The first sound to reach Luke was his own gulping. A nanosecond later, the bidders below, and even the two normally more composed, absurdly wealthy monics nearby, lost most of their decorum.

"Uncle, for our family…" Emalia began.

Grimly nodding, Calen already assented. "The number of people who could craft something like this in the Edgelands, especially for a cloak, could be counted on one's fingers. Even I lack a cloak of this quality when climbing the Tower for the family. Our entire allotted gold amount is to be used." He tapped a finger on a bicep as his arms crossed. "Contact your grandmother Emalia, away from your 'guest'. I'll call the servants back in, see if she's willing to funnel additional resources for the cloak. What we have on hand has an incredibly low chance of being sufficient. I will monitor the bidding in the meanwhile."

Without further ado, Emalia left the soothing booth private area, and the earlier dismissed servants came back in. Since Calen subconsciously stopped restraining his aura as much, the servants were already struggling to stay composed. Their bodies betrayed them, shaking every so often. With the mood for conversation dashed, Luke observed the bidding floor below. Whereas Calen withheld himself somewhat….

Many of those at tier 2, either support or combat classes, stormed out. A scant few lingered to see who would ultimately win. Since this was the last item, they no longer had much reason to stay, especially those with every intention to leave the city before the Tide fully settled in. The faster, the better, for them that was. Some absurdly precious cloak had nothing to do with them. Luke picked out some poorly concealed whispers.

"Master Aloysius, I know you wanted me to bid on an item, but the set aside funds…" A gaunt man spoke into a sigil stone.

"The boss made this impossible. I'll be returning from the auction without winning a thing, not looking forward to the ass chewing."

"I know it's an epic item, but why is everyone freaking out this much?" A wet behind the ears tier 1 inscriptionist asked in confusion, frown deepening.

A burly human tier 3 warrior, scars crossing his entire damn body like a lattice, answered, more out of pity than anything else, "Alongside weapons and special items, cloaks are considered one of the harder slots to upgrade, especially after you get the usual rare quality crafted ones. Crafters making tier 3 ones above rare quality is a sight for sore eyes. Anything epic is going to be, at the minimum, equal in ability to an exceptional item a tier above in requirements." He turned his gaze to some other hunters off on the other side of the room, then pointed at them. "See those hunters over there? All tier 3, not a single one has a cloak that's superior to what's being offered for sale right now. That should tell you everything else you need to know."

The chair creaked as the ignorant inscriptionist curled in on himself a little. "Father always said only the 'poors' struggled for the quality items. I've my own rare tier 2 cloak waiting for the day I manage another feat."

The warrior quite rudely spat nearby and ignored the nearby row attendant scolding him for the impropriety. "The further you go, boy, the less gold can help you. So when it can in rare scenarios like this, people bankrupt them at the chance."

Case in point, Moniba, the tora leader of the third ranked Tower Team, made the first move after the epic cloak's unveiling. "Two hundred and fifty thousand gold."

As for why she jumped the price up so much, Moniba thought it to be the absolute minimum the cloak would end up selling for anyway. From this maneuver, she bulldozed out the naive hopefuls in the auction house. The disgruntlement and displeased attitude of previously lofty second generations inheritors, nobles, and others who could be classified as 'rich' but not wealthy became the new melody on the bidding floor.

One those with real wealth ignored ruthlessly.

Except for the Pyrite booth, likely too strapped for gold after their overpayment on the Emberfang Lynx, every other major group stepped up to the proverbial bidding plate. From the Defiers booth, the mana obsessed elf, Tanniv, raised the price. "280,000 gold."

Following the flow, Annika made her own counter bid. "All's fair between us, Tanny, time to use up this useless yellow circle stuff, 300,000 gold."

Luke chuckled when he barely perceived Tanniv's displeased huff, yet the arcane mage restrained himself from entering Annika's cadence, dropping out for contention over the item. In this case, the auctioneer, Avarita, hadn't chance to rile up bids for the item, when another bid came rolling in, this time from the City Lord.

Her undulating voice washed over the eardrums of all present. "The coming conflict will spare none. Ladies and gentlement, let's reveal our real desires here, 320,000 gold."

Tail flicking dangerously, Moniba showed a toothy grin, a bit of her hunter's grace spiked from the declaration. She said, "400,000 gold." She eyed the collectors, mainly extremely wealthy merchants, craftsmen, or the most well-off nobles aside from the Pyrite or Miel family, then dismissed them with a wave of her claws. "Out, bottom feeders, this prize is beyond you."

"You dare?" An intrepid fat human merchant started.

"I do." Moniba ended. Her usually sealed away tier 3 Domain flashed out for but a moment.

That split second caused many of the unascended, or those in a noncombat class, to freeze in fear. The weaker of their number, victim to the pressure, smashed against the floor, unconscious.

