Chapter 16: Auction

The morning in the 12th District was noisy and chaotic. The streets were narrow, filled with vendors setting up stalls, beggars begging, and travelers shouting deals in every corner. Sunlight slipped through cracks between crooked buildings and faded cloth roofs.

Lucien woke up before sunrise. He sat up slowly, eyes calm, then stretched his arm as he let the light peek through the window. With a light sigh, he stood up, adjusted his long white coat, and placed the veiled hat upon his head.

His steps were silent as he left the inn. Outside, the district was just beginning to awaken. It was a poor area compared to the noble quarters, filled with the scent of dirt, smoke, and worn-out dreams. But Lucien's expression remained unchanged.

He walked around, observing. The 12th District, from what he could gather, was the lowest among the twelve inner districts of the kingdom. A place abandoned by nobles, ruled quietly by greedy men who wore fake smiles. Yet even here, people tried to live. Children laughed with torn clothes, old men worked without rest, and women traded coins like they were gold.

Lucien passed by a bakery with bread that looked like stone, a blacksmith shaping bent daggers, and a merchant arguing over the price of rotten fruit.

As he walked aimlessly through the crowd, he heard something unexpected.

"An auction? Here?" The words came from a tall man dressed in worn-out noble robes. Lucien's ear caught it immediately. His steps turned in that direction.

Soon enough, he stood before a large wooden structure that looked like an abandoned theater. But the noise inside said otherwise. Lucien slipped inside quietly.

It was an underground auction—though small, the crowd was thick. Merchants, rogue nobles, mercenaries, and shady faces filled the seats. The air was filled with sweat, smoke, and greed.

Lucien sat in the far back corner. No one noticed his presence. His aura was perfectly controlled.

A man in a green coat stood on stage, clapping with a grin. "Welcome, everyone! Welcome! Today we've gathered items from forgotten ruins, broken clans, and even ancient vaults. Let's begin!"

The crowd clapped and cheered. One by one, random objects were brought forward. A rusted sword that once belonged to a fallen knight. A blood-stained cloak with weak enchantments. A scroll said to boost physical strength—but had bite marks from rats. Lucien wasn't impressed.

Just as Lucien turned to leave the auction hall, another voice echoed from the stage.

"Wait—don't go just yet, folks! We have a few more… lesser items. Random junk, maybe cursed, maybe not!" the auctioneer laughed.

Lucien halted mid-step when something glimmered on the stage.

A small, jet-black stone was placed atop a worn cloth. It was roughly the size of a fist, with jagged edges and a faint mist swirling around it. From a distance, it looked ordinary.

But not to Lucien. The moment his eyes landed on it. something stirred within him. A pulse. A whisper. A soft vibration from his chest—the black aura inside him reacted. It wasn't loud, but he could feel it shift like a sleeping beast waking for a moment. His gaze narrowed.

"This strange item," the auctioneer said, tapping the black stone lightly, "was dug up from beneath an old village near the edge of the 12th District. No magic signature… but some say it gave them nightmares. Starting bid—only one silver coin!"

A few people chuckled.

Lucien frowned slightly. 'This stone… it's not magic. It's something else. Something older.'

He looked at the token pouch on his waist. He remembered the currency structure of this kingdom: 1 Gold Coin = 1,000 Silver Coins, 1 Silver Coin = 1,000 Bronze Coins

Most of the crowd didn't even react. It was just a rock to them.

Lucien lifted his hand slightly. "Fifty silver coins."

The auctioneer blinked. "F-Fifty silver coins? From the gentleman at the back!"

Laughter spread across the hall. "Hah! Fifty? For a rock?"

"Must be drunk!"

"Probably a noble's spoiled brat playing games."

Lucien ignored them. He simply leaned back into his chair again. When no one else raised the bid, the gavel slammed down.

"Sold! Fifty silver to the silent man in the white hat!"

The stone was sealed in a cloth box and sent toward him by a nervous runner. As Lucien touched the box, that strange pulse from his aura returned again, stronger this time—but it faded quickly.

He placed the box beside him.

The next item was wheeled in slowly. A thick, dusty book with a torn cover and faded markings. The auctioneer didn't look excited.

"Alright, we have a beat-up skill book. Looks like trash, smells like mold. Some say it came from a wandering hermit who died screaming. Hehe. Starting bid: two silver coins."

Lucien's eyes narrowed again.

The aura leaking from the book—it was black, almost identical to his own. It was faint but there. Like something asleep and ancient, sealed within the pages. Its power was hidden by the grime.

No one raised their hand. "Two silver, anyone?"

Lucien raised his hand. "Ten silver coins."

The auctioneer looked relieved. "Ten! Anyone else?"

Someone shrugged in the back, "Why bid on that garbage?"

"Sold!" The gavel hit the podium again.

Lucien placed the old, dusty book beside the black stone. Two strange items—both reacting to his presence. 'Are they drawn to me… or am I drawn to them?'

The auction was nearing its end.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, our last item for tonight," the auctioneer said dramatically. "Something mysterious. Found in a sealed box within a ruined noble's tomb—no one knows what it does. No aura, no magic signature. But... it changes."

He pulled the cloth away. What sat beneath it was a mask. It was smooth silver at first glance, but as the lights shifted, its form seemed to shimmer—different shapes, outlines, and designs appeared and disappeared like illusions.

"It's called the Mask of a Thousand Faces," the auctioneer grinned. "Unknown rank. Unknown effect. Could be junk. Could be priceless. Starting bid: one gold coin!"

A hush spread over the crowd. One gold was a huge sum here in the 12th District. Enough to feed a family for years. No one moved.

Lucien slowly raised one gloved hand. "One gold," he said.

Gasps rippled.

"Is he insane?"

"That's a real noble!"

"Buying garbage like it's treasure…"

But the auctioneer's smile only widened. "One gold! Going once! Going twice—SOLD!"

The mask was placed inside a polished wooden case and brought over to Lucien. As he picked it up, the surface of the mask flickered again—one moment blank, the next moment reflecting the face of a crying woman, then a laughing child, then a pale soldier with no eyes.

Lucien closed the lid calmly and stood up. Three strange items now sat in his possession: 'A black stone that stirred the aura within him.' 'A torn skill book that matched his energy.' 'A mask that whispered forgotten identities.'

He didn't speak. He simply left the auction hall without a sound, his long white coat flowing behind him, the veiled hat covering his eyes.

And in the distance, the crowd still mocked. But none of them knew. The world Lucien was walking into wasn't theirs. It was far deeper. Far darker.