The Midnight Auction was not held in a building.
Following The Vault's precise, encrypted directions, Jera found himself in a derelict, abandoned art museum in downtown Manhattan. He had returned from Chicago as silently as he had left, an untraceable ghost.
He walked to a specific, unremarkable painting—a dark, oil landscape of a moonlit sea. As he approached, his [Aetheric Shield] tingled. This was a dimensional portal, disguised with S-Rank illusion magic.
A tall, impeccably dressed man in a silver mask materialized from the shadows. "Mr. Walker," he bowed, his voice respectful to the point of fear. "The Vault has arranged everything. We are honored by your presence."
Jera nodded, and the man gested to the painting. "After you."
Jera stepped through the canvas. The world did not twist or tear. He simply stepped out of the cold, dusty museum and into a place of impossible, opulent light.
He was on a private balcony, high above a massive, circular chamber. The room was built from white marble and glowing Aether-crystal, resembling a grand, cosmic opera house. Below, hundreds of figures sat in plush, velvet chairs, their faces hidden by magically enchanted masks. These were the true rulers of the world: Guild Leaders, shadow-brokers, corporate tyrants, and S-Rank Hunters.
"Your private booth, Mr. Walker," the attendant said, gesturing to a sealed room of black, one-way glass. "Completely anonymous. Sound-proof, mana-proof, and shielded from all forms of divination. You may bid through the private terminal linked directly to The Vault."
Jera entered the booth. The view was perfect. He was a predator in a high-perch blind, looking down on all his new rivals.
A new message pinged on his private comm.
To: C.W.
From: The Vault
Subject: The Guest List
Welcome to the party. You've made quite a stir.
That's Lord Valerius of the Crimson Guild in the front row. He's still furious about his "partnership" offer.
The man in the blue-silver mask is Kenji Tanaka of the Azure Sentinels. His A-Rank spies you humiliated back in New York... they didn't give a flattering report.
Almost every major power is here. They're not just here to buy. They're here to see what you buy. Be aware: every bid you make will be analyzed by them for months.
Jera scanned the crowd. He felt their mana signatures. They were strong, yes. S-Ranks. But they were just... people. They were bound by levels, by politics, by scarcity.
He was not.
To: The Vault
From: C.W.
Let them watch.
The auction began. The items were ludicrous.
"Lot #12: The crystallized heart of a Volcanic Dragon, an S-Rank artifact!"
"Bidding starts at one billion credits!"
The Guild Leaders fought over it, the price rapidly climbing to five, then six billion. Jera was bored. He could farm A-Rank cores worth 400 times that amount in an afternoon.
He waited.
"And now, Lot #44," the auctioneer said, his voice dropping. "A... curious item. A 'Heresy Fragment,' recovered from the deep rifts. The Bureau has flagged this as a 'burn-on-sight' item. As such, we cannot guarantee its safety... or its purpose."
A heavy silence fell over the room. The Guild Leaders leaned back. This was the item they were terrified of. The item that was connected to the "Torn Dimensions."
The item Jera was here for.
"Given the... nature of this item," the auctioneer said, "we will bring out our specialist appraiser to verify its authenticity. Please welcome, Seraphina."
A woman walked onto the stage.
She was not a Hunter. She wore a simple, elegant black dress, and her face was pale, her silver hair tied back. She moved with a weary, resigned grace. Jera's eyes, which could see the flow of mana, saw that she was not bound by a physical chain, but a magical one. A faint, glowing collar of light was around her neck, disguised as a piece of jewelry. She was a slave.
But it was her eyes that caught Jera's attention. They were a bright, piercing violet, and they held an impossible, ancient knowledge. She looked... trapped. And tired.
She walked to the Heresy Fragment—a piece of dark, metallic script, just like his. She placed one long, delicate finger on it.
The moment Seraphina touched the fragment; two things happened at once.
First: In Jera's Unlimited Inventory, his own [Runestone of the First War] began to vibrate. It released a low, harmonic thrum, a sound he felt in his very bones. His System flashed a new, green notification:
[HARMONIC RESONANCE DETECTED.]
[A second fragment of the 'Torn Dimensions' key is nearby. Acquiring it is of HIGH priority.]
Second: On the stage, Seraphina gasped. Her professional, weary mask shattered. Her head snapped up, her violet eyes scanning the dark, anonymous booths above.
She was looking for him.
She couldn't see him. But Jera knew, with absolute certainty, that she had felt his relic. She was the first person in the world who could sense his true purpose.
She quickly regained her composure, but her voice was shaky. "I... I can confirm," she said, her voice soft but clear, "This is an authentic fragment of the... First War. Its script speaks of... 'The Bleed.' It is a key... to a lock that was never meant to be opened."
The Guild Leaders in the audience shifted nervously. "The Bleed." The word was taboo.
"Thank you, Seraphina," the auctioneer said, eager to get her off the stage. "As you can see, a truly... unique item. We will start the bidding at a token 100 million credits."
Silence. No one bid. The Guilds didn't want to be caught owning a "Heresy Fragment."
"100 million?" the auctioneer asked, his voice sweating.
Jera opened his comm to The Vault.
To: The Vault
From: C.W.
End this.
The Vault, who was bidding from a separate, hidden location, understood immediately.
A new bid flashed on the main board. It was not 110 million. It was not 200 million.
"BIDDER #7: ONE HUNDRED BILLION CREDITS."
The auction hall went so quiet, Jera could hear the air circulating.
Every head in the room—Lord Valerius, Kenji Tanaka, every S-Rank Hunter—snapped their attention to the anonymous, black-glass booths. They didn't know which booth was his, but they knew he was the one who had just bid.
The auctioneer fumbled, his jaw slack. "One... one hundred billion? Going... going... Sold! To Bidder #7!"
It was the ultimate power-flex. Jera hadn't just bought the item; he had demonstrated that his wealth was so vast, so conceptual, that an amount of money that could fund a nation was "token" to him. He had paid a god's ransom for an item they were all afraid to touch.
On the stage, Seraphina was staring directly at his booth, her violet eyes wide, not with fear, but with a new, terrifying, desperate hope.
Jera stood up, his work done. He had the fragment. He had made his statement. And he had found a new, critical piece of the puzzle.
As he turned to leave, his private, anonymous comm buzzed. It was not from The Vault. It was an unauthorized, untraceable message, sent from inside the auction house.
[UNKNOWN SENDER]:
They are listening. But you have the key. I have the lock.
The Auction Master holds my contract. He won't sell.
Find me. Please.
-S