, so he had to help the other party shoulder some of the side effects of the Fate Crystal Ball.