The lower decks of Alfa Station were nothing like the glittering upper rings. Crowded walkways wound between stacked slum houses of patched plasteel and scrap wiring, neon signs flickered in alien scripts above stalls peddling black-market goods, and the air was thick with the stench of oil, ozone, and grilled street food.
Forty years ago, Ery rembered these levels being rough but livable. Now, it was sothing else entirely. With the endless wars raging across the Magus realms, Alfa’s council had directed the vast tide of refugees here. The numbers were staggering. Families camped inside gutted freighters or stacked shipping containers, others inside houses built from broken hull plates, patched with rags and resin. It was a living sea of desperation.
The influx had warped the economy here. Every vital item—food, dical brews, spare clothing—had beco gold. But the real spike was in survival gear and ship parts. With so many refugees forced to live aboard damaged vessels, any scrap of parts was fought over like treasure. What might have cost a few million spirit stones in peaceti now climbed into the tens of millions.
Brollak, the hulking grand magus, spat his irritation. "A few years ago, this price could buy a brand-new dium-class ship." He also warned that the chaos ant installations would drag on for days, even weeks, as engineers were buried in backlogs, overrun with panicked custors.
Ery didn’t argue. Instead, he pulled a storage ring from his sleeve and tossed it casually. Brollak caught it, and the weight of one hundred million spirit stones smiles at him.
"Make sure it’s done in three days," Ery said, voice firm. He planned to leave by then, wether he could et Arbor master or not.
Now that Ery was forced to linger on Alfa Station longer than planned, he refused to let the days slip by wasted. His trip through Tartarus and the spoils taken from Kronos had left him flush with spirit stones. And here, desperation made people sell what they never would otherwise—family heirlooms, relics, sealed treasures. If Ery were lucky, he could co away with more than just ship upgrades.
But with hundreds of permanent shops and thousands of temporary stalls crowding the lower decks, he knew he couldn’t cover it all himself. He would need more eyes, more reach.
With a focused breath, Ery pricked his finger and let a drop of blood fall into the air. The crimson bead spun into shifting sigils, multiplying as his soul power poured into them. The air shimred, and two silhouettes peeled away from him, stepping fully into form. Perfect reflections, but altered.
One clone had dark hair that spilled over his shoulders, his eyes carrying a spark of restless energy. "Finally, ti for so exploration," he said with a grin.
The other had pale, almost silver hair, his face calm, expressionless, and silent as a shadow. His stillness was obedience.
These were Ery’s [True Clones], each one imbued with his soul avatars.
With his current mastery, each duplicate carried the strength of a Full Moon Magus, durable enough to last several days before eventually disintegrating. They weren’t hollow copies either—they could interact naturally with the world, think independently within their limits, and most importantly, serve as direct extensions of his divine sense. Through them, Ery could expand his awareness across the sprawling chaos of Alfa’s lower decks, covering far more ground than he ever could alone.
His orders were simple but precise: search for rare materials, advanced spells, or artifacts of tier six and above—treasures that resonated with his cultivation or future needs. He had no interest in common goods; only those with true value would do.
"Go to work," Ery commanded.
Within monts, they had vanished into different directions, threads of Ery’s consciousness following each of them.
Then, the real Ery made his way toward the well-known Alpha Station weekly auction. The timing was perfect. The auction would begin in several hours, giving Ery just enough ti to register an item.
Although Ery carried a wealth of rare materials and artifacts within his storage, he had no intention of parting with them. Many of those treasures might still prove useful for his companions back ho. Still, with the fortune he was about to spend on ship upgrades and others, he intended to recover at least so of his losses here.
That ant auctioning one of his own creations.
The mont he approached the reception hall, a polite attendant in official robes greeted him with the practiced indifference of soone used to dealing with wealthy cultivators. At first, the man didn’t expect much—after all, so of the station’s guests were grand magus realm figures. But when Ery calmly set a wooden box on the counter and revealed the pill inside, the attendant’s composure cracked. His eyes widened in disbelief.
"This... this is a tier-eight pill, isn’t it?" he stamred. "Are you perhaps an apothecary master?"
Ery gave the faintest of nods.
"Yes, it is. And yes—I am."
Ery still carried his Apothecary Master badge, which imdiately reinforced the authenticity of the pill. For proper valuation, an Android appraiser was summoned. The construct scanned the pill with precise beams of light. Data stread across its visor, confirming the truth: a tier 8 body-enhancent pill, potency exceeding ninety-nine percent.
The auction staff nearly lost their composure, clearly thrilled to secure such a rare item. Ery, anwhile, only gave a faint smile. He had left the Skyroot faction with thirty of them and still kept more than a dozen. Offering one was enough; scarcity would drive the value higher.
His submission earned him one of the auction’s private VIP rooms. Inside, protective arrays ensured complete privacy, even against divine sense. Ery tested the barrier and was satisfied to find the other fifty rooms sealed just as tightly.
Soon after, the auction began with its usual ceremony. The host’s voice carried across the grand hall, announcing the prestige of the weekly gathering before the first treasures were brought forth to be bid upon.
User Comments
0 comments from readers