Monts later, gasps swept through the gathering crowd. From within, a tall, burly figure erged—a distinguished purple-skinned Abyssal Demon, draped in robes of dusk-silver, his black horns polished obsidian, crowned with delicate chains of ethereal gold.
It was none other than the Proprietor of the Obsidian Spirit Hall himself. The hall’s owner approached Ace at a brisk pace, head lowered slightly—a gesture of unexpected humility in the Myriad Hollow.
"Honored guest," The proprietor intoned, his voice a practiced blend of respect and calm power, "Please forgive the montary offense. The hall was unaware of your... distinguished presence. May I personally escort you inside?"
Before Ace could reply, the proprietor stepped aside and gestured grandly, while the guards bowed deeply, averting their eyes from the cloaked figure.
Around them, whispers rippled like a living tide.
"Who is this person to have been personally welcod by the Hall Proprietor?!"
"I think he’s probably one of the scions of the Evernight Noble District!"
"You fool, even those scions didn’t have the right to be personally escorted by the Hall Proprietor. Don’t forget the Hall Proprietor himself is a right-hand man of the Crescent Demon Marquis, and the Obsidian Spirit Hall also belonged to the Marquis!"
Everyone beca extrely curious about Ace’s identity, and they were also wary and afraid of his background because even Council Nobles were seldom greeted so humbly by the Hall Proprietor.
On the other hand, Ace, expression calm yet cold under the hood, offered a faint nod. Without breaking stride, he stepped forward—passing the silent, bowing guards and entering the obsidian halls beyond.
Within, vaulted ceilings arched high above like a cathedral of darkness, their surfaces inlaid with rivers of steel that pulsed with ghostly luminescence.
Shadow-wreathed chandeliers cast shifting light upon intricate mosaics underfoot, and as Ace was led deeper into the hall by the Hall Proprietor, the stunned guests inside could only watch in silence—wondering who this cloaked figure could possibly be.
However, no one noticed the agitated expression of the Hall Proprietor as he secretly glanced at Ace’s shadow trailing silently at his feet, with a hint of disbelief.
’Who is this person that even made the Vaultkeeper of the Duskmire Vault follow him like a servant!? Everyone knows the Vaultkeeper is only loyal to the Dread Duchess and without her command, he won’t do anything, much less protect an unknown person...’ The Hall Proprietor thought with a hint of fear and curiosity, ’A person related to the Dread Duchess can’t be ignored. I should probably notify the Marquis about this...’
Just when the Hall Proprietor decided to alter the Crescent Demon Marquis, an eerie voice rang in his mind, "The young lord is only here to look. There’s no need to make a big deal out of this matter. So, I’ll appreciate it if the Hall Proprietor won’t disturb the Marquis."
The Hall Proprietor’s completely black eyes trembled slightly when he heard the Vaultkeeper’s voice, and he was again shocked by the way the Vaultkeeper addressed Ace as ’Young Lord’.
’Could it be the elusive Evil Diva?!’ The Hall Proprietor instantly thought about the mysterious disciple of the Dread Duchess since the Evil Diva has the right to be addressed as ’Young Lord’ by the Dread Duchess’s servants.
The Hall Proprietor beca even more afraid as he subtly nodded his head towards the shadow and treated Ace with even more respect, and no longer dared to go against the Vaultkeeper’s wishes.
After all, even if he, the Crescent Demon Marquis, found out later, he won’t bla him since anything related to the Dread Duchess should be treated with utmost care.
Ace was unaware of the understanding between the Hall Proprietor and Vaultkeeper. Even if he knew, he would’ve only laughed at the Hall Proprietor’s imagination.
As the Hall Proprietor respectfully walked beside Ace through the shadowed colonnades of the Obsidian Spirit Hall, he discreetly gestured for the stewards ahead to part, leading him unerringly toward the highest level of the auction floors—an elevated, private tier draped in soul-silk curtains and guarded by peculiar black stone golems, which draw Ace’s attention.
Beyond a pair of intricately carved double doors of black jade and bone-inlaid fras lay the best viewing chamber of the entire hall—’Room 1.’
Reserved only for the most honored dignitaries like heirs of the Council mbers, or VVIPs like the Noble Council mbers of the highest ranks.
Yet as they approached, the Hall Proprietor’s sharp eyes caught a faint glow from within the dark jade door—a sign that Room 1 was already occupied.
Ace paused slightly, but the Hall Proprietor lowered his head, offering a humble bow, "Please forgive for a breath, honored guest. I will see to sothing quickly."
Without waiting, he turned and silently entered Room 1.
