The fourth obsidian pillar did not merely rise; it was violently propelled onto the stage as a localized gale erupted from the subterranean track. The moment the containment unit locked into place, the heavy crimson light of the previous blood spatha was instantly torn to shreds by a swirling vortex of hyper-pressurized air.
Even inside the multi-layered runic force field, the Boreas Tempest Saber was screaming.
The blade was entirely translucent, forged from pre-fracture azure timber and sky-severing alloys that actively compressed the surrounding atmosphere. The air pressure inside the Grand Obsidian Theater plummeted so rapidly that thousands of spectators popped their ears in unison. A howling, low-frequency hum vibrated through the stone floors, simulating a catastrophic high-altitude jet stream within the closed auditorium.
Inside the floating Imperial Box, Isolde Aurelian's silver-white hair gently whipped around her face as her 95% Tempest Law mastery instinctively resonated with the weapon. A faint, rare smile touched her regal lips. She could feel the absolute purity of the wind matrix bound within the metal—a flawless, frictionless conduit that didn't just channel wind mana, but actively commanded atmospheric shear.
"An absolute masterpiece," Isolde murmured, her ice-blue eyes tracking the translucent blade. "The sky-aligned houses below will tear themselves apart for this."
The elegant auctioneer in the blood-red gown had to anchor her feet to the runic podium just to maintain her poise against the leaking kinetic pressure. Her immaculate white back strained as she raised her gavel, her voice carrying a sharp, electrifying edge.
"Lot 97, the Boreas Tempest Saber," she proclaimed. "The house projected a historical sales threshold of 1.9 million high-quality stones for this primordial relic. We open the floor at a baseline of 1,500,000 high-quality mana stones."
The appraiser's original projection was instantly rendered irrelevant. The sky-aligned noble houses, the grand maritime duchies, and the high-altitude border guilds recognized this saber as a multi-generational deterrent. The bidding intensity didn't just accelerate—it doubled its entire projected value in a matter of moves.
"2,000,000!" the Patriarch of the Storm-Rider Clan roared, bypassing standard increments entirely. "2,500,000!" countered the Arch-Duchess of the Azure Peak.
The theater descended into absolute economic madness. Factions weren't just bidding their liquid reserves anymore; they were frantically inputting collateral—deeds to high-tier wind dungeons, sovereignty rights over eastern trade routes, and emergency mountain-vault reserves.
"3,600,000!" the Storm-Rider Patriarch screamed, his face turning an unseemly shade of purple as he leaned entirely over his velvet balcony, his core erupting with erratic wind currents.
"3,820,000 high-quality mana stones," the automated imperial announcer interjected, registering a massive, crushing bid from the reclusive Sect Master of the Heavenly Gale.
The entire amphitheater went dead silent. The price had officially doubled the house's absolute highest projection, crossing into a financial territory that threatened to bankrupt an entire provincial territory.
The Storm-Rider Patriarch collapsed back into his seat, his breath ragged, his financial spirit completely broken. He had nothing left to leverage.
The auctioneer scanned the paralyzed, breathless arena, a look of profound, soaring triumph dancing in her eyes as she brought the heavy brass gavel down with a decisive crack.
"3,820,000 high-quality stones! Sold, to the Heavenly Gale Sect!"
Inside the Imperial Box, Markus calmly watched the gold-rimmed terminal tally the staggering numbers. The total credit line extended by the Grand Regent was now overflowing into numbers that defied conventional market logic.
He leaned back, his silver-blue eyes reflecting the dimming stadium lights as the security guards prepared to wheel out the final, absolute apex of the evening—the lightning halberd. The high nobles had officially spent every scrap of their generational wealth, yet the true calamity of the show hadn't even opened its eyes.
**
The previous murmurs of the crowd completely evaporated as the final security lift began its ascent. This time, the grand auditorium didn't just vibrate—the entire volcanic mountain housing the Grand Obsidian Theater groaned under a sudden, staggering shift in atmospheric ionization.
The air instantly filled with the sharp, burning scent of pure ozone. Strands of static electricity danced across the velvet railings of every private booth, causing the hair on thousands of high-ranking nobles to stand on end.
