"W-We need to inform the Manager," one of them whispered, his voice dry in his throat.
They broke into a sprint, boots echoing off the marble as they headed deeper into the auction's administrative wing.
Inside a luxuriously adorned chamber, lined with crystal veils and drifting incense, sat the Auction House's Manager. She was a breathtaking high-elf woman—skin like polished moonstone, her long silver hair bound into regal knots, eyes aglow with muted gold.
She was reclining on a floating chaise when the door slammed open.
"Manager Eryndel!" the guards bowed, nearly out of breath.
She raised a single brow, her tone like cool wind. "What is it?"
"It's about a guest who just arrived… a human, World Rank. He killed one of our registered nobles—a young master of the Akar'drel House. Killed him outright. Splattered him."
Eryndel slowly sat upright, her smile vanishing like mist in sunlight.
"…He killed Akar'drel's heir?"
The guards nodded in unison.
There was a long silence.
A second figure in the chamber turned—an aged dark elf in black robes, his skin wrinkled like scorched parchment, eyes dim red beneath his cowl. This was Vazerun, an elder steward and former enforcer of the Auction House's darker dealings. He had served across centuries, his presence seldom seen unless the matter threatened the structure of the House itself.
He stepped forward and grunted. "His son was arrogant. I warned him many times not to provoke dangerous types. It seems he finally poked the wrong wolf."
Eryndel's golden eyes narrowed. "The question is: do we retaliate? Or survive this?"
Vazerun turned to the guard and asked calmly, "When he moved, what did you feel?"
The lead guard swallowed hard. "High-level World Rank, sir. Effortless pressure. He didn't even use a technique. Just pulled and… that was it. The young master was gone."
"Then the answer is clear." Vazerun sighed.
Eryndel looked at him.
He nodded. "We don't retaliate."
She frowned, but said nothing.
"World Rank individuals are normally rare enough to demand caution," he continued. "But this one isn't some half-baked traveler. He's young, has control, and uses high-tier Void Rank cores like loose coin. That means backing—or personal dominance. Either way, he's dangerous."
Eryndel turned away, her gaze shifting out the window. "But the Akar'drel family will demand answers."
"They'll be told the truth," Vazerun said simply. "Their son provoked a stronger guest. The Auction House enforces peace only when both parties are within our limits. We're not gods. We're merchants. We survive by understanding the tides—not fighting them."
"And what if they demand blood?"
Vazerun smiled thinly. "Then they may try. But if this young man is what I suspect… they'll regret it."
She exhaled sharply, weighing everything. "And what of the other young master? The friend who accompanied the dead one?"
"Too shaken to speak. We've already sedated him," the guards replied. "He soiled himself. Twice."
"Hm." Eryndel tapped her nails against the crystal armrest. "Very well. Let him leave alive. But keep watch. As for the guest… prepare to escort him only once the auction ends."
"Nowhere public," she said. "If we are to discuss terms or extend courtesy… it will be outside. Far from the eyes of nobles. Far from politics. Somewhere quiet."
Her voice lowered, velvet smooth and cunning.
"Some lions you invite to the feast. Others you offer the whole table."
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Inside the private VIP chamber, the heavy door sealed behind them with a final, silent thud. The noise outside seemed to vanish entirely. Wards buzzed softly, weaving into the walls—privacy enchantments, thick enough that even soul senses would falter trying to pierce them.
The room itself was a lavish display of wealth. Plush, crescent-shaped couches wrapped around a central dais of black crystal. A floating screen shimmered into view before them, runic in design, casting silent feeds from the auction floor. A crystal tray hummed to life beside them, offering exotic fruits, wine-infused nectar, and darkblood tea.
Veyra sat carefully on one side, her posture straight, eyes still darting toward the door. "They're not going to let that go quietly…"
"They can't afford not to," Valeris murmured, lounging back like a coiled serpent. "That elf's soul fractured before it even hit the wall. If anyone in this city had the means or courage to retaliate, they'd be here already. They aren't."
Asher remained standing, one hand behind his back, the other adjusting his collar. Calm. Cold. Dominant.
"I gave him a chance to step aside," he said softly. "He refused. That's his story."
He turned and looked at them both.
"And I'm not here to play local politics."
Before Veyra could reply, a ding echoed from the projection crystal. A runic sigil spiraled outward, then stabilized, displaying the auction's opening statement.
A melodic voice filled the room.
"Esteemed guests, welcome to the Hundred Mountain Reserve Auction. Today, we begin the auctioning of the Hundred Mountain Dungeon Gates."
"Be warned—we only accept treasures as bids or Cores of equal value, which means Void Rank Core. The greater the treasure, the higher your chances of claiming the gate."
"Now, without further delay, let us begin the auction for the first gate—the Gate of Flames. This gate is of Void Rank, located deep within the volcanic mountain range of the Molten Spine."
A spotlight lit the stage as the first auctioneer stepped forward. She was a bold presence—curvaceous, confident, and dressed to captivate. Her hips swayed with deliberate grace as she smiled and raised her hand.
"I am Edai, your host for this opening round. The Flame Gate holds immense value—its core dungeon boss is Void Rank, known for dropping fire-imbued cores and volcanic essence."
She paused, letting the anticipation settle over the crowd.
"The minimum bid for the Gate of Flames is one Void Rank core."
A hush fell over the auction hall as the bidding began. The audience, composed of cloaked cultivators, noble heirs, rogue sect members, and adventurers, leaned forward with tense anticipation.
"One Void Rank core!" a rough-voiced man from the center called out, tossing a crimson-glowing core into the projection basin.