Capital Auction House

The door unlocked with a loud click, and both Cane and Fergis sprang to their feet.

Telamon entered first, followed by the Duke, Brammel, and a woman in full plate armor, her hand resting casually on the pommel of her sword.

"Archmage, I can explain everything," Fergis began.

Telamon raised an eyebrow. "You can?"

Fergis hesitated, reconsidered, and adjusted course. "Archmage, Cane can explain everything."

Cane nodded, stepping into the moment without hesitation. "You see, it all started when three miscreants hurled a personal insult—on you. As members of the Academy, how could we let that stand?"

Fergis stared at Cane, eyes gleaming with something close to worship. "Exactly right, we—"

"Save it," Telamon cut him off, waving a hand. "You're not in trouble. Dust-ups happen when you're young and talented. Those jealous of your abilities will always try to drag you down."

Cane and Fergis nodded in perfect agreement. Obviously. That's exactly what had happened.

Then the armored woman cleared her throat.

"Unfortunately, the stained-glass window—"

Fergis and Cane exchanged panicked glances.

"—was a complete eyesore," she finished dryly. "I've been trying to accidentally break that thing for years."

The Duke chuckled. "Cane, Fergis—meet First Knight Meya Rowe, Captain of the King's Guard and former graduate of the Magic Academy."

Both Cane and Fergis took her in at a glance: martial stance, divine-tier gear, saturated in regenerative mana like high-level healers. Definitely a paladin.

They bowed in perfect unison—flawless, as if choreographed in advance.

The Duke turned to go. "Shall we?"

He left with Telamon, followed closely by Brammel. The knight remained by the door.

"Where are they going?" Cane asked.

"We," Meya Rowe corrected, gesturing for them to follow, "are going to the auction."

She glanced over her shoulder.

"Move it. Now."

Cane caught up with Brammel, leaving Fergis to fend for himself under the vigilant watch of Meya Rowe.

The professor gave Cane a long, disappointed look. "Brawling. Creating chaos. Property damage. Tossing people through stained-glass windows. I'm very disappointed…"

He paused dramatically.

"...That you didn't invite me."

"There wasn't time," Cane replied.

"Sounds like a Friday night at the pub," Brammel muttered wistfully. "Damn it… I miss those days."

"Did the assassin survive the fall?" Cane asked, lowering his voice.

"Oh sure," Brammel said, waving a hand. "Was only three stories. Popped right up—just in time to get run over by a team of horses."

Cane blinked. "That made up?"

Brammel put a hand over his heart. "No. Dwarves never make things up, boy."

He leaned in slightly, voice lowering. "But truly—well done. Both of you. The Duke said neither of you hesitated. And taking down an elite assassin?" He gave a nod of respect. "That's impressive work."

"Gravity helped."

"And the horses," Brammel added with a grin.

He clapped Cane on the shoulder. "Bottom line? You made the Academy look good."

"I don't recognize this place," Cane said, glancing around. He'd wandered much of the auction house earlier—but he'd never seen this room.

A large stage stood at the front, where a well-dressed man flipped through a stack of notes. Just below was the main floor, packed tight with rows of seats. Most were occupied by tradesmen, farmers, and clerks—common folk who wore eager expressions, like they were settling in for a theatrical performance.

Above them sat a balcony level, where the seats were spaced further apart and far more luxurious—armrests, fold-out drink trays, and a handful of attendants gliding between rows to serve the guests.

But they didn't stop there.

They continued upward to the private booths, high above the rest. This was where the movers and shakers of the capital sat. Each booth held three high-backed chairs, covered in soft velvet, with a personal attendant standing silently behind each one.

Telamon, Brammel, and the Duke took the front row.

Fergis, Meya Rowe, and Cane settled into the second. The chairs were staggered perfectly—giving even the back row a clear view of the stage.

As Cane adjusted his seat, a soft voice spoke behind him.

"Greetings, sir. I'll be attending to you today. Please let me know if you need anything."

Cane turned.

The woman had skin the warm shade of sun-kissed coffee beans, her dark curls falling neatly to her shoulders. Her poise was polished, but her presence was soft.

"I'm Cane," he said, offering a small smile. "What's your name?"

"Nina, sir."

"Just call me Cane."

She blinked, hesitated. "That would be inappropriate."

"Didn't you just say to let you know if I needed anything?" he asked, eyes twinkling. "Well—I need you to call me Cane."

Nina's smile was subtle, but genuine. She gave a slight nod.

"As you wish, Cane." 

