Chapter 111: The Executor's Silence and the Serpent's Auction
The air in the Weaver's glass-walled office smelled of fear, expensive ink, and the unmistakable ozone that preceded violence.
From the maintenance catwalk, plunged into the industrial shadows of the casino's upper level, Kael Morningstar observed the scene with the coldness of a predator calculating the perfect angle to snap a neck. Below, the Heavenly Sword Sect Inquisitor, a Stage 8 Origin Realm expert, kept his boot planted on a guard's corpse while interrogating the master of clandestine arrays.
The Inquisitor was a catastrophic-level threat. If he managed to access the Weaver's logs, the escape route to the north would be exposed, and True Saints would descend upon the Scum Bastion before nightfall. There was no option to retreat. The Inquisitor had to die.
Kael raised his left hand, his black leather-clad fingers dictating tactical orders in absolute silence.
Violeta. Isolation.
The younger sister nodded. Her left eye, an intense neon violet, and her right eye, a pure diamond blue, shone in the dark. The fine reddish veins around her scleras pulsed slightly. She didn't use flashy hand seals. Her mind, now attuned to the very geometry of reality, read the dimensions of the glass office below them.
Violeta extended her fingers and, with a subtle twisting motion, "pinched" the space around the room. She didn't create an ice barrier; she simply disconnected the acoustic coordinates of the interior from the exterior. Any sound produced inside would die before touching the glass.
Elara. Blind spot. Eris, rearguard.
Elara dropped from the catwalk, her body turning ethereal as she channeled her [Frost Mist] to hide her thermal signature. She landed on the casino floor without emitting a single decibel, moving through the lighting blind spots toward the office door. Eris tensed her muscles, ready to intercept either of the two lesser sect guards if the main execution failed.
Kael unsheathed Whisper of the North. The immense obsidian sword was too large for a conventional stealth assassination, but Kael wasn't relying on physical stealth; he was relying on absolute suppression.
He dropped down.
The silver-robed Inquisitor was about to grab the Weaver by the neck when his Stage 8 instinct howled. He felt a disturbance in the air above his head. An expert of his caliber would have had time to unsheathe his straight sword, roll, and counterattack in less than a second.
But Kael didn't give him a second.
Before Kael's boots touched the office floor, he released his [Sovereign's Will]. It wasn't a physical attack; it was a direct psychological crushing, an anvil of authority hurled onto the Inquisitor's Sea of Consciousness.
The Heavenly Sword expert felt a mountain crash against his mind. His reflexes were paralyzed for a fraction of a second, his muscles disobeying the command to move due to the primal terror Kael's Sword Intent injected into his nervous system.
That microsecond was his end.
Kael landed. There was no war cry. His arm, strengthened by his lineage's resilience and the internal heat of magma, swung the greatsword in a perfect horizontal arc.
The obsidian edge passed through the Inquisitor's neck as smoothly as a hot blade through silk. The Heavenly Sword expert's head separated from his shoulders before his brain registered the pain.
Simultaneously, two small flashes of metal gleamed in the shadows. Elara had materialized behind the two lesser sect guards accompanying the Inquisitor. Two curved daggers sank with surgical precision into the base of their skulls, severing their brainstems instantly. They fell to the floor like puppets with their strings cut.
Everything happened in less than three seconds. The office, acoustically isolated by Violeta, filled with the coppery smell of fresh blood staining the black market's expensive rugs.
The Weaver, an older man in silver-embroidered robes, backed up until he bumped into his desk, trembling violently. His eyes darted from the decapitated corpses of the surrounding area's most feared sect to the figures wrapped in swamp-mud-caked obsidian armor.
Kael shook his sword blade to clear it of blood and slowly sheathed it, his golden eyes locking onto the smuggler.
Violeta and Eris descended the service stairs, entering the office. The spatial isolation held, ensuring the massacre wasn't detected by the exterior casino cameras.
"By the dark gods..." the Weaver babbled, looking at Kael's cold face. "You... you are the Obsidian Demons. The ones who stole the root. The ones that heavenly sword sect and the alchemist pavilion are looking for."
"Then you know we don't have time for diplomatic negotiations," Kael said, advancing to the desk. His voice was deep, calm, devoid of a fugitive's stress. "They are closing the net around us. We need to get out of the Scum Bastion and head back north, crossing the neutral zones without the imperial sects' spatial radars registering the trajectory. I've been told you are the only cartographer in this cesspit capable of weaving such a jump."
The Weaver swallowed hard, looking at the Inquisitor's corpse. He knew refusing meant his own head would roll across the rug.
