Spectating the Auction
“Alright, let's unveil the moment everyone's been waiting for—the first item!”
The host pointed flamboyantly to the center of the stage. The floor split open, and a circular display pedestal rose slowly. Atop it lay a crude leather bundle unfurled, revealing herbs glowing with a faint blue light and chunks of silvery ore.
“Top-grade Moonlight Grass, grown only in the unique environment of the Lizardmen-managed 'Swamp Dungeon'! And high-purity Mithril Ore that would make any blacksmith drool!”
The host bellowed in an exaggerated voice.
“Starting bid: 300 gold! Anyone care to bid?”
The hall murmured briefly. For a major auction packed with heavyweights, it felt a bit underwhelming.
“What, just some weeds?”
“Boo, lame. Too weak, right?”
Disappointed jeers erupted from various spots.
Mandy, seated beside me, clutched his clothes tightly, tense as hell.
“Ugh... it's not gonna sell, is it?”
But then.
A white-robed alchemist in the front row adjusted his glasses and raised his paddle.
“350 gold.”
“Oh! We have 350 gold! Anyone else?”
The mood flipped instantly. Blacksmiths and fellow alchemists who spotted the value started raising paddles one by one, eyes gleaming.
“400 gold!”
“500 gold!”
“That ore's purity is insane. 700 gold!”
The price shot up in a flash.
Mandy's mouth hung wide open.
“Wha—huh? It's climbing?”
“800! 900! 1,000 gold!”
The host's voice pitched higher with excitement.
After a brutal game of chicken, one blacksmith thrust his paddle skyward.
“1,550 gold!”
Silence blanketed the hall.
The host scanned the room. “1,550 gold! Higher bids? 1,550 gold!”
Bang!
“Sold!”
The hammer's crisp strike rang out.
“Wooooah!”
Mandy bounced in place like a kid. Unable to contain himself, he grabbed my shoulders and shook.
“You see that, Suho? Didja? 1,550 gold! Holy shit, I figured 500k was a win!”
“Congrats. You hit the jackpot.”
I smiled and clapped him on the back, but inside, I was floored.
That bundle of grass and rocks for 1,550 gold?
The very first item—the lowest tier one—and it fetched that. The sheer scale of money flowing here was beyond comprehension.
But the shocks didn't stop there.
“Let's switch gears to the next item!”
The host's eyes sparkled. He dropped his voice, weaving a creepy vibe.
“This one's a gourmet treat that'll have you foodies salivating—a tonic.”
Whirr—
A new pedestal ascended. A transparent glass tube. Inside, amid red liquid, a fist-sized lump bobbed—still throbbing, a living heart.
“As you see! The heart of a human world's powerhouse—an A-rank Hunter!”
The host hyped it wildly.
“Fresh as if just cut out! Mana circuits perfectly intact—guaranteed mana boost on consumption!”
“Ooooh!”
Gasps exploded from the seats. Nothing like the tepid herb reaction.
“Looks delicious. Perfect color.”
“Circuits alive? That's dozens of potions right there.”
Lip-smacking echoed everywhere.
I clamped my mouth shut.
Urk...
My stomach churned.
The red mass in the tube pulsed rhythmically—contract, relax. Proof of life beating in someone's chest mere days ago.
Haggling over it as “tonic” or “mana enhancer.”
This place... is the true monster world.
It sank in deep. To them, humans were just livestock. Prey. Premium ingredients.
The terror I'd shoved aside bantering with Mandy now chilled my bones.
“Starting at 5,000 gold!”
“10,000 gold!”
Doubled right off the bat.
“15,000!”
“20,000 gold!”
Prices rocketed like mad.
Finally, amid fierce rivalry, a hulking ogre raised a hand.
“30,000 gold.”
The overwhelming sum hushed the room.
“30,000 gold! Higher? Sold!”
Bang!
The host slammed the hammer.
A single heart—30,000 gold.
“Huh.”
In this madhouse auction, what value would my ghost story command? Would it even sell?
Dread and hype tangled as the auction rolled on.
“Next up! Something you'll love, administrators!”
The host lifted three black scrolls. Purple mana steamed from their surfaces like haze.
“The Slave Contract Scroll Set! Binds any C-rank or lower—race irrelevant—to absolute obedience! Betrayal worries? Rebellious underlings? One scroll fixes it!”
Damn impressive. C-rank's solid mid-to-high tier monsters—forced to heel.
But the crowd? Lukewarm.
“Hmm, decent...”
“Kinda meh.”
Blame the prior heavy hitters' impact.
Bids trickled; price crept up mildly.
“3,500 gold!”
“3,800 gold!”
An orc finally clinched it, paddle up.
“4,000 gold!”
“4,000! Sold!”
Bang!
I gaped at the board's digits.
4,000 gold...
Peanuts next to the heart, but to me? Massive.
4,000 hours. About 166 days. Nearing half a year.
