As the final gavel fell—marking the sale of a minor Spirit Binding Contract used in low-tier beast taming—the thunderous energy of the Twelfth Arcana Fest Auction began to ebb. The hall, moments ago a tempest of ambition and gold, now shifted into its afterglow.
Servants moved quickly and quietly, like trained shadows, swiftly clearing crystal goblets. Crumpled bidding slips fluttered away on the wind.
But within Suite #4, Charles remained seated—composed, silent, a masked shadow amidst velvet splendor. He waited, still cloaked in the cool aftermath of dominance.
The doors parted.
And in came Gideon Raventhorn himself—Auction Master of Duranth, sharp-eyed and dressed in midnight robes threaded with mana-silk, flanked by two attendants and the lead auctioneer. Each carried a case bound in enchantments and reverence.
"Sir Charles," Gideon greeted with a half-bow, his tone dipped in polished respect. "You made quite the impression tonight. Congratulations… on acquisitions worthy of legacy."
The first case was placed before him with care—a sleek box of imperial jade, laced in platinum chainlocks, each link pulsing softly with five-tiered glyph seals.
With a whisper of command, the glyphs receded, and the lid floated open to reveal its prize:
The Soulroot Vein-Awakening Pill.
Nestled on a bed of celestial lotus silk, the pill pulsed with molten hues of gold and ember-red. Its radiance shimmered in the air like a suspended miracle—alive, almost sentient. Waves of dormant potential rolled off it in gentle arcs, making even Gideon's breath catch.
"It hums," Charles said softly.
"Yes," Gideon whispered. "As if awaiting a worthy host."
Then came the second case—crafted from skyglass crystal and enchanted obsidian, shaped like an arrowhead with seven precision locks. When it opened, the room seemed to breathe in.
The Windblade Daggers of the Silent Tempest.
Twin blades nestled in shadow-velvet. Forged of celestial jade, the curved daggers glimmered, streaks of silver-blue and violet arcs of latent wind magic dancing along their forms. Runes moved across their hilts, alive with whispering air. These weren't just weapons. They were an aria written in steel.
As Charles reached toward them, a gentle breeze stirred his cloak—indoors.
"They choose their wielder," Gideon warned with a smile. "It seems they've already approved of you."
Last came the third and final case—longer, heavier, carved from reinforced ebony wood, inlaid with silver runes that glowed with silent power. Its seal bore the sigil of the Duranth Merchant Guild—the mark of elite provenance.
The case opened.
And Charles exhaled, sharp and low.
Raijin's Emberfang.
A katana of obsidian laced with red-gold streaks, its blade gleamed with lightning etched into metal. Even dormant, it radiated heat—controlled, poised, devastating. The very air bent slightly around it, humming with barely restrained power. Crimson glyphs pulsed like a heartbeat along its edge, as if the blade had not been forged but born.
It wasn't a sword.
It was a verdict.
"A treasure of destruction and refinement," Gideon said reverently. "And now it's yours."
Before Charles could respond, Gideon reached into his sleeve and withdrew a small, velvet box, placing it ceremoniously on the table. He opened it.
Inside was a sleek, black card forged of obsidian alloy, trimmed in celestial gold and embedded with flickering arcane circuitry. The emblem of Stellar Bank gleamed in its center—a twelve-pointed star coiled by a serpent dragon, its mouth biting its own tail.
"Sir Charles," Gideon said, voice deeper now, "this is your Level 1 Stellar Bank Card. Activated under the Davona branch. Fully endorsed by Marquis Lucien Damaris himself. Consider it a rare favor from the royal line, extended through the Sorelle."
Even the attendants stepped back.
Most noble heirs dreamed of holding this. Few ever did.
Charles lifted the card with slow reverence. It was impossibly light, smooth as dragonbone silk, cold like starlight.
"How do I activate it?" he asked, though he already knew.
"Infuse a wisp of your qi into the central node," Gideon instructed. "It will bind to your soul signature and heartbeat. After that, only you can access it."
Charles pressed his thumb against the star.
A faint warmth surged into his skin. The circuitry ignited with pale fire. A pulse. A second. Then a voice echoed from the suite wall's embedded crystal:
"Identity confirmed. Primary Account Holder: Bound."
Charles felt the bond take hold—firm, unbreakable. It reminded him of biometric keychain vaults from his old world. Except this one ran on soulprint, not silicone.
