The fresh scent of mint and foreign tea leaves hit Luke when his vision settled.

Three soft cushioned blue and silver couches flanked a wide table already filled with various foods and wines. Four servants—which Luke assumed the auction house groups provided—already stood waiting for their arrival. Attached to their black and silver uniforms were lapels in the shape of a golden finger.

Luke tried not to pull away from Emalia. The monic woman kept his arm sandwiched between her, dragging him to a couch together. A sweet orchid smell wafted from her white hair. Calen raised an eyebrow at the antics—shook his head—and sat on the sofa furthest away. Without further ado, he began to order seared meats, sauced fruits, and toasted cheeses, paired with fruit juices and wines. The prepared foods and wines seemed not to his liking.

"I do delight in the infused tea they have here. You simply must try some." Emalia offered Luke a blue-green scentless drink.

"Could we try handing over the information you said you had last time we met?" Luke said, setting the tea aside.

"In due time, my hasty Defier, why not enjoy the auction? You've settled into one of its best seats. Do you have enough gold on hand? We could lend you a modest chunk, should it be in your interest."

The Reaver sold off multiple rings and necklaces he enchanted, circa the time he upgraded the Blood Weaver ring. Offloading the loot from Crystal Demon Point also replenished his funds. Except for keeping a few crafting materials and the most blatantly valuable materials from Nemenoth, the recent haul had already been sold, bringing up his gold to a neat 23,000 gold.

"I've come prepared as I reasonably could be," Luke said.

"Being coy? Are your reserves fifty thousand deep, a hundred thousand? The best items will surely be competed for at such levels."

Actively trying to mask the internal sweating, Luke said, "As long as I end up with one major upgrade, that'll satisfy my goal."

"Why not aim for more?" Emalia dragged his arm deeper into her cleavage, turning up the charm with wet eyes. "The Miels can be very giving…Defier."

Luke attempted to pull away without using overt force, but Emalia stuck to him like glue. He said, "It's unnecessary, and correct if I'm wrong, but this one comes with strings and conditions."

"Nothing of the sort—beyond a small favor. Certainly not another chain or anything resembling the loan contract we bestowed upon Janeus with your permission."

"Now, are the Miel's very giving when it comes to what I care about?"

"And what would that be, my dashing Defier?"

"In what way are the Miels responsible for my dad's disappearance, and what information do they have? Is your family the main force? Or just one of the kind to shut their eyes where needed?"

"So certain of our guilt? You wound me greatly. We've nothing to do with the unfortunate kidnappings of our illustrious craftsmen—which your father is among their number—all over the Duchy."

"I bet if I asked the Pyrites, they would give me the same answer. Five groups could do in this city what they wanted to him. And three of them are at the beck and call of either your family or the Pyrites."

He withheld the last bits of his thoughts to himself. If it's not your family, it's the Pyrite family. Once I figure out which is which, I'm not leaving this Duchy until one of us is six feet under.

"That view of yours is overly optimistic, dearest Luke. The flamed family would surely rebuff any attempt of communication with you. Many of their members see you for dead."

"A group of blind idiots, then."

"We're in agreement on that, aren't we, Uncle Calen?"

"Stay me from your games, niece. But yes, I have no love in my heart for that family. Our oldest rivals," Calen said, going back to the newly served refreshments. An auction house servant returned at the room's edge—near the exit—at his beck and call.

In the room, three Interface Platforms, structured in sleek black marble, misting mana and outlined in silver trim, displayed a shimmering image—the auction house display floor.

A tomboyish elf woman walked into the center, her black leather dress shoes tapping against the oak-wood flooring. Wearing a smile that neatly reached her green eyes, the elf said, "Good day to the early birds. I am Avarita, your humble host this evening. In a short fifteen minutes, the last public auction before the Tide shall take place. I encourage all our valued clients to make their final preparations during this short respite." She bowed out, leaving the shimmering ether image.

Indulging in an infused tea, Emalia took a sip and said, "Need I say more for her, Defier? The offer stands. Many of the highest quality items on offer—retaining their usefulness to you—will be in the multiple thousands each, and quite more for the most contested."

