The atmosphere in the auction hall grew more charged with every passing second. Luminaires leaned closer to one another, whispering in hushed voices, even to strangers, as the tension built.
The auctioneer pointed sharply toward one of the veiled booths.
"1,400 mindstones, offer from booth twenty-two."
There was barely a moment to breathe before his voice rang out again.
"1,500 mindstones, offer from booth three."
Chairs shifted as Luminaires sat up straighter, their eyes locked on the unfolding battle.
1,600... 1,800… 1,900—
The price climbed with startling speed, the auctioneer barely managing to catch his breath between each offer.
Whispers turned into murmurs, and murmurs into discussions, noticeable now, more than ever, as excitement rippled through the hall.
"…2,000 mindstones from booth twenty-two, a generous offer!"
The auctioneer made sure to emphasize the number as it broke the 2,000 mark, his voice lifting slightly with dramatic flair.
"2,000? I think that's the highest a rank three mote has ever gone for."
"Wish I'd even had the chance to bid," someone muttered. "I really need a defensive mote…"
"Is the mote even worth that much, or have the VIPs finally lost it?" a man blurted out a few rows back.
He was met with sharp glances.
"Shush! Have YOU finally lost it?" another Luminaire snapped under his breath, though the edge in his voice was undercut by unease. "Don't talk about the VIPs like that."
Kael sat in the armchair, both arms resting along the sides, his eyes cold and sharp as they locked onto the veiled booth across the hall.
'Annoying… but it can't be helped.'
His finger resumed its quiet tapping against the armrest.
This was as far as he was willing to go. His budget simply wouldn't allow anything beyond this point. Besides, the mote wasn't worth more than 1,300 mindstones, anything beyond that could already be considered overpriced. Even if it was a rank three mote, Kael wasn't willing to spend more than 1,400 at most.
There hadn't been any real reason for him to push it to 1,900. He'd only done it to test the waters. He wanted to gauge just how deep the pockets were of the person in booth twenty-two, more importantly, to get a feel for their personality.
With a slight wave of his hand, Kael signaled to the young woman beside him that she could step back.
She gave a confirming nod and returned to her place in silence.
The Luminaires below waited eagerly, heads tilted, eyes flicking between the booths, breaths held as they waited to see how far the VIPs would take it.
They waited… and waited…
"Don't tell me booth three backed out," a Luminaire muttered under his breath, irritation threading his voice.
Three minutes passed in tense silence before the auctioneer finally spoke, voice dragging with ceremonial flair.
"...Going thrice…"
A pause.
"Sold to booth twenty-two for 2,000 mindstones."
The moment the hammer dropped, voices rose again, hushed complaints, disappointment barely veiled behind carefully chosen words.
"Damn… I really thought we were about to see something interesting."
A few nods, a few quiet agreements rippled through the crowd.
"Guess we shouldn't expect much from booth three."
Despite the high price, it wasn't the number that disappointed them, it was the lack of spectacle. 2,000 mindstones wasn't low, but in a VIP bidding war? It barely scratched the surface. These contests often spiraled into absurd figures, especially when pride was on the line.
Kael sat loosely in his chair, one arm resting on the side, the other supporting his head as he looked down at the crowd.
His eyes were calm. Cold. Detached.
Unbothered by their whispers, unmoved by their disappointment.
"Entertain them once, and they return not for you, but for the echo of what you gave. They do not seek understanding, only stimulation, mistaking the flicker of excitement for meaning, and repetition for permanence."
His eyes swept over the Luminaires one final time before he leaned back into his chair, letting his thoughts drift.
Was the auction really going to turn out this poorly?
It was already the third day out of five, and so far only one suitable mote had appeared, and even that one had slipped through his fingers, despite how high he'd pushed the bid.
And all of it had happened while sitting in a VIP booth. The odds had been on his side, everything but luck.
Kael shifted into a more comfortable position.
There was nothing left to do but wait and see what fate still had in store.
Mote after mote, bid after bid, time passed.
'Still nothing…'
Kael wasn't irritated or angry, but he couldn't help cursing his luck.
The day's auction was nearing its end, and it wasn't looking good.
There probably wasn't a place on the western continent with a wider selection or more abundant supply of motes up for sale. And yet, despite that, Kael, who wasn't even being that particular, was still walking away empty-handed.
"And now…"
The auctioneer's voice echoed through the hall, drawing the attention of every soul present.
"For our final mote of the day."
Then, he paused. Not out of hesitation, but ceremony.
It was the kind of pause that came before something sacred was unveiled. A hush swept through the room, not forced, but natural, as though the very air had thickened with anticipation.
"This is a mote once used by Emberveil Gale Demon Paragon… during his younger days."
The effect was immediate.
Kael's spine straightened like a drawn bowstring, his gaze snapping forward with razor-edged focus. All around him, silence fell, not the silence of confusion or courtesy, but the silence that followed revelation. It was not fear. It was reverence.
The name alone held the weight of centuries.
Emberveil Gale Demon Paragon.
A being not just known, but etched into the very foundation of history.
One of only nine to ever walk the path to the pinnacle, rank nine, in the span of countless millennia.
A Paragon whose legend transcended borders, whose legacy was etched into monuments and whispered into the dreams of aspiring Luminaires.
Kael slowly turned to glance at Darian.