When the central platform locked into place, the containment field revealed the absolute apex of the primordial collection: the Thundercrack Genesis Halberd.
Forged from a volatile void-forged fulgurite alloy, the massive halberd did not merely possess lightning mana—it was a localized storm system anchor. Blinding, violet arcs of prehistoric plasma violently lashed against the interior of the runic force field, leaving glowing, melted scars on the reinforced containment glass.
The raw conceptual pressure of the weapon threatened to trigger localized heavenly tribulations just by existing in the mortal plane, operating at an unprecedented electrical potential.
The elegant auctioneer stood a safe distance from the crackling display, the deep-cut back of her blood-red gown illuminated by erratic, violet flashes of light. Even with her impeccable poise, her voice carried a tremor of genuine, visceral awe as she raised her brass gavel for the final time.
"Factions of the Aurelian Empire," she announced, her voice cutting through the deafening hum of the static electricity. "We have reached the absolute zenith of the Celestial Horizon. The appraiser's office originally evaluated this primordial artifact at an unmatched baseline of 2,500,000 stones. But money is an illusion when standing before a tool of absolute judgment."
She slammed the gavel down, the sharp ring instantly swallowed by a loud, answering crack of thunder from the stage.
"The bidding for the Thundercrack Genesis Halberd is officially open at 2,500,000 high-quality mana stones!"
The crowd didn't just go wild—the entire theater descended into absolute, unhinged financial madness. Factions who had remained completely silent all night, including the supreme guardian clans of the capital and hidden ancient sects, discarded any semblance of aristocratic decorum. They began screaming their bids, completely obliterating standard increments.
"3,000,000!" "4,000,000!" "5,500,000!"
The automated terminal inside the Imperial Box couldn't even process the incoming bids fast enough. The numbers spiraled completely out of control as the wealthiest duchies began panic-liquidating entire provincial mining networks and offering ancient heritage seals in real-time just to keep their names on the broadcast terminal.
Inside Markus's consciousness, Nagini was practically rolling on the floor of his soul space, her dual crimson eyes watering from pure, unadulterated amusement.
"Master! Look at them! They are tearing their clothes off for the sparky stick!" Nagini cackled, her voice echoing with liquid delight. "The old men with the white beards are throwing all their shiny houses into the fire! They think they can conquer the world if they hold the lightning... they don't see that you are the one holding their strings! Make them bleed more, Master! Let them give us everything they own!"
The war for the halberd narrowed down to two supreme apex entities: the Imperial Grand Marshal's private military trust and the ancient Thunder-Abyss Clan. The bids traded back and forth in staggering half-million-stone leaps, pushing the value into a realm that completely shattered every economic record in continental history.
"7,000,000!" the Grand Marshal's envoy roared, his voice trembling with sheer desperation.
"7,500,000 high-quality mana stones," the automated voice of the Thunder-Abyss Patriarch interjected from a cloaked sanctuary box, his tone cold, definitive, and backed by the entire accumulated wealth of a thousand-year-old lineage.
The theater went completely, breathtakingly silent. The final sale price had officially tripled the house's highest projected value, representing a concentration of wealth that could fund the entire imperial military for a generation.
The auctioneer scanned the exhausted, breathless arena, her eyes wide as she brought the gavel down with a final, historic strike.
"7,500,000 high-quality stones! Sold, to the Thunder-Abyss Clan!"
Inside the private box, Markus casually closed the floating system interface, the soft blue light reflecting off his flawless features. With the final five primordial lots successfully processed, his total earnings from the evening had reached astronomical proportions.
He turned his gaze away from the stage and looked directly at the Grand Regent, who was staring at the final numbers with a mixture of profound shock and immense political greed. The time had come to settle the credit lines and balance the scales with the ancient primordial currency.
"Well, Your Grace," Markus said, his voice dripping with smooth, conversational wit. "It appears your imperial line of credit is far more secure than either of us anticipated. I must apologize—I fully intended to test the absolute limits of your treasury's generosity tonight, but the eastern nobles were simply too eager to fund my shopping list."
The Grand Regent let out a weak, hollow chuckle, rubbing his temples as the reality of the situation set in. "Markus... you have effectively liquidated the liquid capital of my entire high court in a single evening."