Hearing her words, the confusion on Damien's face didn't fade—instead, it deepened. This was his first time encountering a store like this.
Normally, no matter the shop—be it a shabby roadside stall or a prestigious trading hall—the entrance would always be crammed with glittering displays. Rows upon rows of treasures, medicines, and trinkets would beckon like sirens, each arranged to snare the customer's eye and coin.
But here… nothing. Not a single jar, scroll, or weapon was laid out before him. Only the glittering gold floor and the ceiling of crystalline light, a hall so resplendent it seemed deliberately designed to disorient.
At first glance, Rosy had appeared no different from an excitable servant girl, her smile too quick, her gestures too eager. Yet contrary to appearances, she wasn't a fool. Her sharpness was hidden, buried beneath the role she had to play. Now, within these walls, she seemed to shed that façade.
