Chương 87: Chapter 85. Auction

The Aurium Auction. In a city of institutions like Arkhos, this auction stood apart. Everything about sounded expensive. Held monthly in the Adamant Gallery, the auction stood as the cornerstone of upper-class commerce in Arkhos. Merchant guild leaders occupied the same room as dukes and duchesses, high priests and mages, all drawn by the promise of rare items and even rarer networking opportunities. The main hall was part marketplace, part theater, and part social battlefield.

Crystal chandeliers floated without visible support, each containing a small silver flame that never needed fuel. The chandeliers shifted position throughout the night, ensuring every item was presented in the perfect light when its turn came up for bidding. Before the bidding began, attendees could enjoy a variety of spectacles. In one corner, two exotic beasts—a granite-skinned bear from the Northern Mountains and a serpent with scales like stained glass—fought in a magically contained arena.

The beasts would never be seriously injured—that would reduce their value—but they would demonstrate their capabilities for potential buyers. In another section, chefs prepared delicacies from rare dungeon ingredients. A chef sliced thin pieces from what appeared to be a pulsing purple tentacle, arranging them with tweezers onto small wafers. These weren't just exotic foods—they were temporary enchantments.

Eat the right monster part, prepared the right way, and you might gain enhanced senses or increased stamina for a few hours. Luxury trades that would be illegal in normal markets found legitimacy here, operating under special permits from the Empire. Want to purchase a bottled nightmare to use against your enemies? This was where you'd find it—with all the proper paperwork, of course. Cass found herself both repelled and fascinated as she navigated through the crowd.

Her formal robes—midnight blue with silver embroidery depicting the Wangara guild symbol—felt simultaneously too elaborate and not elaborate enough compared to the finery around her. The fabric moved like water, an enchantment that cost more than some people's monthly wages.

"I could get used to this," she muttered, surprised to find she actually meant it. The weight of the silk against her skin felt reassuring, a tangible symbol of her new position. A servant approached carrying a tray of slender crystal flutes filled with golden liquid. Tiny bubbles rose continuously from the bottom of each glass, and the liquid itself seemed to glow from within.

"Would you care for some?" the servant asked, bowing slightly. Cass took a glass.

"What is this?"

"Sun's Blessing, my lady. Fermented honey infused with essence of summer light and aged in oak barrels lined with gold leaf." Huh. She took a sip. The liquid was sweet but not cloying, with surprising notes of citrus and warm spice, and bubbles that tingled pleasantly all the way down. Behind her, the golem moved silently, its polished surface reflecting the shifting lights. Several attendees glanced at them with mixtures of curiosity and wonder. Cass examined the small card in her hand again. Seat 56.

Somewhere in the middle section, neither prominently placed nor insultingly distant. Perfect for a new guild finding its footing. She moved through the exhibition area, where items for the evening's auction were displayed in glass cases with engraved placards describing their properties. A sword that could cut through stone as easily as butter. A compass that pointed toward whatever the holder desired most (results may vary).

A small copper orb covered in constantly shifting symbols—the multiplier artifact that had brought her here tonight.

"Target spotted," she murmured, knowing Adom could hear her through the communication crystal in her purse. People turned to look as she passed, whispers following in her wake.

"That's the Wangara guildmaster."

"Did you hear about the Crimson Scale warehouse? Complete disaster."

"Suspicious timing, don't you think?" Cass kept her expression neutral, acknowledging those who nodded to her with a slight tilt of her head, but offering nothing more. She wasn't here to socialize.

"You're gonna scare them off with that face," Adom's voice came through.

"Maybe smile a little?"

"Easy for you to say," she muttered under her breath.

"You're not actually here." But the golem was. It stood beside her, armored to look like a particularly serious bodyguard rather than the remote-controlled weapon it actually was. Cass finished her drink and immediately found another servant at her elbow with a fresh glass. The servants here seemed trained to anticipate needs before they were expressed.

"That's your second glass in just ten minutes," Adom said.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine," Cass replied under her breath, scanning the room for the entrance to the seating area.