He, too, now sat upright, the usual ease in his posture vanished.
His expression was still, but his eyes betrayed the same reaction Kael felt, undiluted intensity.
No one dared speak.
Because when the name of a Paragon was spoken aloud, the world itself knew to listen.
"The exact abilities of the mote will not be disclosed, for safety reasons," the auctioneer said, his voice even, though the weight of the words hung heavy in the air.
"But this mote, Point Aegis, is a strength-pathway mote, falling within the defensive category."
Kael's eyes flashed, the chill in his gaze sharpening like a blade.
'I must have it.'
A defensive mote, perfectly aligned with the strength pathway, it was exactly what he had been waiting for. If it paired well with the Golden Horned mote in the future, it could become the foundation of his entire combat structure.
Without delay, Kael raised his hand and leaned toward the young woman standing silently behind him. He whispered his bid.
Down below, the auctioneer paused mid-sentence, his expression caught between surprise and intrigue.
"Well, it seems we have someone eager," he said with a chuckle, trying to maintain rhythm. He extended a hand toward Kael's booth, his voice rising.
"First offer, 2,000 mindstones from booth three."
A ripple passed through the hall.
Every head turned toward Kael's veiled booth, expressions twisted with a mix of irritation and surprise.
Jumping the gun like that, bidding before the auctioneer even formally began, was an offense to etiquette, to order. But none of them dared speak it aloud.
Not because they respected Kael.
But because they feared what sat behind that curtain.
Still, the tension cracked as a new voice called out:
"2,050 mindstones, bid from number 87."
A few gasps followed.
"Someone actually bid against a VIP?" a voice whispered from the crowd.
But it didn't spark conversation. No one turned. No one replied.
Because right now, it wasn't about courtesy or caution.
It was about greed.
And in the face of power and legacy, of a mote tied to a Paragon, greed had drowned out every other instinct.
Even fear.
As soon as the first two bids hit the air, the hall exploded into chaos.
What had begun with cold etiquette and disapproving glances turned instantly feral, as if a dam had burst and the true nature of the crowd had spilled out all at once. It was no longer an auction, it was a frenzy.
Luminaires shouted over one another, their voices rising with desperation and greed.
Those who had sat with rigid poise now stood, waving their hands frantically in the air, desperate for attention, their earlier disdain for Kael's breach of etiquette forgotten in the tide of avarice.
"Bid from number 34—2,200 mindstones!"
"Number 55—2,400 mindstones!"
"Number 98—2,600 mindstones!"
The auctioneer's voice rang through the chaos, barely able to keep pace.
He had no room to breathe, yet a wide grin stretched across his face.
This was no longer just a sale. It was a spectacle.
And he was reveling in every second of it
Only after the price had soared to a staggering 6,000 mindstones did the bidding from the lower seats finally begin to fade.
Kael's remained the only bid left.
'Have they finally given up?'
His eyes drifted slowly over the crowd. Though many still stood, their hands hung limply by their sides, eyes darting between one another, not with anticipation, but with reluctant acceptance.
The atmosphere had turned stiff, awkward even. Silence pressed over the hall like a heavy veil.
When the price had still been manageable, each of them had clung to the same fragile hope, perhaps they could win the mote, and perhaps, just perhaps, it could be their stepping stone to the impossible.
And why wouldn't they try? After all, only a fool would sit still when offered even a whisper of a Paragon's legacy.
This mote had once belonged to the Emberveil Gale Demon Paragon.
The name alone was enough to still the breath of anyone who understood what it meant.
One of the nine Paragons in all of known history. A being whose very existence bent the rules of reality, whose presence had once silenced battlefields and torn open nations.
To believe that simply owning a mote he had once used might carry them to the same height wasn't just naïve, it was delusion of the highest order.
Yes, the Point Aegis mote had accompanied Emberveil Gale Demon Paragon in his early years, but to credit the mote for his ascent was laughable.
Give Emberveil Gale Demon Paragon a stick and a stone, and he'd carve out legend just the same. What elevated Paragons above the rest was never their motes, it was them.
Their minds. Their instincts. Their will.
Each Paragon was an incomprehensible anomaly, a singularity in the flow of time and talent, beyond replication, beyond explanation.
If Luminaires numbered the stars in the sky, then Paragons were the handful of stars so distant, their light had only just reached the world.
And these fools had believed that by grabbing at one of his crumbs, they might somehow taste his destiny.
Kael leaned back in his chair, the faintest shadow of amusement flickering behind his cold gaze.
'How tragically human.'
Though 6,000 mindstones was well beyond Kael's current means, he had still placed the bid without hesitation. Why?
Because seated beside him was none other than Darian Claymore, heir to the largest banking system on the western continent.
And Kael hadn't forgotten the words Darian had spoken to him on his last day in the fighting club:
"If you ever need financial help, don't hesitate to ask."
He hadn't asked. He didn't need to.
Kael understood people, and Darian especially. That offer hadn't only been made out of politeness. It had been real. Backed by pride, loyalty, and power.
So Kael bet on it.
Was it shameless? Certainly. Was he leveraging their friendship without a second thought? Without question.
But when a mote tied to one of the nine Paragons surfaced, such concerns turned to dust.
In the face of true power, sentiment had no place.
Strength above all. Value above trust.