"I can do it," the man admitted, wiping sweat from his forehead with a trembling sleeve. "I have a clandestine array in the city's lower tunnels. The algorithm I use fragments the jump signature; the sects won't be able to trace the exact destination. But there is a problem. A physical problem, not one of will."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "Explain."
"The distance you're asking me to cover is continental. And you are... how many?" The Weaver evaluated the group.
"Six," Kael replied.
"To transport six high-level experts across such a distance, bypassing Saint shields, my array needs a massive injection of pure spatial energy. I can't feed it with simple spiritual stones; the array would burn out before you were halfway across, and you'd end up torn to pieces in the void."
Violeta stepped forward, her violet and blue eyes shining analytically. "He's right, Kael. The charging tension for a covert jump of that magnitude requires a stabilizer. A resonance source."
"I need Fault Spatial Stones," the Weaver said, nodding toward Violeta, recognizing another expert in dimensional laws. "Crystals formed at the epicenter of an ancient ecosystem collapse. They are extremely rare. Without them, the array's engine won't start."
"And where do we get those stones in this dead city?" Eris asked, crossing her arms, her patience wearing thin.
The Weaver pointed shakily toward the pockets of the headless Inquisitor's corpse.
"Tonight is the Jade Serpent Auction. It's the biggest clandestine event of the year in the Bastion, hosted by the Scum Governor in his private mansion. They sell relics from the Sea of Beasts and imperial-level contraband. I have it on good authority that a lot of three pure Fault Spatial Stones is in tonight's catalog. That Heavenly Sword hound was here demanding my logs, but tonight he was going to attend the auction to bid on weapons."
Kael crouched next to the silver-robed corpse. Ignoring the pool of blood, he searched inside the Inquisitor's clothing. His fingers found a heavy metal plate. He pulled it into the light. It was an invitation forged of solid gold, bearing the emblem of a serpent coiled around a lotus.
Kael stood up, weighing the golden invitation in his hand. The irony of war was fascinating; their enemies had just handed them the key to their escape.
"Prepare the array," Kael ordered the Weaver. "Clean up this mess. If, when we return, I find you've sent a transmission to the sects or altered the jump coordinates, my sister will compress the space inside your lungs until you drown in your own blood. Understood?"
The smuggler nodded frantically.
Kael turned to his squad. The theft of the Stellar Dragon Root had been a tactical success, but now they needed the vehicle to bring the cure home. And that vehicle's engine would be auctioned in front of the continent's most dangerous criminals and corrupt nobles.
"We move. We have an auction to attend."
The safehouse Bren and Varian had secured in the Rust Sector was an old chemical foundry that smelled of lead and desolation.
When Kael, Elara, Eris, and Violeta returned, they found the position armored. Bren had solidified barriers of pure obsidian across all windows, and Varian kept watch from a rusted beam on the ceiling, his bow ready.
Kael unrolled the city map over an old metal barrel and tossed the golden invitation into the center.
"The situation has escalated," Kael informed the full squad, his voice distilling pure military pragmatism. "We have secured a pilot for the jump array, but the ship has no fuel. We need Fault Spatial Stones, and they're being sold tonight at the Governor's mansion."
Bren crossed his arms, his wounded shoulder tightly bandaged. "A clandestine auction full of scum with money. Sounds like we'll need to bust a few skulls to leave with the prize."
"Exactly the opposite," Kael corrected him. "The mansion will be full of sect executors, corrupt imperial envoys, and black-market kingpins. A frontal fight in a closed space against hundreds of high-level experts is suicide. This is an infiltration, acquisition, and rapid extraction operation. And for that, we will split up."
Varian dropped from the beam silently. "Role assignment, commander."
"Varian, Bren. You two are not coming to the mansion."
The giant frowned, but Kael raised a hand before he protested.
"Our rear is the weak link. You two will go to the lower tunnels of the Rust District. Locate the Weaver's hangar, secure the perimeter of the teleportation array, and guard it. If he tries to betray us, or if sect trackers approach the jump site, eliminate them. We cannot afford to arrive with the stones and find our escape route taken. You have fire-at-will authority."
Bren nodded, his expression hardening. He understood the value of a secure extraction route. Varian adjusted his bow strap, his yellow eyes already analyzing the underground routes on the map.