"Just maintaining cover." Beyond the exhibition space, double doors opened into the auction chamber itself. Tiered seating surrounded a central stage where the auctioneer would present each item. Seat numbers were inlaid in silver on each chair's arm. Cass checked the crowd filing in for their seats. The wealthiest and most powerful took positions in the front rows. She spotted representatives from at least a dozen major guilds, plus several nobles whose faces appeared regularly on official currency.

She'd nearly reached the main chamber when she caught sight of them—a cluster of people in crimson robes edged with gold. Tresh Mavarin stood in the center, her silver-streaked hair elaborately arranged with golden pins. Beside her, Deroq spoke in low tones, gesturing with barely contained anger. Two other guild officers flanked them, looking grim. Tresh turned, her gaze sweeping the room and landing on Cass. For a moment, their eyes met across the crowd.

Tresh's expression didn't change, but Deroq followed her gaze and his face darkened with undisguised hostility.

"They've spotted you," Adom said through the crystal.

"Let them look," Cass replied, turning to leave. The golem positioned itself directly behind her.

"Where is he?" Adom's said, the golem's head turning slightly as it surveyed the crowd.

"What did you say he looked like again?" Cass murmured, pretending to examine her auction program.

"About six and a half feet tall, with long dark hair usually tied back in a loose tail. Young." Cass scanned the crowd, looking for someone matching that description.

"I don't see—" The collision wasn't particularly hard, but it caught her completely off-guard. Someone bumped into her shoulder, nearly sending her stumbling forward. Her glass of Sun's Blessing tilted precariously, golden liquid arcing through the air. The golem reacted instantly, turning toward the potential threat—but not before a hand shot out, catching the glass in midair. Another movement, impossibly quick, and the spilled liquid was somehow back in the glass, barely a drop lost.

"Whoops," said a deep voice.

"My apologies, my lady." Cass looked up—way up—into the face of a tall man with dark hair tied back in a loose tail. He wore the distinctive silver and blue armor of the Silvester Guild's elite members, polished to mirror brightness. His features were sharp but handsome, with an easy smile that suggested he was used to being forgiven for minor transgressions. Kalan Artun.

A familiar name and face—one of the Order members Adom had met months ago in the Weird Stuff store, back when things had only just started getting strange. He was also the one Adom had handed the street thugs over to, after they'd tried to mug him on the street. Since then, Artun had been promoted within House Silvester, now serving as one of their senior envoys. He wasn't just attending tonight—he was representing the guild at the auction.

And if there was anyone Adom could rely on to have his back during something like this, it was Artun. He handed the glass back to Cass with a slight bow.

"I should watch where I'm going. These events are always more crowded than I remember."

"Artun," Adom's voice came through the crystal, the golem relaxing its stance.

"Where have you been?"

"Just arrived, actually," the man replied, his eyes never leaving Cass.

"The southern gate was a nightmare—some kind of merchant caravan blocking half the road." He offered Cass a formal bow.

"Kalan Artun, at your service, Guildmaster Drake. House Silvester sent me to represent them." Before Cass could reply, he took her free hand and brought it to his lips, brushing a kiss against her knuckles that lingered just a moment longer than strictly necessary.

"People are going to think Silvester and Wangara really are together," Cass said, her tone neutral despite the faint color that had risen to her cheeks.

"Good," Adom replied through the crystal.

"It will alienate Crimson Scale even more. Their paranoia about a conspiracy against them will only grow." Artun smiled, still holding her hand.

"That was rather the point of my assignment, I believe. Shall we find your seat? I understand you have quite the evening planned." Cass withdrew her hand, her expression returning to its usual practical reserve.

"Seat 56."

"This way, then," Artun said, gesturing toward the auction chamber.

"I believe we have a multiplier to acquire." Cass nodded and followed, the golem moving silently behind them. Adom said nothing, but through the construct's eyes, he noted how easily Cass had offered her hand to be kissed—an action at odds with her typically pragmatic demeanor. Interesting, but not the time to comment on it. The auction lights dimmed as a resonant chime echoed through the chamber. The evening's main event was about to begin. Cass located seat 56 and made her way toward it.

