The office remained eerily silent as Hamiel stared at the closed gates, his mind replaying Ashok's words like an unrelenting echo—
'What's so surprising about a second bottle? I drink three every day together with my meals.'
The statement hammered itself into his thoughts, a revelation that refused to fade.
Slowly, Hamiel slouched into the chair nearby, his arms resting heavily on the armrests as the truth began to settle in.
At first, he had believed the exchange to be fair—a masterwork in trade, one that granted Ashok a personally enchanted artifact in return for a precious bottle of Spirit Wine.
But now, as his thoughts unraveled, reality hit him like a forge hammer against steel.
'That brat scammed me from the start.'
Ashok hadn't traded precious goods in return for craftsmanship—he had handed over something casual, something he used every day without a second thought.
