“…” After a moment of silence, Ronan accepted the grimoire, somewhat bewildered by how it had all played out.
Though the situation had unfolded rather abruptly, getting something for free felt pretty good all the same.
Saved him the trouble of going back to the village to learn it from the chief and owing yet another favor.
Meanwhile, Martin had been watching Ronan’s expression the whole time, tension written across his face.
Seeing Ronan’s mood gradually brighten, the knot in his chest loosened somewhat, and he hurried to match the mood with a flattering smile: “As long as you’re pleased, that’s what matters.
If you ask me, a rotten shop like this, one that preys specifically on outsiders, deserves to be shut down for good.” “If you’re still unhappy about it, just say the word, and I’ll make sure he can’t do business in any city around here ever again.” “He won’t dare pull this kind of underhanded stunt again, not after this.” “Trust me, the Viscount has more than enough influence to make that happen.” After all, as an old, established noble house, the Millers had connections that ran deep.
Behind them, the shopkeeper, who’d only just managed to buy his way out of trouble, heard this and, having barely caught his breath, found himself trembling uncontrollably all over again.
His heart churned with a mix of fear and fury, and he couldn’t help cursing silently to himself: Who in the world even is this guy?
Damn it all.
I already handed over a spell worth hundreds of gold coins, and this one still won’t let it go…
Was there really any need to go this hard on me?
Anyone watching would think he was the guy’s own father…
Absolutely pathetic.
Hearing this, Ronan waved a hand dismissively, indicating there was no need for any of that.
He was in a good mood today and had no interest in pushing things to such an extreme.
As far as he was concerned, the man had simply tried to swindle him out of money—not tried to kill him.
Ruining someone’s entire livelihood over that felt like overkill.
Setting aside the fact that Frieren was standing right there.
If the shopkeeper really was driven into a corner with nowhere left to turn, and the man, desperate, ended up putting a bounty on his head or something equally reckless, Ronan would just have to deal with another mess of killing.
The mere thought of it sounded exhausting.
Seeing this, Martin caught on and let out a sigh of relief, since the shopkeeper happened to be his main source of side income.
If Ronan had insisted on punishing the man, Martin would’ve had no choice but to play the part of righteous nephew turning against his own interests.
After all, no amount of money mattered more than his own neck.
Thankfully…
“See that?
Get lost already, and remember—don’t ever let me see your face again!” Martin punctuated this with a hard kick aimed at the shopkeeper, his tone thick with relief.
The shopkeeper flinched, the pain snapping him back to his senses.
Without even sparing a thought for his own shop, he scrambled up off the floor in a panic and bolted for the door.
Muttering “yes, yes, yes” over and over, looking even more pitifully submissive than Martin himself.
Once he’d gone, the once-noisy shop settled back into its usual quiet.
At that moment, Frieren shot Martin a faintly odd look.
She tilted her head slightly, as if to say: you just chased him off—now what happens to our magic tools?
“!” Catching that subtle look from Frieren, Martin felt his heart lurch, a bead of cold sweat sliding down his forehead.
He silently cursed himself, realizing he’d been careless.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he dashed for the door, desperate to track the shopkeeper back down.
But just as he was scrambling in a panic, Ronan suddenly called out to stop him.
“Wait.” As he spoke, Ronan was already flipping quickly through the grimoire in his hands.
After several dozen seconds of careful study, he’d more or less grasped how the so-called appraisal spell actually worked.
Fairly simple, really.
Hearing Ronan’s voice, Martin had no choice but to halt in his tracks.
Even with his mind racing in a panic, he didn’t dare ignore a word from someone this important.
Martin slowly turned back around, ready to ask, with an obsequious smile plastered on his face, what kind of help Ronan needed.
But right after, he witnessed something that left his jaw hanging open.
Ronan was casting the appraisal spell, with practiced, fluid ease.
His technique looked so polished it seemed as though he’d practiced it countless times, virtually indistinguishable from the shopkeeper’s own performance earlier…
Wait, hold on—he actually knows how to do this?
Martin had assumed Ronan simply didn’t have the appraisal spell on hand, which was why he’d wanted to buy a copy for himself.
And yet…
watching this level of practiced skill, Martin would never believe Ronan had mastered the appraisal spell in anything less than five years.
Being this skilled already, and still coming here…
Martin wanted to curse out loud.
But then, he took a deep breath, and the smile returned to his face.
Because at this moment, he wasn’t representing just himself, but the entire Miller family.
He absolutely couldn’t afford to lose his composure, or show even the faintest hint of disrespect.
And so, Martin watched, wide-eyed, as Ronan appraised all twenty-three magic tools, one after another.
The pace kept accelerating with each one—what took a full minute at first eventually took less than three seconds.
Frieren, standing nearby, was equally stunned.
Once Ronan had finished, she finally snapped out of it and asked, bewildered: “Didn’t you say before that you didn’t know appraisal magic?
Then why…” Ronan seemed to have already anticipated this question from Frieren.
He cut in before she could finish: “Nothing special.
Just picked it up on the spot.
I’m a genius, that’s all.” A genius?
Martin was at a loss for words.
This wasn’t genius—this was clearly some kind of expert playing dumb, pulling one over on an unsuspecting girl.
And yet, somehow, Frieren actually believed him.
She’d already watched him master spell after spell at an impossible pace before.
Compared to that, appraisal magic barely seemed worth remarking on.
At the thought, Frieren’s gaze toward Ronan filled with unmistakable admiration.
Watching this, Martin felt like he’d bitten into something sour—unbelievable, that anyone could actually buy such a ridiculous excuse.
Was it really just because the man carried himself with such an air of extraordinary presence?
If it were him, he could probably pull that off too!
Sigh…
well, guess it helped to have the resources to back it up.
…
Meanwhile, Ronan had no idea what thoughts were running through either of their heads, and even if he had, he wouldn’t have cared much—after all, he was running cheats.
Unless someone came along with an even stronger cheat, there was no contest worth having, no matter how you sliced it.
He looked over the magic tools laid out before him, calculating as he mused to himself: “Not a bad haul.
Twenty-three pieces—though more than half turned out to be offensive or defensive types, a handful are genuinely useful.” “—A bell that lets you sleep soundly, a little mallet that knocks a bit of sudden clarity into you with a single tap…” “Magic in this world really is remarkably versatile.” “And in the process, I’ve somehow gotten incredibly proficient at the appraisal spell too—probably better than that shopkeeper ever was, honestly.” Nothing but a maxed-out Talent could explain this kind of ridiculous learning speed and near-perfect memory.
He let out a breath, slowly closing the grimoire, and once he’d swept all the magic tools off the table and into his bag, he turned to Frieren and said: “Let’s go, we…” Before he could finish, Ronan froze mid-sentence, because the grimoire in his hand had suddenly begun to grow warm.
He opened it again, and found that alongside the information he’d just recorded, something new had appeared.
It was…
Garbled text…
Wait.
Garbled text?
Ronan stared at the string of completely scrambled characters on the page, a flicker of confusion crossing his eyes.
What was going on here?
As he pondered this.
A handful of prompts flickered slowly across the bottom of his vision.
—MOD updated.
—Data display function now available.
—Magic dete*@* required The prompts were sparse, and just as garbled as the text in the book, but the gist came through clearly enough.
Ronan rubbed his chin, seeming to grasp something.
No question about it—this had to be Feng Ling Yue Ying butting heads with the rules of this world.