Taking his free arm, Luke placed it on a cushioned armrest. "Since you're so sure the item quality here will be worth my time, why aren't most of the other Defiers here?"

"I beg your pardon, Luke. Few items can catch the interest of the most ardent Tower Climbers. For your further exalted faction members, they would plant a representative here than to show in person."

Setting his eyes on Sooty, who sat on his right shoulder, Luke internally mused, What's the reason for Annika and Tanniv to come here? And for Aruna to be absent? Eldacar is clear enough, here for the ladies than for the items.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

"Thinking about others when you have a treat of a flower at your side? My, how can one hold your attention?"

"Ceasing to mention other Defiers is a good start. Those eight catch my interest," Luke said reflexively. Whispering Tome hovered behind him, opening its pages and writing in runic.

Calen put his hands together, fingers interlaced. Done with the food, he allowed his aura to flare out, pushing upon the Reaver. He said, "A reminder to your decorum, Defier. The subtle domination you emanate is a rude gesture in front of any proud combatant."

This trick tended to wear at Luke. But after becoming an elemental human, it felt like the gentlest breeze—ineffective. The 'subtle domination' must've been the after-effects of gaining a higher life rating. Controlling its subconscious actions would take some guidance. Upon review, the only people he'd ever interacted with who certainly embodied the same problem were, strangely, Annika, then the more obvious Musai and Ophelia Cyrn. It was possible others did as well, but not obvious enough for Luke to feel it at a fundamental level earlier in his journey.

Blinking slowly, Luke let the man think he got the better of him. "That's my natural presence, Calen. It shouldn't be a bother for someone like you, right?"

"Minor pressure is an inconvenience for my niece and the attendants, but if you insist on contriving this nuisance…" A sharp glint entered Calen's eyes, seeming to slice into the air between him and the Reaver. "Perhaps you'd care for a spar after the auction?"

"Outrageous, uncle." Emalia lightly fanned herself. "Luke is causing me no trouble. As for the servants, their needs are of no consequence."

"Actually," The Reaver began, "I wouldn't be opposed to the idea a day or two before the Tide. Would that work for you, Calen?"

Emalia tugged on his arm, but he paid no heed to the gesture. It spoke enough volumes: you shouldn't do this.

But Luke knew that already. He'd likely lose against this Miel elite—a cream of the crop warrior. A good thing, with the days closing rapidly, pointless fights were a luxury he could no longer afford. Calen would turn into a necessary whetstone for urgent practice after the second ascension he planned to undergo tomorrow morning. To add icing to the combat cake, certain moves of his wouldn't be prudent to use in the proposed spar, furthering the odds against him. There remained an insidious reason that also drove him to pounce on this chance.

A risk to be sure, one he'd take. The Reaver, through all his trials, developed an experienced sense of gambling—this bet would pay dividends. That slight battle-lust elation already bloomed within the newborn elemental. The sin of greed tugged at his soul, blackening it the longer he remained the Reaver.

Perhaps inheriting one of the seven sin classes had other costs.

"A quick way to revise my opinion of you, human." A sharp grin shaped Calen's face as his red cheek runes came to life. "Come to the Miel family grounds next evening or after, I'll be available."

Furrowing his brow, Luke said, "Not the arena realm? Every other proposed spar or duel has been there."

Disdainfully swaying his hand, Calen said, "We have our own facilities. You will keep your neck. One of your favorite contracts shall be presented to you before we begin."

A trait to Luke's dealings seemed to have made its rounds among the informed. Coming to form a fist, then resting his cheek on it, Luke assented, "We've only met recently, yet you know my preferences well, Calen. Don't tell me this was an aim of yours from the start? Either way, I'm in."

Lounging back in the silver-black couch, Calen glanced at Emalia. "A way to capitalize on a bit of fun in an otherwise monthly chore." He crossed a leg over the other. "I am less fond of these auctions than my intrepid niece is. Since I am to hold the purse and purchase for the Miel family, she may continue your spat."

Setting back her hair, Emalia demurely smiled, "A ruffian, uncle. Luke and I are getting along swimmingly. We are the furthest from a spat, merely a small gap in understanding." She put a hand on Luke's thigh. "Something we are hard at work with, aren't we, Luke?"