Inside, the chamber radiated quiet luxury. Black velvet drapes fell from vaulted archways; a low table of spirit-glass shimred with abyssal runes; cushioned lounges faced a wide viewing pane of shifting shadow-crystal that revealed the grand auction stage below.
Seated at leisure was a tall, lean Devil with aristocratic features, deep blue scales along his temples, and a faint golden ring encircling his left horn—the symbol of a Marquis lineage.
At his side lounged several female devils, all laughing idly at so crude jest. The devil’s red eyes narrowed at the proprietor’s sudden entrance, his voice sharp, dripping with disdain,
"What is it, old man? No one disturbs like this!"
The Hall Proprietor, face impassive as dark iron, bowed fractionally, his tone respectful yet edged with absolute resolve.
"I deeply apologize, Young Marquis. But this room is already booked for a distinguished guest. I must ask that you and your entourage relocate to Room 2."
An eerily silent environnt enveloped the room, and then rage exploded across the ’Young Marquis’s’ face, purple scales along his brow darkening.
"WHAT?!" His clawed hand slamd onto the soul-glass table, cracking its runes with a hiss of dark mist, "You dare—! Do you know who my father is?! The Abyssal Bone Marquis stands equal to the Crescent Demon Marquis! Even your master wouldn’t dare insult so openly!"
The Hall Proprietor’s gaze turned to cold obsidian. His Stoic voice sharpened to the cut of a cursed blade, "I fully understand, Young Marquis. Yet this order is absolute. The Obsidian Spirit Hall belongs to the Crescent Demon Marquis, and the dignity of this guest surpasses the standing of this humble one before you. If you have any complaints, you can directly look for His Highness!"
Seeing the proprietor neither flinch nor bend, the Young Marquis’ fury turned to a deep, trembling hatred—but under that hate flickered a spark of calculation.
Even he knew the Hall Proprietor wouldn’t risk offending the Abyssal Bone Marquis unless the one behind this order had an identity he couldn’t afford to challenge directly.
His followers exchanged uneasy glances; the won lowered their gazes in fright.
After a long, suffocating pause, the Young Marquis snarled, "Fine!"
His voice dripped venom, "But rember, old man—I won’t forget this humiliation!"
He rose, long cloak swirling, and stord out of Room 1, the entourage trailing behind in tense silence.
Outside the room, the Young Marquis’s burning gaze locked instantly onto Ace, who stood calm and cloaked under the shadowed archway.
A cold understanding dawned in the heir’s crimson eyes, "Was it for him?" He hissed under his breath.
Striding forward, he drew closer to Ace, stopping just short of contact. His voice dropped to a poisonous, low snarl, "I don’t know what sewer you crawled from... but rember this, today you made an enemy. Pray you never cross paths with again."
Despite his veiled threat, the Young Marquis’s eyes betrayed flickers of caution; even in his fury, he dared not act against soone the Hall Proprietor himself had personally removed him for.
With a contemptuous flick of his cloak, the Young Marquis turned away, leading his followers down the corridor toward Room 2.
Ace was startled by this sudden turn of events as he couldn’t help but glance at the Young Marquis’s retreating figure.
’What was that about?’ Ace thought before he looked towards Room 1, and a realization dawned on him, and suddenly a faint, thievish smile played on his lips.
---
As they walked, the young heir’s hand rose, and dark crimson energy danced around his palm. His voice was low and urgent, "Send word to my father, imdiately! Tell him the Obsidian Spirit Hall dared to throw out!"
His servant bowed deeply, vanishing into the shadows to carry the ssage.
---
In the depths of the Hollow Ring, in a towering obsidian palace adorned with bone totems and soul lanterns, the Abyssal Bone Marquis received the ssage. His eyes, cold pits of malice ringed in abyssal gold, narrowed.
"They dared treat my son like this?" He whispered, voice like a whisper of cracking bones.
As soone who loved his son the most and treated him with absolute care, fury flared in his heart, his clawed hand tightened on the black armrest, fracturing it to powder.
"Prepare the shadow palanquin. I will go see this ’honored guest’ with my own eyes..."
---
anwhile, back at Room 1, the Hall Proprietor turned to Ace, bowing low, his tone solemn, "Honored guest, all is now arranged. Please, this chamber is yours alone. Should you require anything, simply give the word."
With practiced humility, he gestured Ace into the grandest private viewing chamber of the hall. Its walls were veined with steel, its windows enchanted to magnify even the faintest motion on the stage below.
Ace rely nodded and, cloaked in mystery and silent power, he stepped inside, unaware that his very presence had already set in motion a collision between two Marquis that could shake the Myriad Hollow!
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