Auction (2)
Meanwhile, in Hadekan, the main city of Yukline territory, news of Deculein arrived in real time.
“What? Right now? At the auction house?”
Yeriel scowled, her brows furrowing from the bridge of her nose.
Last year, he'd burned through ten million elne from the territory's funds, and now this again?
No way he'd start that bullshit again after they fought so hard about it last time.
“Yes. It seems the auction is already underway.”
“Ah······.”
At the butler's confirmation, Yeriel felt a wave of dizziness.
As the de facto lord managing the castle in Hadekan, she had been desperately trying to shave even a single digit off the expense ledger—and this was utterly incomprehensible to her.
“······Got it. Go.”
“Yes.”
Bam—!
“Fuck!”
The moment the butler left, Yeriel slammed her fist on the desk. She roughly twisted open a bottle of whiskey and poured it into a glass.
As the liquor filled up, so did her rage.
“No way the reason he demanded the mine acquisition fee back then was······ that crazy bastard's actually doing it?”
She gulped down the full glass of whiskey sloshing around. Her stomach burned, but it was better than her head exploding.
“Argh—! Arghhh—!”
Yeriel cried out in frustration.
“This fucking—really, me.”
Magical talent, practical sense and administrative skill, understanding of the territory's customs and industries, moral character aside from etiquette—she was confident she surpassed Deculein in every way. But······.
The head of Yukline was already Deculein.
Probably, forever.
“Why the hell······.”
Their parents had been too hasty in affirming Deculein's talent and deciding on succession so early.
Of course, Deculein as a child had been a prodigy. At just ten years old, he'd understood university tower-level magic.
But that was it. Exactly there.
Like her own growth spurt, maybe.
At ten, she'd already passed 160cm and thought she'd grow tall and refined like Deculein—but ten-year-old height was the end. Her whole body had stopped developing after that.
In other words, not a genius, just precocious.
Deculein had simply been precocious.
That's why their parents must have said it to her someday.
That they regretted it.
Regretted the decision.
“Deculein shouldn't have been the head. You should have been.”
······The last part was her imagination, but anyway.
“Fuck, regrets are always too late, no matter how soon······.”
Far too late.
Irreversible, unchangeable.
They'd become stars in the sky, so Yukline's master would forever be Deculein.
It was infuriating, but Yeriel already knew.
Deculein took after their father, and she after their mother. Since the mother was a second wife after the first passed, it was natural for the first wife's son, Deculein, to be head.
What a perfectly fucking justified mess.
She knew, but it was still unfair.
She was sure she could do better.
Much, much better than that bastard just splurging in the capital.
“Ah······ I miss you······.”
She'd emptied a bottle already, and the buzz was hitting her crown.
Yeriel buried her face in the desk and murmured blankly.
“Why'd you die so early.”
It had been seven years since both passed.
In those seven years, she'd longed to be held in their arms countless times. Almost every day, and she'd cried almost every day.
But now she was twenty-six, proxy lord, had pushed aside childish tears as distant memories, and simply fulfilled her duty as Yukline blood······
“······That bastard really pisses me off.”
Thud—! Thud—! Thud—!
Instead of tears, Yeriel drooled and pounded the desk. After a few hits, she sighed in resignation.
“He won't spend too much, at least······.”
The guy hated excessive greed as unbecoming.
What the hell his dignity or etiquette even meant—she wanted to smash it all now, but whatever.
“Fucking idiot bastard······.”
Once, she'd craved that damn bastard's love. Been proud of his very existence.
But he was always cold, overbearing, forcing mismatched etiquette on her.
Of course, she'd tried back then. Not like him, born knowing manners, but she wanted love.
So she'd worn uncomfortable dresses, clutched etiquette books in tiny hands, trailed after him pattering like a duckling.
He ignored, pushed away, yelled—but she thought it natural.
I'm the second wife's kid.
I can't maintain dignity, stupid head, low class, half-assed noble······.
But look at this.
Time passed, and the least noble was him.
“······Bastard.”
Having given up on love, Yeriel grew strong. Not just away from him, but cursing to his face.
Stronger or broken, she couldn't tell—but now she could lead the vast Yukline territory alone.
She was content with that, and in seven years, Yukline had become her territory.
All vassals now recognized her as lord.
“Haaaah······.”
It was the comfort she proudly, preciously held in a corner of her heart.
Ruten Shatzenjel's ‘Auction Stage’ was dazzlingly opulent. Seats wrapped in red velvet nobles adored, framed in gold craftsmanship; the auction platform opposite gleamed as if made purely of gold.
A feast of crimson and gold.
In that place swirling with faint fragrance and noble laughter, I examined the auction catalog on the armrest of my VVIP seat.
“Quite the list.”
Porcelain, necklaces, scissors, rings, relics, excavation artifacts—and ‘Frost Stone’.
Besides the Frost Stone, plenty of artifacts useful for mages.
For reference, I'd checked Frost Stone prices on foot: minimum ten million, maximum thirty million elne.
A fair price.
—First, a word to the noble guests attending Ruten Shnaizel's auction······.
Then the auctioneer's voice echoed wide; lights dimmed everywhere. Chatter in the hall gradually hushed.
—Ice that seemed eternally frozen melts in the end, and seeds bearing celadon sprout anew these days.
The auctioneer opened. An item already appeared on stage.
—······Indeed. Now spring begins anew, and the first item heralding this spring auction!
It looked like ordinary porcelain.
—Behold this elegant curve. The ‘Eastern Flower Vase,’ crafted by a master from the distant Eastern Tea Sea. Includes certification from the Pottery Association deeming it top-grade. Starting bid: 500,000 elne. Increments: 50,000 elne.
