Hutson struck again, his blade flashing in the dim light. Leaving an enemy unfinished was a mistake that could spell disaster.
Only when the masked man lay lifeless did Hutson kneel to inspect the corpse.
No spatial ring. Just a simple rucksack. A crude storage item, its internal space no larger than a water barrel—far from the refined artifacts wielded by true sorcerers.
Inside, Hutson found his cursed effigy, a few vials of low-quality healing elixirs, and several gold deposit notes from the Royal Treasury of the Doris Kingdom.
Thirty thousand gold pieces.
The sum was significant, but the notes were bound to identity verification. Exchanging them would only invite unnecessary trouble. Not worth the risk.
He discarded the useless trinkets, keeping only his cursed effigy. Then, with a casual flick of his fingers, a small fireball leaped from his palm, engulfing the corpse in a hungry blaze.
