The Auction Master nodded.

"Five hundred gold. Do we have anyone else?"

A modest offer. Almost laughably low for a noble in this hall.

But the number didn't matter.

The certainty behind it did.

Ryn's eyes narrowed.

If this man truly wanted the brooch, if he needed it, he wouldn't let it go easily.

Maria must have sensed something shift beside her, because she tilted her head ever so slightly.

"Did you find something?" she murmured.

Ryn didn't take his eyes off the bidder.

"…Test him."

Maria's lips curved, not in amusement this time, but in understanding.

Without adjusting her posture, without even lowering her teacup, she lifted her bidding plate with the grace of someone ordering dessert rather than entering a bidding war.

"One thousand."

A few nobles looked up. That was double the opening bid.

Below, the masked man froze for the briefest moment, then resumed a smile and increased the price.

"Twelve hundred."

Maria hummed softly, as if indulging a child.

"Fifteen hundred."

The man responded without hesitation.

"Seventeen hundred."

Maria set down her cup, folding one leg over the other. Her eyes remained on the stage, but her fan tapped thoughtfully against her thigh.

"Two thousand."

Gasps fluttered through the nearby boxes.

"Two thousand three hundred."

Ryn leaned slightly closer, voice quiet enough for only her to hear.

"He can't afford to stop."

Maria's smile sharpened by a fraction.

"Then let's see how badly he needs it."

She raised her plate.

"Three thousand."

The hall reacted, murmurs, a few startled exclamations.

Now it wasn't simply a bid—it was a duel.

All eyes subtly shifted toward the masked bidder.

If he backed down here, it would end cleanly.

But he lifted his board again.

"Three thousand four hundred."

Maria gave a soft, amused exhale, almost pitying.

"He really does want it."

Ryn's eyes narrowed.

"No," he murmured. "He needs it. That's the difference."

Maria lifted her plate again.

"Four thousand."

A collective murmur rippled through the theatre.

Four thousand for a brooch worth two hundred? Insanity was the only word that could be used to describe the situation.

But the masked man's reaction said everything.

His jaw tightened beneath the mask. His hand rose immediately.

"Four thousand three hundred."

There was no pause, even a though at all before he bid.

Ryn watched his movement. The stiffness of his shoulders, tightening fingers, and his heavy breathing.

This wasn't strategy anymore.

It was desperation.

Maria crossed one leg over the other, voice cool as winter glass.

"Five thousand."

Gasps erupted through the stadium. What was once a brooch worth 200 gold suddenly skyrocketed to a price of 5000 gold coins.

Enough to fund a small battalion and make the wealthiest double-take.

He snapped his board up so fast it clacked.

"Five thousand five hundred!"

This was no longer a polite auction.

This was a man being cornered with a mission he could not fail.

Maria tilted her head, studying him with almost bored interest.

Ryn leaned forward, eyes narrowing.

There. That's the real him.

The Auction Master swallowed nervously, clearly rethinking his career path.

Maria lifted her arm again.

"Six thou—"

She never finished.

Because the man slammed his board down on his table, enough to break it into hundreds of wood pieces, before muttering something only Ryn could catch with [Enhanced Senses].

"Screw this."

For a heartbeat, the hall froze.

Then the ceiling exploded.

CRASH.

Stained-glass windows overhead shattered outward like blooming flowers of light and shards.

Wind roared across the hall as dozens of white-robed figures dropped down from the ceiling.

The man tore off his velvet mask, fury carving lines across his face.

"Forget the bidding!" he roared to his men. "Take the damn brooch and kill anyone in the way!"

The theatre dissolved into chaos.

Maria rose with a grace terrifyingly at odds with the screaming crowd.

"Oh dear," she murmured, voice calm, almost delighted.

"Ryn… it seems they didn't appreciate my counteroffer."

Before Ryn could move, Maria gave him something. A tiny earpiece, which allowed them to communicate.

Ryn nodded and placed it into his ear…then jumped off the railing.

Even before the next scream split the hall, he was already pulling his trusty mask from inside his coat, sliding it over his face in one fluid motion.

The world narrowed through the slits, sitting like a veil between him and hesitation.

One of the assailants lunged toward the skybox stairs.

Ryn met him halfway, pulling his sword from his Dimensional Ring in one continuous motion.

He parried the attack and slipped to the side.

With a single arc, blood started to flow. The grunt collapsed before he even realized what had happened.

Ryn didn't stop to watch him fall.

More shadows poured from the shattered windows, dropping into the theater with heavy impacts.

Nobles scattered in panicked clusters, but they were not defenseless. The House of Radiance employed their own elites, the same Essence Masters from earlier.

