The velvet buzz of voices continued to fill the auction hall as masked nobles found their seats. A low hum of anticipation ran beneath the gold-lit air.
Saphielle was already there. Same spot. Same posture. Still alone. Her black mask and black dress made her seem carved from shadow, framed by the elegance around her like she owned it.
Noah barely spared her a glance.
He leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, posture loose. Cordelia sat beside him, arms resting elegantly over her lap, mask still in place.
She didn’t look at him when she spoke. "And what if we don’t buy the item?"
Noah raised an eyebrow, turning his head slightly.
"There are a few ways to handle that. Option one: steal it. Not recommended. The place is locked down tighter than it looks. Layers of protection, spatial traps, magic-encoded tracking. Dumb idea."
Cordelia nodded slowly. "So...?"
"Option two, we let Saphielle buy it, then talk her down. Convince her it’s a bad move. Which—if you’ve read how stubborn she is—won’t be easy."
"Random buyer. Happened sometimes in the game. A noble NPC sees a weird magical object, thinks it looks cool, buys it just because. In those cases, it’s easier to negotiate or... take it. Depends on who wins the bid."
He paused for a second, eyes flicking toward the front.
"Doesn’t matter how we do it. If she gets it, we take it back. That’s the rule."
Cordelia tilted her head. "You make it sound easy."
"It’s not. But I’ve done worse."
She shifted slightly, watching a group of newcomers take their seats across the room. "When does it show up?"
"Toward the end. It’s one of the rarest items in the pool. Usually appears after the intermission dinner. So yeah... we’ve got a few hours."
"Hours?" she repeated.
"Yep. Long event. Dozens of lots, lots of money, lots of peacocking. Think of it as a noble playground, perfect for you."
Cordelia exhaled through her nose. "Couldn’t we have just come for the second half?"
Noah turned to her fully now, grin behind his mask. "What, and miss the chaos? You forget who you’re talking to. The game always throws in random variables. And now with your fancy family tied to this, I’m even more hyped."
Cordelia didn’t answer.
’Damn nerd,’ she thought.
A soft chime echoed through the hall—clear, deliberate, and unmistakable.
Silence followed like a trained animal.
A tall woman in a deep burgundy gown stepped onto the stage. Her face was hidden behind a golden mask shaped like a fan, and her voice projected easily through the enchantments placed across the hall.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she said. "We thank you for joining tonight’s collection. Let us begin."
A servant approached the stage with a velvet-covered tray. He lifted the cloth to reveal a delicate golden necklace, studded with three small diamonds that shimmered like starlight under the arcane lights.
"A fine piece to start with," the announcer continued. "Gold of high purity. Diamonds cut with precision. Opening at 100 gold."
"100 gold," a voice called from the right.
The rhythm was steady. Controlled. No one was rushing. Just the usual testing of waters.
"170," came a crisp voice from the left balcony.
"180," answered someone in the center row, marked as number 118—a woman with a ruby-red mask and a shimmering scarf around her shoulders.
The announcer looked across the room. "180 going once... going twice..."
"Sold to Lady 118, ruby mask."
Light applause again.
Noah exhaled through his nose. ’And we’re off.’
He wasn’t interested in jewelry. But watching the way people moved, who hesitated and who didn’t, who looked confident and who flinched—those things mattered.
Cordelia leaned back beside him, silent but visibly entertained.
Noah didn’t say anything yet.
The warm-up was just beginning.
The second item was revealed beneath another velvet cloth—this time a pair of earrings, small but elegant. Gold loops with sapphire inlays that flickered under the enchanted lights.
The announcer’s voice rose again, smooth and steady. "A refined accessory. Elegant enough for court, subtle enough for charm. Starting bid: 200 gold."
Without hesitation, a hand lifted.
Noah turned his head slowly, almost in disbelief.
Cordelia kept her gaze forward. Her posture didn’t move, her mask didn’t shift.
"Going once... going twice..."
"Sold to the young lady with the navy mask with the number 69."
Another polite round of applause. Cordelia crossed her legs in satisfaction.
Noah leaned toward her, voice just low enough not to carry.
"Don’t you think we should be saving for the thing we actually came here for?"
"They’re just earrings," she said sweetly.
"Two. Hundred. Gold."
Cordelia tilted her head slightly toward him. "I’m a Ross. I can afford a little indulgence."
Noah stared for a second.
’Spoiled rich girl,’ he thought.
Cordelia didn’t even need to look at him to know what he was thinking.
From the balcony above, Princess Meliora watched the room unfold beneath her like a slow, glittering tide of masks and whispers.
Her golden-yellow dress shimmered under the soft lights, the same as her hair—perfectly arranged, as always. She sat with the ease of someone raised to be watched, eyes half-lidded behind her pink, delicately etched mask.
She wasn’t focused on the stage.
Her gaze had settled on the fifth row.
The girl sat with one leg crossed, back straight, mask firm. Nothing unusual—except for the man beside her. Dark suit. Red mask. Confident posture. His presence wasn’t loud, but it wasn’t forgettable either.
Meliora tilted her head slightly.
’Oh. You came with a man.’
There was no jealousy. No judgment.
’That’s rare for you.’
She watched Cordelia lift her hand during the last auctioned item. Earrings—costly. Effortless.
Meliora blinked once, slowly.
’Are you planning something during the banquet?’
She didn’t frown. She didn’t even move.
But a quiet, instinctive thought slid in behind the observation:
’...I might have to deal with it.’
Her fingers brushed the edge of her fan, absentmindedly. She remembered Cordelia’s words, thrown at her like a passing remark during their last argument.
"You’re just a spoiled little rich girl playing priestess."
Meliora had smiled back at the time.
But now, her smile was gone.
She looked away from the fifth row, but the thought stayed.
Cordelia always knew how to leave a mark.
The next few items passed without much interest.
A ceremonial blade. A music box enchanted to replay a noble family’s anthem. A pair of enchanted gloves designed for temperature regulation. Luxury, mostly. Nothing dangerous. Nothing rare.
Noah watched it all with detached focus.
People bid. People lost. Occasionally someone clapped. It was all background noise to him—part of the rhythm, part of the waiting game.
He wasn’t bored, not exactly. Just observant.
He tapped his finger once against the armrest as a small obsidian sculpture was lifted onto the podium.
"Do you think any of these are actually useful?" Cordelia asked beside him, voice low behind her mask.
"For us? No," Noah answered. "That’s why they’re being sold now. It’s bait. They save the real shit for after people have already burned half their gold."
Cordelia leaned back, letting her fingers rest on the earrings she’d just won. "So this is just the warm-up."
Onstage, the announcer praised the sculptor’s craftsmanship with flowery words. A few people raised their hands. The price crawled upward at a snail’s pace.
Noah’s eyes swept the room again.
He was noting patterns—who was aggressive, who hesitated, who waited for late bidding. Who looked nervous. Who didn’t move at all.
A few caught his attention, but none seemed like major threats. Not yet.
He turned back toward the stage just as the next item was unveiled.
Still nothing important.
He exhaled, folded his arms, and muttered to himself.
"Still a long way to go."