Of course, organizers tried to calm things, but in the end, nearly none in this city had the ability to suppress a peak tier 3 like Moniba. The bidding floor emptied. A desolate graveyard in comparison to its former packed crowd, much to Avarita's dismay as she cajoled to get them to stay. A minute later, only five people on the ground floor withstood the intimidation, with Lesus and Moniba chief among them. The other three were Grandmaster Kelthic, Sylen's wealthiest leatherworker, Musa, the merchant king, and beside him, a gray-skinned elf Luke hadn't seen nor heard of before. The hints of aura clinging to the being suggested connections to Sylen's underworld forces. There were attempts to hide it, but fooling the Reaver's senses after becoming an elemental was beyond standard methods.

Musa, a fat tora merchant with sickly yellow fur and green spots, wearily asked the elf, "Sir Fillus, are you sure you can…?" Musa's eyes said the rest, flicking toward Moniba, greed for the cloak warring over self-preservation instinct.

Setting his jaw, Fillus said, "Be at rest, Musa, as a valued client, your life is guaranteed under my watch, no matter who implies the threat." He stepped closer to Musa, who seemed assuaged by the reassurance. An exaggerated sigh escaped the tora.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

With too few bidders left, the servants on the floor cleared out anything left behind, while a minimum of two each attended to the five remaining clients. The highest ranked among the organizers this round, Eldogar, looked like he'd been forced to swallow bile. Moniba's gambit went against every established social rule. Under the oncoming circumstance, such trivial matters couldn't restrain her.

Thus, the elf went into damage control, whispering something into Musa's and Kelthic's ears. The sole tier 3 bodyguard under loan for the auction, a retired Tower climber, Kang Ironjaw, a silver furred tora, stepped just behind the two. His presence spoke more than any words could. Eldogar, for obvious reasons, wouldn't give the same service to Moniba after her display, and Lesus? That elf could handle himself far better than Kang ever did at his peak, let alone now. Kelthic and Musa sipped on a sparkling golden wine, guarded by Kang and Fillus. The bidding, momentarily paused due to the mass exodus, resumed.

Unfazed by the outpouring, Lesus' easy smile widened, he used both palms as a headrest, putting one leg over a knee. He scanned the room, every so often glancing at the Miel's booth. Call it a honed sense, the veteran hunter was soon proven correct with his visual guess.

Calen announced his newest bid on the cloak, keeping it curt, "500,000 gold."

The Reaver marveled at the sheer concentration of wealth and power in this city. None of the residents in the four booths left, but other than them, when it was all said and done, five, really, four below kept enough wealth, interest, and self-confidence to stay behind.

He spun a good perspective on it. Since both hunters left are Tower Team leaders, at least I know making gold should be the least of my worries.

Raising his pallet, numbered 333, Kelthic said, "550,000 gold, and might I say, Moniba, the display earlier was quite uncalled for."

Feline eyes examined every inch of Kelthic, causing the human man to shiver unconsciously. Moniba displayed false ignorance. "Nothing wrong with letting loose a little, Kelthic, feeble prey can't handle a light breeze. The course of nature has nothing to do with me."

Musa and Kelthic opened their mouths, likely about to protest, cut off by Lesus' unexpected laugh. "Well said, Moniba, the wealthy but weak earlier could've pranced, but not for this object before us." He lifted a pallet. "600,000 gold."

Luke widened his eyes slightly in understanding. He withdrew earlier in the bidding war against me for Withering Echo to preserve his wealth for this item. Did he know about it in advance?

Patting himself down, Calen got up and began to exit the booth, allowing Emalia to pass him by as she reseated herself near Luke. The muscular monic warrior trained his eyes to their lower right corner at Emalia and said, "As both Moniba and Lesus display unyielding interest in the cloak, my business here is done, niece. Reveal your connection, and clarify further what it means to owe the Miels." He nodded at Luke. "Come to the manor within two days, any later and the spar will have to be postponed until after the Tide."

Calen palmed the teleport orb behind the booth exit door. Blue mana enveloped him as he dematerialized. Casually cutting through the tension, mostly down below, as none of the four upper booths wanted this item as fiercely as the others, Luke spread himself out a little, ruffling Sooty's feathers for a moment. Palming Xera, he put her across his lap, in an inadvertent attempt at getting Emalia to stay off. It worked—physical barriers did wonders.

The Reaver spoke directly to an attendant, an elf woman in a black and silver themed stylish dress set. "Could you get something for my companion to drink? And just water for myself?"

"Right away, Defier. The attendant exited the booth on the way to the kitchens for the request. Three others remained behind for any other spoken needs or wants.

Xera broke her silence since this whole auction fiasco began. "That strange rune lady isn't going to suffocate my crystal again, is she?"

Chuckling, Luke denied it. "No, Emalia seems ready for a more serious discussion," he focused his attention on the monic beauty, "aren't you?"

Straightening herself while setting back her shoulders, she tried and failed to absolve the sudden intensity in Luke's gaze. After a cough, she said, "Would you like the attendants here dismissed as well, although I'm afraid the information I've to share isn't as all encompassing as you hoped."

