It looked... plain.
A longsword of average length, a muted steel hilt, and a grip wrapped in ordinary leather. No gilded pommel. No ceremonial etching. The kind of blade one might overlook in a soldier's rack.
But then the light caught the runes.
They seemed dormant—until they weren't. They flickered faintly as if each breath in the room pulled at them.
Whispers began emerging. At first, it was quiet, as if amongst one another. But slowly, they started becoming louder and louder.
"That's a soul binding mechanism—"
"Impossible. These things have not been seen in ages—"
"I've only ever read stories of this in the Fifth Academy—"
"So this is what she meant earlier. If you had to save money, you're broke already. There is no chance for you."
In one of the highest boxes, a masked figure leaned forward, speaking into a small voice crystal.
Below, the auctioneer said nothing.
She simply gestured to the sword.
