Following the potion, a brief arrangement was made backstage, and the auction regained its rhythmic tempo. This segment was the kind where everyone tested the waters without revealing their true intentions.
First came the items that could be considered entirely legal. Refined mana crystals, purification cores used for long-term magical research rather than combat, and armor linings crafted from rare beast hides. All were valuable, yet none were significant enough to make anyone leap from their seat. Aspiring academy students took notes, guild representatives memorized the prices, and collectors placed their bids in silence.
Then, the line began to blur.
A grave lantern that had touched the soul but showed no signs of decay; a fragment of a cursed map whose sale was forbidden within city limits but could change hands via "special permit"; a blood seal whose binding had weakened after its master's death. These were not overtly illegal, but they were the kind of things one was expected to ignore. The auction hall existed precisely for this gray area.
I was content to just watch.
Neither did these items offer me immediate utility, nor did I wish to draw unnecessary attention. I had already secured what I truly wanted. The rest were merely minor diversions shaping the futures of others.
Eventually, the proceedings shifted entirely into the dark side. There are experimental drafts concocted by anonymous alchemists, a bone grimoire of undisclosed origin, and even a mind-suppression talisman. It is presented as a "collector's item," despite being strictly prohibited. Such items sold quickly. No one asked questions; no one demanded explanations. Here, everyone knew what they were buying but chose to look the other way.
The atmosphere in the hall grew heavy, though not tense. Such was the nature of this place.
To me, it was nothing more than the passage of time.
During the short break before the final item, some private boxes emptied. Some had found what they sought; others had already exhausted their coin. Those who remained were the ones truly waiting.
And then, the old man struck his gavel against the table once more.
Finally, we reached the final lot of the auction. Typically, the concluding items were the most expensive and significant; thus, like everyone else, I straightened in my seat and waited for it to appear.
Four burly men carried a statue-like object covered in a shroud onto the stage, handling it with extreme delicacy. At the old man's signal, the veil was drawn back.
The armor that emerged literally swallowed the light of the hall. Its main body was a deep, polished shade of black. It was neither glossy nor matte; it was as if the light itself struggled to decide how to reflect off its surface. Gold-leaf filigree traced the contours and joints, rising from the darkness in sharp, clear lines. It was grand but not gaudy. It possessed a defiant beauty.
At the center of the breastplate sat the crest of a kingdom that no longer existed. It was wrought in gold, the kind that time could not erode. The pauldrons were broad yet did not appear cumbersome. They were designed for movement. The greaves were suited not for a heavy march, but for prolonged warfare. This was no ceremonial piece; it was a battle-worn king's plate.
"This armor," the old man declared, "belonged to the third king of the Old Sun Kingdom. It was worn personally during the Wars of Succession. The armor itself carries no active enchantment. However, its layers have become saturated with mana over time."
There was no active magical pulse upon the armor. No runes glowed, no mana overflowed. Yet, everyone felt it. For years, this plate had been exposed to the mana of a king. It did not scream its power. It did not exalt the wearer. It simply accompanied them.
The starting price was announced.
"Forty thousand gold."
Bids came instantly. This time, no one was testing the waters. This armor was the kind one decided upon at a single glance. Whoever bought it would do so not to hide it away, but to wear it.
The armor was beautiful. Excessively so. It wasn't just aesthetic; it was symbolic. Such a piece would undeniably thrust its owner into the spotlight, regardless of where it was worn.
The hall was silent but intense. Two boxes were particularly determined. One represented a dynasty with an obvious military background. The other was a collection group that favored displays of power, not even bothering to hide their identity.
I tapped the panel.
"Fifty thousand."
That was my limit. The armor was perfect, but my money was not unlimited. I did not wish to carry such a conspicuous investment this early on.
The counter-bid was immediate.
Sixty. Seventy. Eighty.
I lowered my panel.
I was no longer in the race.
The bids continued to climb. One hundred and thirty. One hundred and forty. When the final figure was announced, a brief silence fell over the hall. The armor was sold.
"One hundred and fifty thousand!"
I simply watched.
The auction gavel struck for the last time, and the night officially came to an end.
Third Person POV's
The moon hid behind the clouds, occasionally parting them to cast an indifferent gaze upon the mortals below. The night was cold; even the echoes of footsteps on the cobblestone streets could not change that.
The heavy doors of the auction house opened one by one. The artificial grandeur inside gave way to the silent, real darkness of the outside world. VIP guests dispersed in groups. Some headed for their enchanted carriages, while others preferred the more well-lit sides of the streets. Everyone moved forward, seemingly calm but calculating in their minds.
Aurelius blended into the crowd. He had donned the mask distributed at the auction entrance. This mask blurred not only his identity but his very gaze. It was a conscious choice. He did not hurry. To avoid drawing attention, he was among the last to leave.
When the person who purchased the armor exited the building, Aurelius recognized him immediately.
The man's face was masked, but he was noticeably taller than the others. He wore a simple but expensive cloak. He was trying to appear unassuming, but the two guards by his side rendered the effort futile. Both were highly trained, their discipline evident in their posture. Their swords were exposed, with no attempt made to conceal them.
The armor was nowhere to be seen. It had likely been placed in a sealed transport chest or a personal storage artifact. It didn't matter which. What mattered was that its owner had been decided.
Aurelius began to follow them from a distance.
He kept the interval constant. Neither too close nor far enough to lose the trail. He vanished within the crowd and utilized the shadows in the narrow alleys. Such pursuits required patience. It wasn't speed that mattered, but persistence.
Before long, he realized he was not alone.
At first, he considered it a mere possibility. Then, he spotted a second movement. At a street corner, a pair of footsteps stopped in the same rhythm. Further ahead, a silhouette stood too precisely against the edge of the rooftops. These were no coincidences.
The price of the armor was not paid in gold alone.
The man who bought the armor was aware of this as well. His gait did not change, but one of his guards unconsciously turned his head several times. Eyes scanned the streets, checking reflections. No one was making an overt move yet. At this stage, identities had to remain hidden.
The owner of the armor suddenly turned into a dark alley.
Aurelius did not hesitate, but he did not increase his pace. This alley, veering off the main road, had been chosen deliberately. The stones were more uneven, the lamps sparser, and sounds echoed more clearly here. The guards changed formation. One moved to the front, the other stayed behind.
A few steps later, the alley suddenly widened. It opened into the courtyard of a ruined inn. It was open to the sky, but because the walls were high, the moonlight struggled to reach it. There were old water stains on the stone floor. It was suitable for an escape, but even more so for an ambush.
The man who bought the armor stopped.
This stance was not one of hesitation. It was calculated.
The guards immediately took their positions. The man in front shifted half a step to the side, while the one behind deliberately closed the distance. Their sword hilt grips were loose, but their hands were on the trigger. Aurelius remained in the shadows. The other pursuers had also ceased their movement. No one stepped forward.
The man slowly turned around.
His face was hidden behind a mask, but the way he tilted his head, directing his gaze precisely toward their hiding spot, clearly showed that he knew where they were. His voice came out calm. He neither shouted nor whispered.
"You know... the most expensive things usually gain their value not at the moment they are purchased, but when someone worthy of owning them emerges."
He paused for a moment, as if allowing his words to echo through the alley.
"I do not enjoy being followed," he continued. "But I have always enjoyed the fact that those who follow think themselves special."
One of the guards exhaled softly. One of the other pursuers shifted position involuntarily. Aurelius, however, did not flinch.
The man turned his head forward again.
"Come out," he said. "Or don't. The choice is yours. The result is always the same."
The silence in the alley grew heavy.
And now, everyone knew that no one was merely a spectator anymore.