[Rohan POV]
[Paris Underground Catacombs – Rue Noire]
La Salle des Collectionneurs—The Collectors' Hall.
I read the words engraved above the massive gates of the auction house. The first thing that crossed my mind was that learning French in school had finally paid off. The second was how unbelievably legitimate the place looked despite being one of the largest black market auction houses in Europe.
The sign itself was embossed in gold, gleaming beneath the enchanted lanterns outside. The building looked more like a government institution than a criminal marketplace. Massive limestone walls, heavy bronze doors, and towering stained-glass windows gave it an air of wealth and authority. Carefully maintained gardens surrounded the entrance, making it feel even less suspicious.
Above the doorway, instead of any emblem, a line of gold script was carved into the stone: "Enter, collector, but take heed—what is traded here is never forgotten."
Regina gathered everyone before we entered.
"Behave yourselves," she said in a firm voice. "Martin, you're leading us. Act as the leader"
Martin gave a small nod and then began walking toward the entrance, his movements unnaturally steady, his expression completely blank. There was no hesitation in his steps, no sign of independent thought—only silent obedience. The rest of us followed behind him.
What surprised me most was what didn't happen.
There were no guards.
No security checks.
No one stopped us or asked for identification.
I supposed that made sense for a black market. People visiting this place wouldn't appreciate being searched.
Still...
How did they guarantee trust?
How did an auction house dealing in priceless magical artefacts make sure buyers and sellers didn't simply betray one another? There had to be rules—rules powerful enough that everyone followed them without question.
The thought lingered in the back of my mind as we stepped inside.
The entrance hall was enormous.
Polished white marble covered both the floors and the towering walls, reflecting the warm glow of enchanted chandeliers hanging overhead. Wizards from every corner of the world walked through the hall, speaking in dozens of different languages while servants hurried between them.
Seeing Louis quietly taking everything in, Regina began explaining the place.
"This is your first visit," she said. "The Collectors' Hall isn't just an auction house. It's neutral ground."
She pointed towards several corridors branching away from the main hall.
"Over the years they've expanded. Besides the auctions, there are private meeting rooms, luxury hotels, a casino.."
I followed where she pointed.
Sure enough, elegant signs directed visitors towards the casino, while a long row of tall service counters stretched across one side of the hall.
What caught my attention wasn't the counters.
It was who was working behind them.
Goblins.
A wizard approached one of the counters and handed over a metallic key. The goblin examined it before pressing something beneath the desk.
A few seconds later, I heard metal clatter somewhere below.
A small enclosed cart, no larger than a refrigerator, shot upwards along a hidden monorail before stopping neatly in front of the wizard.
The wizard placed something inside.
The moment he closed the door, the cart sped away, disappearing back into the underground tunnels almost instantly.
Regina noticed me watching.
"There are many Collectors' Halls hidden throughout Paris," she explained. "Every one of them connects to the same goblin rail network."
"The tunnels run far beneath the city," she continued. "They're impossible to track, and no one can summon a cart without one of those keys. Even if the authorities discover one branch, your belongings can still be accessed from another location."
Louis looked impressed.
"So nobody knows where all the branches are?"
Regina shook her head.
"No one. Even I only know three of them. "
That explained why the organisation had survived for so long.
What surprised me even more was seeing humans and goblins working side by side as equals.
Perhaps outcasts and rogues naturally found one another, bound together by necessity—forced to work together just to survive.
As I looked around, I noticed robes and clothing from every magical nation imaginable. French, British, German, Middle Eastern, African, and several styles I couldn't even recognise.
Most of the visitors kept their faces hidden beneath masks or deep hoods.
No one lingered.
Everyone walked with purpose.
Just then, a thin elderly wizard in immaculate black robes approached us with a warm smile.
"Mister Martin," he greeted politely. "It is good to see you again."
Regina flinched before letting out a nervous laugh.
"Mister Moreau, you almost gave me a scare."
The old wizard chuckled before shaking Martin's hand. Martin returned the gesture with the same blank, expressionless face he had worn ever since Regina took control of him.
Listening to their conversation, I quickly realised the man was the Head Auction Manager.
"You've certainly caused quite a stir this time," Moreau said excitedly. "I don't believe we've ever handled a discovery of this... significance."
He never mentioned what the items actually were, almost as if everyone present already knew. Martin simply nodded in response, while Regina smiled confidently.
" Yes, we trust your establishment," she said.
"You honour us," Moreau replied. "Please, follow me."
He led us away from the bustling entrance hall and through a set of elegant corridors before stopping outside a private viewing room.
The room was surprisingly luxurious.
Four plush chairs faced a large opening overlooking the stage below. Similar private rooms formed an arc around the theatre, giving every guest an excellent view of the auction floor. The interior followed an elegant Art Deco style, with polished wood panels, brass trim, and soft red and amber lighting that gave the room a warm, expensive atmosphere.
Regina looked around in surprise.
"I never knew there was another auction theatre."
Moreau smiled.
"You've only attended our standard auctions before. This hall is reserved for exceptional collections and... distinguished clients."
Regina's eyes lit up with excitement.
"I didn't know such a place existed."
"Our finest guests rarely advertise its existence," Moreau replied with a knowing smile.
After exchanging a few final pleasantries, he excused himself and left.
The group settled onto the couches while Martin remained standing silently beside the entrance, like a bodyguard awaiting orders.
A few minutes later, the lights dimmed.
The velvet curtains slowly parted, revealing the stage below.
The auction had begun.
What immediately caught my attention wasn't the presenter.
It was the stage itself.
Another monorail system ran beneath it.
Whenever a lot was announced, a large enclosed cart rose smoothly from below the stage. Its doors unfolded elegantly, revealing the artefacts inside as though they were priceless museum pieces. The presenter would carefully remove each item, explain its history and significance, and only then would the bidding begin.
