At last, the curtains rose.
A figure stepped onto the central stage—tall, resplendent, and dressed in robes that gleamed like countless sparkles. His mask was an elaborate half-face design sculpted in the likeness of a smiling jester, yet the glint in his eyes hinted at a sharper intellect than the outfit suggested.
“Ladies, gentlemen,” the announcer began, voice smooth and amplified by some unseen enchantment.
“It warms my heart to see so many familiar masks tonight. Even if half of you have changed yours since the last gathering. But don’t worry, secrets are the only currency more stable than gold down here.”
A chuckle rippled through the hall.
The man paced with easy showmanship, arms extended like a conductor preparing an orchestra. “Now, before we begin, a few reminders. Please, no violence, no spell casting in the middle of bidding. Unless you’re prepared to pay the clean-up fee.”
“That said… let us begin.”
The stage brightened. Curtains pulled back with a whisper of mist, revealing the first item—an armored bracer encased in translucent crystal.
“Lot One: The Runeforge Bracer. A relic from the Second Sundering. Reinforces core stability and enhances elemental channeling. Bidding starts at 4000 marks.”
Tokens rose, but a beat later, the first round concluded with a private tier bid that silenced the floor.
The second item was a sealed vial of black ichor, supposedly harvested from a corrupted archbeast. Then a pair of duality rings—linked artifacts that allowed shared senses between wearers.
Then a cursed monocle. Then a soulbound grimoire. One by one, the items emerged, announced with flourish, and vanished into the hands of their highest bidders.
Six. Seven. Eight lots passed.
And still, Ruvian had not made his move.
Silvena, poised beside him with wine in hand, cast a sidelong glance. Her voice remained calm, but she was curious about why. “You haven’t placed a single bid. Nothing’s caught your eye?”
Ruvian didn’t answer right away. His eyes remained fixed on the stage. In the corner of his eyes, the faint outline of the [Editorial Pen] flickered. Every item that appeared, he inspected with the same quiet process. The skill could read its truth, its significance, and more importantly… whether it mattered or was useful to him.
So far, they haven’t.
Not for now and not for what was coming.
There were artifacts of high quality, yes. But some were red herrings, meant to bait shallow bidders. Others were too niche, or worse, dangerous to hold at this stage of the story. Timing, as always, was everything.
Eventually, Ruvian answered, voice low. “They’re decent, but none are worth bleeding for.”
Silvena raised a brow. “Even the Whisperflame Dagger during the seven lot?”
He turned his head slightly toward her. “That one’s a fake.” He said casually and returned, staring at the stage from his seat. (+50PP)
A flicker of surprise passed across Silvena’s features, quickly masked behind her glass. Her merchant guts feeling already alerted her that the item was a fake one, but she didn't expect Ruvian to realise it too.
Silvena didn’t say anything. Just swirled the wine in her hand thoughtfully. Her eyes narrowed at him. ‘Does he have a spell? Or an artifact that can see through auction-grade cloaking?’
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The thought intrigued her more than it should have. She’d seen people bluff before, arrogant upstarts claiming false insight to impress. But there was something in the way he said it.
Then, the next item rose through the mist, carried by a slow-moving platform of enchanted crystal. A long, curved blade rested upon a black silk cloth; its edge gleamed with menace. As if it had tasted blood.
Ruvian’s eyes, until now only half-interested, narrowed.
A faint flick of his wrist. The Editorial Pen activated in silence, runes whispering in his mind.
[Editorial Pen: Inspection Active]
Item Name: [Mountain of Light (Kageyama)]
Item Type: [Weapon – Katana]
Grade: [Artifact – Grade A]
◇ A katana crafted with exceptional precision, its blade gleaming with a serene and timeless elegance.
◇ The name evokes the moon’s quiet ascent above distant peaks, illuminating the world below with unwavering calm.
◇ Hilt wrapped in midnight-blue silk, with subtle etchings of mountain ridges along the guard. The blade hums faintly when drawn, like a breath between silences.
