On their way to the bidding room, the man began to explain, his voice smooth as polished silk. "You may call me Lamid. I apologise for not recognising you immediately. I was informed and instructed to ensure you receive the best the auction has to offer.
Our building has four floors, each accommodating different levels of clientele." He folded his arms behind his back, his posture a study in professional composure, as his footsteps echoed softly in the grand hall.
"The ground floor, or first floor, is for customers with bank books serving as tickets," he spoke in a measured voice, as though each word was a stone perfectly placed. "The second floor is reserved for bronze badge holders, mainly ordinary merchants and warriors.
The silver badge he has is very rare and is given to the well-known merchants, warriors, and families that have been in a generation-long relationship with us. And lastly, the golden badge-this badge is only given and kept among high-ranking officials like your academy principal, the continent guardian, and now you."
They stopped in front of a heavy, ornate door with intricate carvings; Lamid paused, his fingers brushing the handle with reverence. He opened it gently, exposing the room beyond in a subtle flourish, and gestured for Drake and his friends to go in.
The room was large, the grandeur present yet understated. Sunlight came in through slanted windows, illuminating the polished wooden floor that was gleaming liquid amber. The open area on the other side gave a clear view of the auction going on below: bidders scurrying like some chronological ballet of dark and whisper. In the centre of the room, there was a round table with an elegant jug and cups on it, while five chairs semi-circled around the viewing area, inviting them to sit and observe the scenery.
Drake reached the foot of the observation area, his eyes scanning the scene below with the piercing interest of a hawk surveying its kingdom. Down below, clientele lined up in rows of orderly arranged chairs, while murmurs of conversation rose and fell in their voices. Up above them, the second and third floors seemed more ethereal, private rooms shrouded in white drapes that allowed certain proportions of light through to protect the identification of the occupants.
Lamid, who had begun to leave, suddenly wheeled round, a tinge of urgency shading his face. "Sir, there is something important I need to relate to you," he said, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. Drake's brow furrowed slightly, curiosity sparking in his dark eyes. Lamid added, "There is another good thing about using this badge aside from having a private room. You already know that the badges have ranks from bronze to gold. The higher-ranking badge can always outbid the lower one, inhibiting the lower-ranking holder from being able to bid further, even when he has enough money to counter. Right now, you are the only golden badge holder here, so you can outbid and close any bidding.
With that revelation, Lamid departed, leaving Drake standing at the edge of the room, a mischievous grin curling up slowly at the corners of his lips. A glint of devious intent flickered in his eyes, like a predator that has suddenly spotted an unsuspecting prey.
He was lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts when suddenly, a bell rang aloud, its crisp chime slicing through the hum of voices and drawing the attention of every bidder in the building, from the grand floor all the way to the exclusive fourth floor. The sound of the bell pulled Drake from his reverie as he joined his friends around the table, their faces animated with anticipation as they turned their gaze to the veiled view before them.
A woman, her stony white and deep blue gown flowing like cascading waves, stepped onto the podium, commanding yet graceful. Deep blue hair spilled over her shoulders like a waterfall at midnight, and in her hand, she held a bell glinting under the crystalline chandeliers above. In front of her was a lectern-a beautiful blend of crystal and marble-its surface gleaming polished, shining with quiet dignity.
"Ladies and gentlemen, merchants and warriors," she said, her voice melodious, easily carrying across the room. "My name is Lily. I'll be in charge of today's auction. Well, let's not waste any more time. Let the auction begin." She rang the bell once, the resonant chime like a herald announcing the start of a royal feast.
The female auction staff member mounted the shining podium with the elegance of a swan moving across a still lake, holding a tray covered with velvet. With the assured panache of a seasoned performer, Lily revealed the tray's contents: a round-bottom flask filled to its capacity with an iridescent green liquid that apparently gently pulsed with life. "Ladies and gentlemen, our first auction item for today is a Mana Restoring Elixir," she announced in a voice as smooth as flowing silk that easily grasped the audience's attention. "This elixir can restore 2,000 units of mana to a mage's mana core." A ripple of excitement coursed through the crowd; their hushed murmurs likened to a low tide swelling up against the shore. Such a rare and potent potion was a treasure indeed.
"The starting price is 100 silver coins. Let the bidding begin," Lily announced, ringing the bell twice, its sound cutting cleanly through the air of expectation.
