The moment he stepped in, brows knit across the hall. Then people saw his face and fell silent in shock.
"Saint Charmaque, huh. Heh. Did not expect a Celestial Dragon here."
From his private box, Rakuya watched the noble in the bubble helmet swagger through the crowd and curled a cold smile.
"Who is that. Saint Charmaque."
"A Celestial Dragon."
"Hmph, so what if he is a Celestial Dragon." A pirate's eyes flashed with disgust.
"Shh. Do you want to die. Do you know what it means to cross one of them. Are you trying to get us all killed."
The nervous pirate at his side glared, frantic.
A Celestial Dragon in Grove 1.
It hit the auction house like a depth charge.
"Hmph. Lowly ants."
Saint Charmaque tilted his eyes, sweeping the hall with lazy contempt.
"Sir, honored sir, this way, please."
One of the attendants hastened forward, bowing and smiling as if his spine had vanished.
"Out of my sight."
Charmaque did not spare him a glance. He kicked. The attendant flew back.
"Vermin who do not kneel when they see me. Do you have a death wish."
Disgust settled over his face.
Thump.
"S… sir, my fault, my fault. Forgive me, please forgive me."
Shaking, the attendant collapsed to his knees and bowed until his head thudded on the floor, his uniform already soaked through with sweat.
"Your fault. Hmph."
Bang.
The gunshot cracked like a whip. Charmaque, wearing the look of a man stepping over dirt, lowered the pistol and walked past. The attendant bled out at the threshold.
Hundreds of eyes watched. No one dared speak.
"M… my lord."
The manager of Grove 1 stumbled out at a run, panic blanching his face. Celestial Dragons were not rare here, but an unannounced arrival was. Normally the house was warned.
Today was not normal.
"My lord, if we had known you were coming, I would have been at the door to receive you."
The manager dropped to his knees, sweating through his collar.
"Hmph. Your dog did not recognize me and failed to kneel. Should you not be punished."
Color drained from the manager's face. He knocked his head on the ground and begged.
"My lord, my lord, I failed to manage my staff. I deserve death."
"Since you admit fault, cut off one arm."
"What."
Terror blew the man's pupils wide.
"What. Do you not dare. Must I do it for you."
"N… never, my lord. I will do it."
Still kneeling, the manager drew a short blade with shaking hands. He gritted his teeth, swung hard, and severed his left arm.
"Ah."
He clutched the stump, face flushed crimson from pain, body trembling.
"Hmph. Better."
To Saint Charmaque, the self mutilation was a trifle, a beetle crushed underheel.
"Saint Charmaque graces your auction house. Everyone come out and greet him."
The slave at the end of Charmaque's leash barked the order from his knees. Pirates and rich men alike jolted up from their seats, scrambling to the aisles.
Rakuya did not move.
He lifted his cup and took another slow sip of tea.