Baston swallowed hard when Panto finished speaking.
For a moment, the laughter and chatter inside Rembrant's store felt distant.
The fake event of purchase from the beginning echoed louder than the clinking of coins.
He had never instructed the puppet to do anything beyond buying the magic water in bulk.
The quest had arrived at the last moment so he had simply executed it. After all, this was the only way he could think in one day since the quest had time limit.
And yet in the eyes of the city, the first and second buyer were now a mastermind in this grand picture. Albeit it was unintentional, the effect was quite effective.
Somehow, it made few people to think there was hidden transaction in such case.
"The rumor is spreading fast," Panto added in a low voice, "Some say he manipulated supply from the start, some say he colluded with the store, and some say he's connected to underground dealers."
Baston forced himself to breathe evenly.
A slander built from coincidence and a lie born from ignorance. But lies, when repeated enough, became truth. He could not deny it publicly.
If he defended the unknown buyer too passionately, suspicion might shift. And if anyone traced that buyer to his puppet before pointing to him.
The thought made his spine stiffen.
The magic water was now scarce across the merchant district. Bottles that had once gathered dust on shelves were suddenly coveted.
Some hoarded it for personal use while others whispered about selling it through hidden channels which could be deemed as black market.
The phrase alone conjured images of dark alleys and knives glinting beneath cloaks.
Baston had intended to profit cleanly through the quest's mechanism. He had not planned to step into criminal networks. He had not planned for the city to imagine him as a villain.
After all, everything was a coincidence and misunderstanding.
While he intended to sell the magic water he had bought before, it seemed the situation forbade him.
Somehow, it became trash for him since he didn't have any need for such goods.
*****
Back at the inn, after Panto insisted on treating him to an overly generous lunch, Baston locked himself inside his room.
On the table, lay the old book. It remained silent. There was no new quest again after the last.
Baston sat at the edge of the bed, fingers brushing the old book without opening it. It had been silent for days. That silence bothered him more since he felt he finally found a pattern.
Previously, the old book issued a new quest whenever a new stage was set. There would be a challenge, a temptation, and a social battlefield. Yet today, as wealth and influence gathered in one place, it remained still.
Was it observing or was it waiting for another circumstance?
He stood and walked to the window. Outside, the city lights flickered like scattered embers.
Somewhere out there, people whispered about a faceless manipulator who cornered the magic water market.
If they only knew how accidental it truly was. But accidents, when profitable, were never believed to be accidents. He adjusted his cuff slowly.
If tonight became another stage, then he needed to perform without being asked.
He stared at his reflection in the mirror.
Rembrant had already delivered formal attire for the upcoming event. A tailored dark coat, crisp collar, and polished boots. The cut sharpened his silhouette.
Under magic lamp, he almost resembled a young noble. Appearance was power and tonight, power would gather.
"Alright…" Baston murmured, straightening the collar, "Let's see what kind of stage this auction truly is."
*****
Night descended with deliberate elegance.
The auction venue stood near the heart of the city, larger than Rembrant's entire establishment combined.
Lanterns illuminated the façade and carriages lined the streets in a slow procession.
The traffic was heavy enough that city guards had to intervene, redirecting wheels and reins to prevent congestion.
Inside their rented carriage, Rembrant adjusted his cuffs calmly.
Panto peeked through the curtains. Baston did the same and blinked.
The main pathway toward the entrance was crowded with women of all ages. There were young, middle-aged, and even elderly. They stood in clusters, whispering, adjusting dresses, and glancing at each arriving carriage.
"Why are there so many women?" Baston muttered.
Panto didn't even look surprised.
"Opportunity…" he said flatly, "Some want husbands, some want patrons, and some want employment. After all, wealth gathers here. With such temptation, they gather too."
As their carriage rolled forward, Baston also noticed something else beyond the crowd of women.
There were other carriages. Not the ornate noble ones and not the decorated merchant transports. These were plain plus unmarked. It was parked slightly farther from the entrance.
Men stood nearby with their arms folded.
Their faces were hidden beneath shadowed hats.
They were not here to enter the auction. They were here to watch who did. The realization sent a subtle chill through him. Money did not move in isolation.
Where wealth gathered, unseen interests gathered too. Gold attracted wolves but these wolves did not always bare fangs.
When their carriage halted, the murmuring intensified. The door opened and cold night air brushed Baston's face.
Then, he heard magnificent screams.
"Look at that gentleman!"
"That one in the dark coat… He is so refined!"
"The merchant heir is handsome!"
Baston nearly stumbled.
He pondered what was on him that looked refined?
He kept his gaze forward, resisting the urge to shrink.
Beside him, Rembrant offered polite nods and Panto waved casually.
The shouting blurred into meaningless flattery. It was not admiration. It was assessment and calculation.
Who was rich?
Who was rising?
Who could be attached to?
Baston quickened his steps until the venue doors closed behind them.
Only then did the noise dull. Inside, the lobby glittered with crystal chandeliers hung from a ceiling painted with mythic beasts and marble fountain shimmered under soft enchantments.
Servants circulated with silver trays of wine and delicacies while magic hummed faintly beneath the floor.
The surrounding wall was full of protection arrays and sound dampening spells, even it applied toward partition charms for privacy.
Wealth did not merely display itself. It fortified itself in this place.
While Baston examined the glowing sigils along the walls, he noticed something peculiar.
Some of the enchantment patterns were layered.
It was not only merely defensive. It was also restrictive. He recognized the structure faintly from academy lectures about mana suppression matrices.
Weak ones, subtle enough not to disturb ordinary guests, but effective in preventing large-scale spell casting. In summary, the venue anticipated the possibility of violence or theft. It could be also for both situation.
