"This one's interesting. I'll set it aside for now."
Hutson gestured toward the crimson eyeballs, his voice casual.
Count Huen let out a relieved chuckle. "Sir Hutson, you have quite an eye for rare artifacts. Those Kuruta Tribe eyes have been extinct for generations."
He was genuinely pleased with Hutson's selection—not because the relic was valuable, but because it wasn't.
The truth was, only certain eccentric nobles—those with a morbid fascination for human remains—would collect such things. The blood-red hue of the Kuruta eyes had been a symbol of prestige two centuries ago, when aristocrats had obsessed over their beauty, driving the tribe to extinction in the process.
But now?
That craze had long passed. The value of such relics had plummeted, and no one particularly cared that an entire race had perished for their vanity.
"So, wizards really do have strange tastes," Huen mused, confirming his assumptions about Hutson's kind.
