The Gilded Hearth held a reputation as the finest kitchen in the capital, and John intended to test that claim thoroughly.
He ordered ten dishes without glancing at the menu twice. Spiced ember-fowl. River-glass noodles. A roasted haunch of something the waiter called simply "delicacy" with obvious pride. Three different wines followed, then a dessert course that alone took four separate trips to deliver.
Each time a waiter approached his table, John pressed a single Mythical-rank crystal into their hand before they’d even set the dish down.
"Sir, this is far too generous," the fourth waiter stammered, staring at the crystal like it might vanish if she blinked.
"Good food deserves good manners," John said, already reaching for the ember-fowl. "Manners deserve rewards."
Word traveled fast in a kitchen. By the sixth dish, staff who weren’t even assigned to his table had started finding excuses to walk past it, trays balanced a little too carefully, eyes darting toward his hands every time they passed.
"I heard he tips in crystals," one server whispered to another, not nearly as quietly as she thought.
"I heard he ate the whole tasting menu twice," the other whispered back.
Neither rumor was wrong. Between courses, John idled through Xhalthuun’s shop while dessert cooled untouched, browsing without any real urgency, and two purchases from that quiet hour ended up saved in his storage ring for later.
By the time he finally set his fork down, the head chef himself had emerged to personally thank the strange, generous man in white for the honor of feeding him.
"Compliments to whoever burns the ember-fowl like that," John said, standing and adjusting his coat, thoroughly and gloriously full. "I’ll be back."
...
The Embervault Exchange greeted him differently the second time.
Word had clearly traveled since the crystal he’d left behind that morning. The same nervous attendant who’d tried to clear his table now nearly tripped over his own feet rushing to meet him at the door, two more staff falling in step behind him like an honor guard nobody had requested.
"Mr. Tauren, welcome back," the attendant said, bowing low enough that his nose nearly touched the floor. "How may the Exchange serve you today?"
"I’m not here to browse," John said, letting the words settle with unhurried weight. "I’m here to sell. Something well beyond what your main floor is equipped to handle. I’ll need a proper room, and I’ll need someone with the authority to actually make a decision."
The attendant’s composure cracked visibly. "Of course. If I may ask, sir, under what name should I announce you?"
John let a slow, effortless smile spread across his face, the kind that belonged to men who never needed to raise their voice to get what they wanted.
"Tauren Silver," he said. "One of the merchants belonging to the Vault Curio Traders."
The name did exactly what he’d hoped. The attendant’s eyes widened with the particular recognition of someone who’d heard rumors without ever expecting to meet the source, and he practically ran to fetch the floor manager himself.
It worked exactly as intended.
John had sent his people ahead here to spread name and power of Vault Curio Traders.
These big forces had heard it even before that because their branches in the below world dealt with Mr. Sirius of Vault of Curio Traders.
All the foundation was laid already for Mr. Tauren to make his appereance.
...
The manager, a sharp-eyed woman who introduced herself only as Director Halveth, spent less than a minute assessing him before making her decision.
’Mysterious aura. Unable to be inspected even slightly.’
He might as well look like an odinary mortal, but there was still a certain oppression that came from his eyes when she looked at him.
"This way, Mr. Silver," she said, leading him through a side corridor lined with wards John recognized well enough to respect. "Our third floor handles acquisitions of genuine significance. I believe you’ll find the company there suitable."
The VIP room waited behind a final ward-sealed door, small and elegant, lit by floating motes of soft gold light. A man rose slowly from his seat the moment John entered.
He was old in the way only truly powerful things bothered getting old, silver hair swept back from a lined, weathered face, and the moment his eyes settled on John, the air in the room grew noticeably heavier.
"Elder Vaskorin," Director Halveth said, bowing. "This is the merchant I mentioned. Mr. Tauren Silver, of the Vault Curio Traders."
"Leave us," Vaskorin said, not unkindly, and Halveth withdrew without a word of protest.
...
"Sit," Vaskorin said once the door sealed shut. "I’m told you claim to have something worth my time. I don’t often leave my estate for rumors, Mr. Silver."
"I don’t often travel to sell rumors," John said, taking the offered seat.
"Very well," Vaskorin said. "Show me what earned you an audience."
John set two items on the table without ceremony, a slender black reliquary no larger than a closed fist, and beside it, a single dark red pill resting on folded silk.
"The Hourless Reliquary," John said, tapping the reliquary first. "Demi-God rank. Open it correctly, and it traps a single moment, anywhere from an instant to a full hour, inside itself indefinitely. Living beings at Demi-God rank and below included. Trapped. Stasis. Never to come out unless the owner wills it."
Vaskorin’s breath caught, audible even in the quiet room. His eyes went wide, almost bulging.
’D-Demi-God rank?’
He felt it before he understood it, an aura pressing against his own that sat well beyond anything Calamity-9 had ever prepared him for. He reached out on instinct, trying to pry into the artifact’s nature the way he’d done to a thousand lesser treasures before it.
The trace of Law woven through the reliquary slammed back against his mind instantly, and he recoiled with a sharp, strangled gasp, blood beading at one nostril.
’I can’t even read it properly.’
"And this," John said, sliding the pill forward as if nothing had happened, "is the Progenitor’s Whisper. Also Demi-God rank. Consume it correctly, and it permanently imbues the body with a new, exotic attribute of the user’s own resonance, while opening a window of insight sharp enough to let a skilled mind comprehend techniques far beyond what raw effort alone would ever allow."
Vaskorin stared at the pill without moving, without breathing, both hands pressed flat against the table like he needed the wood to remind him it was still solid.
’A permanent attribute. At this rank. Sitting on a table in my own city.’
"That’s not possible," he finally said, out loud this time, voice cracking on the last word. "Do you have any idea what a royal house would pay for either of these? Let alone both?"
"That’s rather the question I came here to ask you," John said, unbothered.
Vaskorin’s gaze lingered on the pill a moment longer than it had on the reliquary, something colder creeping into his expression now, the particular hunger of a man who’d spent three hundred years accumulating power and had just realized he might be sitting across from someone who couldn’t stop him from simply taking both.
But that perticular intent died down the next intent.
’Vault Curio Traders. Demo-God rank things.’
He looked at John’s eyes. Wanting to pry into him.
John smiled.
Deep within his eyes, a golden brilliance with purple and black sheen, forming a eccentric pattern that oozed eldritch aura.
He was no mere-human. He was carrying a whole cosmoverse legecy within him, and now, his blood was also half carrying its lineage.
’You are not qualified.’
In the next moment, Vaskorin felt his mind seized by something dark, something heavy.
He panicked, but found himself trapped with countless eyes of horros well beyond his imagination looking at him in utter darkness.
Externally, his body trembled while internally, his mind faced the horror.
[Chuthulos: Easy, brother John. Some god might discover us, and it would be over.]
’Haha, my bad.’
Vaskorin’s eyes returned to normal as he abruptly stood up, shaking, sweating, and almost shitting.
"Do not do that again." John’s eyes narrowed. "For your own good."
"I-I-I apologize." Vaskorin wiped the sweat as he smiled, facial muscles still not calm. "I’ll go inform the people who can afford to buy this. Please wait a minute."
John leaned back as he casually chuckled. "Take your time."