A soft chime rang through the hall.
Once.
Twice.
The murmurs faded.
Lanterns overhead dimmed slightly, their glow narrowing into focused beams that illuminated the central platform. The faint hum of formations shifted, then locked—sealing the chamber completely.
No sound in.
No sound out.
The auction had begun.
From the shadows behind the platform, an attendant stepped forward carrying a long black tray draped in crimson silk. Formation runes flared briefly as the cloth was lifted.
The **first item** was revealed.
A **spirit blade**.
It was short—no longer than a forearm—but its surface was dark and glassy, veins of dull red light pulsing slowly within the metal like a living heartbeat. The air around it felt faintly cold, threaded with resentment that had been refined rather than left wild.
The attendant's voice echoed calmly through the sealed hall.
"First item: **Bloodvein Fang**. Earth-tier, mid-grade spirit weapon. Forged using demonic beast marrow and tempered through seven blood refinements."
A pause.
"It carries a passive bleeding curse. Wounds inflicted by this blade resist spiritual healing."
A ripple of murmurs passed through the room.
The fox leaned back slightly in its seat, posture relaxed, illusion flawless. Atop its head, the lizard stilled completely, scenting the blade—iron, old blood, and something bitter beneath it.
"…Decent," the fox murmured through spirit transmission. "But not what we're here for."
The attendant continued.
"Starting bid: **one hundred low-grade spirit stones**."
A glyph ignited in the air.
"Bid accepted."
Another followed immediately.
"One hundred and twenty."
"One hundred and fifty."
The numbers rose steadily, voices calm but edged with intent. This wasn't frenzy—it was calculation. Every bidder knew the blade's value, and where the line lay.
The fox did not move.
Did not signal.
Did not bid.
It simply watched.
"…Notice," it whispered to the lizard, "no one rushes. Early items are probes. People test the room, feel out rivals, establish presence."
The lizard's claws flexed faintly.
The bidding slowed.
"One hundred and ninety."
A pause.
"Two hundred."
Silence.
The formation glyph shimmered, waiting.
No one challenged it.
"Sold," the attendant announced calmly. "Seat Forty-One."
The blade vanished beneath silk, carried away as the formations reset.
The fox's gaze lifted—not toward the sold item, but toward the **room itself**.
"…Now," it murmured, tails swaying beneath the illusion,
"the auction has officially started."
The tray was removed.
The lights shifted.
Another chime rang—soft, deliberate.
The **second item** was brought forward.
This time, the attendant set down a jade cylinder sealed with multiple suppression talismans. Frost traced along its surface despite the room's warmth.
"Item two," the attendant announced evenly. "**Sealed Yin Essence**. Extracted from a peak-stage Nether Marsh Wraith. Properly stabilized. No residual madness."
That last line drew quiet interest.
Several bidders leaned forward.
Atop the fox's head, the lizard's body tensed almost imperceptibly.
Yin.
Pure.
Concentrated.
The fox felt it immediately.
"…That," it whispered, "*is* relevant."
"Starting bid: **two hundred low-grade spirit stones**."
The glyph flared.
"Two-fifty."
"Three hundred."
The numbers climbed faster this time. Yin Essence was versatile—usable for pills, soul refinement, ghost arts.
The fox remained still.
"…Too early," it transmitted. "Let them raise the price. We don't signal interest yet."
The lizard stayed silent, hunger coiled tight but controlled.
The bidding stalled at **four hundred**.
A pause.
Then a calm, unhurried voice cut through.
"Four-fifty."
The fox's gaze flicked sideways.
Seat Twenty-Two.
A cultivator cloaked in dark blue, aura compact and disciplined. Not weak. Not reckless.
The fox smiled faintly.
"…Remember that one."
No one challenged the bid.
"Sold," the attendant declared. "Seat Twenty-Two."
The jade cylinder vanished.
The fox relaxed again.
"…Good," it murmured. "Let them think they won."
The **third item** arrived.
A small spirit beast core—cracked, darkened, yet radiating dense energy.
