Chapter 13. A Genuine Treasure

Yona was a mage. Though he bore the title of director at Arabek Appraisal Center, he often vanished in search of “treasures.”

These treasures spanned a wide range. They didn’t need to be adorned with gold or rare gems. Like a crow obsessed with shiny things, Yona fixated on objects steeped in strange and tragic histories.

Such objects, of course, needed time to accrue their stories. Naturally, Yona had become a collector of artifacts passed down from the Ying Empire.

“That jar—you know it belonged to the last dynasty of the Ying Empire, don’t you?”

Yona stood before a massive glass window, leaning casually as he stared down at me. He had shed his black robe like a snake’s discarded skin and let his hair tie loose.

‘If we’re judging by hair alone, Yona could be the heroine of ‘Bitten by a Mad Dog’,’ I thought absently.

His silver hair was enviably lustrous. Yona resembled the idealized image of an elf—not just in physical beauty but in his aloof demeanor, free of worldly concerns, and his unapologetic arrogance.

Tucking a strand of hair behind his ear with a slightly irritated motion, Yona spoke again.

“The treasure is real.”

“…Didn’t you call it a fake yesterday?”

“I got annoyed, that’s all.”

“You’re the director of Arabek Appraisal Center. I didn’t think money would be an issue for you.”

It wasn’t that Yona had abandoned the treasure over money. Unlike most mages who looked down on non-mages, he leaned more toward pity. Still, he shared the belief that non-mages were inferior to their magical counterparts.

‘He let me have the treasure.’

The whimsical mage had yielded the artifact to a “lesser” non-mage, only to become irritated and dismiss it as a fake. That much was the surface truth. But if I looked deeper… there was a more intricate calculation at play.

“Well, it’s not entirely a lie. For you, it’s practically a fake anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

Playing along with his mischief, I humored him. Yona pouted slightly, a habit of his, though it made him look less malicious and more like a sulky child who didn’t get his way.

“Let’s go back to the basics. Do you even know what that jar does?”

“Do you think I’d spend my entire fortune on something without knowing what it is?”

“Wait, didn’t you win it for three thousand dur? That’s all you’ve got? Are you a beggar?”

“….”

His jab hit a little too close to home, leaving me speechless for a moment. Yona seemed genuinely flustered by my silence, which proved he wasn’t entirely heartless.

“A beggar with no tomorrow… or a gambler,” he muttered.

“Since gamblers are worse, I’ll stick with the first option,” I replied.

“If it were me, I’d choose to be the gambler.”

“Well, we’re clearly very different people.”

“….”

“This jar replicates items,” I said.

Instead of widening in surprise, Yona’s eyes narrowed, the skeptical gaze of a mage probing how much I truly knew.

“Even a one-of-a-kind artifact loses its uniqueness once it’s placed inside the jar. That’s the jar’s magic—it creates a ‘real’ duplicate.”

The Jar of Desire lived up to its name, preying on human greed. After all, who wouldn’t want to double their most precious treasures?

When Ruberti II of the Roxenhagen dynasty, the last ruler of the Ying Empire, commissioned the jar, many feared it would be misused.

Predictably, Ruberti II and his consorts placed everything they could lay hands on into the jar. Large items were shrunk with magic, only to be restored to their original size once duplicated. Gems and jewels filled the jar’s insatiable belly and doubled in quantity.

At first, it was marvelous. But they soon realized they had overlooked a crucial principle—rarity.

The treasures, no longer unique, plummeted in value. The curiosity and greed that had burned so brightly cooled even faster. In the end, the Jar of Desire was sent to the Tower of Sages, where it served a more disciplined purpose: replicating fragile artifacts for preservation.

I recounted this history in detail. Yona’s almond-shaped eyes, now wide with interest, glimmered as if he were listening to a star pupil.

“Hmm, good, good,” he muttered, interjecting with inexplicable exclamations of approval.

“At least this cursed thing ended up in the hands of someone who knows its worth!”

