The gavel rune flared as the Sealing Gem was carted away, tucked into a velvet case marked with Booth Twelve’s sigil.
Michael’s heart still hadn’t slowed down.
That was it. The piece I needed. And they all thought it was worthless.
He leaned back in his chair, fingers brushing the hilt of Sword ’Darken’. The blade pulsed faintly, a whisper of recognition, as though it too understood what he had just secured.
The Mask’s cool metal pressed against his skin, keeping his illusion steady. He forced his breathing calm, blending into the shadows of his booth.
The Auctioneer, flawless in her poise, didn’t allow the lull to linger. Her crystal-tipped staff tapped once, summoning the next attendants forward.
"And now, Lot 23. For those of a more... martial persuasion."
The stage flared, revealing a longsword laid across black silk. Its blade shimmered faintly blue, the edges honed to a predator’s gleam. Runes crawled across the fuller, pulsing like veins.
"A relic forged in the Northern Tribes. Tempered with Froststeel, etched with ice runes that sharpen and harden with cold. A true blade for those who can channel elemental mana."
The whispers shifted on interest, greed, hunger of this valuable items.
"Opening bid: 1.2 million Ren."
Immediately, the numbers flew.
"1.3 million Ren!"
"1.5 million Ren!"
"Two million!"
Michael’s chest tightened. The price leapt higher with every call, nobles treating millions like loose change.
"Three million." A voice rang sharp, female, authoritative.
A rival countered instantly, smug and calm. "Four."
"Five."
"Six."
The console flashed so fast Michael’s eyes almost blurred.
The Auctioneer’s smile widened. "Six million. Do I hear six point five?"
"Seven," came the cold reply of the woman again.
A pause. Then silence.
The rune struck. "Sold! Seven million Ren, to Booth Four." Tʜe sourcᴇ of thɪs content ɪs noⅴelfire.net
Polite applause filled the chamber.
Michael exhaled slowly. I’d never keep up with that madness of Rich people. Even this world is same as pervious Rich get everything then want but I will also make place among them.
The sword was carried away, leaving behind a faint chill in the air.
"Lot 24," the Auctioneer announced, almost before the murmurs had faded.
This time, attendants rolled out a gleaming cuirass of blacksteel armor, plated and jointed with near-artistic craftsmanship. Faint etchings pulsed red like veins of molten ore.
"An Emberforged Breastplate. Resistant to flame and high-heat environments. Infused with salamander scales, capable of absorbing and dispersing fire mana."
A mercenary in the lower pit whistled. "That’d turn a Rank E into a walking tank."
The Auctioneer’s lips curved. "Opening bid: 2 million Ren."
The hall erupted.
"2.3 million Ren!"
"2.8 million Ren !"
"3 million Ren "
Michael watched the numbers climb again, teeth gritting.
Good armor. Gods, I could use that. But no. Focus. Potions, tools, essentials. Don’t waste everything here.
The armor sold for 4.6 million, claimed by a noble in gold-threaded robes who laughed as though he’d bought a trinket.
Michael’s hands curled into fists. His chest burned with frustration, but he held back.
The Auctioneer gestured again. "And now, a rarer material. One for our alchemists and craftsmen."
A pair of attendants wheeled in a long crate. When the lid lifted, the hall seemed to inhale all at once.
Inside rested a length of white bone, smooth and curved, its surface etched with faint scales. It radiated a pressure so primal, even Michael’s skin prickled.
"Dragon Bone." The Auctioneer’s voice was almost reverent.
The crowd erupted.
"No way—"
"A genuine dragon relic—"
"That could craft—"
The Auctioneer silenced them with a single raised hand.
"Recovered from a grave site in the Eastern Range. Authentic, appraised, and resonant. This bone can serve as the base for high-grade weaponry, alchemical potions, or mana conductors. Its potential... is limitless."
The opening bid lit the crystal: 5 million Ren.
Michael nearly choked.
Bids exploded in every direction.
"Six!"
"Seven!"
"Ten million!"
"Twelve!"
The voices blurred into a chaotic chorus.
Michael’s knuckles whitened. Of course. A piece of Dragon Bone like that... If it were in the game, it’d be worth entire raids. But here? Out of my league.
He forced himself to sit still as the price climbed beyond reason.
"Twenty million!" a noble roared, slamming his fist into the console.
The Auctioneer’s eyes glimmered. "Do I hear twenty-one?"
