Azhriel leaned his elbow against the armrest, his chin resting on his palm as he watched the bids unfold. "Quite a show," he murmured.
"Indeed," Caelyn said softly beside him, sipping her juice. "Though it's funny seeing them fight over something so ordinary."
Azhriel gave a faint smirk. To those with vast mana reserves or rare bloodlines, a single mid-grade Atherium wasn't much.
For common nobles and merchants, however, it was a treasure—useful for refining artifacts, strengthening mana cores, or even stabilizing potions of high value.
"Eighty-five!"
"Ninety!"
"One hundred!"
The crowd's energy was now peaking, and even the host raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"One hundred and twenty golds!" shouted a man from the left side of the hall—a stout noble wearing a red coat lined with fur.
The room stirred with murmurs. His confident tone making a few bidders hesitate.
But soon, another merchant, clearly unwilling to back down, raised the price again. "One hundred and thirty!"
