Word of Rowan Mercer's offer rippled through the crowd gathered outside the trading post.
Gasps burst out almost in unison.
Several quick-thinking townsfolk immediately turned and hurried off, already planning to gather supplies and head up the mountain. This sort of opportunity didn't come often, but it wasn't unheard of either.
The last time Whiterun sent soldiers to wipe out the bandits at the watchtower, they hadn't been able to carry everything back. Sharp-eyed villagers later salvaged what was left behind and sold it for a tidy sum. Not a fortune, but enough to equal weeks of farm income.
This time was different.
Not only were the bandits gone, but even the undead inside Bleak Falls Barrow had been wiped out.
If Rowan was telling the truth, there would be far more treasure waiting.
And if you were fast enough, you might come back rich.
Seeing a few people leave was all it took. The rest caught on instantly, calling out to friends and family as they rushed to organize small groups.
Inside the shop, Lucan worked through the pile piece by piece, carefully inspecting each item.
When he finally finished, he exhaled slowly.
"One hundred thousand septims."
The number hung in the air.
Rowan did a quick mental tally.
"Add the three thousand for the Golden Dragon Claw. One hundred and three thousand total. That'll do."
Lucan blinked.
No arguing. No haggling.
Just acceptance.
Rowan knew full well the collection could sell for far more in Whiterun if sorted and auctioned properly. With the right noble buyers, it might even triple in value.
But he didn't care.
Making money, for him, was trivial.
Clearing a tomb. Raiding a notorious bandit camp. Wiping out a Forsworn enclave or a vampire lair.
Any of it could net tens of thousands in a few hours.
When you were scraping by, you argued over the price of a pair of boots.
When wealth was meaningless, you paid what felt reasonable and moved on.
Lucan had been bracing himself for negotiations. Rowan's easy agreement left him momentarily stunned.
Then delight spread across his face.
"I don't have that much liquid coin on hand," Lucan said honestly. "I'll need about two hours to gather it."
Most of his wealth was tied up in merchandise. But borrowing from Alvor the blacksmith, Gerdur at the mill, and Delphine at the inn would be easy enough.
With interest, they'd gladly lend.
And once Lucan resold these relics, he would make his investment back several times over.
"I'll browse your stock," Rowan said. "Maybe I'll find something useful."
Lucan's smile widened.
"Anything you choose will be seventy percent of the listed price."
He waved to his sister.
"Camilla, help Mr. Mercer. I'll go arrange the funds."
Camilla quickly set aside her broom and hurried over, eyes shining.
"I didn't expect you to be this amazing."
She'd heard adventurers in the inn brag about killing two draugr, maybe three. That alone was considered impressive.
Rowan had cleared an entire bandit den.
And an entire ancient tomb.
In her mind, he was already on the same level as the Companions.
Rowan simply chuckled.
"I told you. I'm reasonably confident in my abilities."
He accepted the shop's inventory ledger and began flipping through it.
First priority: spell tomes.
He had no intention of relying solely on brute force forever. A mage who only punched things lacked style.
Second: proper clothing. The outfit he wore now was serviceable, but far beneath his standards.
Third: books. History, geography, religion, politics, anything.
Knowledge was leverage.
With Camilla's help, Rowan quickly assembled a small mountain of purchases. Once everything was bundled, he took a seat, accepted a cup of tea, and made casual conversation while waiting.
Nearly two hours later, Lucan returned carrying a locked coffer.
Inside were ten high-value bank notes, each worth ten thousand septims.
Rowan raised an eyebrow.
Banks. Interesting.
The Imperial merchant network apparently maintained financial houses across the provinces. The notes could be redeemed in any major city, even in territories hostile to the Empire.
Lucan finished the final tally.
"Your purchases after discount come to two thousand five hundred septims."
He handed Rowan the ten notes.
Then added five hundred septims in coin.
After settling everything, Rowan said goodbye to a visibly reluctant Camilla and stepped outside with his belongings.
He headed straight for Riverwood's carriage station.
Contrary to what many believed, even small towns maintained transport routes. Carriages came with armed escorts and were considered relatively safe.
Rowan paid two hundred septims to hire a private carriage.
No sharing.
The wagon rolled north toward Whiterun.
At the fork by the bridge, Rowan picked up Avier, who had been waiting exactly where instructed.
The journey would take five days.
Plenty of time to read.
Plenty of time to learn.