Chapter 77: Bidding
A faint shimmer flickered before Raven's left eye.
Lines of blue text unfolded in the air like a whisper from another world.
…
[Item: Merlin's Compass]
Description: Crafted by the Archon Wizard Merlin to conceal the twelve Arcane Fragments from his enemies.
Uses: Unknown.
Activation: Unknown.
Potential Effect: Upon activation, reveals the nearest location of an Arcane Fragment.
…
Raven tilted his head, eyes narrowing.
"Arcane Fragments?" he muttered under his breath.
A familiar, feminine voice echoed in his mind—steady and laced with faint amusement.
[That's the term for 'Intellectual Artifacts' in this world, lad.]
"Intellectual artifacts?" His brow furrowed. The term felt… alive.
[Artifacts that can think, speak, and choose. They're divided into three types—Arcane Fragments, Arcane Relics, and the Apex Congitums.]
Zera's tone turned grave.
[Fragments are the youngest. Curious, willful, like newborns—yet each surpasses a Legendary Artifact in power.
Relics are different—they manipulate mortals like puppets, twist cities into chaos.
And Apex Congitums? They're calamities with minds. Worlds tremble when they awaken.]
Raven's pulse quickened. "So… should I buy the compass?"
[You must.]
No hesitation in Zera's voice this time.
The auctioneer's gavel clicked, breaking his thought.
"Six hundred and fifty gold!"
"Seven hundred!"
Voices rippled through the crowd.
The bids climbed like a firestorm—850, 1000, 1200—and then slowed.
"1200 gold coins going once!"
"Going twice!"
Raven's hand lifted. "1250."
The entire hall went still. No one else moved.
"1250 gold coins going once, twice, thrice—sold to seat F12!"
The gavel struck. A few murmurs stirred across the audience, curiosity directed toward the calm young man in the black coat.
Jacob leaned closer, his face twisted with skepticism.
"A compass that doesn't point north, my lord? That's quite a gamble."
Raven's lips curved. "Perhaps it points toward something far more valuable than north, Jacob. You'll see soon enough."
…
Item after item passed—enchanted rune armor, gemstone clusters, cursed amulets. The crowd's excitement rose and fell like waves. Raven sat motionless, studying, not bidding. His gaze moved only when something different touched the stage.
When the lights dimmed again, murmurs spread. The auctioneer returned with theatrical flair.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, voice dropping to a whisper, "one of the highlights of today's auction—a creature of the northern mountains… the corpse of an Ice Wyrm!"
A team of assistants wheeled in a frost-covered container. Cold mist spilled out like breath from the grave. Inside, the wyrm's crystalline scales shimmered beneath the light—its fangs frozen mid-snarl.
Gasps filled the air.
"This beast was slain by seven Elite Walkers and two Radiant Knights," the auctioneer boasted. "A Rank-1 Magical Beast, its blood and bones brim with power. Necromancers, rune forgers, alchemists—this is your prize. Starting bid: two thousand gold."
"Two thousand one hundred!"
"Two five hundred!"
"Three thousand!"
The price climbed swiftly. Raven's eyes darted toward a group of alchemists whispering in the corner—and a nobleman in crimson velvet signaling discreetly to his attendant.
It wasn't just a monster. It was dragon-blooded prey.
When the price steadied at five thousand, Raven's hand rose.
"Five thousand three hundred."
Heads turned. The nobleman hesitated, then lifted his hand.
"Five thousand six hundred."
"Five eight hundred." Raven's tone was cool. Detached.
"Six thousand!"
"Six five hundred."
The nobleman exhaled heavily, pride warring with reason. He leaned back, defeated.
The gavel struck again.
"Sold for six thousand five hundred! Seat F12!"
Jacob's eyes widened. "You've outbid a noble, my lord."
Raven only smiled. "A wyrm's corpse is worth more than a noble's pride."
…
The next few items blurred together—enchanted potions, beast hides, spell tomes. Raven bought sparingly, calculating every coin. He could feel his pouch thinning.
Then came something unexpected.
"The next item," the auctioneer announced, "a Basic Night Vision Potion."
The crowd's energy dimmed instantly.
Bored nobles yawned. Mercenaries ignored him.
"But!" the auctioneer added quickly, "this potion's effect is permanent. Once consumed, the drinker gains the Night Vision skill forever!"
A stunned silence swept through the room—then erupted into chaos.
"A skill potion?"
"Permanent?"
The bids came fast.
"Five thousand!"
"Seven!"
"Ten!"
By the time it reached twelve thousand, the crowd had thinned. Then—
"Thirteen thousand!" a young voice called from a VIP box.
"Fourteen!" came a sharp, elderly retort.
Raven recognized the tension—Countess Isadora versus the young Hawkspire heir, Pablo.
"Fifteen!"
"Sixteen-five!"
"Didn't get your allowance, boy?" Isadora mocked, her laughter echoing.
Pablo's jaw clenched. "Nineteen thousand!"
The countess chuckled softly. "Hoho… let the youth have his toy."
The hall erupted in applause.
Jacob leaned over, stunned. "Nineteen thousand gold for a single potion?"
Raven smiled faintly. "Rarity bends reason. People always pay more for permanence."
…
When the uproar settled, Raven secured a spatial ring—ten cubic meters of space for 2,500 gold. A steal, considering his luck so far.
The auction neared its end when the auctioneer brought out a small, blackened key resting on crimson silk.
"An Unknown Key from the Agith Ruins," he said. "Our appraisers found no data except… this faint aura. Starting bid, 3,000 gold."
Raven touched his monocle. The lens shimmered.
…
[Item: Key of the Dark Dungeon]
Use: Summons the entrance to the Dark Dungeon for three months
…
Zera's voice snapped in.
[Buy it. Immediately.]
No hesitation.
When no other bidders stepped forward, Raven claimed it for 4,100 gold.
The lights dimmed one last time. A thick curtain was drawn away, revealing a black, pulsating worm the size of a hound. Its body twitched, lined with hundreds of blinking eyes. The moment Raven's gaze met them, a needle of pain stabbed his skull.
[A Mind Worm,] Zera whispered. [Its spell rivals that of the Fallen Overlord. Be careful.]
The auctioneer's voice trembled with awe.
"This Rank-1 magical beast's specialty is mental domination. Starting bid: five thousand gold."
"Seven!"
"Seven-five!" Raven joined immediately.
Whispers rose.
Who was this bidder in seat F12 who kept buying mysteries?
"Nine thousand!" came a deep, rough voice from a VIP booth.
Raven's fingers drummed on the armrest. "Twelve thousand."
The crowd froze. The gavel lifted.
"Going once—twice—thrice! Sold!"
Jacob exhaled sharply beside him. "Twelve thousand… for that thing?"
Raven's eyes stayed on the cage.
"Yes," he said softly. "Some monsters are worth every coin."