The moment the final number echoed across the stone courtyard, Mary's knees buckled. Her face turned a dramatic shade of ash-white, and her vision swam so violently she almost collapsed entirely into the dirt. Roy had to instantly extend his arm, grabbing his mother's elbow with a firm grip to keep her from fainting right on the spot.
In her entire, grueling life as a struggling widow on the dangerous fringes of the city, Mary had never even dreamed such a number could exist within the mortal realm. To her, a few hundred low-grade stones were enough to feed her family for months; eighty-four million was a legendary fortune capable of purchasing an entire commercial district within the inner peaks of the Heavenly Sword Pavilion.
She stared at Ethan's calm, unbothered silhouette, her heart hammering against her ribs as she realized that the young man resting beside her daughter wasn't just a powerful cultivator—he was a walking, breathing kingdom of wealth.