Artun followed closely behind, scanning the crowd with vigilance. As they reached the row, Artun spotted seat 57 several places down from Cass's position. Without hesitation, he walked over, lifted the chair completely off its mounting—drawing several startled looks from nearby attendees—and carried it back to place it directly beside Cass. A few whispers rippled through the nearby rows. Moving seating in the Aurium Auction was like rearranging furniture in the Emperor's study—simply not done.

Cass sat down, her expression betraying nothing as Artun settled into his relocated seat.

"If you're trying to impress a certain someone, you could do that later," Adom muttered through the crystal.

"Preferably after we've secured the multiplier." Artun smiled smugly, somehow sensing the criticism.

"You told me yourself to make sure people think Silvester and Wangara are allies," he said quietly.

"I'm just following orders. What better way than showing I literally won't leave her side?" For some reason, complete silence from Cass. The golem's head tilted slightly—Adom's equivalent of a resigned sigh.

"Fine. But try not to disrupt the actual bidding." Artun settled back in his chair, looking entirely too pleased with himself. The golem remained standing behind them, its metal frame reflecting the chandeliers' shifting light.

"Hey, isn't that the Archmage?" Artun suddenly asked, nodding toward the opposite side of the chamber. Adom directed the golem's gaze across the room. Sure enough, Sir Gaius, Archmage of the Imperial Magisterium, sat in the premium section. His silver robes with blue trim marked his office even without the ornate staff leaning against his chair. He appeared to be deep in conversation with another mage in more subdued attire.

"What's he doing here?" Cass asked, keeping her voice low.

"The Magisterium rarely involves itself in merchant affairs."

"Maybe he's after the same item we are," Artun suggested.

"The multiplier could have research value."

"Or maybe he's monitoring the auction," Adom replied.

"Some of these items border on restricted magic." As if responding to their discussion, the Archmage's head suddenly turned, his gaze landing directly on their position. His lined face broke into a warm smile. All three of them flinched simultaneously.

"I think he's looking here," Artun said, his casual demeanor slipping slightly.

"Why would he?" Cass replied, glancing around.

"I don't think he is." The Archmage raised his hand in a clear greeting wave.

"Must be someone else, right?" Cass muttered, scanning the people seated nearby. Several had also noticed the Archmage's attention and were looking around in confusion, clearly wondering who warranted such acknowledgment. Then Sir Gaius pointed—directly and unmistakably at the golem. Adom nearly severed the connection in surprise, causing the golem to twitch momentarily.

"You have a spell so people don't listen to us, right?" Artun asked, pretending to be engaged in casual conversation with Cass while his eyes remained fixed on the Archmage.

"Yeah," Adom replied after a beat, his voice slightly higher than normal.

"No one can hear what we say unless they're within about a meter." Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

"Good," Artun said, "because I think the most powerful mage in Arkhos just recognized your magical construct from across a crowded room."

"That's impossible," Cass said, maintaining her composure with visible effort.

"He couldn't possibly know it's—" The Archmage's lips moved, forming words they couldn't hear from this distance. More confusion. What was his deal? He then seemed to sigh, then lifted his hand to his ear. Between his fingers glinted a device identical to Cass's. He held it up briefly, then gave them a clear thumbs up.

"He has a communication crystal too," Adom realized aloud.

"And he's... complimenting us on it?" Cass observed the interaction silently, her brow slightly furrowed.

"He's not what I expected the Archmage to be like... why is he doing this?" she finally said.

"I guess when you're Archmage, you make it your business to know about new magical developments," Artun said with a shrug that didn't quite conceal his unease.

"Especially ones that could change how information moves through the Empire." Sir Gaius nodded once more in their direction, then turned back to his companion, apparently satisfied with having made his point.

"Well," Adom said after a moment of stunned silence, "that's not concerning at all."

"Should we abort?" Cass asked, her fingers tightening slightly on her auction paddle.

"No," Adom replied.

"We proceed as planned. The Archmage hasn't interfered, just... acknowledged us. That might actually be a good sign." Artun nodded, his professional demeanor returning.

"Either way, we're committed now. The auction's starting." As if on cue, the floating chandeliers dimmed, focusing their light on the central stage where a tall elf in ceremonial robes had appeared. The crowd quieted immediately.

