Evolving by devouring from a young dragon

All three appraisers' eyes fell on Fire Spirit.

The silence lasted for about five seconds.

Greendor spoke first, his voice even lower than before:

"The feather markings are dark red, radiating from the feather root to the tip; the claws have scorch marks; the eyes can switch between amber and gold..."

He paused for a moment, then concluded, "This is no ordinary fire spirit bird."

Durrom picked up the thread, adding, "Ordinary bird-shaped fire spirits are bright red, their feather patterns are not radial but parallel stripes, and their eye color is fixed and never changes, but this one..."

Habbutt took a magnifying glass from his waist, examined the Fire Spirit's claws from a distance, and then took a soft breath.

The three of them exchanged a glance.

Grindel turned to Grimm, his tone even more polite than before, even tinged with a hint of caution:

"Sir, the three of us have been identifying ores and magical creatures for at least several decades."

"This fire spirit, if I'm not mistaken, was nurtured through a soul contract, summoned by an orc shaman from a higher fire plane using his own power."

The air in the private room subtly shifted.

All three appraisers held their breath slightly, waiting for Grimm's reaction.

Grimm did not speak.

He didn't understand most of the terms like "soul contract" and "orc shaman."

He only knew that the Fire Spirit was a pet of a great dragon, not some orc shaman, but he couldn't explain it; explaining it would only make things more complicated.

Grindel continued, "These contracted spirits are extremely rare. In orc tribes, only core shamans are qualified and capable of cultivating them, and..."

Durlom continued, his voice very low:

"As far as I know, a shaman who can cultivate a fire spirit through a soul contract is at least legendary level. Among the Emberfang Orcs, there are only a handful of shamans at that level."

After he finished speaking, the private room fell silent.

The orb of light hummed as it spun around. The fire spirit chirped on Grimm's shoulder, burying its head under its wings, revealing only a small tuft of its crest.

Grimm's heart pounded twice in his chest.

Although he didn't fully understand the terminology, he did understand one thing: these three assessors thought Fire Spirit had a very, very important background.

He gripped his cane tightly, his face remaining unchanged, revealing no emotion whatsoever.

He remembered what Auduin had said.

If you encounter something you don't understand, don't ask or explain. The less you say, the less likely you are to make mistakes.

"So?" Grimm asked calmly, leaning on his cane.

Grindelwald and Durlom exchanged another glance.

Habbut finally spoke, his voice rough: "So, for a goblin to travel with a contracted spirit of this level indicates that your relationship with the Emberfang Orcs is extraordinary. This fire spirit is neither your slave nor your pet..."

"It is your companion."

Grindel finished speaking for him, his tone certain, "It's even possible that the shaman entrusted you with taking care of it, which means you have a certain status in the orc tribe."

Grimm fell silent.

This time, his silence was longer than before, long enough to make all three appraisers slightly uneasy.

He glanced down at the fire spirit on his shoulder.

It had its head buried under its wings, completely oblivious to the outside world.

Grimm recalled the expression on Alduin's face when he handed the Fire Spirit to him, and the subtle change in the air each time the Fire Spirit appeared.

He knew the bird was important, but he never imagined it would be this important in the eyes of someone who knew about birds.

Then he slowly nodded and said, "You know quite a lot."

A thousand miles away, a solitary peak and high platform.

Alduin lay on the edge of the cliff, his huge dragon wings half-open, letting the hot mountain winds pass through the gaps between his wings.

On a summer afternoon, the rocks atop the solitary peak were scorching hot under the sun, but he was completely oblivious, as if he couldn't feel it at all.

He was resting with his eyes closed when he suddenly sensed an unusual fluctuation coming from the Fire Spirit.

He probed a wisp of his consciousness into the Fire Spirit's senses.

Instantly, the sounds from inside the private room came through clearly.

Soul Pact... Legendary Shaman... There are only a handful of them in the entire Eastern Continent.

"This goblin can bring out fire spirits; he's not a slave, he's a manager."

Alduin's tail tip paused.

He could even sense the fire spirit's confusion. The little fire spirit had its head buried under its wings, not understanding why these goblins were staring at it.

But Auduin could understand, and he heard every word clearly.

He had assumed there wouldn't be anyone on the train who would recognize its value.

Unexpectedly, they encountered not ordinary people, but three seasoned veterans who had been engaged in appraisal work for over a hundred years.

But this is for the best.

He raised his tail and slowly lashed it against the rock, producing a dull thud that startled a flock of rock sparrows perched on the cliff face.

"Fire Spirit has been recognized."

Alduin muttered to himself, the dragon language whispering, "Perfect, it's good that they misunderstand."

They recognized the Fire Spirit as the shamanic contract spirit of the Forbidden Cliff Orcs, thus preventing him from being exposed and further deepening their apprehension towards their side.

A win-win situation.

This unexpected turn of events actually came to his advantage.

He closed his eyes again and continued to listen to the conversation in the box through the Fire Spirit's senses, his tail tip gently tapping a rhythm on the rocks.

Grimm had no idea that the great dragon was listening to all of this from a thousand miles away through the fire spirits.

All he knew was that the three appraisers were looking at him with a respect he had never felt before, the same respect he had shown when looking at a great dragon.

This feeling is very unfamiliar.

Back in the Sunken Tribe, he was just an ordinary old goblin who ran errands for the tribe, and no one would look at him like that.

Now, three appraisers from major trading companies in the capital stood before him, bowing slightly, waiting for him to speak.

He must remain calm and not show any weakness.

Durlom straightened his cuffs, took out a business card from his pocket, and handed it over with both hands.

The business card is gold-stamped, and the surface is decorated with the crest of the Goldfinger family in enamel.

Grimm looked up and saw an upright index finger holding a gold coin, with a sapphire the size of a grain of rice embedded in its nail.

"Lord Grimm," he said, having already ascertained even his name.

"The Golden Finger Family cordially invites you to take some time to chat during your stay in Golden Pick City."

We are very interested in the ore trade with the Emberfang Orcs. If you can establish contact with the Orcs, the Goldfinger family is willing to offer the most favorable terms.

Not to be outdone, Grindel immediately pulled out a silver-edged business card from his sleeve, the back of which was printed with a map showing the distribution of the Empire's major mines:

"The Anvil Department has a dedicated reception office in Golden Pickaxe City. If you don't mind, I can arrange your lodging and meals. The Anvil Department has direct cooperation with the Dwarven mines and has long admired the refined ore from the Orc tribes."