The elf attendant came in with the requested drinks and items. Emalia summarily dismissed the her and other staff. Down below, the bidding war between Moniba and Lesus continued to heat up. The final result slightly interested Luke, but the process itself failed to do the same.

He scanned the room and brushed a hand alongside the couch arm, tapping it once. "Then begin, either with the information I came for, or how the fact I'm in debt to your family is really going to work."

Emalia relinquished a fake smile. "We begin with the easier of the two. The simplest way would be to pay us back promptly, but even for an upper ascended hunter, forty thousand gold is no small task to acquire."

"Figured as much, the auction warped my sense of money again, but outside these walls, many struggle to afford food, let alone high quality materials."

"The needs of many, warped by the wants of the few." Emalia put a hand over her cheek. "I said earlier that we would instead prefer you to stand on the Miel's side should the opportunity arise to become the primary noble family over Sylen. Instead of this 'sharing' that we endure with the Pyrite line."

A faint smell of mana mint entered Luke's nose. He sipped on a water for a moment, then said, "Stand how? As a show of support? A mercenary? Something else?" He started to drink more of the water, parched after neglecting to drink much during the hours-long auction.

"Would you consider becoming my husband? There are no debts between family." Emalia shamelessly stated.

Luke sputtered out the water. Hints were planted earlier, but to come out and say it…he quickly wiped off the spilled water, muttering an apology reflexively. Sooty openly laughed at him with a hearty caw and coo bird speak. Reaver's Link did much of the translation. Xera stifled a laugh. Even Wayfinder shook on his compass chain.

"Do you understand what you're asking?" The Reaver attempted a more refined thought process, but failed spectacularly.

"Yes, the hordes of heartbroken men, a necessary sacrifice. For the good of the Miels. Some of them may surpass you for now, my intuition tells me within months or less, none of them will. A woman must act while they grow."

"That wasn't on my radar—"

"Radar?" Emalia asked, unfamiliar with the term.

"Forget it, the issue is, ignoring the marriage proposal, I suspect you or your family is involved with my father's disappearance. A bond like that is impossible between us."

"And if it was cleared up that my family has no involvement?" Emalia closed in slightly, subconsciously showing off her body again.

"Normally, you do this whole thing called dating first and—"

"Naturally, Luke, I'm aware of that. Noble society can run counter to the norms in the rest of the Duchy. This has little to do with love and everything to do with preserving the line while snatching up those with the ties desired for my family. It's a tradition for the women to pair with men valuable to the line."

Painfully aware that the idea of undoing decades of social conditioning was a fool's task, Luke moved on somewhat. "I've no deep interest in that side of life until my father is found. Since that 'route' is off the table, what else can I do to make things even between us?"

Revealing her neckline, Emalia overlooked her nails for a moment, then said, "During this tumultuous time, and the short period after it, one of your favored contracts will do." Emalia placed a piece of parchment onto the table, sliding it over to Luke. "Read it over, the terms are simplistic."

Luke scanned the document. The terms were straightforward. He could repay the Miels through raw gold, at no interest, until then, he would be considered one of 'theirs'. Someone who, even if not against the City Lord, openly opposed the Pyrite family. In addition, if an open war happened between the two families, he would be required to fight alongside them. That wasn't much of a drawback to Luke, that flame-focused family seemed out to get him from the moment he set foot in Sylen anyway, but there was one concern left.

"Add in a clause, if it's found your family is responsible for my father's circumstance, then a contract like this is useless anyway. No amount of contractual chains will save whoever is responsible."

Emalia hid a grimace, but added in the demanded term anyway. She smoothed over the rare display of negative emotion. When Luke signed, most of the tension in her body vanished. She drank from a wine to celebrate. Avarita's loud announcement seeped into the booth all the way from here.

"With an astounding bid of 850,000 gold, Lesus has secured the Cape of Silent Dominion. Our humble auction has come to a close. Guests, feel free to stay and mingle for the rest of the night. I, Avarita, hope the odds always remain in your favor. Good night to you."

Although Moniba's earlier tactic had already cleared out the majority of the patrons, it seemed she failed to secure the cloak in the end. Lesus snatched away the final prize. A knock on the door echoed into the darkened room Luke and Emalia sat in.

Expecting it, Emalia acknowledged the effort with a short, "Come in."

Two attendants, each flanked by ascended bodyguards, dropped off a spatial bag, one for Emalia and another for Luke. They left with a perfunctory farewell. Luke checked the bag, valuable by itself, just a four slot, but he'd take it. Inside was the Withering Echo skill book.

Once she felt Luke was finished overlooking his own item, Emalia struck to the heart of it all. "Let's broach the topic you entered my influence for what I know about your father's circumstances. I do warn, it won't be as enlightening as you hope."

Frost pulsed from Luke's eyes once, a reflex at this point. He nodded. "Something is better than nothing."

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