Chapter CXXIX: Second Talent

The meathead let out a booming laugh—this time, full-throated and unrestrained.

He wasn't just satisfied anymore. He was hungry.

"Seventeen thousand!" he roared.

Mocking. Defiant. Triumphant.

As if he'd already carved his name into the winning slate.

But even as the echo of his voice settled across the chamber, it was swept aside by something far softer—yet infinitely sharper.

"…Eighteen," came Velurya's voice again.

Still no louder than before. Still that same velvet purr, gliding through the air like the cut of an unseen blade.

Not a counter. A statement.

She hadn't lost interest.

She was only just getting started.

And Yanwei—

He didn't wait.

"Twenty."

Flat. Final.

Like the word had weight beyond gold.

The chamber trembled. Not physically—but something beneath the surface shifted.

Gasps rose again, now less like whispers of gossip and more like the sharp intakes of people watching history bend.

Twenty thousand.

Not a scream. Not a taunt. Not even a boast.

Just a calm voice slicing through the chaos like a scalpel.

It was madness.

Because now, everyone knew.

Yanwei wasn't playing to intimidate.

He was there to win, and at the same time, destroy the others.

The meathead's grin didn't falter—but something in his eyes flickered. Just a twitch. Pride laced with unshaken confidence.

"Twenty-two!" he bellowed, louder than before, like sound alone could overpower sense.

A bluff? A challenge? Or just raw ego?

Yanwei didn't blink.

"Twenty-three."

No rise. No fire. Just pressure. Quiet, cold pressure. The kind that crushed mountains without a sound.

Then—

"Twenty-five," Velurya said.

Not a whisper.

A silk-wrapped dagger thrust between ribs.

Not aimed at one.

Aimed at both.

And this time, the silence that followed wasn't reverent.

Yanwei's expression remained perfectly neutral—calm, detached. No flicker of anger, no trace of satisfaction. Nothing changed on his face because none of this was a surprise.

My money isn't unlimited, the thought settled quietly in his mind. Confidence alone doesn't justify reckless spending. Winning isn't just about strength; it's about strategy.

He weighed the tempting idea—Let him win now, then rob him later.

But the risks gnawed at him. A Rank 1 with an obscene fortune? That kind of wealth rarely appeared by accident. His family must be powerful, influential. Crossing them could be a mistake.

So, patience was the wiser play.

Yanwei's voice cut through the tension, calm and steady.

"Twenty-six."

The meathead's grin twisted into a sneer.

"Hey, rich fucker, you should just give up. Maybe we can even be friends."

His words dripped with mockery, but there was a challenge beneath it—an attempt to rattle Yanwei, to get under his skin.

But Yanwei's face remained unreadable, untouched by the bait.

Then, Velurya's voice slid in, smooth and precise.

"Twenty-seven."

A beat passed. Silence. Calculated.

Then her gaze swept lazily across the room. "Hey, you."

No one replied.

A second passed. Then Yanwei glanced up. "Me?"

"Yeah, you," she said, lips curling into something too soft to be a smile. "Why not just take meathead's advice? There's no way for you to win, after all. And I should warn you… that guy? He'll definitely hold a grudge. That's just his nature."

Yanwei didn't waver.

"Thank you for being concerned about me," he replied, voice still level. "But I don't care."

Velurya clicked her tongue. "Tsk."

"Twenty-eight," the meathead growled, slamming his bid down like a hammer striking an anvil. His eyes burned with fierce determination—he wasn't going down without a fight.

Yanwei's gaze didn't waver as he smoothly countered, "Twenty-nine."

Velurya's voice was calm but sharp, like a blade sliding from its sheath.

"Thirty."

Yanwei's expression remained unreadable, but his voice cut through the charged silence like ice.

"Thirty-one."

The room thickened with tension—each bid a step closer to something breaking. The air felt heavy, charged with unspoken threats and fragile egos.

Velurya raised the stakes, her tone deliberate and cold.

"Thirty-four."

The meathead's jaw tightened, nostrils flaring as he slammed down his bid with brute force, voice edged with raw challenge.

