The auctioneer continued.
"When consud directly, this fruit can increase the lifespan of any living being by three hundred years. It matters not your race, rank, or cultivation stage. It works on all."
He let that sink in before continuing.
"Moreover, if refined into a pill—successfully—the effects may amplify further. Depending on the alchemist’s skill and the quality of the refinent, the resulting pill can add another hundred years, at the very least."
Now the room was truly silent. Not even whispers.
But the auctioneer wasn’t done.
"And perhaps most astonishing of all... mortals can consu this fruit with no adverse side effects. In fact, in rare cases, they may leap directly to the interdiate cultivation stage."
For the powerful, this was a treasure to extend their reign.
An opportunity to gain even greater power if they could.
For the weak, this was a miracle.
Michael exhaled slowly. A fruit that could rewrite soone’s fate.
This... this was priceless.
This was indeed the main show of the auction.
Tonight’s final battle... was about to begin.
The auctioneer let the weight of his words linger before finally announcing.
"Starting bid is five million gold coins. Minimum incrent is one hundred thousand."
A ripple of tension shot through the hall.
Five million. That wasn’t just more than the scroll. It was more than what the scroll had even sold for.
Michael felt the air change. He leaned forward slightly, watching the crowd, watching the tension coil like a spring.
Then.
A bid was called.
"Seven million."
Gasps erupted.
Soone had jumped the bid by two full million coins in one move.
The auctioneer, a professional to the bone, couldn’t help but flinch. "Seven million gold coins," he confird. "Room Seven enters the bidding."
Michael blinked.
That room hadn’t participated in anything all night.
It made sense though. For a treasure like the Longevity Fruit... there were people who would wait all night for just one mont.
"Seven point two," another voice followed—Room One again.
The commanding voice that had joined in for the scroll.
Then.
"Seven point five."
"Eight million."
"Eight point five."
The bids were rising fast now, rolling like thunder.
Unlike the earlier items, no one tried to posture or bluff. No pleas for ’face.’ No hollow threats.
Only pure, clean competition.
Michael sat back, listening to the numbers climb.
Nine million.
Nine point five.
Ten million.
"Ten point five."
"Eleven."
"Eleven point three."
The air grew taut.
Attendants didn’t dare breathe too loud.
Even Michael felt his heartbeat rise—not because he could bid. Not even close. But because watching this unfold was like witnessing a battle between giants.
Twelve million.
Twelve point eight.
Thirteen..
Michael’s gaze swept the veiled rooms.
Who were these people?
Then it happened.
"Fifteen million," ca the call from Room Seven.
A long silence followed.
The crowd was frozen. This ti, even the other bidders paused.
The auctioneer looked around. His voice rang out again:
"Do I hear fifteen point one?"
Nothing.
"Fifteen point one?"
Still silence.
"Fifteen point one?"
Silence again.
Then—
"Sixteen million."
Room Fifteen.
Michael’s brow twitched. That voice... unmistakable. The calm power behind it. Duke Evermoon had entered the fray again.
The auctioneer took a visible breath, tension threading through his shoulders as he confird, "Sixteen million gold coins from Room Fifteen."
The other bidders hesitated.
"Seventeen million."
That was Room Seven again.
Michael’s gaze sharpened.
"Seventeen point five," the Duke answered imdiately.
Then Room Seven again. "Eighteen."
A breath.
"Nineteen."
"Twenty."
The Duke didn’t stop. He didn’t even flinch.
And Room Seven?
"Twenty-one."
Twenty-one million.
Gasps echoed. A noble in the front row dropped the goblet in his hand.
Michael’s eye twitched. "That’s over two billion silver coins..."
The auctioneer, ever the professional, swallowed and raised his voice.
"Twenty-one million gold coins. From Room Seven. Do I hear more?"
He turned toward Room Fifteen.
A pause.
"Twenty-two million."
The Duke didn’t hesitate.
Michael didn’t even blink.
He just whispered, "Does this guy have a dragon’s hoard lying around?"
Arianne didn’t reply. She was focused, lips tight.
But even she hadn’t expected this much.
It was only now she knew her father’s real intention’s tonight.
Maybe trapping her together with Michael was just a side thought.
"Going once... going twice—"
"Twenty-three million."
A beat passed.
Then, for the first ti, the Duke hesitated.
One second. Two.
Then ca the response.
"Twenty-five million."
The auctioneer’s mouth twitched. He looked ready to scream.
Instead, he raised the gavel high.
"Going once..."
The hall was deathly still.
"Going twice..."
Michael found himself holding his breath.
"Sold!"
Bang!
"To Room Fifteen—for twenty-five million gold coins!"
A sound like thunder echoed—not just from the gavel, but the collective exhale of a room that had forgotten to breathe.
Michael let out a low whistle. "I don’t think anyone’s sleeping tonight after that."
Arianne shook her head slowly. "It’s a good thing the auction is over. Anything else would feel... pointless."
And just like that, the final item was cleared from the stage.
The auctioneer offered a deep bow. "Esteed guests, thank you for your presence. Tonight’s event has co to a close. May fortune favor your paths."
Michael turned to Arianne, arching a brow. "So... what now?"
Arianne stretched lightly, the tension in her posture slowly easing. "Now we wait."
"Wait?" Michael echoed, slightly confused.
She gave him a look, half amused. "You think it ends just because the gavel dropped? No. We wait for the items to be delivered... and the paynts to be made."
Arianne spoke again, her tone casual but tinged with curiosity.
"By the way, do you need to head back to your residence or the bank to get your money? If you do, I can lend you so golden papers now—you can pay back later. What do you think?"
Michael gave a faint smile.
"There’s no need, Miss Arianne. I have enough money with ."
He didn’t actually have anything on him.
But inside his storage space, he had everything he needed.
All it took was a simple motion—reaching into his inner coat, as if retrieving sothing.
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