Clayton couldn’t hide his surprise at what he was seeing. A growing curiosity stirred in him as he observed the frail deer before him. Its body was nearly transparent, giving it a ghostly, otherworldly appearance.
From the murmurs around him, he gathered that the deer was female—and pregnant. Yet the most striking feature was the large, nacing antlers jutting from its head, an unusual sight for a creature in her condition.
Apparently, this was a crystal deer—a light-attribute magical beast known for its rarity and imnse value. This species was prized for its wide array of magical traits. It possessed sacred, light-based abilities beneficial to all forms of life—humans, monsters, even plants.
Nearly every part of its body held value: the antlers, blood, milk, at—even its waste was used as a potent fertilizer. Magical farrs, breeders, and healing mages all dread of raising a crystal deer. But due to their rarity and fragile nature, few ever got the chance. And even fewer could afford it.
Even a low-tier, one-star crystal deer like the one in front of Clayton would normally be worth around 4,500 low-grade magic crystals—two to three tis the price of other magical beasts in its class.
Despite its natural beauty, the creature now looked more like a sickly alien than a majestic beast.
But what truly shocked Clayton... was the aura.
Its symptoms mirrored his own.
The sa strange energy, the sa suppressed pressure—it was identical to the mysterious illness he’d carried for years.
That realization rooted him to the spot. He stood there, silently observing, hoping that by understanding this creature’s condition, he might uncover sothing—anything—that could help him heal himself.
Though he appeared healthy, Clayton had been suppressing his illness for a long ti. He’d managed to keep it at bay thanks to his recent advancent to Two-Star Apprentice Mage, along with scrolls, herbal teas, and rare incense.
Without them, he might’ve already ended up like this deer.
"Hey, old man! How much for this sickly thing?"
The voice belonged to a greasy, bald, middle-aged man who shoved his way to the front.
The seller—an elderly man—frowned in irritation. Yes, the deer was sick. But saying it out loud, in public, only weakened his bargaining position.
The bald man clearly did it on purpose—either to lower the price or to stir up trouble.
Still, the old man held his composure and replied as politely as he could.
"This is a crystal deer. It’s extrely valuable—"
"Cut the sales pitch!" the bald man snapped.
"Everyone here knows what a magic deer is. What we wanna know is—is this thing worth buying in that condition?"
He practically shouted the last part, loud enough for the entire crowd to hear.
The old man’s expression tightened. He was barely holding in his frustration.
So in the crowd shifted uncomfortably at the bald man’s tone, but he didn’t care. In fact, he smirked.
The old man took a deep breath and answered.
"The price is 3,000 low-grade crystals—"
"Three thousand?!" the bald man shouted.
"Are you out of your damn mind?! You’re trying to sell this dying animal for that much? Why not just rob us while you’re at it?!"
Even the crowd gasped.
The deer clearly looked like it was on death’s door. Buying it was a gamble—maybe even a death sentence.
If the seller could have healed it, he would’ve. The fact it was up for sale ant all attempts had failed.
Even harvesting its parts would be risky. Who knew what kind of disease it carried?
Clayton found himself agreeing.
Then the old man snapped.
"Robbing you?! I’m selling this deer, not stealing anything! You can see it for yourself—I’m not hiding anything! You’re the one trying to cheat , stirring up the crowd just to lower the price!"
The bald man scoffed.
"Who’d want this thing anyway? I’m more worried about catching its disease," he sneered and turned away.
The old man looked around, only to et a wall of wary eyes. His chances of selling the deer had plumted. If rumors spread, no one would touch it. He might as well wait for it to die—and lose everything.
Desperate, he grabbed the bald man’s arm.
"Hey! Where do you think you’re going?! Don’t walk away!"
The man scowled. "What’s your problem, old man? You planning to assault now?"
But the seller didn’t back down.
"You asked about it—you have to buy it! If you don’t, don’t bla for getting physical!"
"Excuse ? Now you’re the one robbing people?" the bald man snapped.
"I’m really not in the mood for this. Don’t make regret holding back."
Hmph!
He yanked his arm free and shoved the old man aside.
But the seller grabbed him again—more aggressively this ti. He wasn’t letting go.
The bald man’s face turned red with anger.
Then he lost it.
"I told you—DON’T ss with !"
With a burst of mana—
Slap!
A sharp crack rang out as his hand struck the old man’s face, knocking him to the ground.
Still not satisfied, the bald man stepped forward, teeth clenched.
"This is your last warning. Don’t test my patience."
Mana surged into his palm, forming a sharp, stony spike. The oppressive pressure of a Four-Star Apprentice Mage filled the air, making it hard for the old man to even breathe.
Outmatched and humiliated, the old man said nothing.
Silence fell. The crowd stared, unsure what to think.
Then the old man slowly stood up.
So braced for more conflict. But instead, a soft sob escaped him.
Hic... hic...
Tears stread down his wrinkled cheeks.
He was crying.
"Why... why is my life like this...?"
"My crops failed after the last disaster... then that strange dungeon appeared, and my deer fell sick... Now I can’t even afford a decent al with all this debt..."
"I just want to sell this deer... pay off my loans... retire in peace...
But everything’s falling apart..."
His voice cracked, and his broken sobs stirred sothing in the crowd.
So people wiped at their eyes.
Clayton felt it too. A deep, shared ache—the helplessness of watching everything slip away.
He wanted to help... but held back. This wasn’t yet a life-or-death mont.
The old man eventually quieted. He knelt beside the deer and gently stroked its transparent side, sorrow clouding his expression.
The mont felt heavy—fragile and painful.
A few people approached to haggle, but none were serious. They felt sympathy... but weren’t willing to risk their money.
Slowly, the crowd thinned. Only a few remained, Clayton among them.
Despite its condition, the deer still drew attention. So clung to the fantasy of nursing it back to health.
But deep down, they all knew that was just a dream.
Then suddenly—the deer began to tremble.
It convulsed, its thin legs shaking violently.
The old man panicked. The crowd stirred.
And at that mont, Clayton felt sothing stir inside him.
A faint resonance. The strange energy within him—his illness—was reacting to the deer.
His heart dropped.
Panic surged through him.
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