"Do you have your eye on anything, Cane?" Nina asked, her voice soft. It felt warmer when she used his first name.

"Living wood and psi runes," Cane said. "You know anything about those?"

Nina nodded. "I do."

She stepped slightly forward, folding her hands neatly in front of her.

"Living wood, although common, is highly sought after by those attuned to the element. It's known for its ability to thrive anywhere—under any condition. If you cut a small block into a dozen pieces and plant them, twelve sprouts will emerge within days."

She paused, letting that sink in.

"Desert, arctic, tropical—doesn't matter. It's the only known plant that exists on every continent. It bears no fruit, no seeds. Some say it's a construct—created by one of the Great Archmages of the past."

Cane blinked, impressed. "You know a lot. But if it doesn't seed or bear fruit... how does it spread?"

"Humans, mostly," Nina replied. "But a few species of birds are drawn to its bark. They'll strip it, carry it miles away. It's rare, but when it shows up at auction, it usually goes for around five hundred gold—sometimes up to a platinum."

Cane nodded slowly. "What about psi runes?"

"There are many types," Nina said, tilting her head. "What exactly are you looking for, Cane?"

"Something for small teams—with decent range."

"General or targeted?"

"I… don't know what those mean," Cane admitted.

Nina smiled without condescension. "General psi runes pick up city broadcasts—anything transmitted publicly. They have decent range and are inexpensive, but the downside is anyone can listen in."

"Yeah… that won't work."

"Then you want targeted runes. They come in linked sets—two, three, up to ten. They only communicate with each other, and they won't send or receive on general frequencies."

Cane exhaled. "I'm glad you're here, Nina."

"Thank you, Cane."

She offered a gentle nod before continuing, "One last thing about psi runes: general types cost a few silver. Targeted sets run between two hundred gold and one platinum, depending on range. Top range is around ten miles."

Cane leaned back, weighing the options. Nina's insight had already paid for itself in peace of mind. 

"I suppose they'll start with the small items first?" Cane asked.

Nina shook her head. "Most auction houses do it that way. But here at Auction House Olivari, we start with the most expensive items and work our way down."

"Why's that?"

"The easy answer," she said, "is that the people sitting in these seats don't want to sit through a half-day of bidding. Meanwhile, the folks on the lower levels come here for entertainment—they enjoy the spectacle."

Cane glanced down at the main floor, where excitement already buzzed among the crowd. "That does seem like more fun."

He turned back to Nina. "Got any special intel?"

"General, or on the items you're interested in?"

"Both."

Nina gave a small nod, then leaned in slightly. "Psi runes can be placed on almost anything, as long as the object can attune to resonance. However…" she tapped behind her ear, "if you don't want to be overheard by someone standing right next to you, have the rune placed here."

"Really?"

"Yes. The rune inscriber will mute the rune's vibration so it doesn't project. But because it's so close to the inner ear, even the tiniest resonance will transmit directly—as clear as a whisper."

Cane looked impressed. "You're a treasure trove of secrets."

"Just trying to earn my tip," Nina said with a subtle smile.

"Next up," the announcer called out, his voice echoing across the vaulted space, "we have the first of four swords. These come by way of the Magi Academy, created by the young artificer who has recently been making waves."

Murmurs rippled through the audience.

"These blades are ranked Above Epic, forged from a new alloy called Salt—a combination of silver and cobalt."

A ripple of laughter erupted from the lower seats—good-natured and light. The host waited patiently for the noise to die down before continuing, unfazed.

"This Salt blade features a Mythic-rated Glacial Ice Rune and peerless craftsmanship, achieving an unprecedented purity rating of Exquisite. Demonstrator, please."

A female assistant stepped forward, carrying the blade. The contrast of her elegant evening wear and the deadly sword caught immediate attention.

A second cart was wheeled in, bearing a block of high-carbide steel.

With what appeared to be a casual swipe, the assistant sliced cleanly through the steel. The sharp crack echoed through the chamber, followed by a sudden, chilling sound—the cry of an Ice Gryphon—causing the entire audience to flinch.

From his private booth, the MC couldn't hide a smug smile. He congratulated himself for insisting on a demonstration and, without hesitation, added fifty platinum to the starting price.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said smoothly, "this blade was smithed in the named forge Resolute."

He opened his mouth to continue—when one of the cut steel blocks suddenly shattered, splintering like glass from the cold shock.

The audience gasped.

The MC silently thanked his personal gods and added another fifty platinum to the starting bid.

"Bidding starts at 300 platinum!"