All they had to do was slam this stuff on the table in front of the Council, or one of those major conglomerates.
And just like that, they—a handful of mercenaries who lived on a knife's edge, never knowing where their next meal would come from—would have it made.
They'd get residency in the Inner City.
They might even snag a cushy sinecure for life, never having to worry about food or drink again.
"We're rich... We're fuckin' rich this time..."
One of the mercenaries' Adam's apples bobbed violently as he greedily gulped down his spit.
"The Suspended Mountain Secret Realm has been picked clean countless times, yet there's still a pristine, untouched ruin like this!"
"It must have been the spatial Vibration a few days ago. It probably shook the buried entrance free."
The burly man forced his heart, which was threatening to beat out of his chest, to calm down.
He stared intently at the stone steps leading underground, his breathing growing ragged.