True... different league.
Half a year's life traded so casually. With that, no death dread—no clock-checking nights. Blissful sleep.
I want it.
My throat burned at the thought. Drool pooled unwittingly.
Then Mandy nudged my elbow.
“Suho.”
“Huh? What?”
“Wipe your drool, man.”
“...!”
I jolted, swiping my mouth. Slick wetness on my hand.
Lost in lifespan fantasies, I'd been salivating.
“Pfft.”
“Heh, cute kid. Brutally honest.”
Nearby monsters snickered.
I buried my face, hole-in-the-ground vibes.
The auction churned on. Cursed knight's sword. Miracle cure-all elixir. Ancient grimoire. Weird shit poured out.
Time flew toward midpoint.
“You've waited long enough!”
After mundane filler, the host shifted gears.
“Warmed up now? Time for the good stuff.”
He snapped. Lights bled red, spotlighting center stage.
“Behold! The 'Ancient Gargoyle Guardian Stone'!”
Black cloth yanked off. Mossy gray rock, runes thrumming thick mana.
“Dungeon entrance install: auto-summons 10 gargoyle statues to shred intruders! Each C-rank fighters! Guard wages too steep? They skip sleep, food—just kill!”
“Ooooh!”
Reaction detonated. Heart was apex feast; this, lifeline for desperate low-tier dungeon masters.
“1,000 gold!”
“1,200! Mine!”
“Move! 1,500 gold!”
Paddles flew, veins bulging.
A desperate voice pierced the chaos.
“3,150 gold.”
Succubus princess Serria. Lips bitten raw, paddle high.
Hush fell.
C-grade item, overkill price.
Bidders smacked lips, dropped out.
“3,150 gold! Higher bids?!”
No takers. Relief flickered on Serria's face.
“3,200 gold.”
Lazy, syrupy drawl. Paddle rose leisurely. Incubus in flashy purple suit, shirt unbuttoned to navel.
“...!”
Serria blanched. Trembling hand hoisted paddle again.
“3,300 gold!”
“3,400.”
“3,500...!”
“3,600. Our princess stretching without cash.”
The incubus swirled his wine, mocking.
Serria's shoulders quivered with fury.
Mandy tsked, whispering to me.
“That's Jeon.”
“Jeon?”
“This scene's top playboy. And... remember the princess nixing that marriage talk?”
“Yeah.”
I nodded; Mandy jerked his chin at Jeon, voice low.
“Her rejectee? 'Archdemon Saleos'. Jeon's his loyal dog. Situation clear?”
Clicked instantly.
This wasn't auction.
Public lynching.
Petty as hell. Archdemon siccing a goon over a turndown.
Reality outdoes novels; demon world amps it.
“4,000 gold...!”
Serria shrieked desperately. Tears beaded her eyes.
Probably her full purse.
Jeon yawned, swatted like a fly.
“4,500.”
“Ah...”
Paddle flopped. Serria slumped, vacant stare.
Host hammered gleefully.
“4,500 gold! Sold! Congrats, Jeon!”
Jeon grinned, winked at Serria. No victor's poise—pure sadist crushing the fallen.
Mandy shook his head, muttering.
“Jeon's hellbent on strangling the princess. Needs that stone to hold... tsk. Her dungeon's toast this month.”
“...”
I stared at Serria's slumped back.
Pity? Yeah.
But my head ran numbers, not sympathy.
Hold up.
Mandy's rundown: 1. Serria needs dungeon defense now. 2. Hunter siege imminent, funds zilch. 3. Dies otherwise.
Desperate. No choosiness.
So.
What if an item perfectly seals her dungeon?
My lips curled slow.
Niche goldmine.
Prime customer candidate.
I slotted Serria atop my mental client list. Nothing opens wallets like cornered desperation.
Couldn't deal now, though. No spare ghost stories to peddle.
Unless she grabs a ghost story voucher here.
That'd give seller pretext to approach smooth.
No buy? Tough luck. No stock means peddler vibes if I push.
How's it play out?
As I watched, auction ground on.
Predictable script.
“2,000 gold!”
“2,500 gold!”
Serria eyed a defense scroll—
“3,000.”
Jeon, right on cue.
“3,000 gold! Sold! Congrats, Jeon!”
“Oops, slippery hand—paddle slipped. So sorry, princess.”
Jeon twirled his wine, cackling.
Serria shuddered in shame, outgunned.
What rotten luck.
Humanly—or biologically—repulsive mug.
Customer service wise, better sans such asshole blockers.
Serria snagged zilch.
“General auction concluded!”
Host clapped, pumping the vibe.
“Now, 'Special Time'! Association-picked rarities—unique, mysterious!”
Lights dimmed; lone pin spotlighted center.
Staff edged out with red velvet cushion.
Necks craned, treasure/artifact hype.
“Special item reveal! Come on out!”