"The rest of us will walk into the lion's den," Kael continued, looking at the three women. "We'll use the dead Inquisitor's invitation. We will pose as a delegation of high-level independent mercenaries seeking rare artifacts. Elara, I need your concealment specialty to disguise any distinguishing features. Eris, you are the visual distraction; your attitude fits perfectly with an arrogant underworld noble. Violeta, you will be our eyes; if the mansion is surrounded by spatial security arrays or sealing formations, I need you to read them and prepare unconventional escape routes."
"And what will we use to buy the stones?" Eris asked, raising an eyebrow. "I doubt the Governor accepts IOUs, and we don't have chests full of spiritual gold."
Kael untied the leather pouch from his belt. Inside, dozens of high-level beast cores they had harvested in the Swamp of Oblivion and the Sea of Beasts clinked together. The pure core of the Wolf King, the remains of the mud abomination, ancestral poison glands.
"We will use this. Blood barter. The market value in civilization for fresh cores from forbidden zones is astronomical. We have the capital. We just need to maintain the facade long enough to win the auction... or, failing that, locate the vault and steal them directly if the price exceeds our funds."
Six hours later, night fell over the Scum Bastion, drowning the city in a toxic darkness lit only by the sickly glow of forges and yellowish Qi lanterns.
The Governor's mansion wasn't in the center, but carved into the mountainside overlooking the city. It was a fortress of black basalt and polished bronze, surrounded by walled gardens where chained exotic beasts patrolled among statues of fallen warriors.
At the main entrance, flanked by guards in gold and steel armor, scaled-wolf-drawn carriages and floating palanquins unloaded the worst and wealthiest scum of the continent.
Kael, Elara, Eris, and Violeta arrived on foot. Their obsidian armors had been covered by long, high-quality dark silk robes that Elara had "acquired" in the black market that afternoon. They wore half-face masks, forged of opaque black metal that hid their features under the guise of anonymity—a common practice in illegal auctions where identity was a vulnerability.
Kael handed the golden invitation to the captain of the guard at the entrance. The man, a Stage 5 Origin Realm expert, infused Qi into the card. The authenticity was confirmed with a golden glow.
"Delegation bearing number 47," the guard announced, gesturing for the heavy bronze doors to open. "Welcome to the Jade Serpent Auction. May fortune favor the bold."
They entered the grand hall. The contrast with the mud and blood of their past weeks was jarring.
Under immense crystal chandeliers floating via levitation magic, hundreds of figures adorned in silks, spiritual jewels, and sect robes drank lotus wine from crystal goblets. The air was saturated with expensive perfumes that barely managed to mask the smell of murderous intent and paranoia every attendee exhaled.
Kael led the group to a private balcony on the second level, assigned to their invitation bearer. As they walked through the crowd, Violeta walked stiffly, her mind bombarded by the density of the place.
"The walls... are lined with spiritual lead and transfer suppression arrays," Violeta murmured, her voice barely a whisper. "If anyone tries to use a teleportation talisman in here, they'll be cut in half. They've blocked all spatial exits. Whoever enters, only leaves through the front door."
"Then we better not have to run away," Eris said, adjusting the mask over her golden eyes, examining the room with a cold smile.
Kael leaned on the balcony's bronze railing, looking down at the black marble stage where the master of ceremonies was preparing.
However, his attention wasn't on the stage. His golden eyes scanned the opposite balconies.
And there, in the most luxurious booth, dimly lit, he saw something that made his Sword Heart throb with a warning.
A group of five individuals dressed in sapphire blue robes with silver embroidery. They carried straight swords on their backs. In the center of them, a Supreme Elder with a white beard and eyes as sharp as steel observed the crowd.
"Heavenly Sword Sect," whispered Elara, who had also spotted them.
Kael nodded slowly. The sect whose Inquisitor they had murdered just that afternoon was in the same room, possibly bidding on the same items, or looking for the same thieves who were now fifty meters away from them.
"Keep your auras sealed to the maximum," Kael ordered, his tone icy, purely tactical. "If they sense our Qi signature, this will stop being an auction and turn into a slaughterhouse."
The sound of a bronze gong echoed throughout the mansion, silencing the murmur of criminals and nobles. The master of ceremonies, a pale-skinned man with a shark-like smile, took the stage.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and honorable members of the underworld," the master announced, his voice amplified by acoustic arrays. "Welcome to the night where treasures forbidden by empires find new owners. The Jade Serpent declares the auction open."
Kael crossed his arms, his hand resting subtly on the pouch of beast cores, his mind prepared for the impending economic and psychological clash. In the belly of the civilized beast, the Golden Generation would have to use gold and cunning, but beneath the silk robes, the obsidian sword awaited its moment. The fuel to go home would come to light soon.