The heavy wooden door groaned open, revealing a cavernous hall that swallowed the sound. A thick, expectant silence hung in the air, tinged with the scent of aged wood, exotic incense, and the faint, metallic tang of immense wealth. Luo Zhen stepped inside, his eyes sweeping across the scene. The auction hall was still in the final stages of preparation. Attendants moved like ghosts, making minute adjustments to the rows of plush, velvet-cushioned chairs that fanned out from a large, elevated dais at the center of the room.
Shopkeeper Zhu, ever the affable guide, took in the quiet surroundings with a practiced eye. "Well, looks like we've beaten the crowd," he chuckled, his voice a low murmur in the vast space. "They're still putting the finishing touches on the place. I imagine the other Demon Generals are still making their way through the market's winding alleys."
"Mm," Luo Zhen acknowledged, his gaze already drifting, assessing the layout, the exits, the sightlines.
"Master Luo," Zhu continued, his tone deferential, "given the circumstances, it seems we have a bit of a wait before things kick off. Would you prefer to wait here, soak in the atmosphere, or perhaps take one last tour of the black market? There's always a new treasure to be found."
"I'll stay here." Luo Zhen's decision was instant. He moved toward the back of the hall, his steps silent on the polished floor, and selected an unassuming seat in the very last row, a position that offered a commanding view of the entire room while keeping him nestled in the deepest shadows. He sat, his posture relaxed but alert.
"Very well," Shopkeeper Zhu said with a nod. "Then I shall leave you to your meditation. I'd wager it won't be more than an hour before the hall is full and the main event begins." He paused, a slight, almost apologetic shift in his demeanor. "Now that I've seen you safely to the auction, I must take my leave. The black market still holds some business for me."
"Go freely, Shopkeeper Zhu," Luo Zhen replied, his voice even. "Thank you for your guidance."
In truth, this was the outcome Luo Zhen had been hoping for. His objective—gaining access to the auction—was complete. He now possessed the entry pass, a small, obsidian token that granted him unrestricted movement within the market's hidden confines. Shopkeeper Zhu, while helpful, had become a liability. His continued presence was a link, a potential loose thread that could unravel the anonymity Luo Zhen so carefully cultivated. Every extra moment spent in the man's company was a risk, a chance to expose a detail or a habit that could be traced back to him. Zhu's voluntary departure was a welcome convenience, a knot cleanly cut.
With a final, respectful bow, Shopkeeper Zhu turned and melted back into the shadows of the entrance, leaving Luo Zhen alone in the growing stillness.
Luo Zhen settled into his seat, allowing his eyes to fall closed. But he wasn't resting. He was listening, sensing. He extended his awareness, letting it drift through the cavernous space. He felt the subtle shifts in the air, the vibrations through the floorboards. The quiet was a canvas, and soon, it began to be painted with the colors of power.
First came the whispers, then the low rumble of conversation as the attendees began to trickle in. He didn't need to see them to know them. He could feel their energy signatures, each one a unique vortex of power. A heavy, brutish presence that felt like grinding stone. A sharp, venomous aura, slick and dangerous. A pair of arrogant, flaring energies, crackling with barely contained fire. One by one, the Demon Generals of the Red Desert were arriving.
The seats around him began to fill. The scent of ozone, of heated metal, of dry, ancient earth filled the air. The low hum of anticipation grew into a steady, powerful thrum. In what felt like no time at all, yet was nearly an hour by the clock, the hall was packed. The energy in the room was a palpable force, a pressurized atmosphere of ambition, greed, and raw power.
Only then did Luo Zhen allow his eyes to slowly open.
His gaze swept across a sea of faces—or what passed for them. Horned brows, scaled cheeks, eyes that glowed with inner fire. Every single being in this hall was a Demon General, a master of their domain. He could sense their cultivation levels; the absolute weakest among them was a mid-stage Demon Core realm expert. They carried themselves with an air of unshakeable confidence, their robes woven from rare beast silks, their fingers and claws adorned with spirit stones that pulsed with latent energy. These were not mere soldiers; they were titans, each one a walking treasury.