He glanced toward the fountain. The water shimmered gently under magical influence, reflecting the chandelier light like liquid glass.
For a place built on wealth, the security felt almost paranoid which meant the items tonight were more than decorative trophies.
While he could only look around, Rembrant was soon absorbed into conversation with fellow merchants.
"Ah, Rembrant! Still surviving another year?"
"Barely," Rembrant chuckled, "Unlike you."
Business was full of smiles and measured laughter despite hidden with veiled probing.
Panto leaned closer to Baston, "Let's walk around first."
They moved toward the periphery, sampling food and drink. Baston observed quietly. The attendees' clothing varied but even the simplest fabric carried quality.
Here, poverty could not step beyond the door.
"Panto…"
A group approached, consisted of boys and girls with roughly the same age as them. Clearly, everyone here was merchant heirs.
They were colleagues in the open and competitors in the darkness. All wearing pleasant expressions.
"Thought you were still at the academy," one boy said.
"Just returned," Panto replied smoothly, "I'm showing my friend around at the moment."
Eyes shifted to Baston.
"I heard about the ice bead," a girl said lightly, "Quite fortunate timing."
There was subtle edge beneath her smile. Panto's grin tightened.
"Timing is everything," he answered, "My father worries about transport security more than sales."
Baston watched the exchange. Behind polite words, there was hidden contest.
They were not interested in friendship.
They were interested in him.
One of the boys extended his hand.
"If you ever have goods to sell again, consider our family."
Baston shook it, "I will consider."
The handshake was neutral with no commitment. Still, the message had already spread. The ice bead's supplier was here.
He was alive, young, and accessible currently.
After the polite handshakes ended, one of the merchant boys lingered half a step longer.
"You're fortunate," the boy said lightly, "Opportunities like this don't come often."
Baston tilted his head, "Opportunities?"
"To be noticed on the surrounding people..."
The boy's smile remained pleasant but his eyes did not.
"Attention…" he continued, "Is quite expensive here."
Then, he stepped away, leaving Baston questioned himself the meaning behind those words.
Panto's expression darkened slightly.
"They're already calculating your future value," he muttered, "Partnership, acquisition, marriage alliance, or sponsorship. You've entered the board without realizing it."
Baston gave a faint hum.
He had already entered the board the moment the ice bead appeared. He felt eyes lingered toward him even after the group dispersed.
Predators did not always wait outside the gates.
Sometimes, they wore silk.
*****
The auction hall itself was grander still.
Rows of tiered seating curved toward a central stage, decorative sigils glowed faintly along the walls, and private compartments lined the upper levels.
Rembrant had secured business-class seats.
It was comfortable and respectable even though it was not dominant.
Above, behind latticed partitions, VIP rooms overlooked the stage.
From there, true power watched the unseen. Inside one such compartment, several noblewomen conversed quietly.
"The ice bead will appear tonight," one said.
"Funds have been already prepared," another replied, tapping a sleek enchanted card, "No merchant can outbid us."
"Do not underestimate other families," a third cautioned, "The past news surely would attract competition."
They nodded. The ice bead was not merely decorative. It was leverage regarding control over rare elemental resonance. For them, it meant political gifting potential and symbolic dominance. Then, the leader asked quietly.
"Have we confirmed the supplier?"
"Yes... It's a boy named Baston. Currently, he attends Prius Academy. The ice bead though was reportedly a gift from Zeverius Academy."
Silence fell, wondering whether the boy knew the scarcity of such precious item. With the so-called gift, he could advance further in his magic power.
"He dares to sell a gift?" the leader murmured.
A sudden interest soon appeared.
Unexpectedly, there was a student who dared convert institutional favor into liquid wealth.
Either he was foolish or he was calculating through something.
One of the noblewomen leaned closer to the partition screen, her voice dropping, "Zeverius Academy should not give gifts without purpose."
Another nodded, "If the bead was recognition, then selling it signals independence or perhaps, defiance."
The leader's gaze sharpened, "It could be also a test."
The room fell quiet again.
Everyone wondered the true reason why Baston dared to sell the gift blatantly despite the kindness given to him from Zeverius Academy.
"Monitor him beyond tonight," she said, "A student who values liquidity over favor might either be ambitious or reckless."
"What if he is ambitious?"
"Then he will be useful."
*****
Below, unaware of the conversation but not of the scrutiny, Baston sat still.
The old book rested hidden within his inner coat. It felt heavier tonight. He did not know why.
The hall gradually filled and murmurs blended into a controlled hum.
The stage lights soon brightened and the auctioneer stepped forward.
In this so-called auction, a battlefield would soon occur.
Each bidding was going to determine whether they would become the winner or loser tonight.
A servant walked along the aisle, placing small crystal plates on the edge of each row.
When activated, they would glow faintly to signal an official bid. No shouting was required here.
Wealth did not need to raise its voice.
Baston observed how some guests adjusted their gloves before touching those crystals as if preparing for combat.
Rings embedded with family crests flashed under the chandelier light.
A few assistants leaned close to whisper last-minute instructions to their masters.
Numbers were being calculated silently even before the first item was introduced.
From the upper level, one of the latticed partitions shifted slightly. A thin sliver of light escaped before being closed again.
Someone inside had changed position, perhaps leaning forward.
The air grew dense. Even casual conversations faded into low murmurs. Chairs creaked softly as bodies straightened.
The earlier social warmth had evaporated, replaced by sharp anticipation.
This was no longer about networking or appearances. This was about dominance.
The auctioneer's gaze swept across the hall once more.
His smile returned, slower this time with measured confident.
And in that suspended moment before he formally greeted everyone, the entire venue felt like a drawn bowstring waiting to be released.