With a flick of a finger, the two rare items came up before Avarita, floating upon a blue cloud with silver flakes. Back in the booth, the item's details overlaid on the interface-linked platforms displayed proudly before Luke, Emalia, and Calen. The Scythe came on first, and the wand awaited its turn just a little longer.

[Soren's Soul Scythe]

Quality: Rare

Stats: +50 Agility +25 Intellect

Passive - Whirling Slices: Wielder's attacks with this weapon are sped up significantly, scaling further with the agility attribute.

Passive - Soul Reaped: Each successfully landed attack deals minor damage to the soul, lowering the target's senses.

Requirements: Tier 1, Melee Class.

Trusted partner to a bone monstrosity—Soul Lord Aren. Many face him for the weapon, many more die in the attempt, another soul to the twister.

Starting Bid: 500 Gold.

"A rather interesting weapon." Calen assessed, "But one that's found out on the market once or twice a month, barely able to squeeze into the starting line-up. A handout for the single ascended. Its lack of a specific level requirement beyond Tier props up the value."

He made no motion to bid on it, not that Luke expected him to. He could feel Emalia's piercing gaze glued to his features; she hadn't once glanced at the screen's information. He tried to moderate any hint of emotion. The Reaver did hope people would bid on this item fervently. Avarita began the real purpose of her presence and acted to arouse interest in bidding.

"A staple to any hunter in the first tier, or our refined collectors, notice its lack of level necessity, and other owners salivate over its Soul Reaped affix in their testimony, swearing to their own survival for it in their fiercest battles. Perhaps useful for a certain Tide our intrepid defenders will meet? A mere thousand gold to start bidding over this prestigious item."

Luckily for Luke, while those closest in his company weren't interested, nor any dweller in the four booths, plenty on the seating below begged to differ. Peering out to the barely contained bidding chaos below, a clear voice raised a painted sign from his cushioned seat with the number '859' on it.

"1,000 gold."

And so it began.

An elderly human gentleman, who appeared to be from minor nobility, ran his hand through his mustache once, then counterbid. "A mere pittance, 1,200 gold. This will make a fine gift to my granddaughter in the capital."

With less fan flair, a sickly looking monic man rose his bidding pallet. "1,500 gold."

Coming along in yet another counter bid, one voice began to over another, the price ever rising, finally the sickly monic man, and a stout tora seemed intent on making this their prize for the night.

Slightly yellowed fangs glinting, the tora said, "3,300 gold."

Near emotionless as ever, the sickly monic slowly waved the bidding pallet. "3,500."

Snarling for a moment, the tora resigned himself, leaving the first item on auction for the night sold at a staggering 3,500 gold, several times its value in less pressured times.

The following item, a wand Luke also slid into the auction lineup at the last moment, came up behind. Its properties were considered less desirable compared to the scythe, and thought to only be presented as a 'set' from the same source; otherwise, it would not be revealed in an auction at this quality. It sold for considerably less, at 1700 gold, a victory by sheer circumstance.

Better than nothing.

Two successful auctions under his name raised his gold 'war chest' to a hair under 30,000 gold. It came in with mixed reactions; what he once thought was sufficient started to feel inadequate, despite last-minute growth.

He wasn't a fool. Those two items were likely only presented to whet the appetite for the 'real' items. And yet?

Their prices were still magnified many fold. For those on the receiving end—the original owners of the items—great, a way to surge up their gold reservoirs. It presented a troubling problem for Luke. If this pattern held, the chances of his current gold count passing muster for at least one necessary item tumbled by the second. He ruthlessly cut away an idea of claiming more than a singular prize. Sending a mental apology to Sooty in advance, the nascent desire to possibly obtain a third companion item for her, gone with the avaricious winds buffeted by the wealthy below.

Feeling the black felt upon the couch, he reset his posture, trying to ignore the monic woman pressing a little too much upon him. Luke sighed, persistence could pay off, he guessed, as ignoring the obvious hints became impossible.

For a moment longer, however, he would have to keep focus.

In a gold and red booth interior, two figures, both human, relaxed on separate short lounging chairs. Three attendants flanked each to their rear.

A woman with brilliant blond hair that held red flakes narrowed her eyes as the previously presented wand was hauled off the fine wooden stage. The sweet lilly smell wafting in the enclosed room failed to ease her nerves.

"Chander, I adore you deeply." She reached out to the fire mage with flaming red hair with a gentle yet powerful pale palm, "That newest Defier in the city, the Ninth, could you set things aside before the bubbling grudge grows any further?"

Chander seemed to bristle at the mention; embers naturally emanated from his hand. The woman, Calista Pyrite, skillfully extinguished them, paying them no heed. A faint flame licked Domain around her casually caged in most of Chander's mana. Such forces were an obvious sign of a tier 3 combat class.

Seemingly used to her abilities, Chander moderated his usual nature. "He's responsible for Godrel's death, sister. An unforgivable ant."

