The carriage did not stop at a building.
It stopped somewhere far less official, a wedge of silence between two forgotten warehouses. There was a rusted gutter, a crumbling mural, and a dry fountain choked with dead ivy.
Ruvian stepped out, taking in the surroundings with a skeptical glance.
“This is it?” he asked, not bothering to hide his doubt.
Silvena didn’t respond with words. She walked past him, her boots making no sound as she approached the mural. It had once depicted an angel, but time and weather had chewed away most of the details, leaving only a ghost of wings and faded gold leaf.
She reached out and dragged her gloved fingers along a sequence of seemingly random cracks in the wall.
Then, a soft click answered her. With the soundless breath of displaced air, part of the mural folded inward, collapsing like paper being creased.
Ruvian’s brow lifted slightly. “…Not bad,” he murmured.
“We had the same reaction,” she replied with a hint of smugness, already stepping through the hidden doorway.
“Follow me, stay close but not touchy.”
‘What kind of person do you think I am?’
The corridor beyond was narrow, but smooth—its walls lacquered black and inscribed with softly glowing runes. With each step, the temperature dropped. Ruvian followed in silence, noting the faint distortion in the air.
The path didn’t spiral or descend as they walked. It bent… one moment the floor felt level, the next it seemed to slant without shifting.
“It's spatial redirection, it's confusing for a first timer,” Silvena muttered, explaining it to him. Ruvian simply noted the information she gave.
The hallway twisted one final time and abruptly opened into a small, circular chamber. At the center of the room sat a woman, or something that looked like one. She was draped in layers of silk, her limbs marked by inked runes, and her eyes hidden beneath a blindfold woven from what looked like threads of black silver. In one hand, she held a scale.
‘Why is it always women who are blindfolded? Can't they come up with a more creative design? I have a deep trauma with it.’ Ruvian slowed.
As they both stood in front of the statue, a voice came from it.
“Mrs Venomous Petals.”
“Clearance… confirmed.”
Without further gesture, the floor behind her rippled open, revealing the pathway.
Next, they emerged into a vast hollow space—an inverted cathedral carved into the bones of the earth, veiled in layers of muted lanternlight and drifting mist.
And… hundreds of people, cloaked and masked, moving in silence across elevated walkways and velvet-lined staircases. Almost a third of the grand amphitheater was already filled.
‘Great. Nothing like a cheerful, casual gathering of suspiciously wealthy people underground.’
Figures sat in tiered balconies shaped like petals, each ring rising higher and curving inward like a blooming flower.
Down below, the main stage remained shrouded behind semi-transparent curtains of cascading mana. Shadows moved behind them, preparing for something not yet begun.
Silvena adjusted her mask slightly, her emerald ring pulsing once in recognition. A moment later, a robed attendant appeared from nowhere—young, and silent, wearing a half-mask.
He bowed with fluid grace.
“Mrs Venomous Petals.”
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Your presence has been logged. Please, follow me.”
He turned without waiting for confirmation, gliding ahead through the corridor. Ruvian followed, silent. His eyes took in everything, scanning the grand halls.
Silvena leaned close as they walked. Ruvian slightly lowered his head to her level.
“The auction hasn’t begun yet, but preliminary exchanges are happening in the lower halls. We’ll head to the private tier first. From there, you can observe freely… or act.” She said in a low voice.
‘Now, how will I recognize the Omen Scroll?’
As they approached the upper tier, the crowd thinned. The corridor leading toward the private lounges was narrower, flanked by arched frames of enchanted glass.
Ruvian walked just a step behind Silvena, his hands tucked behind his back.
The corridor split ahead—one path winding toward the general tier lounges, the other toward the private wings. That was when two figures passed them from the opposite direction.
One male and one female.
Both were wearing masks. The source of thɪs content is 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝⁂𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖⁂𝕟𝕖𝕥
The man wore a deep gray coat with silver lining, shoulders squared with a martial build. His mask was smooth and featureless. But his presence… it brushed against Ruvian’s senses.
‘The way he walks….’ There was something about the way his boots made no sound with each step.