Gideon smiled with measured pride. "It's not just a card. It's your access to the empire's veins—secure transactions, merchant command, vault deployment, even real-time tracking of assets."
He handed Charles a silk brochure, embossed in gold foil:
Stellar Bank Access Levels:
Level 1: You need to deposit at least 1,000 gold to get basic access, soulbound transactions, and the merchant registry.
Level 2: 100,000 gold (for managing assets, private vaults, and limited investment portfolios)
Level 3: 1 million gold (influence over the merchant guild, grants of land, and guardianship of vaults)
Level 4: 100 million gold (access to world-tier assets, floating fortresses, and economic control)
Level 5: More than 1 trillion gold (the highest level of global banking, investments in artifacts, and the right to override political decisions)
Gideon went on, "After taking out the commission, your current balance is 26,500 gold coins." He gestured to the card as he spoke. "You can move or spend money through any Stellar Merchant Conduit or Guild Registry. To make a payment, touch your card to the conduit pedestal and pulse your qi."
Charles nodded and put the card in the secret pocket of his cloak.
This was more than just money. It was a tool. A blade that is as sharp as Raijin's Emberfang.
The auction was finally over.
The Vault of Echoing Gold
As soon as the gavel stopped shaking on the auction floor, the rumors started.
"Did you see the person who bid from Suite Four?"
"I heard he spent more than thirty thousand gold in one night."
"Masked." No name. And took Raijin's Emberfang like it was nothing.
Some people said he was a bad prince from a fallen dynasty. Some people said he was a masked killer working with the Shadow Vow. One noble with wild eyes even swore that the Windblade Daggers whispered his name in old runes.
Charles—still masked, still silent—exited Suite Four to a hallway of flickering torchlight and murmured speculation. Servants averted their eyes. Merchants peeked from behind curtains. One noble tried to "accidentally" trip into his path and was swiftly redirected by Gideon Raventhorn's outstretched cane.
"No interviews," Gideon said dryly. "And no duels in the corridor. This isn't the southern kingdoms."
They made their way through the side exit, past the golden statues of lion-kirin that flanked the inner garden, and into the transport corridor beneath the auction house. A gilded carriage awaited—its wheels floating inches above the cobblestone via gravity-reducing runes, drawn by twin spectral horses with manes of living flame.
Inside the velvet-lined cabin, Charles crossed one leg over the other, a picture of unshaken ease.
Gideon, sitting across, cleared his throat. "I must admit, Sir Charles… tonight was a masterclass. The room is still reeling. You'll be in every noble gossip circle from here to Solennia by morning."
Charles simply smiled beneath the mask. "Let them talk. Gold echoes louder than rumors."
Moments later, the carriage climbed toward the financial district—Duranth's citadel of gold and glory. The Stellar Bank's Northern Branch rose above the city like a crown.
It wasn't just a building; it was a statement.
The bank's foundation was aether-tempered obsidian and lapis granite, its veins funneling power to the security matrix. Two mirrored crystal revolving doors guarded the entrance.
Gideon escorted him through the eastern wing's private entrance—past four verification points, a retina scan array, and a barrier that tested spiritual resonance with a thirty-thousand-line glyph net.
At the final threshold, a tall man awaited them in a three-piece obsidian tunic lined with royal gold trim.
"Sir Charles," said Marquis Lucien Damaris, Chairman of the Duranth Merchant Guild and a blood cousin to King Darius III. "An honor."
The two shook hands—Charles's grip firm, his eyes unblinking behind the mask.
"You've stirred quite the storm tonight," Lucien added with a wry smile. "We usually have heirs we need to chase down for unpaid ledgers. You, however,… walk in with thunder."
Charles inclined his head. "I'd like to make a direct deposit into my Stellar account."
"Of course. The commission has already settled from tonight's auction. Shall we proceed to the vault?"
They moved into a private glass chamber lit with suspended starlight orbs. The center held a Stellar Conduit Pedestal—an obsidian altar wrapped in ethereal circuits, glowing softly.
Lucien gestured. "You may place the vault crystal or storage ring here."
Charles instead raised his right palm, and between his fingers, a silvery shimmer pulsed in the air.
"SIGMA," he murmured.
