Seventy-Six Gold
Anyone with eyes in their head could tell this auction had gone completely off the rails.
"Number 14, six gold!"
"Number 761, seven gold."
"Number 14, eight gold!!"
"Number 761, nine gold."
The auction hall had gone so still you could hear a man breathe. Two bidders were locked in a war that neither one could look away from.
What the hell are those two even doing?
Have they lost their minds?
That was, more or less, the shared impression of everyone else in the hall. But no one could say a word about it. One of them was the second son of House Ahental—the city's own ruling family—and a notorious wastrel. The other was the official heir of House Krombell, Ahental's bitter rival. What lunatic would dare step in and criticize a contest between those two?
Everyone simply kept their mouths shut and watched, some uncomfortable, some fascinated.
Gilbert, manager of the Huang auction house, was one of them. And he was having the time of his life.
Today's a jackpot! Thanks to these two houses, lots are closing at prices that would never see the light of day in a normal auction!
He said it was thanks to the two houses—but Gilbert, who was running the floor, still always had to end every lot by shouting, "Number 761, sold!"
"Number fourtee—hah..."
Rowin started to raise his paddle, then stopped. No matter how he turned it over in his mind, he had no desire to pay ten gold for the item currently on the block. He'd only jumped in because he thought the painting would look decent hanging in a drawing room. Then that madman from House Ahental had come chasing after him, and the whole affair had blown wide open.
There was only one thing this situation was telling him.
The raven is hunting me.
He understood now. Earlier, he had wounded Ereb's pride. He had schemed to keep Ereb from bidding on the mana cultivation method—he had never expected a side effect like this.
I underestimated that lunatic.
From the start, he had undervalued Ereb's episodic wastrel syndrome. The man was even more insane than anything Rowin had known.
Number 761, nine gold! Number 761, nine gold!
Any further bids? Number 14—are you withdrawing?
That insane manager...!
As the heat in the room climbed, even Gilbert—who was supposed to remain a cool-headed auctioneer—had lost his composure and started asking whether Rowin intended to bid. It was unprecedented. The manager was clearly intent on wringing every last drop of profit from the rivalry.
And with Gilbert pushing like that, whispers began to reach Rowin's ears from the crowd around him. Ahental always wins in the end, don't they?
This was no longer about who walked away with the lot. It had become a stage for deciding which house stood above the other. He could not back down now—not for his pride, and not for his family's honor.
Rowin made a bid of pure rage.
"Number 14! Ten gold!"
A collective gasp swept the hall. Ten gold for a single landscape painting? Somewhere in that building, the painter of that landscape would have fainted dead away from joy.
Fine. Let's take this all the way. I already know that bastard Ereb is going to follow me up—wait?
The bid from Number 761 he had been waiting for never came. Rowin's face went blank with confusion.
Number 14 — sold!
Gilbert slammed his wooden gavel down with gusto and announced the sale. A murmur of admiration ran through the hall—everyone marveling except Rowin, who sat there with a sour, unsettled feeling in his gut. He ought to have been pleased. He wasn't.
But he quickly forgot the odd mood. He had beaten Ahental's wastrel, hadn't he?
Right. Even that bastard doesn't have money to burn forever. He's not even the official heir—what kind of funds could he possibly have access to?
That House Ahental was wealthy was something everyone at the capital acknowledged. Rowin was not a man who denied reality. But there had to be a limit to how much of Ahental's money Ereb—who was not the official heir—could actually draw on. He had been given an expense allowance, true, but the sum he could freely spend would be far lower than Rowin's, as the official heir of his house.
Ereb had already outbid him on more than ten lots. He must have been feeling the strain by now.
Rowin smiled. Ereb had tucked his tail and run. All Rowin had to do now was keep participating in the auction with the leisure of a victor.
Another decent item came up. It was a first edition of a famous author's debut novel—one Rowin had read as a child. He raised his paddle, more at ease than before.
And then—
"Number 761, one gold."
That bastard—again?
Rowin decided to put him in his place. Paddle number 14 went up.
A desperate, grinding exchange followed, and before anyone knew it the price had soared to fifteen gold.
"Good heavens. A first edition of a novel that opened at thirty silver—going for fifteen gold?"
"The world's gone mad. End times, I tell you..."