They let out a variety of techniques, some of which he had seen before. [Martial Unity], a technique one could get when they reached the realms of an Essence Master.

The air itself trembled as one of the Masters quickly cut down a charging cultist, as though they were nothing more than reeds in a river.

Another Master slammed his palm against the marble floor. Golden cracks burst outward as the ground exploded underneath a group of assailants.

Ryn moved in their wake. He didn't need to take center stage. The Masters were handling the tide. His only job was simple:

Stop the Administrator.

Through the chaos, Ryn caught a glimpse of him. He was on stage, surrounded by two cultists as he took the brooch.

Ryn tightened his grip and surged forward.

One of the administrator's escorts noticed him first.

A hulking grunt, covered in ritual scars and thick iron plating, turned with a snarl. His axe gleamed under the moonlight coming from the fractured ceiling.

The axe came down in a brutal, but predictable arc.

Ryn stepped inside it.

The wind of the swing brushed past his cheek as he dropped low, sliding under the man's center of gravity.

His sword flashed upward, carving across the exposed tendon behind the grunt's knee.

The cultist roared, staggering.

Ryn pivoted behind him, a fluid blur of motion, and drove his sword clean through the gap between plates.

The grunt collapsed like a toppled pillar.

But the second escort was already on him.

Faster, thinner, with twin daggers coated in a dark sheen.

Venom. Of course.

The man darted in with a slash, clearly confident in his speed. Ryn deflected, but the follow-up strike flicked across his forearm before he could fully slip away.

A shallow cut, barely a nick.

The cultist's grin stretched wide behind his mask.

"Ahahahah! You fool," he spat, voice warbling with manic delight.

"That venom is refined directly from a basilisk's fangs! Just a scratch and your muscles lock, your breath stops—your heart—!"

Ryn tilted his head slightly, as if examining the wound with mild curiosity.

"…Huh. Basilisk, you said?"

[Poison Resistance Activated: Poison will be nullified.]

"Nice."

The cultist sputtered, staggering back in disbelief.

"Wh—why aren't you—?!"

Ryn flexed his fingers.

With just one step, Ryn reached the man. His sword carved a line right across his chest, cold energy flowed from the wound, expanding a second time to finish him off.

The venom expert dropped without a sound.

Ryn wiped the blade on the man's sleeve.

"One more skill leveled," he said quietly, already turning toward the fleeing administrator.

But the seconds he spent dealing with the grunts had done their damage—

The administrator was fleeing up through a dropped-down rope on the ceiling.

The administrator's cloak fluttered as he hauled himself upward, one hand clutching the amber brooch tight against his chest.

"Stop!" Ryn lunged forward, blade glinting—

Too slow.

The man swung his legs up with impressive agility, vanishing into the darkness above.

Ryn was about to give chase when a scream cut through the noise. A terrified, choking wail.

Ryn's eyes snapped toward the sound.

A fat nobleman, the same one he'd seen earlier pawing his servant in open view, was crawling backward over the steps. Two cult grunts advanced on him with curved blades.

Ryn's muscles tensed—the instinct to move, to intervene, flaring automatically.

But he stopped himself.

If the administrator escaped…the Ceremony would fall. Amelia would be in danger, and the entire timeline would collapse into the same nightmare as before.

The nobleman's scream sharpened, shrill and wet with panic.

"HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME! PLEASE—!"

Ryn's breath left him slowly.

A heartbeat.

Two.

If I save him… the Cult wins.

Ryn exhaled softly.

"It's not worth the risk."

The noble shrieked as the first blade descended.

Ryn didn't turn.

With quick agility, he climbed the rope up into the theatre's roof. Ryn pulled himself over the final ledge, boots scraping against the clay tiles as he rose to a crouch.

The serene cold night air hit him like a slap, a far cry from the chaos below.

The administrator was already sprinting across the rooftops, cloak snapping behind him like a fleeing shadow.

Ryn launched forward.

Tiles cracked under his weight as he closed the distance, the city stretching beneath them in a maze of moonlit alleys and lantern-lit windows.

Each leap brought him closer—closer to ending this, closer to stopping their plans once again.

Then—A soft chime rang in his ear.

Maria's voice came through.

"Ryn," her voice trembled, breathless.

He had never heard her sound breathless.

"What is it?" he whispered, still sprinting, eyes locked on the fleeing administrator.

A pause.

Too long.

"Maria. Say it."

Her reply came cracked and thin:

"The bakery was burned down."

Ryn's heart stopped for half a step.

"Jay Ferris…and the kids." Maria forced out, voice dropping to a shaken whisper.

"…they're gone."

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