"Corrupted Earth Serpent Core," the attendant said. "Suitable for gene refinement, body tempering, or material processing."
The lizard's head tilted slightly.
Earth.
Core.
Edible.
The fox felt the shift instantly.
"…Careful," it warned. "Control."
The bidding opened lower.
"One-fifty."
"One-seventy."
"Two hundred."
The fox considered. The core wasn't perfect—but it was usable.
"…We might move soon," it murmured. "But not yet."
Item after item followed.
—A bundle of soul-thread talismans
—A vial of Moonshadow Blood
—A damaged spatial ring
—A pill furnace
The fox watched everything.
Who bid early.
Who waited.
Who avoided Yin.
Who leaned toward cores.
When the talismans came up, the fox moved—clean, precise.
"Sold. Seat Twenty -Seven."
Patterns began to emerge.
Then—
The attendant paused longer than usual.
The room quieted.
The next tray was carried out by **two attendants**, both visibly tense. The silk covering it was black, edged in silver, wrapped in suppression formations so dense they distorted the air.
The fox's posture shifted.
"…Here we go."
The silk was drawn back.
The room's temperature dropped a fraction.
On the tray rested a **bone-white mask**, thin and smooth, etched with spiraling runes that crawled slowly, as if alive. The empty eye sockets drank in the light rather than reflecting it.
"Item," the attendant said carefully, "**Warden Mask of Silent Grief**. Soul-type artifact. Enhances resistance to mental intrusion and amplifies soul pressure. Side effects… manageable."
That final word was deliberate.
A ripple moved through the hall.
Atop the fox's head, the lizard went utterly still.
Soul.
Pressure.
Yin-adjacent.
The fox did not hesitate.
"Five hundred."
Heads turned.
A beat.
"Five-fifty."
"Six hundred."
"Six-fifty."
"Seven hundred."
The fox's voice remained calm. "Eight."
Silence.
No one challenged it.
"Sold," the attendant announced. "Seat Seventy-Three."
The mask vanished beneath silk.
The fox leaned back slightly, tails curling with quiet satisfaction.
"…Good," it transmitted. "That one stays with us."
The auction flowed on.
The **next three items** followed in tight succession—and the fox moved with precision.
—A **Soul-Nourishing Pellet Set**, unstable but potent
—A **Shadow-Bound Core**, small but dense
—A **bundle of refined Yin threads**, sealed and clean
Each time, the fox waited.
Each time, it entered late.
Each time, it bid just high enough to close the door.
"Sold. Seat Twenty -Seven."
"Sold. Seat Twenty -Seven."
"Sold. Seat Twenty -Seven."
The murmurs changed.
Not alarm.
Recognition.
Someone was buying **with intent**.
Atop the fox's head, the lizard's hunger coiled tighter—but it obeyed, unmoving, trusting the fox's timing.
Then came the final item of the set.
A **crimson crystal coffin shard**, pulsing slowly, saturated with ancient blood essence.
"Starting bid: **six hundred**."
The fox's ears flicked.
Dangerous.
The bidding surged immediately.
"Seven hundred."
"Eight."
"Nine."
The fox entered. "One thousand."
The room stirred.
Then—
A calm, familiar voice.
"Eleven hundred."
Seat Twenty-Two.
The blue-cloaked cultivator.
The fox's eyes narrowed slightly.
"…So."
"Twelve hundred," it replied.
A pause.
"Fourteen hundred."
The fox calculated.
The shard was valuable—but volatile. Too much attention. Too high a cost for the current plan.
It let the silence stretch.
Then… did nothing.
"Sold," the attendant announced. "Seat Twenty-Two."
The fox leaned back, expression unreadable.
Atop its head, the lizard remained still.
"…That's fine," the fox transmitted calmly. "We got what we came for."
Its gaze drifted once more to Seat Twenty-Two.
"…And we learned who's watching."
The lanterns shifted.
The auction moved toward its next phase.
And the fox—now with **multiple sealed acquisitions secured**—was already thinking several steps ahead.
Because the hunt wasn't over.
It had merely changed shape.