Iron-Baron Magnus took two clumsy steps backward into the snow.
His face flushed dark purple beneath his fur-trimmed helmet. He looked at Lin Mo, then at Su Wan’s glowing communication slate, and burst into a harsh, mocking roar of laughter.
“Terminated?” Magnus barked, waving his parchment charter wildly in the air. “Who do you think you are, boy? You think you can buy a sovereign mountain with Eastern paper promises? This is the Frost-Peak Star-Mythril Mountain! It is governed by Nordic royal law!”
Three thousand black-iron mercenaries laughed along with their commander, though their chuckles sounded nervous.
Behind Magnus, High Inquisitor Vael sneered through his blood-crusted lips.
“Do not listen to his bluster, Magnus!” Vael rasped, clutching his broken ribs. “He is trying to buy time! Eastern merchants are all talk and cheap tricks! No mortal treasury on Earth holds three hundred million High Spirit Stones in liquid gold!”
Lin Mo did not bother answering right away. He took another leisurely sip of his warm tea, looking down at the packed snow.
“Three hundred million spirit stones is indeed a heavy sum,” Lin Mo remarked casually. “It takes almost three entire seconds to transfer.”
