Pov: Vik
The clamor from the plaza swelled as the main auction gates ground open, letting a dense tide of buyers, retainers, and curious onlookers spill into the wide cobblestone amphitheater.
From our second-floor vantage point in the tea house, the scene unfolded with the mechanical precision of an execution disguised as a festival. The central auction dais sat directly beneath the upper terrace where Ruby and Governor Vance stood, bathed in the sharp midday sun. Surrounding the perimeter were three dozen armored guards belonging to the Vance family's private security corps, their spell-rifles slung across their chests, cold steel bayonets catching the light.
"Lina," I said softly, not taking my eyes off the platform. "Where is the auctioneer's catalog routing from?"
"The central ledger is linked to the municipal treasury array," Lina replied, her lips barely parting as she stared into the bottom of her ceramic cup. Beneath the rim of the table, her fingernails tapped against a small brass plate concealed in her sleeve. "Every lot requires dual authorization—one from Governor Vance's administrative seal, and one from the presiding martial authority. In this case, Ruby's Heavenly Sword Pavilion token."
"And the black jade dragon tablet?"
"Lot Nine," Noah answered from under his hood. His voice was so low and steady it seemed to blend into the hum of the tea house.
"They placed it near the end of the roster to draw out maximum bidding pressure from the merchant houses before Ruby officially 'purchases' it at the reserve price to claim legitimate ownership."
I nodded slowly, adjusting my gold-rimmed spectacles. "A classic public laundering scheme. The city confiscates the asset on trumped-up charges, puts it on auction to maintain the illusion of judicial legality, and the chosen recipient buys it for pennies while the onlookers applaud."
Lu Xiaoran shifted slightly in his chair, leaning toward me with a quiet frown. "Master, if she absorbs the ancestral essence in that tablet, her system forces her into the 6th circle. Can we swap the tablet before it reaches the stage?"
"Swap it with what?" I asked with a faint, dry smirk. "A potato carved into the shape of a coiled dragon?"
Xiaoran scratched his cheek, looking mildly embarrassed. "Well... maybe something that looks like jade?"
"If a transmigrator's system could be fooled by painted rock, she wouldn't have survived long enough to reach the 5th circle," I said, shaking my head. "The moment her ring's appraisal scan touches a fake, the item's metadata will read 'common mineral.' Her alarms would trigger, the auction would halt, and the plaza would be sealed under emergency military law."
Pushpa stretched her neck, letting out a soft, silent puff of warm air against my ear as her eyes tracked a pair of heavily armed guards hauling a massive, iron-bound chest onto the wooden stage.
"We don't swap the object, Xiaoran," I explained, resting both forearms on the wooden table. "We let her have the authentic tablet. We let her ring begin the extraction process."
Noah turned his head slightly, his crimson eyes gleaming under the shadows of his hood. "Master... if she extracts the ancestral bloodline, the protective array of the tombs will permanently recognize her as the clan head."
"Only if what she extracts is your ancestral bloodline," I corrected mildly.
I raised my right hand, turning my palm upward. Beneath the loose white linen of my sleeve, a single microscopic thread of pale-green Prana formed, so faint and delicate that not even the spiritual compasses of the guards forty paces away could pick up its vibration.
"Your Bloodborn clan's ancient technique operates on vitality, iron, and lineage resonance," I said, feeling the rhythmic flow of Noah's newly forged Nirvana core. "Her ring is an Outer Void Parasitic Core. It doesn't cultivate; it digests. It breaks down foreign spiritual patterns and forces them into pure, raw mana that its host can consume without burning out their meridians."
My yellow pupils narrowed behind the glass lenses.
"What happens when an engine designed to burn wood is suddenly injected with high-octane liquid fuel?"
Lina's eyes lit up behind her wire-rimmed glasses. "The pressure chamber ruptures."
"Exactly," I said, a slow, predatory grin curling the corners of my lips. "Her system can digest bloodline Qi. It has protocols for Western mana, Northern elemental cores, and Central Plains martial spirit. But Prana is the primordial blueprint of life itself. It does not yield to synthetic digestion. It adapts, it expands, and it claims ownership over whatever vessel tries to contain it."
I looked at Noah.
"When that tablet is brought out, Noah, you will not touch it. You will not circulate your Qi. You will merely breathe in sync with my pulse. I will use the remaining trace of your old bloodline lingering inside the jade to bridge my Prana directly into the tablet's core. When Ruby's ring attempts to devour it..."
"It will swallow an unrefined drop of Master's Prana," Noah whispered, a cold, ruthless understanding dawning on his face.
"And once that Prana enters her internal circulation," I added, closing my hand and letting the green thread vanish, "it will not listen to her system. It will listen to me."
Down on the plaza, a loud wooden gavel cracked against the podium.
THWACK.
The auctioneer, an elderly man with slick grey hair and a high-collared blue vest, raised his hands to quiet the murmuring crowd.
"Honored guests! Citizens of the Western Continent!" the auctioneer projected, his voice amplified by an enchanted brass horn. "By order of the City Governor and under the benevolent protection of the Heavenly Sword Pavilion, we commence the auction of the forfeited assets of the former Bloodborn estate! Let Lot One be brought forward!"
The crowd surged forward, shouting opening bids as minor heirlooms, carriage deeds, and outer estate lands were traded like common wheat.
Up on the high terrace, Ruby leaned back against a cushioned divan, swirling a glass of sparkling pale wine. Her expression remained completely detached, radiating the cool, effortless superiority of a player watching minor cutscenes skip across her screen. Every now and then, her fingers would brush against the obsidian ring, her lips moving silently as if reviewing a floating text box only she could see.
At our corner table, Roman quietly adjusted the coarse burlap covering his Ivory Cleaver, keeping his heavy frame relaxed. Xiaoran took a steadying sip of water, his restless fidgeting replaced by the absolute discipline I had drilled into him during our long trek across the sea.
Time slipped past in forty-minute intervals as the lots moved from real estate deeds to weapon caches.
Finally, as the afternoon sun reached its zenith, casting sharp, vertical shadows across the white cobblestones, two armored knights carried a velvet-covered pedestal to the center of the dais.
The auctioneer cleared his throat, his tone shifting into something reverent and rehearsed.
"And now, esteemed patrons... we arrive at Lot Nine."
The velvet cloth was pulled away.
Resting on a carved pedestal of black marble was a heavy, square tablet of deep obsidian-green jade. Carved across its surface was a coiled, four-clawed dragon with open jaws, its hollow eyes embedded with two dark-red bloodstones. Even through the suppression runes etched into the display glass, a faint, ancient hum of ancestral power pulsed through the air, sending a quiet chill across the front rows of the audience.
On the upper balcony, Ruby set her wine glass down.
For the first time all afternoon, her posture shifted. Her casual arrogance hardened into sharp, greedy intent as her gaze locked directly onto the tablet. Beneath the sleeve of her sky-blue robe, the black obsidian ring on her finger began to emit a microscopic, violent distortion, ready to feed.
"She's taking the bait," I murmured, placing my hand flat against the wooden tabletop.
Pushpa opened both golden eyes, digging her tiny claws into the cloth of my shoulder as the thread began to weave.