The magic lamps dimmed one by one until only the stage remained bathed in warm golden light.
For a heartbeat, the entire hall seemed to inhale.
"Welcome, honored guests," the auctioneer said, his voice smooth as polished marble, "Tonight, fortune chooses the bold. I am merely the guide but I will lead this bidding auction to my best."
He bowed with theatrical grace.
Around the circular hall, silk sleeves shifted with glinted rings plus perfumed air clung heavily to velvet curtains and carved pillars.
Conversations dissolved into a soft murmur.
Every pair of eyes moved toward the stage where opportunity was about to be dressed in velvet and sold to the highest bidder.
Baston leaned back in his chair beside Panto and Rembrant. He appeared relaxed and almost indifferent but his gaze was sharp.
Auctions were not about items.
They were about desire and desire was easiest to manipulate when wrapped in mystery.
Tonight, the mystery had been prepared in advance.
Baston could feel it in the lighting alone. The way the outer lamps dimmed first while the stage remained illuminated was not merely for dramatic effect. It created isolation.
Anything placed under that light would appear elevated, singular, and important. It made the audience forget the room and focus on the object.
The auctioneer was not selling goods.
He was selling attention. And attention, once captured, could be converted into competition.
Baston briefly glanced at the nobles seated along the upper balcony. Unlike the merchants below who leaned forward openly, the nobles sat comfortably reclined.
They did not chase. They waited patiently. That difference alone explained the hierarchy of the room.
The first item soon arrived beneath a glass case carried by two attendants whose synchronized steps felt rehearsed.
"The first item… The Necklace of Magnolia," the auctioneer announced, "An heirloom once worn by Her Majesty during the Winter Coronation."
The ruby centerpiece shimmered blood-red beneath the chandelier light. Sapphire petals framed it like frozen tears. A quiet ripple passed through the female guests.
Baston narrowed his eyes.
There was no proof offered, no certificate provided, and no witness spoken.
It was only a story but stories were stronger than proof in a room like this. Claiming it as happened to be used by Her Majesty was already enough to evoke the desire of many women here.
Baston did not know the worth but clearly, someone else knew.
[6000…]
The first bid came swiftly. It started the war and anyone could join the battle.
[6500…]
[7000…]
The numbers climbed but the tension was shallow. It was a duel of pride rather than necessity.
A middle-aged noblewoman finally secured the necklace. Her smile was slow and deliberate.
She turned her chin slightly so the defeated women could see the triumph in her eyes.
Baston looked away.
The first item was surface-level warfare. The real battle would begin later.
The auctioneer understood pacing. After two minor antiques and a decorative sword that triggered mild interest among minor nobles, he shifted his tone.
"The next item…" he said, voice lowered just enough to create gravity, "Is not jewel… Nor gem… Nor relic."
A murmur rippled before the auctioneer told the truth, "It is an opportunity…"
The attendants brought forth a small velvet box.
When the lid opened, a silver emblem rested within. It was a crest engraved with a sigil of a rising falcon intertwined with laurel.
The atmosphere in the room changed.
Several merchants straightened their body, signifying that this one item wasn't a simple one.
Even those pretending disinterest could not hide the subtle tightening of their expressions.
"This emblem…" the auctioneer continued, "Grants its bearer access to the Winter Banquet at the certain residence of noble house."
He paused, "You all know what that means."
Baston noticed something interesting.
The nobles upstairs did not react. They watched and measured the surrounding as if observing the livestock compete. Their stillness was more telling than excitement.
One noble lifted a glass of deep crimson wine, swirling it slowly without taking his eyes off the merchants below.
Another rested his chin on gloved fingers, gaze half-lidded as if mildly entertained.
They were not participants. They were judges.
The emblem was opportunity for the merchants but for the nobles, it was a bait.
A controlled access point and a yearly test of who could afford proximity.
Baston understood something in that moment.
The emblem did not grant entry to power. It revealed who was desperate enough to pay for it.
