Auction

Even after that, I stuck around the Murim Alliance gallery and dug for more, but I didn't turn up anything useful.

"Maybe I pulled too much aggro."

Honestly, every other question aside, the one about who would call the shots if the sect leader and the family head duo queued together was pure bait. Of course the better gamer of the two would be ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠calling the plays.

Thanks to that, everyone clammed up on anything related to the Heavenly Demon. The few replies that did show up were mostly just "go read some wuxia novels before you ask questions," so that said it all.

"Yeah, no thanks."

I wasn't exactly a bookworm. Just because someone was a mage didn't mean they lived in glasses, long robes, and thick tomes strapped to their hip. That was pure media fantasy.

"Still, it wasn't a total waste."

The Heavenly Demon and the genius mage. The two had nothing in common. Which raised a problem.

"So what the hell am I?"

Heavenly Demon and genius mage. One was the absolute pinnacle of martial arts; the other was a rising star of magic. Their goals were different. The paths they'd walked were different. If you forced a connection, the only thing they shared was a character in their names. Beyond that, it was like comparing a pear you eat to a ship you sail.

And yet somehow I was standing right at the center of both.

"Why?"

My best guess was that the evolved trait still carried the full influence of the previous one. The fact that a trait could evolve at all was already weird enough that plenty of things didn't add up. Why could I still cast magic with a Heavenly Demon trait? Why was there no rank displayed? Why could I pull off martial techniques so naturally? Everything was one big question mark.

If I could solve even one of them, the rest might unravel in a chain—but I couldn't find a single lead.

"Isn't there anyone who could just spell this out for me?"

Someone who specialized in researching traits would be perfect. Too bad I'd spent my whole life with nothing but internet friends. My pathetic social circle wasn't exactly crawling with high-level experts.

Maybe I should ask the Director of the Management ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Bureau.

If I asked, he'd probably dig something up somehow.

No.

That would mean showing the Bureau way too many of my cards. A trait was an Awakener's joker and their reverse scale. The fewer people who knew about it, the better. Even S-rank number one, "Super," only had the public knowing his ability was similar to some superhero's. The details were locked down tight behind a veil.

"Status window."

Might as well check my traits while I was thinking about it.

The status window I hadn't checked in a while hadn't changed much.

"Level 7 already, huh."

Considering ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ordinary Awakeners usually had to grind the tenth floor or the lower floors over and over just to scrape together level 7, my growth ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠rate was pretty damn fast.

"Still doesn't feel like much yet."

In the early stretches of the Tower, level didn't matter that much. The sudden Tower system had no concept of "stats." You couldn't just level up and dump points into physical ability like in every game or novel out there.

So why did levels even exist?

Turns out there was a reason.

Think of Tower levels as a kind of bonus multiplier. Remember that long-running MMORPG some director used to love, Maple Story? The main way to power up was rolling item options that boosted your main stats—stuff like "All Stats +6%." The Tower's level system worked the same way. The higher your level, the bigger the overall boost to your base abilities. A level 1 Awakener only got a 1% correction. A level 20 Awakener got 20%. In other words, at level 20 you were a clean 1.2 times stronger than at level 1. So of course you barely felt it in the low levels.

"Oh right. Gotta sell the Cell Regeneration."

Staring at the status window jogged my memory. For some reason I couldn't learn the designated skillbook Cell Regeneration. If I could have learned it, the applications would've been endless—but the book just wouldn't take. So what else was I supposed to do? Sell it.

"Wonder how much something like this goes for."

On the open market, a regular unidentified skillbook sat around twenty million won. Skillbooks from the Tower were completely random until you used them. Get lucky and twenty million bought you an S-rank skill. Get unlucky and you got a worthless F-rank. That was why designated skillbooks—ones that guaranteed a specific skill—commanded a premium. Healing types even more so.

"Might as well check the market price."

For that, it was always the One Top Market. Pretty much every Awakener-related item went through it, so nothing beat it for checking prices.

"Let's see… skillbooks, Cell Regeneration…"

I set the category to skillbooks and typed Cell Regeneration into the search bar.

"Huh?"

Nothing came up. Not a single recent transaction.

"That can't be right."

If Cell Regeneration were some one-of-a-kind S-rank skill, sure. But as far as I knew it was only C-rank at best. Useful enough, but not something you could rely on forever—kind of middling.

"No transaction history means one of two things."

First: the records were so old they'd been auto-purged. Second:

"It only trades on the black market."

I'd heard rumors of a black market that specialized in high-value items. Fees were supposedly way lower than One Top Market. The catch:

"I can't use it."

Getting in required a special membership card. And to get that card, you had to verify your bare face with the operators—no masks, no recognition-dampening magic. According to the gallery, it was an illegal operation that could get shut down any day, so they wanted leverage on their customers. Just a rumor, but if it was true, I couldn't wear the Demon Emperor Mask during the screening.

"Right now if I can't use the Demon Emperor Mask, I can't get in at all."

My current face was pure little kid. I'd get turned away at the door. Even if I claimed to be an Awakener, they'd hide behind the law that banned child Awakeners from the Tower.

Illegal operators are always sticklers about that kind of thing.

No other options for now, so One Top Market it was.

"No transaction data, so I guess I have to run an auction."

One Top Market supported auctions—set a starting price and hand it to the highest bidder. Shockingly convenient for a government app. But there was still a problem.

"The starting price."

Set it too high and it would fail to sell, and I'd just get hit with fees. Set it too low and I might not get what it was worth. On top of that:

"The fees suck too."

The higher the final bid, the more the fees ballooned. Still, I didn't have a choice.

"Hmm. One hundred million?"

Starting price one hundred million, bid increments of ten million. A basic unidentified skillbook went for about twenty million, so five times that. High enough to keep the riffraff out. Ten-million increments weren't crazy for bidders either. Looking it up, art and real estate over a hundred million usually used ten-million steps, so my terms were pretty reasonable.

"First, take a photo."

Click!

Auctions required detailed photos of the item. You uploaded the photos and price, then the One Top Market system AI checked for fakes. Only if it passed did the listing go live. Of course, Awakener communities were full of posts looking for someone to smash that dumb tin-can AI, but still.

"Oh, it went up."

Luckily the listing went through without any issues this time.

"How much am I gonna get?"

Ideally around three hundred million.

"Then I'm out of this goddamn studio the same day."

I was going to leave this soundproofing-free nightmare and live in a proper place with actual walls. Whether I could even buy a house looking like this was a problem for later.

"Please sell for a fortune."

I closed the app with a silent prayer.