◇ Forged by a reclusive bladesmith whose identity is unrecorded, the weapon carries no bloodbound pact—free to serve any hand worthy of wielding it.
— The katana’s immaculate balance improves the wielder’s dexterity, enabling faster, more exact movements. Ideal for critical strikes and fluid engagements.
◆ Strength of the Mountain
— Forged from a rare alloy infused with inert draconic marrow, the weapon grants a passive increase to the wielder’s physical strength. Particularly effective during prolonged melee combat.
— The blade harmonizes with its bearer’s intent and motion, allowing seamless transitions between attack and defense. Increases reaction time, agility, and rhythmic control in close-quarters duels. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴠɪsɪᴛ 𝔫𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩✶𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚✶𝕟𝕖𝕥
‘This one… this is worth it.’
More importantly, it fit. Not just with his future fighting style, but with the role he intended to play in this world.
Beside him, Silvena noticed the change in his posture. Her voice came quietly. “So. That one caught your attention.”
He didn’t look at her. “Yes.”
As the announcer began describing the sword’s origins with half-true and half-polished myth information. Ruvian remained still, eyes fixed on the katana below.
A blade like that wouldn’t go unnoticed. And sure enough, the bidding opened at a modest number… and immediately doubled.
“Bidding begins at 9,000 marks!”
A token rose on the third floor balcony.
Another followed almost instantly from the floor seats.
Then a third—private tier.
The numbers climbed, calm at first, like ripples in a pond. But Ruvian could feel the undercurrent stirring. The item hadn’t been advertised in the pre-list. Whoever placed it here had either done so last minute or had hoped to draw exactly this kind of reaction.
Silvena’s hand hovered over the console.
“Do you want it?” she asked, tone too casual.
Ruvian didn’t answer, but he gave her a silent nod. (+50PP)
She smiled, then tapped her code.
“14,000!” the announcer declared. “From a private party.”
Gasps flared across the lower levels, followed by a murmur of recognition. The same party that hadn’t bid all evening had now entered the fray.
Another counter-bid came in, this one sharp and quick.
Silvena’s emerald ring pulsed again.
The announcer didn’t even pause between them now. It had become a duel of digits. Whoever was on the other end was beginning to reevaluate.
The bid hung in the air.
Silvena’s fingers traced the edge of her wine glass. Her eyes glinted sharply. She was practically enjoying this.
“30,000,” she said, not to the console, but to herself, and tapped in the number.
Gasps erupted again. A few heads turned discreetly in the private tiers.
The silence that followed was long.
“Final call—30,000 marks!”
A low chime resonated through the hall as the blade vanished from the display, sealed within a transport glyph destined for the buyer’s vault.
Silvena leaned back, exhaling through a slow, satisfied smile. She turned to Ruvian, crossing her legs elegantly, the wine now forgotten. “There. I’ve bought your little moonlight sword. For 150 Golds.”
“Now,” she said, tilting her head, “about the matter of debt.”
He glanced at her sideways. “What? I thought it was a gift,” Ruvian said with a smile.
Her smile widened, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Oh, please. Nothing in this world is ever just a gift. You owe me.”
“Oh, not just repay.” She raised two fingers, her tone light.
Ruvian lifted an eyebrow. “An ambitious touch.”
“Well, ambition is the only reasonable sin, Mr Phantom,” she replied smoothly. “And I took a risk on your judgment. I’d like to believe I’ll be compensated for it… in full.”
Ruvian studied her for a moment, then gave a slight nod with a satisfied smile.
Silvena wasn’t being greedy.
She was just being strategic. If she was right, she gained a reputation. If she was wrong, she wanted insurance. Either way, she played it correctly.
“Fine,” he said. “You’ll have your return..."
"...With interest.” (+200PP)
Silvena’s eyes gleamed with a satisfied smile. “Now that’s what I like to hear.” She took another sip from her glass and turned back to the stage, utterly pleased with herself.