Grandfather spoiled him too much as a child. Calista surmised before continuing her persuasion. She had been around her brother for too long to believe that to be the entire truth. Chander struggled with the passionate flame often found within members of her family, and its wildfire sometimes attempted to burn the wrong tree.

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"We both know that's not fully how the events transpired, red cub." She rubbed his cheek, then pinched it.

Clearly bothered, Chander tried to pull his face away. "When will you stop calling me that?"

"We can start thinking about it when you enter the first tier," the slightly cheeky tone ended abruptly, "after this auction, we're pushing you through it. For your safety. There are no guarantees of survival during the Tide. Grandpa may guard the manor, though the Tide mustered monsters even he can't casually keep you safe from."

Chander opened his mouth to rebuff, but Calista clamped it shut from under his chin. She continued, "Enough of the man-child act, brother. Perhaps you failed to sense it, but I did not. The Ninth will come for you."

Ripping away Calista's hand, of which he was able only because she allowed it, Chander said, "A lowly hunter doesn't have the ability."

"Spoke like one stuck in the past. The man you met in that dungeon, and him now? They may as well be different people. Defiers, in many ways, are our equals, if not superiors, when it comes to the most powerful ones. Grandfather, a hollow tier 4, can crush many underfoot easily." She blinked slowly at Chander. "The Defiers are not part of that group, brother."

A faint squish came from Chander's left hand as he crushed a pear-shaped fruit. "No matter what he is now, he's still responsible for offending the family, and killing a dear friend to me."

Calista glanced at the following items on offer after the Scythe and Wand pair. More weaponry, armor, and materials at the peak of tier 1, nothing for her to waste precious mental capacity on. As such, she returned to her youngest sibling.

"When are you going to finally do something about being the runt of the family, Chander? Grandpa adores you, but any other member of our family would be long thrown into the Ember Grounds if they showed such a lack of awareness and progress for so many years. In the face of the Tide, even he has begun to waver."

"You mean…" A faint tremble could be seen running throughout Chander's body.

"Yes, exactly that. Pray this auction comes up with something that can alleviate pain a modicum. The moment your ascension ends, the Ember Grounds within the compound will be opened. You are to enter, and not leave until the Tide is over. The safest option we can give you."

"Grandfather would never…" The fire mage began, but the rest of his spiel died upon further action from his sister.

Calista revealed a reddish parchment, stamped with a blazing seal, that of their Patriarch, and grandfather. "It's all here, Chander, plain as sear marks. When I convinced him the Ice Defier wouldn't hesitate to claim your head during the Tide—should the chance arise—he finally gave in."

"Then this is your doing, sister. Why would you send me to that hell? Is seeking justice for Godrel a terrible idea?"

"The lens in which you see things has always been narrow, red cub. Forget Godrel, he's in the dead realms now. Worry about yourself. Provoking a rapidly growing genius is never wise. I know all about you continually raising the bounty on the Defier, and granting audiences to the Red Gorrids on the subject near-nightly. The Ember Grounds are for your protection and to reignite your future."

Red brands blazed upon Calista's face as her tier 3 aura seeped out further, making Chander breathless while causing other nearby servants to pass out. When the higher ascended entirely stopped holding themselves back, lower level people couldn't stay conscious around them.

"This time, you may have caused a mess not even I can clean up for you, Chander. It's best to quit while ahead."

A look of pained resignation passed over Chander's handsome features, unfitting to his usually vibrant red hair. Yet underneath, a shimmering flare could be found. The young man wasn't entirely willing to let go of his fixation.

In the coming days, his path was set, but eventually it would no longer be so.

Three figures lounged in a booth, each dominating their own corner out of the four available. Despite each appearing relaxed as could be, their servants perspired like rabbits before a tiger. Their steps labored with effort from the sheer aura subconsciously blasting from each tier 3 being inside. With the booth's effects, none of the three cared to conceal themselves completely for once. Black pentagrams emblazoned the walls.

"I expected our newest to join us," Tanniv said. Wisps of mana radiated from the runes on his cheeks. He tapped at the air, seeing what others typically could not. "Isn't that interesting? He's done something only Musai and the scatterbrained scholar have. To have a technique evolve their race." He gestured toward Eldacar. "Beating even you to the proverbial punch, you licentious man."

Annika yapped while crossing her legs over while slouching on the red, black, and yellow love seat, "Old Sword isn't an elemental human like me, he's a—"

"We all know what Musai is, except for the missing runt," Tanniv said while making mana whirlpools in the air with a finger in preparation.

"You didn't notice the entertainment? The silver courtress has her fingers around him at the moment. Too bad, I wanted to show him the real beauties right before his eyes. Less political thorns involved," Eldacar said, with two women sitting next to him, one in each arm. He whispered sweet nothings to them, causing small giggles to ripple throughout the room.