"One smile I can understand, that of your uncle's, but yours? You know my aim—as much as that irks me—yet I don't know yours, Emalia."

She scooted a little closer. "Then you're not very good at reading between the lines, Luke." She put a silky strand of hair behind her ear. She breathed closely.

"Never have been, and won't pretend to be." Luke eyed the corner of the ether projection before him; the timer had lost a few minutes. He wondered what people scrambled for in these minutes, extra gold? Alliances? Most of it flew over his head. Then again, in the face of an oncoming onslaught of monsters, grasping for the last bits of newfound items sourced to the city beforehand would be an imperative task for anyone who had the resources for it.

Survival is an instinct, and here it bared its fangs, under a thin veneer of cordial wealth disparity. Luke mentally reviewed his ideal outcome here. A skill book, or something that tugged at the Spectral Heart's strings to stir that deep-rooted desire. Either would suit him just fine.

Out in the grand auction room, multiple cliques seemed to form. Even the normally exalted members of Sylen's society could be seen out in the more open seating, as the concealed booths numbered only four in the entire room. One of them for the Miels, another surely for the Pyrites, the third could be guessed for the City Lord. The remaining one? He figured it belonged to the Defiers, as Luke scanned the seating below and couldn't spot Eldacar, Iona, Annika, or Tanniv.

In a mellow tone, Emalia said, "It's an unsightly scramble to call in favors, beg for loans, and secure final funding. Only the richest can walk away with the prime cuts to come, Luke."

Rubbing a thumb slowly, Luke responded, "So if I take you up on your offer of 'assistance,' would you find that unsightly as well?"

"Context is our king here. For you, it's an investment, for them, a desperate grasping to secure a precarious future. An out-sized portion surely plans to leave the city the very minute after this auction ends. All the way to Aelon they go, or their family's ancestral grounds, deeper in the safety of the Royals or three Great Noble Houses."

A wind chime-like sound began to guide itself throughout the auction; the booth's interior was no exception—its tone rising at a crawl. Frustration, annoyance, and excitement among the hunters, nobles, merchants, and others of means rose right along with it.

"A minute longer! Damn this sigil signal."

"What can I do? Is 15,000 gold enough for a mid-grade item? Lady of the natures, let it be so."

"In your dreams, dull elf."

"Surely you minor nobles and merchant groups fail to produce better."

Luke trained his senses and cut off the nonsense from there, double-checking his own wealth count. The scythe, wand, and Soul Cloak skill book could bolster his bidding capability, but he preferred not to count his chickens before they hatched.

A modest amount under 25,000 gold. Considering the unfortunate hunter from earlier experienced a brow-beating for possessing 15,000 in hopes of a mid-grade item—which the Reaver also aimed for—he didn't like his chances.

Golden flakes began to rim themselves around his iris. Luke couldn't stop himself from asking something he knew he shouldn't.

"If I asked for your help to bid on an item, what would be the limit?"

Running a hand under his chin slowly, while keeping eye contact, Emalia said, "For the man I've laid eyes on, there is no limit. The question is, what are you willing to give in return for reaching further and further beyond your means?"

That's the crux of it. There's no way this auction won't have something I need. But what will I have to give up in return?

Counter to internal thoughts, Luke said, "For a woman who's yet to deliver the information she promised me, you like asking for more." Sooty puffed out her chest in agreement. She released a faint, complaining caw.

"I've the most keen sense you'd want it delivered to you when my uncle has had his fill of this place first. Would you not prefer assurance no one other than yourself overheard what you want to learn?"

"Fair enough, but when would that be?"

"Why, none other than after the final item has been revealed. Patient men always reap the greatest rewards. Quick shots are none too liked."

Choosing not to respond, the lull in conversation was saved by Avarita's reappearance.

In a gold and silver smoke, she appeared, a calculating smile upon her smooth-skinned face. After a bow, she began with flair. "Ladies and gentlemen, the time of the night is upon us. Let us begin by presenting two unexpected items of interest to our less experienced hunters. Sourced from one of our revered three local dungeons."

Luke widened his eyes slightly. Two very familiar items appeared lying against a velvet casing. The wand and scythe he'd handed off to Edric not too long ago.

"He really did mean starter items."

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