Once the auction ended, everything was returned to the cart before it disappeared beneath the stage once more.
I guessed the winning bidder would simply receive a key and collect their purchase later from whichever Collectors' Hall was most convenient.
It was surprisingly efficient.
The Nightshade must still have been affecting me because my thoughts felt unusually sharp.
I quickly went over every possible outcome.
The first possibility was the simplest. The auction ended normally, the buyer paid, and Martin or should i say Regena collected the money. I could then just take the money from them.
The second possibility was that the winning bidder refused to pay.
That seemed highly unlikely.
Everyone in this room looked unimaginably wealthy, and even if someone tried to cheat, the Collectors' Hall wouldn't allow it. Their entire reputation depended on every deal being honoured.
That left only one realistic problem.
Someone could try to steal the artefacts while they were on display.
It would also be the perfect opportunity. The items were only outside the cart for a few minutes during the presentation.
That thought immediately put me on guard.
Those artefacts were supposedly worth an unbelievable amount of money. I wasn't about to let someone walk away with them.
I quietly studied the other private viewing rooms.
Unfortunately, the lighting kept most of the occupants hidden. All I could make out were dark robes, silhouettes, and the occasional glint of jewellery.
The auction itself was unlike anything I had imagined.
Dragon eggs.
Ancient grimoires filled with Dark Magic.
Relics created through sacrificial rituals.
Nothing seemed to be off limits.
Some lots genuinely made my stomach turn. Magical beasts were sold as though they were livestock, and even intelligent magical humanoid species stood in enchanted chains while wealthy bidders competed to own them.
Compared to Knockturn Alley, this place made Britain's black market look almost civilised.
As the auction continued, Regina leaned over to Louis and Anton, who were clearly seeing the place for the first time, and began explaining in a low voice.
"Unlike Britain or even the French Ministry's banking system, the Collectors' Hall doesn't really use Galleons or Bezants directly," she said. "They use a chip system—like casino chips."
Anton frowned slightly. "Chips?"
Regina nodded. "You deposit your currency with the Hall beforehand, and they issue you chips in return. Each chip represents a fixed value of magical currency, already verified and secured. It's much easier for auctions like this—no one is carrying vault keys or counting coins mid-bid."
Louis glanced around the room. "So those bids we're hearing… aren't actual coins being thrown around?"
"Exactly," Regina replied. "They're just chips being raised. Think of it like this—one chip can be worth a handful of Pounds, and the higher-tier ones can represent thousands… even millions at a time.
She glanced back toward the stage as another lot was announced. "And once you reach auctions like this, no one here is paying in anything less than fortunes. Bids routinely climb into the hundreds of millions—sometimes even more—just for a single item."
Then, finally...
Our lot arrived. The large cart rose from beneath the stage and unfolded with theatrical precision, revealing its contents in a slow, deliberate display.
Three polished swords rested upon crimson velvet, their surfaces gleaming under the stage lights. Beside them sat several carefully cleaned, sealed jars filled with scrolls, while at the very centre, displayed beneath its own spotlight, lay a ring.
The entire presentation looked worthy of a royal museum. Hard to imagine just how I had first ended up with them.
The announcer stepped forward, and almost instantly every conversation in the theatre died away.
The atmosphere became noticeably heavier as I glanced towards the surrounding viewing rooms.
No one moved. No one even whispered.
"Just what have you dug up, Mordo?" I thought, silently cursing him.
He had insisted these items weren't magical. So why were so many powerful wizards in this building suddenly treating them as though they had uncovered the greatest treasure in history?
"Ladies and gentlemen..."
The announcer's voice echoed throughout the silent theatre.
"Lot Forty-Two."
With practised elegance, he gestured towards the elegant cart on rails as it glided up onto the stage.
"This collection is believed to have belonged to Caliph Harun al-Rashid, one of the greatest rulers of the Abbasid Golden Age."
A projection of ancient Arabic script appeared behind the stage as he continued.
"Although the swords, ring, and archived manuscripts possess no magical properties of their own, they bear the royal seals, inscriptions, and craftsmanship unique to the Caliph's court. They are, beyond any reasonable doubt, the first authenticated relics ever recovered from his reign."
Murmurs spread throughout the theatre.
The announcer raised a hand, and the hall fell silent once more.
"For centuries, wizarding explorers have searched for the legendary Lost Treasury of Harun al-Rashid—a hidden vault said to contain an unparalleled collection of magical knowledge, enchanted artefacts, and unimaginable wealth gathered from both East and West during the height of the Abbasid Empire."
He slowly pointed towards the display.
"These artefacts represent the first credible evidence that the treasury truly existed."
"And more importantly..."
"They may contain clues leading to its location."
The room became deathly quiet.
"The ring has been examined by the most accomplished magical historians of our age. Its seal has been authenticated as the personal royal seal of Caliph Harun al-Rashid himself."
He then gestured towards the swords.
"The three swords correspond precisely with surviving Abbasid magical manuscripts describing the weapons carried by the Royal Guard."
Finally, he rested a hand on one of the sealed jars.
"More remarkable still..."
"These sealed vessels contain surviving fragments of the Royal Archives of Baghdad."
He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle over the audience.
"It is now authenticated beyond dispute..."
"...that this collection represents the first confirmed physical evidence of the legendary Lost Treasury of Harun al-Rashid. We will start the bit at five hundred thousand gold chips."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
I swept my eyes across the surrounding private rooms, expecting someone to make a move.
No one did.
Even the hidden figures behind the darkened windows remained perfectly still.
"So that's why everyone's gone mad over these things..." I muttered to myself.
Then—
BOOM!
The ceiling exploded.