At first, nothing.
But glancing absently at the vase.
I scowled.
“That······.”
Light flowed from the porcelain.
No surprise. The intuition of Tycoon Magnate.
—Number 37, 550,000 elne! Ah, immediately 693. 600,000 elne!
The first auction heated up decently, but I focused solely on that light. The closer I looked, the denser the glow.
—37 again at 650,000 elne! Ah, now number 993!
37 at 650k, 993 at 700k, 1038 at 750k······
Bidding halted at 1.3 million elne.
—1413 at 1.3 million elne, higher? Three calls then. 1.3 million. 1.3 million? 1.3 mill—
Item price: 1.3 million elne.
My account balance: 200 million elne.
No need to think.
Chump change.
I tapped the small crystal orb on the armrest.
—Ah! Now number 777 enters, 1.4 million elne!
Auctioneer caught my bid.
—1413 counters at 1.5 million elne!
1413 who'd bid 1.3 fought back. I pressed without delay.
—777 at 1.6 million!
—1413, 1.7 million!
1.8, 1.9, 2 million······ Price rose, but vase light held.
—777 at 2.5 million elne. Higher?!
Certain. That vase holds value beyond auction price.
I see it with eyes, feel it instinctively.
This is the Tycoon Magnate trait.
Destined to be a magnate.
—No higher? 2.5 million, three calls.
1413 who'd been yapping quieted.
Yeah, who dares challenge two hundred million in ammo.
Financial power I'd never felt. This is money's authority? Then I'm profoundly authoritative······.
—2.5. 2.5? 2.5! Sold to 777!
Vase secured.
Clap clap clap—
To the VIPs' applause, I lightly raised a hand in response. Pure noble grace.
—Next item······
But the next was another I had to buy.
Is this auction special? Or auctions always like this? Or my trait wrong······ no.
My trait is certain.
It'll earn me money ‘no matter what.’
—‘Lupelin's Ring,’ by master Lupelin, aids wearer's blood and mana circulation. Start: 800,000. Increment: 50,000!
I watched briefly, pondering.
······No need.
—603 at 1.5 million elne! Increments now 100,000! Ah! Now 777!
Decision near certainty.
No reason to hesitate.
200 million is my personal account anyway. Nice to have, fine without.
So, invest leaving just enough for Frost Stone.
—Again 777! Lupelin's Ring, 3 million elne!
I trust the trait's sense; destined success. Plus I have Midas' Hand.
Chance to become true Tycoon Magnate.
—Lupelin's Ring to 777 at 3 million elne! Sold!
Second item: Lupelin's Ring.
Auctions continued after.
—2.1 million elne. Higher? Luzio's Scissors to 777 at 2.1 million! Sold!
Auctioneer's lines, though.
—4.3 million elne. Higher? Ancient Rune Necklace to 777 at 4.3 million! Sold!
Just prices and items changed.
—5.5 million elne. Higher? Shadow Carpet to 777 at 5.5 million······ Sold!
777.
I.e., Deculein's.
······Truthfully, Julie had never once thought of auctions in her life. Frugal and thrifty to her bones, she agonized even over buying a fur coat.
She still wore the coat from her graduation gift ten years ago for that reason.
But······.
—777 at 4.3 million elne. Higher?
Deculein seemed utterly disinterested in frugality.
—Ancient Rune Necklace to 777 at 4.3 million! Sold!
From auction start, he'd snagged seven of ten items. His ferocious momentum crushed the entire Auction Stage.
“Really······.”
Julie shook her head. Some might call it cool or enviable, but to her, his extravagance was just pathetic.
Thus, she and Deculein differed in everything.
Their ideals too alien.
So they could never understand each other······.
Of course, Julie had tried at first.
As a knight's duty, if she couldn't defy family will, to love her betrothed.
But Deculein mistook her affection for something ‘buyable,’ treated her most contemptuously.
The engagement day, utterly wrong from the start.
They'd gone awry from the first button.
“Here for a treasured blade, I presume.”
Then the noble beside smiled faintly, speaking. At the awaited question, Julie's shoulders twitched.
“······Yes.”
Frost Stone.
Winter's flame, another name.
A contradictory, rare metal holding cold and heat. Deemed magic itself, hard to handle; ordinary smiths can't even refine it.
“I'm at the age to acquire my own treasured gear too.”
Truthfully, she lusted after swords. A knight not spending on blades? Wasteful.
Some truth there.
Swords grow in value over time, attuned to owner's mana—called ‘resonance.’
Thus, only targeting Frost Stone isn't extravagance.
Plus, her lack of treasured gear was publicly known; folks would understand ‘Finally, Knight Julie arms herself—’
Like the noble beside her.
“Indeed. Phairden knight's prowess famed empire-wide. That Night Journal interview last issue—read it in awe.”
“······Just spoke my beliefs.”
Julie nodded demurely. Flattering words, but hearing he'd read it puffed her up—couldn't show.
“As expected. Even your fiancé now—”
“Not fiancé.”
But Julie's eyes sharpened; the noble chuckled awkwardly, backing off slyly.
—5.5 million elne. Higher? Shadow Carpet to 777 at 5.5 million······ Sold!
Amid it, Deculein's spending spree endless.
His overwhelming presence shifted eyes from him to her too. Officially betrothed, after all.
Julie felt her face heating but endured.
Her goal: solely Frost Stone.
She'd checked savings from birth allowances and salary. Far more than expected—enough for Frost Stone.
──Convinced thus,
Ignoring resounding 777s,
Julie deep-breathed, calming her heart.