Evolving by devouring from a young dragon

Habte speaks very little, but he moves extremely fast.

He took off the bronze token from his waist, placed it on the folding table, and said, "Deep Vein Merchant Guild, specializing in mining transportation. With this token, all Deep Vein mines will be offered at a 20% discount."

Three business cards and a token were neatly arranged on the folding table, trembling gently in the breeze from the air cooler.

The gold, silver, and copper metals shimmered under the cool white light of the magic crystal lamp.

Grimm glanced down at it but didn't reach for it.

As an old goblin who had lived for decades, although his knowledge was not as extensive as those of these appraisers, he knew that he should not easily accept offers from others.

Hanging is the best option.

He raised his eyes, slowly scanning the three faces, and said calmly, "I appreciate your kindness. But I need to go back and discuss the specifics with the orcs."

"That's natural, that's natural."

Greendor nodded quickly, "Your Excellency need not rush to answer. Once we arrive in Golden City, there will be plenty of time to discuss this in detail."

Durome smiled and chimed in, his ring jingling, "Yes, yes, let's be friends first, and talk business later."

Habbutt simply nodded, said "Please keep the token safe," and stepped aside.

The three exchanged a few more pleasantries, mostly asking Grimm if he had a place to stay in Golden Pickaxe City and whether he needed a welcome dinner.

Grimm always brushed them off with "we'll see" or "we'll discuss it further," without saying a word more.

Seeing that Grimm was unwilling to say any more, the three of them tactfully took their leave.

Greendor was the last to leave. Before leaving, he glanced back at Fire Spirit, a hint of undisguised envy flashing in his eyes, before gently closing the door.

The door slid shut silently, and the private room fell silent again.

The cold light sphere was still buzzing as it spun.

Outside the window, at the edge of the wasteland, the sun was already setting in the west, turning the entire sky crimson.

The distant mountain outlines became increasingly clear.

Grimm stood by the window, leaning on his cane, watching the three appraisers disappear at the end of the corridor before slowly letting out a breath.

He looked down at the fire spirit on his shoulder.

The fire spirit plucked its head out from under its wing, chirped at him, and its tuft of feathers swayed proudly.

Grimm bowed slightly, his tone filled with genuine gratitude: "Thank you so much."

Fire Spirit tilted its head, seemingly unsure if it understood.

It tucked its head under its wing again and went back to dozing.

A cold wind blew by, its cool breeze brushing against its feathers, making it purr contentedly.

Grimm, leaning on his cane, walked to the folding table, carefully collected the three business cards and a token, stuffed them into his pocket, and placed them together with the gold-embossed invitation.

His chest was bulging, and inside were four things: an invitation, three business cards, and a token.

Each item was light and airy, but in Grimm's heart, they carried a heavy weight.

He knew, of course, that this wasn't because Grimm was particularly capable.

It was because of this bird, this fire spirit that was sitting on the soft couch, dozing with its head buried under its wings.

No, to be precise, it's because of the unattainable presence behind that bird.

Grimm sat down again on the couch, a body length away from the Fire Spirit.

Fire Spirit stomped around on the mat a few times, found the coolest spot, and contentedly spread its whole body out into a flat, grayish-red pancake.

Outside the window, the wasteland is receding.

The setting sun turned the entire wasteland into a golden-red hue, and a faint, undulating outline appeared on the distant horizon.

……

Grimm stood on the platform of the Golden Dome City, leaning on his cane. The midsummer afternoon sun shone down directly, baking a layer of heat from the alloy anti-slip stone floor.

But he was completely oblivious, utterly stunned by the sight before him.

Before him stood a train station he had never imagined.

The dome hangs thirty feet high and is made up of countless hexagonal magical crystals.

Each crystal seam is inlaid with luminous runes, with cool white light and warm yellow light intertwining and flowing, as if the entire starry sky has been compressed and embedded above your head.

Beneath the dome, twelve massive alloy pillars are arranged in a ring.

The pillar is covered with intricate arrays of runes. The dark blue magical energy rises along the runes from the base of the pillar to the top, then turns back and sinks down, in an endless cycle.

Four giant magical notice screens hang between the pillars, with text and images changing in real time.

Train numbers, times, platform numbers, city business news, and imperial decrees scroll across the page, the text clear and sharp, without flickering or delay.

The ground was not the familiar stone slabs or soil, but a seamlessly spliced ​​goblin alloy anti-slip plate.

The surface has a frosted finish, making it completely non-slip when stepped on. Every seam has a faint blue sheen, making the whole station seem alive.

Instead of goblin porters, there were six squat, automated baggage handling units on the platform.

The square metal fuselage is equipped with four pairs of tracks, and it is quietly moving through the crowd, delivering passengers' luggage to different exits according to preset rune instructions.

Grimm instinctively tightened his grip on his cane.

He had seen the Magic Train Station on the outskirts of Eberron, which was the most advanced building he could imagine in the tribe.

But compared to the domed station in front of us, the border station is at best a crude tin shed.

The flow of people on the platform is also completely different.

While walking on the granite floor, you can still hear noisy conversations and laughter, but here, the sound of footsteps is mostly absorbed by the anti-slip surfaces, and the voices are diluted and become much quieter under the huge dome.

Most of the travelers were goblins, dressed in well-tailored, lightweight summer clothes whose fabrics shimmered slightly.

The faint light comes from the tiny runes woven into the fabric itself. It is waterproof, stain-resistant, and durable; one set of clothes can last a border tribe for ten years.

They wore magical communicators on their wrists and portable storage boxes on their waists. Occasionally, someone would speak into thin air, and only when you got close could you see a small amplifying magic crystal clipped to their collar.

Grim even saw several pure-blooded goblin nobles.

They were taller than ordinary goblins, with darker green skin and a ring of fine down around their ears.

They were dressed in custom-made clothing, with family crests embroidered on their lapels, and followed by silent guards.

As they passed by, the surrounding travelers automatically made way for them; no one made a sound, and no one looked up directly at them.

The nobles walked straight to a gilded gate at the end of the platform. The runes on the gate automatically recognized their identities, slid open silently, and closed silently after they left.

The whole process took no more than three breaths, and the surrounding goblins were already used to it, not even lifting their eyelids.

Grimm was engrossed in watching when the fire spirit gently shifted its paw on his shoulder.

He snapped out of his daze and, leaning on his cane, headed towards the "Golden Cocktail Party Reception Area" at the end of the platform.