Michael’s lips twitched faintly.
"Guess this is what it ans to be rich in both lives."
It wasn’t just about the money—it was what the money brought him.
The wyvern essence wasn’t just a rare item. It was power. Possibility. A future for his undead that most necromancers could only dream about.
And the dark elf?
A living weapon. A trump card.
He had walked into this auction with no real goal beyond curiosity.
Now?
He’d walked out with two of the most valuable assets in the entire event.
Worth it.
Every damn coin.
Even so, he couldn’t help but let out a quiet snort.
"Almost makes feel broke again," he muttered under his breath.
Michael leaned back, gaze sweeping the still-buzzing hall.
He’d spent more than so lords earned in five years.
And yet...
He didn’t feel regret.
Only anticipation.
Arianne shifted beside him, her voice soft but curious. "With the nature of the seventh and eighth items... I can’t help but wonder what the ninth and tenth are."
Michael nodded faintly, his mind already stirring. The wyvern essence alone had been a top-tier treasure. And yet... there were still two more items to go. What could possibly match—or exceed—that?
Fortunately, they didn’t have to wait long.
The lights dimd again.
The auctioneer raised a hand, and his voice cut clean through the murmurs. "Esteed guests," he said with a calm, resonant tone, "our ninth item is quite special."
He snapped his fingers.
An attendant rolled out a velvet-cushioned stand, on it sat a scroll sealed in a black jade casing engraved with silver runes.
Michael’s brows lifted the mont he saw it.
The air around it shimred faintly.
The scroll radiated restrained pressure, like the silent weight of a mountain waiting to fall.
"A single-use artifact," the auctioneer announced, "this is a consumable scroll that unleashes one Great-Tier spell."
A stunned silence overtook the hall.
Great Tier.
Michael’s mind locked on that phrase.
This wasn’t just impressive—it was absurd.
In Aurora, Great-Tier was the realm of Rank 3 Awakeners.
In cultivation terms, it was equivalent to King Rank magic.
A one-ti scroll that could replicate that kind of power?
That was a kingdom-level weapon. He had no idea why sothing of this level could appear there.
For a mont, Michael beca tense.
The auctioneer didn’t rush. "The magic within is of the fire elent."
Michael leaned forward slightly, unable to stop himself.
This... was more than precious.
It was overkill in scroll form.
He didn’t even need to hear the rest to know the price would be astronomical.
But he was already intrigued.
Arianne gave him a quick glance, her tone dry but tinged with respect. "If you buy that too, you might actually beco the most dangerous person in the city."
Michael didn’t reply.
He was thinking—
Of how valuable sothing like that would be in the chaos of the world. Or in dealing with sothing far beyond his current power.
It was a final move.
However, Michael already had a suspicion he wouldn’t be able to compete for this one.
And he was proven right the mont the auctioneer spoke.
"Starting bid—five hundred thousand gold coins. Minimum incrent: fifty thousand."
Then ca the first bid, loud and confident.
"One million gold coins."
It ca from Room Five.
Michael could only chuckle bitterly.
He had never claid to be the richest in the room, but that didn’t stop the sting of watching sothing powerful slip through his fingers.
Even the rooms that had previously competed with him on earlier bids were silent now. They knew better. This—this was what they’d really co for.
’So that was the main course all along.’
Michael exhaled slowly.
"I really hope Lucky evolves as expected. If he really does reach Rank 3... no— with his race, he might not even need to reach Rank 3 to fight like one.’"
That thought gave him comfort.
Even if he couldn’t claim the scroll... he had already had sothing just as terrifying.
And unlike a one-ti spell, Lucky would only grow stronger.
"One million gold coins!"
The voice echoed with confidence from Room Five, the sa that had begun the bid on the Poison Wyvern Blood Essence. No hesitation. No pause. Just raw wealth.
The air shifted.
Murmurs rippled across the auction hall like a breeze through dry leaves.
Then ca the second blow.
"One million, two hundred thousand," ca another voice—sharper, colder—from Room Three.
Michael raised an eyebrow. That room had been silent for most of the auction.
"One million, five hundred thousand!"
This ti from Room One. A deep, commanding voice. The kind of tone used to issue orders on a battlefield.
Three rooms now. Each bidding like they had bottomless pockets. Each pushing the number with quiet, vicious precision.
The atmosphere in the hall was heavy—expectant. Even the nobles who couldn’t afford to participate leaned forward in their seats, eyes gleaming with excitent.
"This is insane," Michael muttered.
And yet, the mont he said it—
"Two million," called Room Fifteen.
Michael’s eyes snapped toward the direction of the bid. Room Fifteen?
Another voice echoed from Room Nine.
"This humble bidder requests Room Fifteen to give so face. I am from House Greymont. Surely such a noble house doesn’t need to bid further—"
Michael’s eyes rolled almost instinctively.
Again?
How many of them were going to use that sa weak threat disguised as etiquette?
But before the auctioneer could speak, another voice cut in—sharp and unmistakably irritated.
"If you’re poor, then shut up and leave. If you want it, bid. Don’t hide behind ’face’."
The entire auction house froze for a beat.
That voice...
That was Duke Evermoon.
His thoughts froze.
It had taken him this long to realize the Duke’s presence. He’d been wondering if Duke Evermoon had left earlier or was simply staying hidden.
Turns out, he’d never left.
’So the Duke’s been here this whole ti... for this?’ Michael thought, eyes narrowing.
The crowd buzzed. A few voices whispered the Duke’s na with reverence and fear.
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