After a fit of rage, Hawthorne sat down in his chair, gritting his teeth.
He refused to believe that person was as amazing as they claimed. If such a treasure truly existed, why would it take so long to appear?
And why was it hiding like a rat trying to hide from the world?
“Come on, take me to where that person sets up his stall.”
Hawthorne stood up, walked out of the mansion, and flagged down a carriage on the street.
“There’s been a street vendor lately, you know…”
Before he could finish, the coachman interrupted, “Going there? Please hold on tight, it’s been all over the place these past few days. People are riding there every day, it’s quite famous.”
Hawthorne was annoyed and told him to shut up, he didn’t want to hear it.
The coachman pursed his lips and remained silent the whole way.
As the carriage turned into an alley, it was immediately surrounded by a crowd.
The crowd ahead was overwhelming, there wasn’t enough room for carriages, and even people couldn’t squeeze in. It was as bustling as a market, packed with people everywhere.
The coachman said helplessly to Hawthorne, “Sir, there’s simply no way forward. Why don’t you get off and wait in line?”
“We’ve been queuing here for days, and the line doesn’t seem to thin out. Every day it gets even longer.”
Hawthorne got off the carriage, and before he could even stand properly, a figure running towards him bumped into his shoulder, nearly causing him to fall.
His face darkened. A mere commoner, did he even know he was a viscount? How dare he be so disrespectful!
He was about to stride over to the commoner and teach him a lesson when another burly man shoved him aside, squeezing in front of him.
This time, Hawthorne truly couldn’t take it anymore. He’d always been pampered since childhood, and these commoners were completely disregarded.
With a sharp slash, he drew his sword. His magical energy surged, and slashed at the burly man who had just bumped into him.
Many of those queuing were ordinary people with almost none possessing a magic core, and they couldn’t react in time.
A scream rang out from the crowd as the burly man’s shoulder was struck hard. The noisy crowd fell silent instantly.
The thick stench of blood filled the air. The blow had been so powerful it almost revealed bone through flesh. The burly man clutched his arm, howling in agony.
Hawthorne sheathed his sword, his eyebrows practically pointing skyward. Now, everyone’s attention was on him, and he thoroughly enjoyed the gazes of these commoners.
That’s more like it. Nobles deserve respectful stares. That was incredibly rude of him.
He swaggered into the crowd with his sword on his shoulder, and everyone scrambled to avoid him, afraid of being stabbed.
A simply dressed girl covered her mouth, letting out a low gasp: “My God, who is he? So arrogant! He attacked without warning! Is that guy alright?”
“Never mind him. He’s Viscount Hawthorne. Everyone in the city knows he’s the most tyrannical. Keep your voice down, don’t let him hear you.”
“Isn’t anyone going to do anything? Injuring someone in public is outrageous! It’s outrageous!”
Hawthorne, sword in hand with blood dripping from its blade, completely ignored the commoners’ opinions and shouted at the crowd.
“Who’s in charge here? I heard your stuff is pretty good. Let me see a few. If the advertising is false, I’ll smash this lousy stall.”
A short while later, Hawthorne’s face darkened. A man dressed entirely in black and wearing a mask emerged from the shop.
The others automatically made way for him, and he slowly stepped forward.
Hawthorne raised an eyebrow, about to speak to the man, but before he could open his mouth, the man walked straight past him to the injured, burly man.
“How serious is the wound? We’re sorry for the accident in front of the stall. Here, use this as compensation.”
The man took out a small bandage and applied it to the burly man’s shoulder.
Almost instantly, the deep, bone-revealing wound began to heal. His condition visibly improved, and his pale complexion regained its color.
A stir ran through the crowd, gasps of amazement rising and falling as everyone’s attention turned to the burly man.
“My god, it’s amazing! Look, he’s recovered! The flesh is even growing back!”
“Oh! This is truly a miracle! I’ve never seen such an effective healing potion!”
“I heard each one costs over ten gold coins. It’s not cheap, but it can really save a life in a crisis.”
“I didn’t believe it at first. I wanted to see for myself, just to see if it wasn’t as good as advertised. But it seems the advertising was completely ineffective!”
The various discussions reached Hawthorne’s ears. He was completely ignored, and reduced to a mere background figure.
His fists clenched as anger rose in his head. He whirled around to face the mysterious man, demanding, “Who are you?! Why are you ruining my plans?!”
The mysterious man then gave him a look, and smiled as he removed his mask.
“Oh, you’ve got quite the memory, haven’t you? You’ve already forgotten me?”
Hawthorne stared intently at the man’s face after he removed his mask, his mind blank.
It’s…it’s Vorris!
How could this be? He hadn’t bought anything, and the caravan was completely bankrupt!
He stood there dumbfounded. He knew perfectly well that the commoners were unaware of his struggle with Vorris, but he still felt that everyone’s whispers around him were mocking him.