"Distinguished guests," the auctioneer's voice carried effortlessly through the chamber, "welcome to the four hundred and seventy-eighth Aurium Auction. Tonight's offerings promise to be particularly extraordinary." Adom glanced once more at the Archmage, who appeared to be paying rapt attention to the auctioneer. Whatever his interest in them was, it seemed to have been momentarily set aside.

"Just focus on the multiplier," Adom finally said through the crystal.

"Lot seventy-three. Everything else is secondary." Cass nodded slightly, her expression settling into determined focus as the first item was brought onto the stage. The first auction lot proved to be exactly the kind of spectacle the Aurium was known for—a silver harp whose strings played themselves when exposed to moonlight. Bidding climbed quickly to 40, 000 gold before settling with an elderly duchess who barely acknowledged her win with a flick of her paddle.

"Useless trinket," Artun muttered.

"But I suppose it impresses dinner guests." The next few lots moved swiftly—a collection of preserved pixie fairy dust (75, 000 gold to a perfumer known for exotic scents), a miniature sunbird in a cage of spun glass (120, 000 gold to a northern merchant whose homeland rarely saw sunlight), and a fountain pen that could transcribe thoughts directly to paper (35, 000 gold to a novelist who named himself Owl and whose last three books had apparently been commercial failures. The guy wasn't even an owl).

"Lot fifteen," the auctioneer announced.

"A juvenile thunderboar from the Western Plains." Two handlers led a creature the size of a small pony onto the stage. Its hide shimmered with static electricity, and small sparks danced between its curved tusks.

"Thunderboars can generate enough electrical charge to power an entire estate," the auctioneer explained.

"Properly housed and fed, they provide consistent energy for magical defenses, lighting systems, or experimental work. Bidding starts at 200, 000 gold." The bidding escalated rapidly, with multiple guild representatives competing fiercely.

"Would you guys not need one of those?" Artun asked, leaning toward Cass.

"We don't," she replied without looking at him.

"The three we have recently purchased are sufficient for our current operations." Artun raised an eyebrow.

"Three? Those are worth their weight in gold. Where did you—""Adom's money procured them," Cass said shortly, ending the conversation. The thunderboar eventually sold for 480, 000 gold to the Banking Guild, which had been steadily acquiring energy sources for their new vault complex. Throughout the first hour, neither Cass nor Tresh made a single bid. Both were conserving their resources, their focus elsewhere.

Occasionally, Cass would feel Tresh's gaze on her like a physical weight, but whenever she looked over, the Crimson Scale guildmaster was watching the auction with apparent disinterest.

"They know," Artun said under his breath.

"They suspect," Adom corrected.

"That's different." The lots continued. A set of enchanted silverware that made any food taste like the eater's favorite meal. A painting whose landscape changed with the seasons. A lamp that could summon a minor djinn for simple household tasks.

"Why do I feel like all of these are just rich people showing off how rich they are?" Adom's voice came through the crystal.

"Because that's exactly what they are," Cass murmured in response, watching a countess pay 65, 000 gold for a mirror that showed the viewer as they wished to appear rather than as they were. By lot thirty-eight—a pair of boots that allowed the wearer to walk on water for up to an hour per day—the pattern of the room had become clear. Most attendees bid only on specific items that interested them personally or professionally.

Only a few, including the Archmage, seemed to be watching the entire auction with genuine interest.

"Half an hour until lot seventy-three," Artun noted, checking his timepiece.

"I know," Cass said. She was acutely aware of the mounting tension. Across the room, Deroq had left his seat to confer with someone in the back of the chamber—probably sending instructions to their financial backers.

"Lot forty-two: a breeding pair of prismatic salamanders," the auctioneer called. Two handlers appeared, each carrying a glass terrarium. Inside each, a lizard-like creature about the length of a forearm crawled sluggishly over miniature rock formations. Their scales shifted through the entire spectrum of color as they moved, creating hypnotic patterns.

"Extremely rare," the auctioneer emphasized.

"Their scales are primary components in certain high-level illusion spells, and shed naturally four times per year. Bidding begins at 150, 000 gold." The Crimson Scale contingent stirred for the first time, with Tresh giving a slight nod to one of her representatives. He raised his paddle.

