The tension in the Grand Auction House was electric the moment the sealed box was placed on the stage.
The auctioneer's voice rang out clearly across the silent hall.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the final item of the evening — the Sealed Box of Unknown Origin. No one has ever opened it. Scholars have studied it for decades. Some say it contains a power that could change the world. Others believe it is cursed. Starting bid: 15,000 gold coins."
A heavy silence fell. Then the bidding erupted.
"16,000!" a wealthy merchant in the middle rows shouted.
"17,000!" countered a noblewoman in a lavish gown.
"18,000!" came from the back.
Draven sat perfectly still in the VIP section, his expression calm. Inside, his mind was racing. This was the same box Brase had lost — the one the bandits had died protecting. Whatever was inside it was important enough for someone to kill for it.
He waited for the right moment.
The price climbed quickly.
"22,000!"
"25,000!"
"28,000!"
When it reached 32,000 gold coins, Draven raised his hand for the first time.
"35,000," he said, his voice steady and clear.
The hall turned toward him. A few gasps echoed. The rival bidders hesitated.
"36,000!" the noblewoman tried again.
Draven didn't blink. "40,000."
Another bidder jumped in: "42,000!"
Draven raised his paddle once more. "50,000 gold coins."
The hall fell quiet. No one countered immediately. The auctioneer looked surprised.
"50,000 once… 50,000 twice…"
A final desperate bid came from the back: "52,000!"
Draven didn't hesitate. "60,000 gold coins."
The gavel came down with a loud crack.
"Sold! To the gentleman in the front VIP row for 60,000 gold coins!"
Applause and murmurs filled the hall. Draven had just paid an enormous sum, but he didn't care. The box was his.
Assistants carefully carried the heavy iron box down from the stage toward the VIP area. Two guards flanked it. Draven stood to receive it, Thorne and Sylara moving protectively beside him.
But the moment the box was placed on the small table in front of Draven, chaos erupted.
A loud crash came from the left side of the hall. Smoke bombs exploded near the side corridor, filling the area with thick grey smoke. Shouts and screams filled the air as guests panicked.
From within the smoke, three masked figures in dark cloaks burst forward. One of them — fast and agile — snatched the box from the table before anyone could react.
"Stop them!" Draven shouted.
The thief didn't speak. Instead, a cold, distorted voice echoed in the air around the thief — clearly not his own, but a command from someone far away.
"Take the box. Do not let them follow. Use the tunnel. Now."
The thief nodded once and sprinted toward the left corridor — the same corridor Draven had investigated earlier.
Draven didn't waste a second. "After them!"
The group exploded into motion.
Thorne barreled through the panicking crowd like a bull, clearing a path. Elowen raised her staff, sending a wave of silver light that parted the smoke. Sylara already had an arrow nocked and loosed it at the fleeing thief's leg. The arrow struck true, but the thief barely slowed — a dark shield flared around him for a split second, absorbing the impact.
They burst into the left corridor. The iron grate that Draven had sealed earlier was already pried open. The thief was descending the stairs into the underground tunnel.
Draven jumped down first, Soulreaver drawn. The tunnel was narrow and dimly lit by flickering torches. The thief was already twenty metres ahead, running at full speed, the heavy box clutched under one arm.
"Give it back!" Draven shouted, voice echoing off the stone walls.
The distorted voice spoke again through the thief:
"Faster. They are close. The master wants the box intact."
The chase was on.
The tunnel twisted and turned, branching into multiple paths. The thief seemed to know the route perfectly. Draven and his team stayed close, but the thief was fast and slippery.
Sylara fired another arrow. It grazed the thief's shoulder, drawing blood. The thief stumbled but kept running.
Thorne roared and hurled his dagger. It embedded in the thief's cloak, pinning it momentarily to the wall. The thief ripped free and kept going.
Elowen chanted rapidly, sending silver chains snaking along the floor. They wrapped around the thief's ankle for a second — just long enough for Draven to close the gap.
Draven lunged, Soulreaver flashing. He didn't aim to kill — he wanted the box intact. The blade sliced across the thief's arm. The man cried out in pain, but the distorted voice urged him on:
"Do not stop. The master commands it."
They ran deeper. The tunnel grew darker, the air damper. Side passages appeared, some leading to storage rooms filled with crates. The thief ducked into one, trying to lose them.
Draven didn't hesitate. He followed.
Inside the small chamber, the thief had already climbed a ladder leading to another level. Draven grabbed the bottom rung and pulled himself up, the others right behind.
The chase continued for nearly twenty minutes — through twisting tunnels, up hidden stairs, past old storage rooms filled with forgotten auction goods. The thief was clearly following a pre-planned escape route.
Finally, the tunnel opened into a larger underground cavern.
At the far end stood a hooded figure waiting — the mastermind.
The thief reached him and handed over the box, breathing hard.
The hooded man turned slowly toward Draven and his group as they burst into the cavern.
The chapter ends here — on the moment Draven and his team reach the underground chamber and come face to face with the hooded mastermind holding the stolen box.
To be continued…