Look, it’s this guy. He made those threats, thinking his opponent was no match for him. In reality, Vorris was already famous throughout Caldera. He was just like a fool, powerless and incompetent.
Vorris looked at him mockingly and said slowly, “As a viscount, to injure a commoner in public is a grave offense. If His Majesty the King were to learn of your actions in the capital, your disregard for national dignity and disrespect for the King, and the God of Light above, would be a terrible sin.”
These words ignited public anger. Those who had previously feared the nobles now dared to stand up and speak out.
“So what if you’re a noble? Does that give you the right to treat human life so lightly?!”
“Exactly! If we don’t get an explanation today, this time you might be injured, but who knows if next time you’ll kill someone in the street!”
“We must get an explanation!”
“An explanation! An explanation!”
In an instant, the crowd raised their fists and roared, their voices deafening.
Hawthorne nearly ground his teeth to powder. Enraged and humiliated, his face flushed crimson, he retorted without thinking, “A bunch of lowly commoners, thinking they’re something special! So what if they die!”
The words had barely left his lips when he realized the gravity of the situation. He stammered, trying to explain.
The onlookers, already furious, had incurred his wrath. They grabbed whatever was nearby and hurled it at Hawthorne.
Stones, rotten vegetable scraps, twigs—all sorts of random objects rained down on his face.
A sharp piece of wood, seemingly flying from nowhere, grazed his face, leaving a deep scar.
Hawthorne, shocked and furious, quickly covered his face and fled, uttering a threatening remark before leaving.
“We’ll see,” he said, “don’t get too cocky!”
Vorris watched his disheveled retreating figure and shrugged.
It’s true that no one should be too smug, but as a viscount who injured His Majesty the King’s subject, he certainly wouldn’t let the other party have an easy time these days. He’d been suppressed and frustrated for years, and he’d long wanted to slap him in the face.
Fortunately, the Demon Lord’s shop was there, allowing him to fulfill this wish.
He ignored Hawthorne and, after confirming the injured man had recovered, loudly proclaimed, “Viscount Hawthorne has violated shop regulations by assaulting someone. We are hereby severing all cooperation with him, and he is prohibited from purchasing anything from our shop in the future.”
“Good! That’s right. He deserves it. He doesn’t deserve to buy anything here, ptooey!”
“Boss, boss, forget about that man! Look how long we’ve waited. When will it be our turn to buy something?”
“Yes, yes, your products are so effective! What was that thing called? The effect was immediate!”
Vorris smiled and said, “To express our apologies, there’s no purchase limit today. Please buy as much as you like.”
Hearing this, the crowd immediately became excited, showering him with praise.
Now, nobody really cared about the so-called viscount anymore.
*
“Viscount, your injury…?”
After Hawthorne left, the guard behind him hesitated as he looked at the scratch on his face.
The viscount then felt the stinging pain on his face, and a burning agony. He had always had delicate skin and had never been injured before so even this little pain was unbearable.
He immediately cried out, “Get back to the manor! Quickly, call a healing mage! It hurts so much, ouch!”
“Yes, yes, yes, coachman, hurry!” the guard urged hastily.
For several days after returning to the manor, he did nothing but inquire about Vorris every day.
It turned out that Vorris’s caravan was indeed becoming increasingly popular.
Since the day he removed his mask, many nobles had personally come to his door seeking a particular item, and the place was bustling with activity.
Hawthorne grew increasingly angry. Before he could do anything, a commotion erupted outside the mansion.
He rushed out to investigate and was immediately stunned.
Many royal guards stood outside with a high-ranking warrior at the head of the group—a trusted confidant of the King.
Hawthorne forced a warm, insincere smile and hurriedly approached, asking, “My lord, does His Majesty have any orders for me?”
The warrior remained unmoved, his expression stern. “Viscount Hawthorne,” he said, “His Majesty has instructed me to inform you that injuring someone in the heart of the city, even a nobleman, is not easily forgiven. You are to reflect on your actions and copy the *Words of the God of Light* a thousand times as punishment.”
Hawthorne could no longer maintain his smile. His expression collapsed, becoming utterly comical.
Vorris must have complained to His Majesty! That bastard!
After seeing the guards off, he slumped into a chair, his mind in turmoil.
He couldn’t lose His Majesty’s trust. His caravan had only just begun to grow, and he absolutely couldn’t let that Vorris ruin it!
Suddenly, something occurred to him, and he jumped to his feet.
Didn’t Vorris go to Vista to buy his goods? He might as well go and buy some himself.
That guy was so stingy with his purchases, and even imposing limits. If he bought a huge haul, he could easily crush Vorris.
If possible, he’d just kill the shop owner, loot the entire store, and then no one could compete with him anymore.
In the dim light, Hawthorne’s smile widened, appearing particularly sinister.