Just as the din reached its peak, a figure ascended the central dais, and a hush fell over the crowd as if a switch had been flipped. He was an old man, his hair a cascade of pure white, his back straight and unbowed by age. As he stepped into the light, the chaotic energy of the hall seemed to coalesce, focusing on him.
"My friends, I thank you for gracing us with your presence," the old man's voice boomed, clear and resonant as polished granite, filling every corner of the hall without any apparent effort. "For those who do not know me, I am Bai Guang, and I will be your host for this evening's festivities." He paused, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips as he scanned the crowd. "Of course, I see many familiar faces. Most of you are loyal patrons, well acquainted with our methods and our quality. So, I will dispense with the pleasantries. Let the auction… begin!"
His final word cracked like a whip. On cue, a waitress with a figure that seemed to flow rather than walk ascended the stage. In her hands, she held a silver tray, upon which sat an object concealed by a simple cloth of crimson silk. Yet, from beneath that cloth, a wave of spiritual energy washed over the first few rows—a clean, potent, and fiery essence that made the air itself seem to shimmer. It was either a spirit herb of the highest grade or a pill of equivalent power.
With a theatrical flourish, Bai Guang reached out and whisked the silk cloth away. Resting on the tray was a small, exquisitely carved jade bottle, glowing faintly from within.
Bai Guang cleared his throat, his voice taking on the cadence of a master salesman. "Our first offering of the evening is a treasure for our fire-wielding practitioners. A bottle containing three fifth-grade Fire-Attribute Spirit Pills—the renowned Shaoyang Pill!"
A murmur of genuine interest rippled through the crowd.
"I'm sure the Shaoyang Pill needs no introduction," Bai Guang continued, his voice rising with enthusiasm. "Even amongst the elite tier of fifth-grade elixirs, it stands at the absolute pinnacle! The purity and sheer force of its medicinal power eclipse that of its peers. A single Shaoyang Pill contains at least a third more energy than any comparable fire-attribute concoction!" He let that sink in before delivering the final line. "The bidding for this set of three will begin at one hundred and seventy thousand mid-grade spirit stones. The floor is now open!"
"One hundred and seventy thousand!" The bid came instantly from a burly general on the right side of the hall, his voice a gravelly roar.
"A swift start!" Bai Guang beamed. "One hundred and seventy thousand. Do I hear more?"
"One hundred and eighty thousand." The voice was calm, clear, and devoid of any excitement. It originated from the very back of the hall. Bai Guang's eyes, sharp as a hawk's, darted to the source: a solitary figure shrouded in a black robe, his face obscured by a half-mask. It was, of course, Luo Zhen.
A flicker of annoyance crossed the face of the first bidder. "One hundred and eighty-five thousand!" he snapped.
"One hundred and ninety thousand," Luo Zhen replied immediately, his tone as flat and unyielding as before. There was no hesitation, no calculation. Just a simple, irrefutable statement of fact.
The number hung in the air, and a sudden, profound silence descended upon the hall. The first bidder shot a venomous glare toward the back row, his jaw tight with frustration. But he said nothing more. The price was already steep, and the chilling confidence of the mysterious bidder suggested a bidding war he was not prepared to win.
"One hundred and ninety thousand!" Bai Guang called out, his eyes gleaming with professional delight. "A fine price! Is there any advance?"
He waited, milking the dramatic pause. The hall remained silent.
"Going once!"
The sound of the gavel felt imminent.
"Going twice!"
Still, nothing.
"And for the third and final time… Sold! For one hundred and ninety thousand mid-grade spirit stones to our friend in the black robe!" Bai Guang gestured warmly. "Congratulations, honored Daoist. If you would be so kind as to join our staff backstage to finalize the transaction."
Luo Zhen rose without a word and moved toward the back of the stage. He found the waitress waiting for him in a quiet, curtained-off area. He took the jade bottle, uncorked it, and let the fiery, potent aroma of the pills wash over him. A brief inspection confirmed their quality was impeccable. The exchange was swift and professional. He handed over a pouch heavy with spirit stones and, in less than a minute, was back in his seat, the precious pills secured.
