Chapter 18
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 18
Chapter Title: Auction (3)
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“Let's head in, Saintess.”
Rebecca grabbed my hand with a displeased look on her face, and we entered the auction stage looking like a happy couple.
Even though we'd arrived right on time, there weren't many seats left.
“I'll show you to your seats.”
Following the guidance of an attendant wearing a different animal mask, Rebecca and I made our way to our spots.
Of course, our seats were right next to each other.
We at Ataraxia would like to welcome our distinguished guests to this masked auction. The event will commence shortly, so please take your seats. Thank you.
They had their own fancy name for it—Ataraxia—but a back-alley joint was still a back-alley joint.
A voice, magically amplified to boom across the hall, signaled the start of the auction.
I settled into my seat and glanced around.
It was unbelievably lavish for a dingy back-alley setup. Rainbow-hued fixtures glittered everywhere in the auction house.
A faint rose scent even perfumed the air inside. They were clearly pulling out all the stops to flaunt their extravagance...
“Ugh.”
Our Saintess clearly wasn't a fan of the auction house's vibe.
“You can't show your disgust quite so openly.”
“I know.”
“Your face doesn't look convinced, Saintess.”
I could see her glaring at me through her mask, but I ignored it.
As whispers and chuckles rippled through the auction house, I picked up the catalog lying next to my seat.
“Definitely a lot worth buying here.”
True to a black-market auction—where only permit-holders could enter incognito—the items were top-tier.
From elixirs on par with Azure Jade Pills at the lower end, all the way to relics you rarely saw in public auctions.
There were even artworks that looked plenty valuable to anyone, not just me.
What I had my eye on, though? The elixirs.
Sure, I'd bragged about having deep pockets, but I wasn't about to blow it all in a black market. Everyone here could afford whatever they wanted anyway.
“Elf slave's the finale, huh.”
“Has to be. Elves are always the highlight, unspoken rule of auctions.”
That way, VIPs who came for the star item might snag something else too.
Classic auction sales tactic.
I double-checked my war chest.
Amount I could deploy right now... 3,000 gold.
With 1 copper = 100 won, 1 silver = 10,000 won, and 1 gold = 1 million won, that put my net worth at around 3 billion.
A fortune, no doubt—but would it stretch to cover both the slave and the elixirs? Debatable.
“Saintess.”
“Yes?”
“Got any cash on you, by chance?”
Hey, she's a Saintess—maybe some offerings? Money was gonna be tight for that elf slave.
“Hmm... 3 silvers?”
Should've known better than to hope.
Welcome, distinguished guests, to our masked auction. I am Ei, your auctioneer for today.
Just then, the auctioneer's voice thundered through the magically amplified speakers as the house lights dimmed. Chatter and laughter faded, all eyes turning to the podium.
Normally I'd give a little preamble, but you VIPs don't have time to waste on that. Straight to our first lot!
Something was already being wheeled onto the platform.
I stared at it hard. Time to zero in on budget and bids only.
Rebecca stared at the artwork on the platform, utterly entranced.
It was porcelain, something she'd glimpsed a few times back at the church. But the elegant curves and vivid glazes put it leagues beyond any mass-produced knockoff.
Deron had said the real treasures came later. Which meant this vase was the cheapest lot in the whole auction.
‘Unbelievable...’
Truth be told, Rebecca had never once imagined attending an auction. Her childhood hadn't exactly been flush with luxuries.
And after years as a Saintess, ingrained thrift and modesty made even her current outfit feel unbearably opulent.
If Deron hadn't warned that no proper attire meant no entry, she'd have flat-out refused.
How many hungry mouths could these clothes feed if sold and given to the needy?
Her mind swirled with thoughts of waste. So much coin on mere fabric—it pained her.
Her closet held maybe seven outfits total, excluding her mandatory Saintess robes. Money belonged to the poor, always.
“Isn't the starting price outrageous?”
“It's about prestige and status. You're not buying the object—you're buying the prestige it carries.”
Which was why she bristled at Deron's reply. The opening vase, the items that had passed already—all the same.
One gold could keep a family of four or five fed for two, maybe three months. Yet that painting fetched tens, hundreds of gold.
“Nobles are all the same...”
“Not thinking about the noble sitting right next to you?”
“You're hardly one to judge me for saying it to your face.”
On the surface, we're lovers, after all.
Rebecca met Deron's gaze as she spoke. Through his mask, obsidian eyes gleamed—perfectly round, like carved jewels.
Darker than any necklace or vase on display, yet they lit his presence in stark relief.
She looked away quickly. There was something about Deron's face that pulled in stares.
200 gold. Going once... twice? Sold! This ancient painting goes to bidder number 12!
Number 12. She'd heard it a lot lately. Whoever they were, money was no object—they were snapping up art left and right.
To Rebecca, it was pure profligacy.
Her eyes darted about.
“12. 12. Oh?”
A woman in a golden lion mask. Light purple hair cascading from beneath it caught the eye.
The one thing that nagged at her: bidder 12 was staring right at Deron and her.
She held the gaze for a moment before looking away.
500 gold! 500 gold! 500 gold! Great Tiger Pill sold to bidder number 7!
While she'd been locking eyes with 12, Deron had already snagged an elixir.
A glowing yellow orb. Its potent energy pulsed even from this distance—no questions about its potency.
“Is that why you wanted to come?”
“Yeah. Great Tiger Pills don't come around often. Figured it'd help with my condition. Nice bonus if it toughens me up too. Cheaper than I thought.”
That's cheap? Rebecca shot Deron a queasy glance.
“Given its effects, it's a bargain.”
“Still—a bargain at 500 gold? That's how many barley loaves?”
“Saintess, you still eating barley bread? They don't even serve it in the school cafeteria.”
Deron tilted his head curiously. She puffed out her cheeks in irritation.
“That's not the point!”
“Fair enough. Now pop those balloon cheeks.”
He poked her cheek playfully to deflate it—for show as lovers, sure—but Rebecca felt a twinge of revulsion.
He seemed to have lost every scrap of his old memories.
What if Deron remembered his past? What kind of attitude would he show then?
She found herself wondering.
Deron sat out the rest of the lots. Money clearly wasn't the issue—had he really only come for that one pill?
The auction built steadily toward its climax, calm yet electric.
And at last...
Thank you for waiting!
We pulled every string to secure this lot—it's that rare, and you all know just how precious it is!
The auctioneer's voice rose in fervor as the clank of chains echoed through the hall. At last, the headlining lot was dragged onto the platform.
“...”
Rebecca's eyes went wide. Golden hair meant to blaze like sunlight had faded to dull strands; skin white as snowflakes now cracked and fissured.
Yet she hadn't lost her innate beauty or the proud bearing of her kind.
When Deron had first mentioned it, she'd harbored doubts—but one look confirmed it for her.
The broken woman on the platform was unmistakably an elf.
Her long, pointed ears twitched nervously, her huddled form screaming terror.
Rare slave as she is, opening bid starts at 1,000 gold!
Rebecca whipped her head toward Deron in shock. 1,000 gold? Even for a rich guy like him, wasn't that steep?
But the words died in her throat the instant she saw his face.
Deron's expression.
His features were locked in an icy chill like nothing she'd ever seen.