Yona began pacing his chaotic room. Priceless national treasures from the fallen empire lay scattered on the floor, mixed with cleverly crafted fakes. Whether real or fake, he kicked them aside carelessly if they got in his way.

“Still, the jar is tricky to use. That’s why I said it might as well be fake for you.”

“I see. But for now, could you perform an appraisal?”

Yona smirked, raising his arms like a conductor. The jar floated into the air, soaring straight to him. A radiant glow emanated from his palms, enveloping the jar. The process was over in seconds.

“It’s genuine,” he declared.

From a distant desk, a quill began scratching across paper. A pristine sheet fluttered through the air like a butterfly before landing neatly in my hands.

 

Certificate of Authenticity
This document certifies that the item is genuine.

Dated: [Month/Day]
Appraiser: Yona
Arabek Appraisal Center

“Soon it won’t matter, but the process is necessary nonetheless.”

Yona’s cryptic remark hung in the air as he folded the certificate of authenticity into quarters and tucked it neatly into my skirt pocket.

“Why won’t it matter?”

“Because it’ll be mine.”

“…?”

“Three thousand etars. I won’t pay more.”

Etars, a currency ten times the value of dur, signaled we had finally arrived at the moment I’d been waiting for. The first reason I needed to meet Yona.

‘He’s the one person rich and discerning enough to pay the highest price for a treasure.’

Unlike merchants desperate to secure valuables for a pittance, Yona truly valued rare artifacts with a story behind them.

“What do you say? You won’t get a better offer anywhere else.”

“…I think it’s worth at least one vectar.”

Vectars, ten times the value of an etar, were an astronomical sum. Yona’s eyes widened to the size of cherry tomatoes.

“Surely you don’t think the ‘director of Arabek Appraisal Center’ would lowball you, do you?”

His sarcasm was palpable. It was rare for someone to wield honorifics so rudely. Clearly, in Yona’s mind, I had graduated from “beggar with no tomorrow” and “gambler” to “scammer.”

I calmly shook my head.

“I know you’ve appraised it fairly.”

“Then?”

“Because I can increase its value.”

Yona’s laughter carried a mocking tone, but as his eyes met my unwavering gaze, he stifled a smirk and murmured to himself.

“No way.”

He was on the right track. I held the reins of this negotiation. Tilting my chin ever so slightly, I matched his arrogance with my own.

“You said this Jar of Desire might as well be fake to me, didn’t you? Because, as you mentioned, it’s tricky to activate.”

“…”

“And since it’s currently sealed, to unseal it…”

“You’d need Roxenhagen blood.”

“Exactly.”

The Roxenhagen family was the last ruling dynasty of the Ying Empire.

When the empire fell, the five daughters of the Roxenhagen line were scattered. One married the founder of the Ingberd Kingdom. The Molier family, Ingberd’s last surviving noble house, had been decimated recently, but… the bloodline passed down through generations flowed in me.

Yes, my blood.

“What if I told you I have that blood?”

“Impossible.”

I pulled a small flask from my pocket. The crimson liquid inside was a preparation I’d made for this very moment.

Yona shook his head as though rejecting an absurd reality.

“…Impossible.”

“I understand why you’d be skeptical.”

“Trading in blood is illegal. If it’s the blood of a fallen royal house, the crime is even more severe.”

“Understood. In that case, I’ll take my leave. With your certificate of authenticity, I should have no trouble finding a buyer elsewhere.”

I turned decisively, showing not a hint of hesitation.

“Wait!”

As I’d expected, Yona yelled after me. His face flushed crimson like a gambler on the verge of a desperate bet, his chest heaving with excitement. I spoke in a soothing tone, as if to calm him.

“If I break the seal, I’ll need you to do something for me.”

“The money?”

“Of course, you’ll have to pay. Let’s start at two vectars.”

“It was one vectar a moment ago.”

“Three vectars.”

“If you can make this stupid jar genuinely useful, I’d pay five.”

A smile spread across my face.

“Don’t go back on your word.”

I opened the flask and poured my blood into the jar.