"Thirty-five."

The silence that followed was deafening. Eyes darted between the three, each waiting for the next move, the next crack in the armor. This was more than a contest of money—it was a battle of wills, pride, and unseen power lurking just beneath the surface.

Velurya's lips curled as she opened her mouth, voice laced with mockery.

"Hey, meat—"

She paused deliberately, then shifted gears with a knowing smirk.

"Tyr. You're aiming for the technique, right?"

The words landed like a slap across the chamber. Tyr's name rang with deliberate precision, sharp enough to make a few onlookers flinch.

Velurya leaned back, lazily brushing a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Go on," she said, voice light, teasing. "Waste your money here. Who knows…" Her eyes gleamed. "Maybe I'll suddenly get interested in that instead."

Then she laughed—light and musical, but wild underneath. Not insane. Just dangerous. Like someone enjoying the chaos a little too much.

Tyr stiffened. The bravado in his stance cracked for half a second.

Wait… she's right.

The thought hit him like a slap. That technique—he couldn't risk losing it. Not over this.

But then came the second thought, stronger, clawing its way up through his pride.

But I can't lose here, either.

His grin returned, tighter now. He squared his shoulders and sneered, forcing a laugh.

"Do you dare?" he said coolly, like he hadn't just been rattled.

Velurya didn't blink.

"Of course I do," she replied, eyes burning. "How about you? Do you dare to risk that technique for this? Hah?"

Her laugh rang out again, louder this time. Not hysterical—but close. The kind of laugh that made people take a step back without knowing why.

Tension twisted tighter around the chamber. Each breath felt heavier.

This wasn't just a bidding war anymore.

It was a fuse.

And it was burning fast.

Velurya's smile sharpened.

"Thirty-seven," she said, casually tossing the number out like it meant nothing.

A few gasps echoed around the chamber. Even now, she didn't hesitate.

Yanwei let out a low chuckle. Then he laughed—freely, like someone tossing a lit match into dry grass.

"Damn," he said, grinning as his eyes flicked between the two. "So the relationship between both of you is that deep? To the point that Velurya—" he dragged her name out with playful derision, "—would dare to intercept that technique?"

He leaned forward slightly, just enough to make his voice cut through the room.

"Tyr, right? That's your name?"

Tyr didn't respond. His jaw clenched, eyes narrowed.

Yanwei's grin widened.

"What's your second talent, anyway?" he asked, almost idly, but the sharp glint in his eyes betrayed the trap he was laying. "Who knows… maybe you and I have the same one."

He chuckled again, this time low and taunting.

"And if that's the case…" he said, voice mockingly thoughtful, "I might intercept it too."

The laugh that followed wasn't loud, but it hit hard—cutting, deliberate. A challenge wrapped in silk and fire.

Everyone froze.

Second talent?

The words struck like a stone against glass—sharp, unexpected, and jarringly out of place.

The crowd exchanged glances, murmurs stirring like wind in dry leaves.

"Second talent…?"

"What's he talking about?"

"Never heard of that."

Confusion bloomed across every face. They didn't understand—not even a little. It wasn't something whispered about, not a legend, not a myth. It simply didn't exist in their world.

But for three people in that chamber, the reaction was entirely different.

Tyr's head snapped toward Yanwei, eyes wide. The confidence in his stance faltered, like something had been pulled out from under him.

"You…" he breathed, voice low and sharp. "How do you know that?"

Velurya's smirk faded. Her gaze turned cold—calculating. The playful taunt she'd thrown seconds ago felt like it had come from someone else.

Even Yuze—usually silent and composed—shifted slightly.

His eyes narrowed. Not with confusion, but with intensity. A glint of something dangerous flickered in his expression. Not anger. Not fear.

Caution.

They knew. All three of them.

They knew what "second talent" meant.

And more importantly—they knew no one in this barren, backward territory was supposed to know it.

Yet Yanwei had said it out loud. Casually. Mockingly.

Like he wasn't just aware—but confident.

And that changed everything.