Chapter 4: The price of eternity

In M Country

Mr Harlond Smith was busy with company matters when his assistant came to report, "boss, the auctioning will resume from eight in the evening." "Got it," Mr Harlond Smith replied.

It was an hour to auctioning time so Harlond Smith and his assistant diceded to get some dinner then leave for the bidding.

The Royal Hall Auction

Golden chandeliers cast flickering light over the grand chamber. Nobles in silk robes whisper behind jeweled fans, warlords clad in dark armor stand like sentinels, and veiled figures—spies, no doubt—lurk in the shadows, with Mr Harlond Smith sitted at the back of the hall accompanied by his assistant. At the center of it all, a raised platform holds a podium, behind which stands the Auctioneer.

Draped in a deep crimson cloak, the Auctioneer's face is hidden by a porcelain mask. Their voice, smooth and chilling, echoes through the hall.

Opening Announcement

Auctioneer: "Esteemed guests, welcome. You have been summoned here not merely for wealth, but for power. The items before you are beyond price—yet price will decide their fate. Let us begin."

Item 1: The Golden Hairpin of the Xiyora Dynasty

A velvet-clad assistant steps forward, presenting a slender golden hairpin glistening under the candlelight. The auctioneer's voice carries through the hall.

"Behold! A relic of the lost Xiyora Dynasty, last worn by an empress whose name was erased from history. It is said that those who dare wear it glimpse the future itself. Who among you will claim this priceless heirloom?"

Lady Evanna, a noblewoman draped in pearls, gasps. "A glimpse into the future? The court would be mine." She grips her fan tightly.

A hooded scholar leans forward. "Impossible. Unless… does it truly hold foresight?" His fingers twitch as if already testing the metal.

A masked mercenary chuckles. "It'd fetch a fine price elsewhere. I'll take my chances."

Starting Bid: 500 gold pieces!

Lady Evanna raises her hand. "600!"

The scholar counters immediately. "750!"

The mercenary scoffs. "1,000."

A shadowed figure in the corner, speaking for the first time, smirks. "1,500."

The tension rises. Lady Evanna bites her lip but nods. "1,700!"

The scholar hesitates… then shakes his head. The shadowed figure sighs but offers no more.

"Sold! To Lady Evanna for 1,700 gold pieces!" The hairpin is carefully handed to her, and she watches it as though it might whisper secrets at any moment.

Item 2: The Veilstone Relic

The lights flicker as an assistant unveils a stone artifact, its surface shifting eerily under the glow of the candles. A hush falls over the room.

"The Veilstone Relic. No scholar can decipher its origin, and no thief can unlock its secrets. It is said to react to moonlight, revealing inscriptions unseen by mortal eyes. Some claim it is the key to a lost vault. Others say it is cursed. Who dares to possess it?"

A warlord in crimson armor sneers. "Curses don't scare me. But vaults? Those interest me."

A robed sage murmurs to himself. "Could it be… the missing piece?" He clenches his staff.

A merchant raises an eyebrow. "A gamble. But the return… intriguing."

Starting Bid: 1,200 gold pieces!

The warlord scoffs. "1,300."

The sage's eyes glint. "1,500."

The merchant takes a deep breath. "1,700."

A deep voice from the back, belonging to a mysterious figure with silver rings, speaks calmly. "2,000."

A murmur spreads through the crowd. The warlord narrows his eyes but remains silent. The sage hesitates, then exhales. The merchant rubs his chin but shakes his head.

"Sold! To the gentleman in silver rings for 2,000 gold pieces!"

The artifact disappears into the hands of its new owner. A knowing smirk crosses his lips. Did he already understand its purpose?

Item 3: The Venom of the Duskfang

"The Duskfang—a predator erased from history, its fangs feared more than any blade. A single drop of its venom does not kill with agony. No screams, no signs of distress. The victim simply… stops. A mind severed from its body, a soul left wandering. There is no known antidote."

The room is deathly still, the weight of the words sinking in. Then, the whispers begin.

A nobleman in crimson silk taps his chin. "Silent death… invaluable."

A veiled assassin smirks. "This would change the game."

A warlord in steel armor grunts. "A battlefield killer. A king's nightmare."

A hooded scholar glares. "This should be burned."

The auctioneer lets the tension hang before speaking. "Starting bid: 3,000 gold pieces."

The nobleman lifts a finger. "3,500."

The assassin's eyes gleam. "4,000."

The warlord chuckles. "5,500."

A shadowy figure at the back speaks for the first time. "7,000."

The room stirs. The noble hesitates. The assassin leans back, arms crossed. The warlord's smirk fades.

"7,000 going once… going twice… sold!"

The assistant approaches the shadowy figure with the vial, but the bidder does not reach for gold. Instead, they remain silent.

"Payment?" the auctioneer asks, his voice sharp.

The figure shifts but offers no coin. A murmur spreads through the room.

The nobleman scoffs. "A fraud."

The assassin tilts her head. "Or a fool."

The warlord crosses his arms. "Not wise to play games here."

The auctioneer remains composed, but his gloved fingers tighten around his cane.

"No gold, no prize. And in this hall, debts are not forgotten."

The shadowy figure does not argue. They stand, bow slightly, and retreat into the darkness. But the vial remains on the podium.

The auctioneer exhales, his smirk returning. "It seems fate has other plans for this poison. Perhaps another night, another buyer."

The doors open one final time. The night swallows the guests whole, but one question lingers—who will dare claim the venom next?

Item 4: The Verdant Tear

"The Verdant Tear—a herb that blooms only once in a decade, hidden deep within lands untouched by man. Legends say a single leaf can extend one's life. Two can restore youth. But consume too much, and the body forgets how to die."

A sharp inhale sweeps through the hall. Eyes lock onto the herb, calculating,

Lady Evanna, still clutching her newly won hairpin, whispers. "Time itself… priceless."

A decrepit noble grips his cane. "I could be young again."

A warlord scoffs. "An elixir for cowards afraid to die."

A masked alchemist murmurs. "I must study it. I must know."

The auctioneer lets the words linger before speaking.

"Starting bid: 10,000 gold pieces."

Silence. Then—

The decrepit noble, voice trembling. "11,000."

The alchemist, breathless. "12,500."

Lady Evanna, eyes sharp. "15,000."

A shadow moves. From the back of the room, a man stands. His presence alone silences the room.

Mr. Harlond Smith.

He speaks, smooth and final. "30,000 gold pieces."

A stunned pause. The warlord mutters a curse under his breath. Lady Evanna stiffens, then sighs. The alchemist clenches a fist but does not counter. The decrepit noble—silent, defeated—lowers his head.

"Sold! To Mr. Harlond Smith for 30,000 gold pieces."

The assistant carefully hands him the silver-encased box. He studies it for a moment, his expression unreadable, then tucks it away beneath his cloak.

The auctioneer smirks. "And so, our night ends—not with gold, nor steel, but the weight of eternity. To our winners, may your prizes serve you well. To the rest… perhaps next time, fate will be kinder."

The chandeliers flicker. The doors creak open. And just like that, the auction of mysteries is over.

As the last murmurs of the auction fade into the night, Mr. Harlond Smith turns to his loyal assistant, his voice calm but firm.

"We have what we came for. Pack everything—we leave at first flight." He glances at the silver-encased box, then out toward the darkened streets. "Orwell awaits."

His assistant nods, swiftly gathering their belongings. Outside, the wind shifts, carrying whispers of deals struck and fortunes won. But for Mr. Harlond Smith, the only thing that matters now is the journey ahead.