A man in the first row raised his hand, his voice steady and yet eager. "102 silver coins." Almost immediately, another mercenary called out, "125 silver coins." Overlapping voices rose like the clashing swords in a duel. "127 silver coins." "130 silver coins." The bidding went up fast, an avid dance of rivalry and desire. Finally, a powerful voice echoed from the second floor, leaving all other voices to screech to a halt like a blade after the fray. "150 silver coins."
Following the strict privacy of VIP customers, the bidders on the ground floor stopped immediately. Lily's voice sounded because it was final. "Anyone else? 150 silver coins going once. going twice. sold! The Mana Restoring Elixir goes to room 5 on the second floor."
The anonymity of the second-floor rooms-their numbers being known only to auction officials-lent an air of intrigue to the proceedings.
The next staff member climbed on stage with a tray covered in a jet-black cloth that was oozing mystery. Lily uncovered the second flask, filled with a smoldering orange liquid, which was dancing like the embers of an almost-dead fire. "Next up for auction is the Elixir of Aether Surge," she said with measured, commanding calm. "This elixir can expand the mana core's storage by 1,700 units, allowing a mage to wield greater reserves of power. The bidding price starts at 200 silvers." A collective gasp swept through the crowd; it was as if the very room had drawn breath in anticipation.
The bidding ignited like wildfire. "220 silver coins." "230 silver coins." A heated exchange ensued, voices growing louder and more impassioned. Suddenly, a voice from the third floor interrupted the escalating frenzy. "300 silver coins."
Ronan confidently placed the bid, but a voice from the first floor intervened softly and in almost begging. "From your voice, you must be young. Can you please do me a favor and let me have it?" Ronan tried to bite his anger and responded calmly, "Sorry, but I can't satisfy you. I won't give up this product."
For a moment, his pride puffed out; then, from up the row, a voice called out cool and steady: "311 silver coins."
This was a thunderstorm to Ronan's ears as he had never intended things to go this far; he lost his composure in that instant. His heart racing, he hurriedly returned, "Please, sir, being from the older generation, let this item go to this younger one.".
The voice from above, so full of repressed mirth, replied, "The youth of today are quite daring. Did your parents fail to teach you it is impolite to beg a stranger?" In a sudden burst, the laughter echoed around him like a tidal wave, washing over his tender dignity to splash Ronan's cheeks pink.
With that, Lily rang the bell once again, this time her sharp eyes ordering silence. "The next item is the Storm Flash Infusion Elixir," she declared in a slow, articulate tone. "This elixir fortifies the flesh, allowing for an increase in physical attack and resilience, making it very suitable for warriors. The bidding starts at 400 silver."
The air in the room pulsed once again. "310 silver coins." "320 silver coins." The crowd on the ground floor was highly eager until Malachai, one of the academy's seniors, yelled from the second floor, carrying more authority in his voice. "350 silver coins."
Griffin, a fist user, knew that the worth of this elixir was definitely much more, and hence he nodded furiously towards Ronan. "350 silver coins," Ronan repeated, his voice cold and resolute.
Malachai, an unwilling but composed speaker, had his voice low with soft reprimand. "Young friend, by the way you bid, I can tell you are a student from my academy. Could you please forfeit this bid to me?" His words sounded full of pity, yet Ronan prideful as ever, refused point-blank, his pride stubborn as reason tried to weigh it down.
Meanwhile, on the fourth floor in Drake's bidding room, the atmosphere remained light but purposeful. Mark turned to Drake with a grin. "Drake, let me use your badge to bid."
Drake smiled wryly, a hint of mischief in his glinting eyes. "What do you mean, can you? I brought you here so you could bid with me. And it appears you're gunning for him, so just do as you like."
Mark leaned forward, his voice level and even. "351 silver coins."
Griffin's keen ears picked up Mark's voice, and in a flash, he relayed the information to Ronan. The truth was like a hard slap to Ronan's face. His trembling hand banged on the table in front of him. "Where did those sons of bitches get a golden badge?" he growled, with dark undertones, more than his pride could bear.
His voice rose, shaking with anger. "Hey, you sons-of-guns! Where did you get that badge from? You thieves!" He pointed accusingly toward the fourth-floor room, his self-control unraveling in front of the crowd.
Inside Drake's bidding room, the laughter went up like a chorus; even Xena couldn't keep from laughing. Drake never moved; his face was as calm as still water. His determination never wavered, his eyes fixed on a game far from being over.