Chapter 30: The Gilded Chalice's Audience
After meeting with Corvin, Reyn and Garret are escorted to a private VIP booth in The Gilded Chalice auction house. The room itself is luxurious, furnished with plush seating, a spread of elegant food and drink, and a perfect view of the auction stage below. Reyn, barely able to hide his curiosity, looks around the booth, taking in the refined atmosphere.
As they settle in, Garret leans back, clearly enjoying the comforts provided, while the attendant reminds them that the auction will begin in an hour. Reyn glances out at the other booths scattered around the hall, each filled with groups from various backgrounds. There are high-ranking human nobles, elves, dwarves, and beastmen, each seated separately and, as far as Reyn can tell, keeping to their own.
In one of the more prominent booths, Reyn notices a dignified man with a strong, imposing frame and a cold, calculating gaze. He's wearing the insignia of a count, which marks him as a powerful figure among the nobles. Though Reyn doesn't hear his conversation, he overhears the attendant whispering to Garret that this man is Count Victor Malstron, the right-hand man of Duke Eadric Stormfell, a ruthless noble from the eastern region.
The name sparks Reyn's memory. He recalls what he's heard of Duke Stormfell—a powerful noble known as one of the largest slave traders in the empire. His Duke's lands are infamous for their brutal treatment of slaves, and Reyn has heard rumors that the Duke still holds on to outdated views, longing for a time before the alliance, when humans frequently took other races as slaves. Duke Stormfell's ambitions and influence have made him a controversial figure, and his reputation seems to cast a shadow even here.
The air in Count Malstron's booth is thick with tension, and Reyn can sense the cold hostility between the human nobles and some of the other attendees, especially the elves and beastmen. Though he can't hear their words, he observes the stiff postures and subtle sneers directed towards the non-human guests. The booth is surrounded by a faint hum of magic—sound-muffling enchantments that prevent anyone outside from eavesdropping.
---
In Count Malstron's booth:
"Malstron," a deep voice murmurs, "We must ensure the other races know their place. This auction could be the perfect opportunity to remind them."
"I agree," Count Malstron replies, his voice laced with coldness. "Once the bidding is done, we can consider how to 'reacquaint' them with their roles in society. We can't have them thinking they're equals to us. The elves, in particular, must learn humility."
"They might be scheming something. I hear their nobles have been spending heavily lately."
"They always do," Malstron scoffs. "They like to play at being cultured, but they forget who controls the wealth. As long as they stay in their booths and out of our way, they'll be fine."
---
Reyn can sense the rising tension, though he doesn't understand the specifics. He's not sure why these two speak with such cold disdain for the elves and the beastmen, but the words alone paint a disturbing picture of the Count's mindset.
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In the elven booth:
The elves, dressed in lavish robes, sit comfortably among themselves, their heads tilted toward each other, conversing with smooth ease. Though their words are just as muffled by the sound magic, Reyn can sense the amusement in their voices.
"Did you see the look on their faces when the auctioneer introduced the dwarven sword?" one elf chuckles softly. "They think it's the pinnacle of craftsmanship, but we know better. Those clumsy humans could never handle such a piece. It's almost cute watching them fight over it."
"True," another elf says, taking a sip from his glass. "But let them. It's fun watching them chase after illusions of power. We don't need their money; we just enjoy the spectacle."
"I heard there's a valuable item in tonight's auction, though. Something even a few of the higher-ups from our court have expressed interest in."
The conversation continues, light and carefree, with little regard for the other groups in the hall. Reyn feels a sense of detachment from their words, as if they're enjoying an entirely different event altogether—one that doesn't involve them, but rather the fools around them.
---
In the dwarven booth:
The dwarves in their booth share quiet murmurs, their tone far more serious than the elves'. They glance at the dwarven sword with a sense of pride and confidence.
"Do you think they'll actually bid on the sword at the price we set?" one dwarf asks, stroking his beard thoughtfully.
"They better," another dwarf grunts. "We've already lowered our prices for this auction. There's no reason we shouldn't walk away with a good profit. If these humans think they can replicate our work, they've got another thing coming."
A third dwarf chuckles. "They'll be scrambling to figure it out for years. By then, we'll be long gone, and the sword will still be ours."
The dwarves' voices are filled with confidence. To them, this auction is little more than a way to make a quick profit, a game they know they're likely to win. Reyn feels an odd sense of respect for their self-assuredness, though he knows it's the dwarves' mastery of craftsmanship that has earned them this arrogance.
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In the beastmen booth:
The beastmen, seated in a smaller booth, speak in low tones, their voices barely carrying through the sound magic. They eye the auction with a cautious look.
"We need to make sure we sell the manual quickly. The humans are easily fooled, but we don't want to stay here longer than necessary. The price is good, but not great. We'll have to make up for that on the next auction."
"Agreed," another beastman adds. "Let's not get too involved with the humans here. We're just making a quick profit, then leaving. Nothing more."
They speak with a pragmatic approach, focusing solely on the potential for immediate gain. Reyn wonders what the manual could be—some sort of martial technique, no doubt—but he has no time to ask as their words fade behind the enchantments blocking the sound.
---
As the groups settle into their booths, Reyn and Garret continue to watch in silence. Reyn can't help but feel the growing tension between the races. It's obvious that the human nobles look down on the other groups, even if it's masked by polite gestures and forced smiles. He notices the subtle but intense glances exchanged between the groups, each one watching the other like hawks waiting for a chance to strike.
Garret leans back in his seat, a playful grin on his face. "Looks like we're in for a real show tonight, eh?"
Reyn nods, still uneasy about the atmosphere. His eyes dart between the various booths, unsure of the true nature of each group's plans. There's a subtle tension hanging in the air, and he can't shake the feeling that this auction is more than just about selling valuable items. It feels like a battleground—only no one's showing their cards yet.
With an hour to go before the auction begins, the crowd continues to swell, and Reyn sinks deeper into his thoughts. His mind flits back to his own plans—selling his items and watching the auction unfold—but he can't shake the feeling that the night holds more surprises in store than anyone is letting on.