The silence that followed Leonhardt's final offer wasn't the expectant kind that marked the end of a bid—it was something else entirely.
A strain in the air, stretched tight by disbelief, broken decorum, and barely suppressed contempt. It lingered not because of awe, but because the room couldn't quite accept what had just happened.
Someone had thrown the weight of a dungeon lord's authority into the middle of a sacred transaction—and shattered it like glass.
Murmurs rippled through the seated shadows.
"Unacceptable…"
"Unorthodox."
"That was no bid. That was a command."
"Has the auction lost all dignity?"
Each voice came low, concealed behind veils or masks, but no attempt was made to truly hide the bitterness. Only the fear.
Only the knowledge that challenging him was not something one survived.