"150, 000 from the gentleman representing Crimson Scale," the auctioneer acknowledged.

"Do I hear 160, 000?" Bidding climbed steadily until it reached 280, 000, at which point most bidders dropped out except the Crimson Scale representative and a woman in emerald robes.

"These aren't even related to their business," Adom's voice came through the crystal, sounding puzzled.

"Why would they waste resources on salamanders when they need the multiplier?"

"They're not just any salamanders," Artun explained quietly.

"They're Color Intensifiers. Their scales can enhance any pigment, including—""Dyes," Cass finished.

"They're a backup plan." The salamanders eventually went to Crimson Scale for 350, 000 gold, a price that seemed to satisfy Tresh. Her small nod to her representative after the win confirmed it.

"That's a lot of gold for a backup plan," Adom observed.

"Not compared to what they've lost," Cass replied. The auction continued through more exotic creatures and magical items. A hummingbird made entirely of spun glass that could actually fly. A dagger that could cut through any nonmagical substance. A jeweled egg that, when opened, released a perfect illusion of a spring day, complete with smells and sounds. With each lot, the tension between the Crimson Scale and Wangara sections grew.

Now Tresh wasn't even bothering to hide her stares, her gaze fixed on Cass with barely contained hostility.

"Lot seventy-one," the auctioneer announced.

"A lesser cloudweaver spider." A handler brought out a glass container with a delicate silvery spider inside. Its eight legs worked continuously, spinning strands of what looked like solidified mist into complex patterns.

"Highly sought after for their ability to weave weather-resistant fabrics," the auctioneer explained.

"This specimen is young and should produce valuable silk for at least fifteen years with proper care." Tresh leaned forward, clearly interested, but ultimately shook her head when the bidding passed 200, 000 gold. The spider went to a textile merchant from the eastern districts for 230, 000.

"Two more lots," Artun said quietly. Cass didn't respond, but her posture had subtly changed. The relaxed observation was gone, replaced by a coiled readiness. Across the room, Tresh seemed to mirror the transformation. Lot seventy-two—a set of enchanted musical instruments that could play themselves—came and went with little fanfare. Then the auctioneer cleared his throat.

"Lot seventy-three: a lesser multiplier artifact." The chamber fell noticeably quieter as a velvet-lined box was carried onto the stage. Inside sat an unassuming copper orb covered in constantly shifting symbols. It pulsed with a soft golden light.

"This particular multiplier is capable of reproducing most nonliving materials at a rate of approximately one hundred duplicates every three days," the auctioneer explained.

"While not as powerful as greater multipliers, which are exclusively held by the Imperial Treasury, it maintains 87% accuracy in reproduction, decreasing with extended use until recharged with mana." All around the chamber, faces turned toward the Crimson Scale delegation. Everyone knew why they wanted it. With their dye warehouse destroyed just days before, they desperately needed to stretch whatever supplies remained.

The multiplier could mean the difference between fulfilling their contracts or facing financial ruin—particularly devastating with the merchant guild seat elections approaching. Seated in the seventh row, Master Heracles Hatus, chief inspector for the House of Merchants, watched with particular interest. His presence wasn't a coincidence. The merchant houses were closely monitoring how the Crimson Scale would handle this crisis.

"Bidding starts at 500, 000 gold," the auctioneer announced. Tresh raised her paddle instantly.

"500, 000." Cass waited a beat, then raised hers.

"550, 000." The two women locked eyes across the chamber.

"600, 000," Tresh countered immediately.

"650, 000," Cass responded, her voice calm. A few other paddles went up, but it quickly became apparent this was a two-person race. By 800, 000 gold, all other bidders had dropped out, leaving Cass and Tresh to drive the price higher.

"900, 000," Tresh called, a hint of irritation creeping into her voice.

"One million," Cass replied without hesitation. Murmurs spread through the audience. One million gold was no small sum, even in this venue.

"Are you sure about this?" Artun whispered.

"That's a lot of—""Adom?" Cass said quietly to her crystal, ignoring Artun.

"Keep going," Adom's voice came back.

"No limit." Tresh conferred briefly with Deroq, who looked increasingly distressed.

