Floating Island - Triple S Talent-Chapter 463: Broken Jug

"That expensive? Isn’t this just an old jug?"

Efan lifted the jug in his hand, staring at it with furrowed brows. His voice was clear and full of protest, drawing the attention of several people around him. He felt that the price offered was too high for something that looked worn out and worthless.

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In front of him, an old man sat on a tattered burlap sack. His body was thin, shirtless, wearing only a faded sarong. Around him, various dusty old items were scattered carelessly: a broom made of palm fibers, antique watches, headbands, hats, coins, and keys. Although they looked like mere junk, there was a strange aura surrounding these objects—something that made those who looked at them feel as if they were being watched by an unseen presence.

Passersby who walked past the simple shop mostly glanced briefly before continuing on their way. To them, the old man was just another mortal without status, and the goods he sold were mere tricks meant to ensnare naive immortals new to this world.

"Young man, don’t judge it by its worn-out appearance," the old man spoke in a mysterious tone. His voice was deep, as if carrying the weight of long years of experience. "I found this on the steep cliffs of Anaconda Valley."

He shifted slightly, revealing the side of his body covered in scars. Some scratches appeared fresh, while others had faded like old stories. "I broke five ribs protecting it from being shattered," he added, his voice slightly hoarse as if recalling the hardships he had endured.

Laras crossed her arms over her chest, smiling faintly. "Who’s to say whether you’re lying or not? Offer it for one silver, and we have a deal," she said casually, attempting to drive the price down.

Truthfully, the price of the jug wasn’t the main issue for them. From the beginning, Efan and Laras had only wanted to try their luck, looking for ways to obtain items at the lowest possible cost.

The old man chuckled softly, his voice carrying a hidden meaning. "Young lady, I have seen too many talents let fortune slip away simply because of baseless doubt."

His gaze swept around, and for a moment, his eyes stopped on Lein. Briefly, there was a slight change in his expression—a sharpness mixed with wariness. Though it was fleeting, Lein caught it clearly.

However, Lein remained silent. He had no interest in meddling in this negotiation. His experience in the Guandu realm during the inter-race war event still lingered in his mind. Back then, he had almost been deceived by an old man using a similar trick. Though he had ultimately managed to obtain the key to unlocking the chamber of ancient fortune, he still remembered how he had nearly lost something even more valuable.

[Broken Jug]

An old rainwater jug, no longer usable.

"Tch… Even the system description doesn’t indicate anything special," Lein muttered casually.

He had channeled his elemental energy, trying to investigate the jug that Efan and Laras were disputing over. But there was nothing special—no traces of unique energy, no resonance of power, just an old, nearly useless jug. Lein even checked multiple times to be sure, but the result remained the same.

Even so, Efan seemed convinced. To him, this jug was a beacon of fortune.

Lein sighed, his gaze softening as he looked at the young man. "I wonder… where does all this talent come from?" he pondered. There was a mix of emotions within him—overwhelmed yet impressed. Efan’s ability to see treasures through the light of fortune was an extremely rare and powerful gift.

As Lein was still lost in thought, someone suddenly stopped in front of the old man’s shop. He was young, well-groomed, with a calm face and a smile that seemed warm.

Without saying a word, the young man walked to Laras’ side, who was still busy negotiating with the shop owner. He sat down casually, glancing at Laras and Efan before finally looking at the old man in front of him.

"I’ll pay for it," the young man said lightly. "Give the jug to this young lady."

Silence fell.

The old shopkeeper froze for a moment, but as soon as the young man pulled out ten silver coins, his eyes widened in disbelief. His wrinkled hands reflexively grabbed the coins, as if afraid the young man would change his mind.

"Deal, Young Master!" he exclaimed excitedly, his voice trembling slightly with joy. "I see that you have bright eyes, full of fortune!"

Without hesitation, the old man quickly slipped the silver coins into his sarong. His mysterious expression vanished, replaced by the satisfaction of a merchant who had just made a big profit.

Laras and Efan could only stare in silence, watching the young man who had suddenly appeared and bought the jug without any bargaining.

Several seconds passed until Efan was the first to react.

"Sorry, young friend," he said casually, then without hesitation, took the jug as if he had just bought it himself. In an instant, the jug disappeared into his spatial ring. "What’s your name?"

The young man gave a faint smile. "I am Sylas."

"Efan," Efan responded, extending his hand. "Thank you."

They shook hands warmly, like two old friends reunited after a long time.

Laras, who had been observing, stepped closer and whispered to Efan, her voice filled with confusion. "Efan, do you know him?"

"No, Sister Laras, but he is a good man," Efan replied confidently. His gaze traced Sylas’ figure, and there—though faint—he could see the traces of fortune’s light enveloping the young man.

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Laras continued to stare at Sylas with suspicion, her eyes narrowing as if trying to decipher the true intentions behind his friendly demeanor.

Seeing her reaction, Sylas raised one hand, his palm open in a calming gesture. "Apologies, young lady, I am not the kind of man you think I am," he said lightly, as if aware of her suspicions. He glanced at the old shopkeeper, and his expression turned slightly sharper. "I simply wanted to help. This old man often deceives those who are not wary."

The shopkeeper stiffened, his once-friendly expression turning rigid. His wrinkled eyes avoided Sylas’ gaze, but it was clear that the young man had correctly guessed his intentions.

Efan chuckled lightly, not too concerned with the old man’s affairs. He looked at Sylas, reassessing his intentions. "Alright… so, what do you really want? We’ll be leaving soon."

Sylas smiled, this time more relaxed. "Alright, I’ll be honest with you," he said without hesitation. "I just wanted to make acquaintances."

He then shifted his gaze towards Laras, his eyes deepening as if he had discovered something truly captivating. There was a gleam of admiration—pure and unmistakable.

"Apologies, young lady," he said without preamble, "but I deeply admire your beauty. Would you be willing to become my wife?"

His voice was so casual, as if he had just asked about today’s weather. His expression was equally sincere, with not a hint of jest.

Silence.

Laras showed no reaction. No shock, no confusion—just a cold stillness that pierced the air.