Panto leaned closer, "That banquet happens once a year. Invitations were limited and many merchants who could attend usually strike a jackpot. Sometimes, they could secure trade contracts for the entire year. Sometimes… "
"Sometimes what?" Baston asked quietly.
Panto swallowed, "Sometimes, they left bankrupt."
Baston smiled faintly. Opportunity was truly expensive but proximity to power was priceless. All in all, it depended on their own impression.
"The bidding begins at ten thousand pounds…"
The response was explosive, almost in instant.
[12,000…]
[15,000…]
[20,000…]
The increments were aggressive.
Merchants who normally calculated every coin now threw money like gamblers who had already convinced themselves that they would win.
Despite the lack of shouting, the atmosphere around the room was very critical.
Rembrant soon also joined the bidding.
The mark of his numbers was steady but Baston saw the tension in his fingers. The price soared past one hundred thousand quickly. Sweat began to form along temples.
At one time, Rembrant made his final stand.
[143,000…]
There was a silence. Such numbers could hardly be rivaled by any ordinary merchant.
Only a handful one who dared to compete with this high bidding.
Then, a sudden mark from magic crystal broke the silence.
[150,000…]
An older merchant across the hall sent his bidding without hesitation.
Rembrant exhaled slowly. He could only withdraw.
The final hammer then fell at those numbers.
Applause followed but beneath it, Baston sensed something else.
There was a resentment, fear, and hope. Just for a mere few seconds, the winner and the loser could already be decided. All three emotions felt identical in this room.
Victory and humiliation differed only by a single number on the crystal board.
The merchant who won the emblem tried to appear composed but his hands trembled slightly as he accepted the confirmation token.
Sweat lingered along his hairline.
He had not merely purchased access. He had wagered his future and everyone knew it.
The nobles upstairs did not applaud. They observed him carefully as if memorizing his face. As attendants removed the emblem, the auctioneer allowed the air to settle before smiling again.
"And now… Our final item…"
The tone shifted. It was not louder. It was softer and more intimate. Even the chandeliers dimmed slightly, likely following the announce of the auctioneer.
Baston's pulse steadied. He knew what the last item meant since it came from him. It belonged to him at the beginning.
More precisely, it belonged to Zeverius Academy before it was handed as a gift.
The ice bead was carried forward within a new presentation case.
The pattern of dark velvet and silver trim inside a glass dome caught the light perfectly.
It did not look like the bead he had handed over earlier. It looked legendary.
The transformation unsettled Baston.
When he had first held the bead, it had felt simple. It was compact, condensed, and cold.
Now, under curated lighting and velvet framing, it appeared ancient, powerful, and almost sentient. It was a reminder that perception could amplify value more effectively than truth.
The frost patterns inside the dome were subtle but deliberate.
Baston suspected the auction house had infused the case with a minor illusion array.
Nothing strong enough to fabricate power but enough to accentuate presence.
It was a dangerous technique because once people believed an artifact was extraordinary, they would convince themselves it was special even if it did not.
Faint mist curled inside the glass. Frost traced delicate patterns along the inner surface as if winter itself were breathing. Whispers soon erupted.
"That's genuine elemental condensation…"
"It feels cold even from here…"
"An ice artifact?"
The auctioneer did not rush. He let everyone admired the ice bead.
Some people might know how precious it was while others still contemplated how to use it.
"This…" he said gently, "Is an Ice Bead… It's rumored to contain condensed elemental affinity."
He let the words sink, "Records suggest that prolonged exposure enhances one's sensitivity to the ice element."
The words of suggest, rumored, and enhances seemed to tickle the people's curiosity.
Even though it didn't guarantee, the carefully crafted ambiguity seemingly increased the successful chance.
Baston admired the man. He never lied directly. He only implied the possibility.
"The starting bid is fifty thousand pounds…"
It was silence. Then, the first bidding soon happened.
[150,000…]
It was a marked price from above. The jump was not merely bold. It was territorial.
The sound of the number appearing on the crystal board echoed sharper than usual as though the mana inscription itself carried intention.
Several merchants instinctively leaned back.