"One million, one hundred thousand," she finally bid.

"One million, three hundred thousand," Cass countered smoothly. The auctioneer could barely contain his delight.

"One million, three hundred thousand to the Wangara guild. Do I hear one million, four hundred thousand?" Tresh's face had grown rigid.

"One million, five hundred thousand." Cass didn't even blink.

"Two million." The jump drew gasps from several corners of the room. Tresh's eyes widened, then narrowed dangerously.

"She's trying to price us out," Deroq hissed, loud enough to be heard by nearby attendees.

"Two million, one hundred thousand," Tresh called, her voice tight.

"Two million, five hundred thousand," Cass replied. The Archmage was now watching with undisguised interest, his eyebrows raised in appreciation of the drama unfolding.

"This is getting personal," Artun observed quietly.

"It was always personal," Cass responded. Across the room, Tresh huddled with her advisors. Deroq seemed to be arguing against continuing, but Tresh silenced him with a sharp gesture.

"Three million," she announced, her voice carrying a challenge.

"Adom," Artun said, "this is far beyond its actual value. You're sure this is necessary?"

"It's not about the multiplier anymore," Cass replied instead.

"It's about making them desperate enough to break the Merchant's Code in front of witnesses." She raised her paddle.

"Four million." The room erupted in whispers. Even the auctioneer seemed taken aback.

"Four million from the Wangara guild," he repeated, sounding almost reverent.

"Do I hear four million, one hundred thousand?" Tresh's face had gone white with fury. Her knuckles were white around her paddle as she conferred with her team again.

"These are dangerous waters," Artun murmured.

"If they can't afford the multiplier and can't fulfill their contracts—""Then they'll resort to more desperate measures," Cass finished for him.

"Which is exactly what we want."

"Four million, five hundred thousand," Tresh finally called, her voice filled with controlled rage. Cass didn't hesitate.

"Five million." For a moment, pure hatred flashed across Tresh's face. Then, with visible effort, she composed herself.

"Five million, five hundred thousand." The auctioneer could barely contain himself.

"Five million, five hundred thousand to the Crimson Scale. Do I hear six million?"

"Well done," Artun whispered admiringly.

"You've pushed them to their limit. There's no way they can go higher without—""Six million," Cass said, her voice carrying clearly through the now-silent chamber. Master Hatus leaned forward in his seat, his eyes darting between Cass and Tresh. The inspector was witnessing exactly the kind of power play that could influence seat allocations in the House of Merchants. Tresh stared at Cass for a long, tense moment. The entire auction chamber seemed to hold its breath.

Then, with a gesture of pure frustration, Tresh threw her paddle down onto the seat beside her.

"No more," she said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Six million going once," the auctioneer called, unable to keep the excitement from his voice.

"Going twice..." Tresh remained seated. Glaring at them with her delegation. Deroq hit a table out of frustration.

"Sold, to the Wangara guild for six million gold!" The chamber erupted in applause—not for the sale, but for the drama they had witnessed. In a single auction, the balance of power between two guilds had visibly shifted.

"Congratulations," Artun said, genuine admiration in his voice.

"That was masterfully done."

"Just business," Cass replied, though the slight upward curve of her lips betrayed her satisfaction. Through the golem's eyes, Adom watched as Master Hatus made a notation in his ledger, his expression thoughtful. The inspector then glanced at Cass, giving her the smallest nod of acknowledgment before returning to his notes.

"It worked," Artun said.

"And Tresh still doesn't have a way to fulfill her contracts," Cass added quietly.

"Which means she'll do something reckless. Soon." As the auctioneer called for payment arrangements to be made for the multiplier, Adom's voice came coolly through the crystal.

"It's not enough," he said.

"What do you mean?" Cass asked under her breath, maintaining her composed expression.

"We got what we came for."

"Look at Tresh," Adom replied.

"She's furious, yes, but she's contained." Through the golem's eyes, Adom observed their target. Tresh's face was pure controlled fury, her knuckles white around the armrests of her chair, but she remained perfectly still. Her eyes locked briefly with Cass's across the room – a promise of retribution, but a calculated one.

"Proceed with phase two," Adom said.