As someone in the crowd muttered, it was an absurd amount to pay for a first edition of a novel. No one knew that better than Rowin. His hands were trembling. He was the one who had lost his head and chased it all the way to fifteen gold.
And once again, Number 761 went quiet.
Number 14! Number 14 — sold!
Gilbert's excited voice rang through the hall, and Rowin's skull was throbbing.
I... I just paid fifteen gold for that worthless book?
Rowin finally understood what Ereb was doing. He was deliberately driving the price into the sky and then dumping the lot on him.
He trembled. His face went scarlet, as if someone had smeared it with blood. He shook with rage—then forced himself still.
You think I'm the only one who'll take this lying down? You... I'll make you suffer the exact same fate!
That was the moment the last thread of reason in Rowin's mind snapped clean in two.
The reason Ereb had changed tactics was simple. It was not that he had run out of money. The lots had shifted from equipment and artifacts to works of art.
Ereb had no particular interest in art. Even if he was going to steal from Rowin, he wanted to steal something actually useful. So he had revised his strategy: whenever Rowin bid, he would counterbid to inflate the price, then dump the lot on him at the last second.
If Rowin went home loaded down with a pile of overpriced art, Count Krombell's face would be a sight worth seeing. That family had muscle packed all the way up into their skulls—they wouldn't know the value of art if it bit them. Which would only make them angrier. The thought of their household staff witnessing that delightful spectacle made Ereb laugh.
And Messi's help had been invaluable in this war of nerves. Whenever the price climbed to a certain point, Messi would stop him at just the right moment.
"Young Master, that should be enough now."
"Yeah? All right."
When Messi spoke, Ereb promptly abandoned the bid. He could have pushed through at least once—but he followed Messi's lead like a dog that had been thoroughly trained. And the results came back, reliable as clockwork. Rowin's beet-red face was proof enough.
The reason Messi could play Rowin like a fiddle was simple.
"That human is furiously angry, kyu."
"Kyu. The chemicals that govern his reason are more than half gone, kyu."
"Unlike how he looks, he's extremely cold-headed right now, kyu. He's after something, kyu!"
The ants of the Forest of Resentment could see the emotion-related chemicals produced by living creatures. Kkyu was reporting Rowin's state to Messi as it shifted. With that, there was simply no way Messi could get stuck with the bill even if he had wanted to.
"Young Master, don't bid this time. He looks ready to give up immediately."
"Young Master, he's trying to draw us in. We can follow along slowly."
"Young Master, you should stop now."
After this had repeated dozens of times, Erena and Ramang, watching from behind, could only click their tongues in disbelief.
Is this even possible? That's nearly twenty wins in twenty matches...
Is it because he's an other-race who's spent his life living off scraps of other people's moods...? How can he possibly... haha!
Winning a war of nerves twenty times out of twenty was not something an ordinary person could do. They had both already known Messi was remarkable—but they had never imagined it extended to this. It was as if he could read minds. It sent a chill down their spines.
The collaboration between Messi and Ereb only hit a pause when the Spirit Jade appeared as a lot. Ereb spoke to Messi in a slightly flustered tone.
"Damn it. I lost my head somewhere along the way too. Come to think of it, I came here to get that as a gift for you."
Messi had asked Ereb for the financial foundation to learn spirit arts. The materials for spirit arts were all incredibly rare, and since they had to be harvested from naturally occurring sources, they did not come cheap. The Spirit Jade was also called a spirit's tear, or the essence left behind by a deceased spirit. It was essential for beginning spirit arts, which was why Ereb had found it on the auction catalog and brought Messi along.
"If we try to bid now, Rowin's going to jump in too, furious as he already is. And it's already an expensive lot, opening at ten gold..."
Meaning they would have no choice but to pay a steep price. Messi wanted the Spirit Jade as well, so he sank into thought.
"Hmm..."
Then he opened his mouth.
"Go ahead and bid on it."
Messi's urging sounded as if he already had a way through. Ereb did not even ask why.
This guy's got something in mind.
If Messi had thought it through and made a decision, all he had to do was trust him and follow. It always produced good results. Ereb was beginning, just a little, to understand what it meant to trust someone.
On the other side of the hall, Rowin was at the end of his rope. His hands shook with rage, and his eyes were bloodshot. He had bitten his tongue and lips until the inside of his mouth was a wreck of blood.
"H-how... how is this even possible. I just bought twenty of those... those art pieces?"