[ACCESS GRANTED — INTERDIMENSIONAL INVENTORY: CHARLES]
With a flick of his qi, a single gold tablet appeared in the air. It was an auric ingot with the Empire-standard currency's triple phoenix seal on it.
Then one more. Then another.
Ten. Fifty. One hundred…
Each tablet, worth 1,000 gold coins, landed in the pedestal's input basin until it was filled. The air grew heavy and shimmered. The servants, seeing the value, stepped back, visibly shaken.
Lucien's eyes got a little bigger. "That... was a transfer of virtual storage?"
Charles smiled. "Let's say it's an old system. The rules for private banks.
Lucien blinked. "Not even the best noble heirs can conjure things from their vaults like that. You've made a magical bank transfer. Those channels are only open to the southern satrap princes and the Imperial Trade Lords.
Gideon raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. He had also thought that Charles used a hidden spatial ring. This—whatever it was—was more than normal.
"What are we putting in?" Lucien asked.
"One hundred thousand gold." Your own money. "Outside of the auction proceeds," Charles said. "Keep 1,000 in reserve for Tier 1 continuity."
The pedestal sparkled. A clear voice said:
[CONFIRMED DEPOSIT: 100,000 GOLD. ACCOUNT BALANCE: 126,500 GOLD.
Lucien slowly turned to look at him, and his usually hard-to-read face showed awe.
"Sir Charles," he said, clearing his throat, "by this deposit, you now qualify for Tier 2 Stellar Banking privileges."
He reached for a console to his right. With a keystroke and a flash of soul-verification, the obsidian card in Charles's cloak shimmered.
[UPGRADE COMPLETE — VIP ACCESS TIER: TWO.]
The card's edges now bore thin gold filigree. A line of runes appeared near the base—"CRESCENDO SIGIL"—the mark of growing economic weight.
"With Tier 2," Lucien explained, "you now gain access to regional investment networks, rotating vault portfolios, and private merchant syndicates. You may bid in merchant guild votes, lease vault space in planetary branches, and invest in cyclical returns across our affiliated economies."
"Any recommended channels?" Charles asked smoothly.
Lucien pulled up a floating panel—an interactive vault glyph display.
He said, "This quarter, we have three big portfolios opening. The first is a relic-trade cycling fund linked to trade between Duranth and the Coral Wastes. Low risk, medium return. Ten thousand at the very least.
The Arcane Steel Reserve is second. A lot of risk, but a lot of reward. Involved supporting the making of mana alloys that can be used to make weapons. At least twenty-five thousand.
"Third... is limited. Only for VIP Tier 3. But... with a few exceptions..."
He hit an override button.
[SHADOWFORGE VEIL FUND: LIMITED ACCESS GRANTED]
Charles's eyes shone. There was a floating fortress in the hologram, made of lava flows and obsidian towers.
Lucien said in a low voice, "The Shadowforge Veil is a secret industrial fleet making Void-Class constructs. Investments give you early access to weaponized relics, artifact-tier armor testing, and territory stakes in post-fall zones."
"And how much?"
Lucien looked him in the eye. Fifty thousand gold. At least."
Charles thought about it. Then, without blinking, he put his card on the pedestal.
"Deposit twenty-five thousand into Arcane Steel. Ten into the Coral trade. Hold the rest for reactive plays," he said. "I may need liquidity if something explodes."
Lucien let out a soft laugh. "Explosions tend to follow you, don't they?"
"Only the expensive kind," Charles said, straightening his cloak.
The room shimmered as the funds were redirected. The ledger is updated in real time.
[INVESTMENT ALLOCATIONS CONFIRMED.]
Charles stepped away from the pedestal, his card warm in his hand, his influence beginning to stretch its tendrils into the arteries of empire.
Outside the glass chamber, several clerks and noble interns had begun peeking in through the walls—drawn by the glow and the whispers.
One voice carried: "That's the masked bidder. He just deposited more than House Grell's entire war fund."
Another: "He's buying into Arcane Steel? Are those numbers real?"
Lucien led Charles back toward the front.
"Some will chase your footsteps," he said. "Others will try to trace your bloodline. All will wonder who you really are."
"And what will you say?"
Lucien smiled.
"I'll say… I watched a storm walk into my vault… and leave with the keys to the thunder."
Charles didn't answer.
He simply walked forward—mask gleaming, cloak fluttering, and empire watching.