"Target Deroq." Artun's lips curved into a small, knowing smile. He raised two fingers to his temple in what might have looked like a casual gesture to most, but was unmistakably a signal to others. The calculation had been precise from the beginning. Tresh Mavarin was never the true target of tonight's provocation. A veteran of three decades in guild politics, she had weathered countless crises without breaking. Her composure was expected – even her enemies respected her iron self-control.

Humiliating her publicly would only make her more dangerous, more focused in her revenge. No, Tresh was too disciplined to break the Merchant's Code in front of witnesses. The true pressure point had always been her second-in-command. Deroq. Valiant's spy, Tam, had compiled an exhaustive profile on him over the past days. Middle-aged, ambitious, competent in operations but possessing a brittle pride that manifested as defensiveness when challenged.

He had risen through Crimson Scale's ranks on the strength of his organizational skills, but he lacked Tresh's political instincts. More importantly, he lacked her restraint. And lately, Deroq had been under extraordinary strain. The warehouse explosion had been his responsibility – security, inventory, all of it. The failed "warning" to Wangara that had escalated into an attack had been his operation.

Now, the multiplier that could have salvaged their position was beyond reach, and he had been forced to watch their backup plan – the salamanders – consume a significant portion of their remaining funds. Pride before the fall, as the saying went. And Deroq's pride had been systematically dismantled over the past week.

"Look at him," Adom whispered through the crystal.

"He's about to break." Deroq stood rigidly beside Tresh's chair, his face flushed with humiliation. The whispers around them grew louder as the auction continued – deliberately amplified by several plants Artun had positioned throughout the chamber.

"... poor management..."

"... losing their seat for sure..."

"... never recover from this..." Each comment struck like a needle, precisely aimed at Deroq's already wounded pride. His jaw clenched tighter, a vein throbbing visibly at his temple.

"Quite the spectacle," came a voice directly behind the Crimson Scale delegation – another of Artun's plants.

"Six million gold just to deny them. Wangara doesn't even need the multiplier."

"Six million to end a dynasty," his companion replied, loud enough to carry.

"Forty-nine years holding that seat, gone in an evening." Tresh, sensing danger, placed a restraining hand on Deroq's arm.

"Ignore them," she murmured. But Deroq's composure was already fracturing. Weeks of accumulated stress, humiliation, and fear crystallized in that moment, focused by the carefully orchestrated comments surrounding him.

"Bingo," Adom said softly, seeing the exact moment Deroq's control snapped. With a violent movement, Deroq shook off Tresh's hand and spun toward the speakers.

"You think you understand anything about Crimson Scale?" he snarled, voice rising above the auctioneer's announcement of the next lot.

"Forty-nine years of tradition doesn't vanish because of one setback!" The chamber fell silent, all eyes turning toward the outburst.

"Deroq!" Tresh hissed, her calm facade finally cracking as she grabbed his arm more firmly.

"Not here." He wrenched away from her. Master Hatus leaned forward in his seat, pen poised over his ledger, watching the spectacle with undisguised interest.

"This is all their doing!" Deroq shouted, jabbing a finger toward the Wangara section where Cass sat.

"They orchestrated everything! The warehouse, the market disruptions, all of it!" Accusations without evidence – a clear violation of the Merchant's Code's prohibition against slander. Exactly what they had hoped to provoke.

"Sir," the auctioneer said, gesturing to security, "this is hardly the appropriate venue—""They think they can just walk in and take our seat?" Deroq continued, his face contorted with rage.

"They think they can destroy everything we've built?" He reached into his robe, pulling out a small crystal device that pulsed with ominous red light. Tresh's eyes widened in horrified recognition.

"Deroq, no!"

"What is that?" Cass asked, tensing in her seat.

"Disruptor," Adom replied, his voice tight.

"It destroys magical artifacts within its range."

"He means to destroy the multiplier," Artun realized aloud, already half-rising from his seat. But Deroq's gaze wasn't fixed on the multiplier. It was locked on Cass.

"You want to destroy us?" he shouted, raising the device.

"Let's see how your guild functions without its new leader!"

"That idiot," Artun muttered, moving to shield Cass as the golem stepped forward. That idiot, indeed.