"I miss my Lukey. He's such an inattentive, tardy student." Annika, of course, didn't care much for the more serious topic trying to bubble to the surface. Like Tanniv, she seemed unbothered by Eldacar's open display of lust.

"If none of you will broach the topic, then I will," Tanniv snapped his fingers. Two platters of food presented themselves at the nearest table. "He's grown into a higher life rating. As an elemental no less, the sixth evolved, and fifth elemental in the entire city," waving a hand, mana whirlpools permeated the room, "I believe he'll be of real use in the coming wave. To my assumption, three or four of the evolved plan to reveal themselves to defend during the Tide."

A rarely shown glint entered Annika's eye. "He's going to need to learn to control it, and quick. The two Miels must be suffering around him currently. Surprised Calen's battle spirit hasn't exploded out, the research value…" Then, as if that deeply hidden nature never existed, Annika switched, "I can't wait to examine every inch and test some of that ice he exhibits, how it must've changed. My water did the same." A fanatical blush entered her cheeks, spread by a long but thin, fascinated grin.

Eldacar rolled a shoulder, ensuring it pressed against the monic woman's chest next to him. "It's too bad, those types have a harder time fathering a child." A lazy smile crossed his face.

Allowing a slight sneer, Tanniv said, "You and extending the lineage. If you focused on your growth instead of procreation, you'd be the strongest among us," he corrected himself, "aside from Grandmaster Musai. Your sheer talent is unsettling." Flicking a hand out, the mana whirlpools attached to each servant's heart. "Speak a word of what is discussed here, and you won't breathe for another millisecond. Understand?"

All six servants within the booth perspired to the extreme, bits of fear entered their weary eyes—each giving nonverbal understanding. Faint ideas of informing those they were loyal to incinerated by Tanniv's ruthless mana mastery.

Interlacing his fingers just before his nose, forehead down, Tanniv continued, "Now, we need to discuss how to best handle the first elemental human to be born within the Duchy in the last decade. Our Ninth will be hard to gauge and guide for the near future."

Nonchalantly tapping the cheeks of the elfish and monic woman near him, Eldacar acted. Sound waves undulated throughout the booth, creating an additional sound barrier. "The Sacrament won't overlook him any longer. I did tell the boy to prepare not so long ago. Chances are, some of us will die soon."

Even Annika ripped away her cheerful outer mask at that comment.

Into the first thirty minutes of the auction, a multitude of items savory to tier 1 hunters or professionals, usually quite challenging to get a hold of, graced the auction floor. A chorus of bidding, sounds of negotiation between attendants, and soft musical hum underpinned the transfer of massive sums of wealth. Avarita, the elf auctioneer, kept a perpetual smile stained by practiced greed.

The lowest price one sold for would be over 1,000 gold, a singular crafting component, a starlit inlaid ingot, considered a peak tier 1 metal crafting material. Any actual armor or weaponry always received higher bids. Drops from dungeon bosses not native to Sylen, custom-crafted items master craftsmen made. Oftentimes, however, Luke noticed wealthy merchants or minor nobles snatching the items away for political ends, or to trade for a different item.

Luke grimaced at the charade. A large majority of items whisked away from poorer hunters or combat types could've been the difference in life or death when the Tide washes over Sylen's walls soon.

Short-sighted, many of the wealthy idiots dared to entertain a smug expression as they possibly damned another to death, or at least increased the chance. What a gift, to spit in the face of those expected to keep the walls. Many such wealthy people with no combat potential would flee after this very auction. As if it were a privilege to die in their place—helped along by their efforts to deny. It appalled the Reaver. Sooty settled on his shoulder silently, offering a reassuring coo. Whispering Tome rose uneasily.

"Opens your eyes, doesn't it?" Emalia mused, her cheek runes faintly glowing. "Plenty of those below," she veered her chin out to the other three booths in the auction house, "and beside, are more than willing to crush their 'defenders' underfoot, if it means grasping onto usually unobtainable material without the proper connections. All wealth and no sense of community."

Luke's expression tightened; he muted any words from coming out. They wouldn't change the outcome, no matter the righteous intent.

Her endowed body pressing intensely against Luke, Emalia leaned into him, whispering a close up toward his ear, "Harboring the notion of a real gain in this auction without the Miel's—ah—my, help? We always offer a line to those of interest to our family, such as you."

She pulled back, understanding when to let off the pressure. "Know my offer is open. Should you take it in the heat of the auction, we can discuss terms after. May you make the correct decision for your future, Luke. Alliances with the Miels can be prosperous in more ways than one." She put a hand on Luke's thigh.

A crushing pressure emanated out of the elemental human, near instantly, a single musical note contained it before the man could reel it in. Glancing up at the private booth half a step above the others, Luke already knew who resided within it. Luke had a hunch that the City Lord, or Musai, could be the only ones to react within a quarter second like that to a relatively minute outburst. Musai wasn't here, so that left one person.

Ophelia Cyrn, he internally calculated, how do I handle you? When you actively handle me? What's your end goal?

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