No one below would escalate that violently unless driven by impulse. But this number, it was surely calculated.
Baston shifted slightly in his seat.
The first bidder did not hesitate which meant the person had entered the hall already intending to acquire the bead.
Such increase was very sharp, clear, and unapologetic to others.
The entire hall turned toward the upper balconies which was the VIP section.
The private booths were shielded by sheer curtains, only showing visible silhouettes.
"Who is that?" Panto whispered.
Rembrant shook his head slightly.
The auctioneer did not falter, announcing the number with great expression.
His happy smile was controlled though it appeared he was quite elated at the moment.
"150,000 pounds… Do anyone want to bid higher?"
[160,000…]
Another bidding suddenly came up from another VIP booth. The first one who had bidden first was deeply amused.
[300,000…]
It soon followed with the price, doubling it to the point that people looked unbelievable.
There were audible gasps, followed by murmurs. Baston's eyes narrowed.
This was not natural escalation. This was personal issue.
The laughter that followed confirmed it.
The robust male voice did not sound surprised. He sounded entertained as if he had expected the opponent to act exactly this way. Such scene meant the rivalry did not begin tonight. It had history.
Perhaps, not over this artifact but over something similar.
Both of them surely had the same influence, prestige, and dominance in the same social circle.
A robust male voice chuckled, "Someone seems eager tonight."
"Some items deserve decisiveness," the woman replied coolly.
There was a pause before the bidding continued. The man seemingly contemplated something before a number was forwarded to the board.
[310,000…]
[400,000…]
The speed of her counter was immediate. The hall had fallen into absolute silence. Even those who had initially intended to bid withdrew entirely.
No one below could compete with such reckless increments. But still, Baston's attention shifted.
He wasn't watching the numbers. He was watching reactions.
Two nobles seated on the upper floor exchanged glances.
One of them whispered to an attendant who quietly exited the hall. It was an interesting move.
Why summon someone during an escalating VIP dispute?
"410,000…" the male voice continued to be playful.
A faint laugh followed, "Are you certain you wish to proceed?"
The man did not answer, leaving the woman alone in the conversation. Even though so, she never gave up.
The bidding which only needed a mark to spread number through magic crystal turned into something direct. It seemed like such operation couldn't be used anymore.
They rather spoke with their tongue, giving pressure to the opponent.
"500,000..."
The woman's voice sharpened. The temperature in the hall seemed to drop.
Perhaps, it was just an imagination but Baston felt something else. It was mana, stirring faintly in the surrounding.
The flow was subtle like frost creeping beneath a door.
The bead's mist inside the glass thickened for half a second before stabilized.
That reaction was not decorative. It had rhythm. Baston was certain of it. The condensation tightened inward, then expanded, as though responding to pressure.
He had handled the bead long enough to know it did not fluctuate without cause which meant the mana stirring in the room was not imagination.
It was stimulus and the bead had responded. Not as decoration and not as illusion since it had acknowledged something.
Baston forced his breathing to remain steady.
The frost inside the dome did not expand wildly. It adjusted and condensed before it was settled as if listening to someone's plea. That was new.
When he had handled it before, the bead had been cold but quiet. Now, under the pressure of refined ice mana, it reacted with intent.
The robust man laughed openly though there was less amusement in it than before, "Five hundred thousand… Remarkable… I wonder if your resolve matches your pride."
"You are free to test it."
Her reply was calm, too calm to ignore. The exchange no longer sounded like rivalry for entertainment. It felt measured and controlled as if each word carried weight beyond the hall.
They were not just competing. They were observing, testing the limit of each other.
The tension between the two nobles was unmistakable.
There was history there.
It should be rivalry for sure but there was also calculation. Neither sounded reckless and neither sounded emotional. They sounded as though they were confirming something.
Baston's thoughts aligned sharply.
Two nobles were clashing publicly over an ice artifact yet neither seemed concerned about the price which meant the bead was not merely being important anymore.
It was being evaluated, taking a measure over what would happen next.
And for the first time that night, Baston felt a chill that had nothing to do with ice.