"L-Lord Rowin. You need to put a stop to this battle of pride now. At this rate, you won't even have the money left to buy the Einhartz Mana Cultivation Method..."
"The cultivation method... Right. I have to buy that... That's right..."
His escort knight barely managed to restrain him. Rowin barely collected himself. But once his mind cleared, the wreckage that remained was pitiful.
"How am I supposed to recover my shattered pride? And how am I supposed to explain all those useless things I bought to my father?"
"If you just bring back the mana cultivation method, the Count will praise you. He certainly will not scold you."
"Hah..."
Rowin knew in his head that his subordinate was right. But it felt as though a boulder had been dropped on his chest, and the frustration would not budge.
And then, suddenly, Ereb jumped in to bid first.
That bastard bid first?
Rowin's eyes lit up at this behavior he had never seen before. Why? The current lot was the Spirit Jade. Something that should have had nothing whatsoever to do with House Ahental...
His gaze shifted to Messi, standing behind Ereb.
"That's right. He said he came to buy a gift for that other-race who's become a benefactor of his house."
"...Lord Rowin?"
"I can get proper revenge this time. He'll do whatever it takes to get that. This is my only chance!"
"Lord Rowin, please calm yourself. With the money you have left, even the mana cultivation method is going to be a close thing. And when that comes up, others will certainly participate as well!"
"Heh heh. Roatan. Don't worry. I'm not trying to buy it. I'm going to drive the price as high as it'll go and dump it on that bastard Ereb...!"
No—that's exactly what you've been doing this whole time, and you ended up buying everything!
Roatan screamed without a sound. From what he could see, Ahental's second son was no ordinary man. The cold precision with which he engaged and withdrew had something of the current Lord of Ahental in it. Meaning this was not a man his master should be matching himself against.
And yet Rowin raised paddle number 14. This time, there was nothing behind his eyes at all.
"Number 14, twenty gold."
A wave of astonished cries swept the hall. In an auction that demanded silence, people burst out in spite of themselves. The opening bid had been ten gold, and he had already doubled it. The reaction was only natural. And the interesting part: this time it was not Ahental's second son doing the chasing. It was Krombell's heir chasing from behind.
Ereb's face twisted in a scowl, and he raised paddle 761 again.
"Number 761, twenty-one gold."
"Number 14, thirty-one gold!"
"Number 761, thirty-two gold."
"Number 14, forty-two gold!"
"Number 761....."
Ereb, as if the whole thing pained him, raised the bid by a single gold at a time. Rowin, as if he had lost all sense of fear, jumped by ten gold each time. Forty-three, fifty-three, fifty-four, sixty-four... sixty-five......!
Everyone watching had gone pale. What was this situation now? Even as the hall reeled in shock, Rowin was laughing inside. Watching Ereb's expression sour by the second as the sum climbed was so thoroughly satisfying it almost hurt.
"L-Lord Rowin, please, your reason—!"
"I know. This is the last one! We're cashing out here and walking away!"
Rowin judged that the counterbidding had gone far enough. With a smile of hard-won triumph, he shouted it out, bold and clear.
Ereb would not be able to refuse something he had promised as a gift for his house's benefactor. Rowin could already see it: Ereb, with no other choice, shouting seventy-seven gold. He was drowning in a pleasure he could barely contain. He closed his eyes, drunk on victory.
For three seconds. That was all.
.....
The hall was far too quiet. The auction house had fallen into a silence so complete it might have been empty. In that still, uncanny quiet, Rowin felt a flicker of confusion and slowly opened his eyes.
Everyone... was looking at him.
"...What..."
"L-Lord Rowin....."
At the sound of Roatan's despair behind him, Rowin felt a chill crawl down his spine.
It couldn't be.
Number 14! Number 14 — seventy-six goooold!!!
Number 761! Number 761! Are you withdrawing? Withdrawing!!
Gilbert slammed his wooden gavel down in such excitement it looked ready to split apart and go flying. A tremendous cheer followed on its heels. Everyone was stunned. What on earth was that Spirit Jade, that House Krombell had paid seventy-six gold for it?
"H-huh..."
"Lord Rowin!"
Amid cheers mixed with bewilderment and feverish excitement, Rowin felt the strength holding his legs upright slither away.
The scowling face from a moment ago was nowhere to be seen. All that filled his vision was Ereb and Messi, smiling.