He had just settled back into the shadows when the whispers started up nearby.
"Hey," a gravelly voice muttered to his left. "That guy in the black robe… never seen him before. Must be his first time at one of these things, right?"
"Definitely a rookie," another voice, smoother and more derisive, replied. "You can tell. Jumps on the very first item. Bids on pills, of all things. Doesn't he know the real treasures, the showstoppers, are always saved for later?"
"Maybe he's short on funds," the first voice mused. "He knows he can't compete for the big-ticket items, so he's grabbing what he can while it's relatively cheap. A few pills are better than nothing, I suppose."
"Who knows, who cares. Quiet now, the second item is coming up."
Luo Zhen's expression remained hidden behind his mask, his posture unchanged. Their words were like the buzzing of insects, a meaningless background noise. He had his own strategy, his own goals. Their opinions were irrelevant. He turned his attention back to the stage.
Another waitress had appeared, this one carrying a much longer tray. On it rested a sheathed sword, but even within its scabbard, it radiated an intense, suffocating heat. A visible heat-haze shimmered in the air it.
Bai Guang's voice boomed once more, filled with a new level of excitement. "Gentlemen, for our second offering, we present a masterpiece of the forge! A top-grade, fire-attribute magical weapon—the Fire Origin Sword!"
He drew the blade. A wave of heat washed across the entire hall, and the sword itself burst into view, gleaming like a shard of the setting sun. The metal was a deep, angry crimson, etched with runes that seemed to writhe like living flames.
"This blade is no mere weapon!" Bai Guang declared. "It is the culmination of three years of tireless effort by a cabal of five master swordsmiths! Forged from a core of pure Fire Origin Iron, it has been folded and quenched with dozens of rare refining agents. And, as the final touch, the masters alloyed into its very essence a sliver of pure Iron Essence!"
A collective gasp went through the audience. Iron Essence was a legendary material, impossibly rare.
"Because of this divine craftsmanship, the Fire Origin Sword has transcended the realm of ordinary weapons! It possesses two extraordinary abilities. First, it will shield its wielder, absorbing and dissipating the energy of incoming fire-attribute spells! Second, with but a sliver of your own power, it can unleash devastating arcs of pure Fire Origin sword qi!"
He paused, letting his gaze sweep over the crowd of predominantly fire-based Demon Generals. "Every one of you here could see your power multiplied with this sword in your hand. This is not an opportunity you want to miss!"
The atmosphere in the hall, already warm, became scorching. For cultivators of their caliber, a top-grade magical weapon was a game-changer. It could elevate a mid-tier general to a top-tier threat overnight. Most of them wielded high-grade weapons at best; a top-grade tool was the stuff of dreams. And this one, perfectly attuned to their own element, was a dream made manifest.
Of course, Luo Zhen knew there was a tier above this. His own Thundercloud Saber was a pseudo-magic treasure, a weapon that existed in the rarefied space between a magical tool and a true artifact. But pseudo-magic treasures were so rare as to be mythical. To the warriors in this room, the Fire Origin Sword was the absolute zenith of achievable power, and it was right there, shimmering before their very eyes.
Seeing the fever-pitch of excitement he had whipped up, Bai Guang delivered the final blow. "The bidding for this magnificent blade begins at one hundred and fifty thousand mid-grade spirit stones! Each increment must be no less than twenty thousand. Let the battle commence!"
"One hundred and seventy thousand!" a general roared before Bai Guang had even finished his sentence.
"Two hundred thousand!" another shouted immediately.
"Two hundred and fifty thousand!"
The hall exploded into a frenzy. Bids flew like sparks from an anvil, each one higher and more desperate than the last. Faces were flushed, voices were hoarse, the air thick with the raw scent of ambition. It was a chaotic, beautiful spectacle of greed.
Amid the firestorm, Luo Zhen leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes once more. He had the Thundercloud Saber. This beautiful, powerful sword was, to him, nothing more than a child's toy. He had no interest in it. He would simply wait for the storm to pass.