"[20,400 Coins have been bet from the Participant Number 48!]"
"[Bet going once!]"
"[Bet going twice!]"
"[30,000 Coins have been bet from the Participant Number 12!]"
The bidding war ignited instantly. Every time I raised my paddle, the duo at table number 12 shot theirs up with a aggressive flick of the wrist. We traded blows in increments of thousands, the tension in the hall tightening as the price spiraled upward. I certainly wanted the Item, but watching the other party try so desperately to out-muscle me was becoming far more entertaining than the Item itself. I decided to let them have their victory as I wanted to see exactly who I was dealing with.
"[120,000 Coins have been confirmed from the Participant Number 12!]"
"[Bet going once!]"
"[Bet going twice!]"
"[Bet going thrice!]"
"[Congratulations! Item Number 405 sold to the Participant Number 12!]"
The Item in question was an A-Rank 'Pill of a Thousand Leg'. To most, it was just a high-tier constitution booster, but I knew its true value. There was only one of its kind in the entire tower at this stage, crafted by the legendary 'Divine Doctor' from the [Murim] Nebula in the Higher Floors. Whether the individual at table 12 knew that history seemed unlikely, nonetheless interesting.
"[Notice: The 'Man in the Plain White Mask' is glaring at you!]"
My [Eyes of Gluttony] didn't lie. The notification confirmed the hostile intent coming from the man holding paddle number 12.
As the auction reached its conclusion, Rick, the Lower-Floor Manager, reappeared on stage. He offered a few dry formalities before inviting us to enjoy the 'Ball'. Suddenly, the hall was transformed into a space of luxury, filled with expensive cuisines, flowing wine, and hauntingly beautiful music. It was the Tower's way of forcing the world's most dangerous people into a room to either form alliances or, in my case, identify an enemy.
Melchior was already deep into a glass of vintage wine, looking perfectly content, so I stepped forward as the duo from table 12 approached us.
"You seem to be a very wealthy Ranker, judging by that expensive attire and your habit of placing massive bets on such small Items," the man in the plain white mask said, extending a hand for a shake.
"Surely you jest," I replied, taking his hand. "You were the one who just dropped over a hundred thousand coins on a mere A-Rank Item."
I felt his grip tighten instantly, a physical challenge masked by a polite gesture. I didn't back down, meeting his strength with my own until the air between our palms practically hummed.
"Well, it was fun meeting you, Mister," the man said, pulling his hand away. "Just a small piece of advice: it would be wise to lay low, unless you want to be swallowed up by bigger wolves."
They turned to leave, their capes sweeping the floor. I let them take three steps before I spoke.
"Are you really going to walk away so easily just like that, Marcus Thorne? Don't the lives of your 'Reaper' Guild members mean anything to you?"
The man froze. His head snapped back, his gaze burning through the eye-holes of his mask.
"You... Arthur Tempest!!? You dare!!"
Blue sparks began to dance around Marcus's frame as his energy leaked out in a jagged, uncontrolled burst. Immediately, the air grew heavy as a penalty for violating the 'No Violence' restriction of the event. My [Eyes of Gluttony] had picked up the subtle hints of his energy signature earlier; despite the RMB records claiming the 'Reaper' Guild had no S-Ranks, the demon infestation had clearly rendered those official files useless.
The lady standing beside Marcus quickly placed a hand on his arm, her silent gesture a warning that this wasn't the place for a brawl. She was taller than him, wearing the same plain white mask that covered her entire face, unlike my mask which partially covered my face.
"I see the 'Reaper' Guild is nothing but a servant for the stinking Demons," I taunted, my voice carrying just enough to reach them.
This time, it was the lady who reacted. Even though the mask hid her features, a chill ran down my spine. I could almost feel her lips curling into a creepy, macabre smile.