A pause. he paused a announced the figure —
"Twenty-five million."
The hall went dead silent.
Heads turned toward a cloaked figure in the far balcony. The sheer weight of his presence pressed down, suffocating, undeniable. Even nobles held their tongues.
"Sold," the Auctioneer said quietly, reverently, almost bowing her head.
The Dragon Bone was carried away, the crowd buzzing in disbelief.
Michael slumped back, heart racing.
’Twenty-five million. That’s almost everything I have. And someone just dropped it like spare coin.’
Michael hid his grimace behind Mask, but his mind whirled.
This was the gap. The canyon between him and the world of nobles and legends. No matter his victories, his skills, his gamer instincts wealth was power here, and he was still climbing.
Still... his chest steadied as he remembered the Sealing Gem secured under his crest.
Let them laugh. Let them throw fortunes around. Tonight, I got what I came for.
The Auction rolled on, item after item dazzling the hall. Rare talismans, enchanted cloaks, spell scrolls, beast cores. Some drew wild bidding wars, others slipped by almost unnoticed.
Michael stayed quiet.
He didn’t need them all. He didn’t need to prove anything. He had already claimed what mattered.
As the last hammer fell and the Auctioneer bowed, attendants began delivering goods to the booths. Michael accepted his velvet-sealed cases one by one: potions, antidotes, the Titan’s Blood vial. And at the bottom, heavier, colder than the rest—
The Sealing Gem.
The stone pulsed faintly in his palm, as if alive.
Michael exhaled slowly, holding it tight.
This is it. The start of unlocking Darken. The path forward.
But even as resolve steadied his breath, unease lingered in his gut.
He had felt eyes on him during the Auction. Not suspicion, not outright hostility but curiosity. Watching. Measuring.
They noticed me. Even with the mask. Even hiding. I’ve already drawn attention I didn’t want.
His thumb brushed the edge of the Sealing Gem.
"...This story’s going off the rails," he muttered under his breath. "But I’ll make it mine."
The Auctioneer’s final words echoed through the chamber.
"Thank you, honored guests. May your acquisitions bring you glory, power, and fortune. The Auction of Shadows is concluded."
Finally the Auction is Concluded, his main objective to visit was to obtain portion are are not available in market, he need for the upcoming Dungeon hunt he want to perform.
The crowd began to disperse, nobles sweeping out with entourages, mercenaries laughing and arguing, scholars murmuring with glee over their purchases.
Michael stayed seated a moment longer, letting the chaos flow past.
Then, finally, he rose, cloak wrapped tight, cases tucked under his arm.
The Loki Mask hummed faintly, disguising his features. But no mask could hide the weight in his chest the sense that tonight, he had crossed into a deeper world.
A world where Rich are more powerful then any Ranker were bought and sold power without hesitation.
And in his pocket, the Sealing Gem a secret items which nobody knows used untill Protagonist Leon Acuried it during his raid at Demon Prince Castle.
It items that can break any seal item but the amount of stone required is upto the seal of the object.
The air outside the auction house felt... wrong.
The people those who attend seem to be on gaurds, the security of the Blackmarket is very tide and there is a law in the Blackmarket that nobody should attack or have an dispute under Blackmarket.
And people also follow it because it is run by an SS rank hunter and a Top guild under there banner.
And as always the Government, I mean the Council of the Kingdom Rulers know the existence of this Blackmarket and it behind the person... the SS ranker.
But they will not take action which can caused a major civil war..
The problem is that the merchant and Mercenary relied on Blackmarket to earn big pot gold by selling the valueable lots with 10x profit from market value given by the Association.
I walk way the road but he feel something arround my Surroundings...
It was quiet
—too quiet.
The muffled buzz of wealthy bidders and the clatter of crystal goblets were gone, replaced by the distant hum of the city. Lanterns flickered faintly on the stone walls of the market district, but the narrow streets beyond were shrouded in shadow.
Michael adjusted the velvet-sealed case in his hand. Inside were the potions and items he’d paid millions for. His heart should have been steady he’d gotten what he came for. But the prickle along the back of his neck wouldn’t go away.
He wasn’t alone.
...Someone’s watching me.
Michael slowed his pace, pretending to admire the wares of a closed stall. The reflections in the glass pane gave him a glimpse of shadows moving where none should. Figures trailing just far enough to avoid suspicion.
His grip tightened around the case. His mask hid his face, but not his aura.
I need to lose them before they get bold.