Fenrir leaned back in his chair, his fingers pausing mid-air above the holographic keyboard.
The screen in front of him still showed the auction site's interface, glowing faintly under the dim lighting of his lab.
A new item had been listed only moments ago—one labeled as a "mysterious herb," and though it wasn't named, Fenrir recognized it instantly for what it was: the Fake Mystica.
While most wouldn't give it a second glance, he knew better.
The Fake Mystica always grew in proximity to the real one—the Mystica Herba, the single most vital component of the ultimate potion he intended to craft.
The moment he confirmed the resemblance through the image, he reached out to the auction's seller through a secure message system under the pseudonym "Mr. X."
The woman on the other end took a while to respond, but when she did, her tone was all silk and caution.
[Mr. X, was it? That's quite the surprise. To think someone of your… reputation would be interested in this herb.]