Beside him, the woman moved like shadow-glass. Slim, cloaked in folds of deep plum and midnight silk, her masquerade mask was crescent-shaped, curving upward at the cheekbones, delicately painted with twin marks like falling feathers. A thin braid of silver hair trailed down one shoulder.
They passed without looking at him.
But as they did, something inside Ruvian shook. It wasn't a killing intent… but something close enough to fool the instincts.
Ruvian stopped walking instinctively.
But the two figures continued forward at the same pace.
‘I can't use character inspection on them since I didn't know their names… but somehow, my guts were telling me something about them.’
Ruvian turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he watched their backs recede into the corridor’s bend. He realised something, a watch on both of their hands. It gave away their identity.
‘They're scholars from the Wellencrest Academy, as I thought…’
“Mr Phantom, please keep up with us,” Silvena called softly from ahead, not looking back. Ruvian sighed and turned away, resuming his pace.
‘Well, it's not like they couldn't come here.’
The door to the private lounge opened without a touch. The room wasn't as large as he expected, but it was lavish.
The first thing Ruvian noticed was the silence of it.
The lounge itself was shaped like a half-moon, overlooking the grand amphitheater through a slanted pane of dark glass.
A single crescent-shaped divan of dark velvet positioned precisely at center, with low tables on either side bearing floating trays—fruit, wine, slender crystalline flutes chilled to the touch.
Silvena moved with casual confidence, pulling her cloak aside and settling onto the divan. Her emerald ring gleamed, registering their presence with whatever unseen system managed this place.
Ruvian walked to the viewing wall, silent, his reflection barely visible in the enchanted pane. Below, the cathedral unfolded like a stage of grandiose dreams.
Silvena sipped from her glass, voice smooth.
“You’re not going to sit?”
“Yes, in a bit,” Ruvian murmured, still scanning.
Silvena leaned back into the cushioned armrest, one leg crossed over the other. She then spoke, carrying a distinct note of authority:
“The main floor is for common bidding,” she began, eyes scanning the cathedral below.
“Those seated in numbered rows raise tokens, and the auctioneer confirms each bid aloud. Clean, theatrical… for appearances, mostly.”
“The real bids happen here. In the lounges.”
She tapped the side of the crystal panel embedded in the railing before them. A light passed over it, revealing a faint projection—thin lines of script in a neutral language.
“Each of us has a code—anonymous, but known to the facilitators. We input a number when we’re interested, and the system keeps track of the top three. The moment you input something high enough, the auctioneer will announce that a private party has entered the bid.”
She smiled faintly. “You’ll hear gasps and grumbling. That’s part of the theatre too.”
“What happens if more than one VIP wants the same item?” Ruvian asked.
Silvena smiled before she replied without hesitation. “Then it escalates. First, the floor is given a chance to raise its bid—oh well, they're usually in vain. If it continues, the facilitators reach out privately. Some items end up in duels. Others in… negotiations.”
She let the word linger like the rim of a wineglass.
“And if someone bids too aggressively and draws attention?”
She shrugged. “Then they'd better be worth the curiosity.”
She glanced sideways, amused. “You won’t be the only one bluffing tonight, Mr Phantom. So mind your numbers.”
His eyes narrowed at a masked figure on the floor who hadn’t moved for several minutes. Ruvian has been a bit cautious after receiving those kinds of quests.
She sobered slightly, her gaze returning to the panel. “Just keep one thing in mind—this place is neutral ground. That doesn’t mean it’s safe.”
True, neutral and safe were different matters. And with the kind of quest the system had just tossed his way, Ruvian had no illusions about safety.
Of course, it wasn’t safe. That was why his eyes hadn’t stopped moving, why his posture remained subtly tilted to catch every angle of the hall. He’d already come to the answer the moment the warning appeared, of why the system had insisted on stopping the scroll from falling into the wrong hands.
There was no flaw in his memory.
Ruvian remembered it now.
Only one possibility stood out, too loud to ignore.
But they were not just a single person.
They were a congregation of shadows, a cult of secrecy and evil, each member hiding behind a different mask, yet moving with a single will.
He hadn’t forgotten what they represented.
And if they were here… things weren’t about to get complicated.
They were about to get lethal and chaotic.