Before long, Newman returned, laboring under the weight of a large iron chest. The chest’s surface was mottled with rust, attesting to its age.

  With a resounding “thud,” Newman set the chest down and panted heavily before turning his confident gaze to Richard. “Sir, I guarantee that what’s inside will capture your interest completely. I assure you, you’ll agree to its value in gems.”

  “Are you certain?” Richard asked.

  Newman replied, “If I wasn’t sure at first, when I saw the flame burst from your fingertip, I became one hundred percent certain.”

  At those words, Richard’s eyes flashed briefly as a vague suspicion took shape—could it be an item related to wizards? Perhaps a spellbook similar to the “Loren’s Human Skin Notes”? With that thought, a spark of interest lit within him. He pursed his lips and said, “Open it.”

  “Very well.” Newman nodded without further ado. He retrieved a key and inserted it into the iron lock, which clicked open.

  Lifting the lid, the chest revealed a heavy wooden box, coated with a preservative paint and secured by a large padlock—much like the iron chest itself. Newman produced another key, unlocked the wooden box, and withdrew a slightly smaller wooden casket, itself locked.

  Unlocking the casket next, he revealed a long, narrow box, still fastened with a lock. For the fourth time, Newman fished out a key, opened the box, and at last unveiled its true contents.

  Wrapped tightly in red silk, the object resembled a slender rod. Yet the moment Richard took hold of it, he sensed a subtle surge of magical energy. In that instant, he knew beyond doubt that this was an item of wizardry. Judging by its size, it wasn’t a spellbook—the scrolls would have been larger. Could it be…?

  As Richard pondered, Newman carefully unwrapped the silk to reveal the object’s true appearance. It was a wooden stick, roughly over twenty centimeters long and as thick as a finger, its surface impeccably smooth and coated in an ultra-fine, evenly applied black pigment. Intricate, mysterious patterns in red, green, and gold were etched along the black surface. At a cursory glance, the designs seemed almost alive—quivering ever so slightly—causing the rod itself to shudder, as if it were about to leap. Of course, such subtleties escaped Newman’s notice; only Richard, endowed with his unique abilities, perceived them.

  Narrowing his eyes, Richard drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. His suspicions were confirmed: this was indeed a wand. However, its design deviated from his expectations. In his mind, a proper wand should have been larger—reminiscent of a papal scepter—yet the one before him bore more resemblance to the shorter wands described in the Harry Potter novels.

  At that moment, Newman began to explain the wand’s origin. “This item has been passed down from my grandfather. It is said to have come from a mysterious figure clad in a black robe. My grandfather acquired it by chance and initially planned to make a fortune from it. However, he soon discovered that no one would buy it—after all, hardly anyone in this world truly believes in the existence of wizards or considers wands anything more than a fanciful myth.

  My grandfather never managed to sell it and, in his despair, passed it on to my father. Even my father, until his final days, could not find a buyer, and so it eventually came into my hands. Now, after three generations and over fifty years, I believe I have finally helped this wand find its rightful master.

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  Sir, if I’m not mistaken, the flame that appeared on your fingertip earlier is an unmistakable sign of potent magic. Your identity as a wizard is evident, which perfectly explains your deep understanding of clocks—after all, wizards are known for their wisdom and vast knowledge. Now, I propose to hand this wand over to you in exchange for half of the cash I’m missing—25,000 silver coins. What do you say?”

  “I need to see what this wand can do first,” Richard replied.

  “Of course.” Newman indicated the wand in the box with a courteous bow. “Feel free to try it.”

  “Very well.” Richard nodded, extending his hand toward the wand. The moment his fingers made contact, a slight tingle—like a minor electric shock—coursed through him, and he felt as though the wand were merging with his arm.

  It was an astonishing sensation. Richard’s eyes flickered rapidly as he began to conjecture the wand’s capabilities.

  Taking a deep breath and gripping the wand firmly, he looked to Newman and inquired, “Is there an open area where I might test it?”

  “Certainly! The courtyard at the back of the shop is quite spacious—more than enough for your purposes. Allow me to show you.” Newman stepped forward eagerly, leading the way without hesitation.

  Soon they arrived at a vast courtyard spanning several tens of meters. Richard surveyed the area with a satisfied nod, then glanced at a pile of rubble in one corner and asked Newman, “Those stones—are they of any use?”

  “Stones?” Newman paused briefly, then shook his head. “They’re merely remnants from previous building repairs. I wasn’t sure if you had some other purpose in mind, sir…”

  “Whoosh!”

  Before Newman could finish, Richard raised his hand, and a blazing, explosive fireball shot forth. It slammed into the heap of stones, triggering a violent explosion.

  With a deep, resonant “boom,” half of the stones in the corner were shattered, the upper layer obliterated, and countless tiny fragments scattered in every direction.

  “Thump, thump, thump!”

  In an instant, the courtyard’s walls and floor transformed into a spiky mess, as the barrage of shards turned the area into something resembling a porcupine’s quill-laden back. Some of the debris flew directly toward Richard and Newman. Startled, Newman began to turn and run.

  But Richard merely waved his hand. A swift gust materialized—a protective shield of air he dubbed Wind The Oblique—deflecting the incoming fragments to the side.

  With a soft “clink” as the final shard fell, Newman, who had been ready to flee, froze in place. Slowly, he turned back to survey the scorched ground, the half-vanished stone pile, and the shower of debris scattered throughout the courtyard. His mouth fell open in disbelief as he stared at Richard, utterly speechless.

  Though Newman had suspected Richard was a wizard, he had never witnessed true wizardry. Confronted with the sheer terror of Richard’s display, he was struck by the realization that entering into a trade with him was nothing short of foolish. Richard, with a mere gesture, could have ended his life without a word.

  And yet Newman had the audacity to propose using the wand as a bargaining chip—allowing Richard to pay less cash. Perhaps it would have been wiser to simply hand over all the money to Richard, even if it meant risking his entire fortune, just to spare his own life. As Newman’s thoughts raced, he found his body drenched in sweat.

  But Richard remained silent, lost in thought as he examined the wand in his hand. The recent display of magic had given him a general understanding of its properties.

  He deduced that the method of spell-casting had changed.

  Normally, without a wand, one’s magic would travel through internal channels—veins and meridians—to the fingertips, where it would be released. But moments ago, with the wand in hand, his magic, upon reaching his fingertips, had instead flowed into the wand, coursing through its length before being discharged at the tip.

  In a sense, the wand functioned like a gun’s barrel—extending the distance the “bullet” (or magical energy) traveled before release.

  The impact was evident. Just as a gun barrel allows a bullet to exit faster and more steadily, the wand enabled faster and more precise spellcasting.