Path of the Slayer B3 8. Dunks & Roots

“Sir Arden the Nomad! Hello! Hello!” The Auctioneer took my half ripper hand in both of his and shook it with all the enthusiasm in the world.

He was sharply dressed in a black and white suit. His skin was a deep shade of red, and he had impish horns pointing from his forehead.

He felt like a Legendary Veteran, too, but not too far into the Level 100s. He might be Locked at Level 101.

“Oh, my, a fellow creature touched by the infernal,” Hellion said from my right.

The Auctioneer looked sharply at the half ripper and smiled. “Oh, my, it truly is cursed! I think I might’ve heard a whisper between you two.”

The half-devil winked at me. “Don’t worry. All your secrets are safe with me. For the right price, of course.”

Once I retracted my metal hand, I took a proper look around. We were in a large red room with a plush carpet, large banners, and glass displays containing many items.

I saw spears, shields, armor, and plenty of weapons. But there was more than just that.

There was half a skull, a melted ring, a feathered pen on fire, a few unwashed lingerie pieces, a range of paintings, and more oddities being held as priceless artifacts of the Auction House.

There was a perfectly cut stone block that was bigger than a dinner table next to us. I already knew what it was for.

Without saying much more, I extended my half ripper and dropped an interconnected set of armor that was one of my prototypes. It was a version of power armor before finalizing the ones Thumper, Merlin, and I had ended up with.

I had two options.

Option one, putting up the shrunken Dungeon Core for auction would’ve certainly netted the biggest reward with little effort. But there were more uses for Dungeon Cores despite its reduced state.

Selling what was currently my only supply of highly energy efficient emeralds wasn’t a good idea. I still had a decent supply, but it wouldn’t last.

Thus, Option two: making a big deal out of a prototype that was only Rare Quality. If worn by an Epic Pathwalker, it would only offer them an additional +25% of their Path Energy. If worn by a Legendary Pathwalker, only a mere +13%.

Yeah, it wasn’t anything special.

But nobody else knew that outside of me and my friends.

The stone table flashed with blue Aether, its enchantments for identification at work. The Auctioneer Veteran waved his hands over the prototype as he let out a maniacal moan, his spade tail whipping about.

“Oh, yes, yes, this is wonderful! Amazing! Hahaha!” The half-devil laughed as he turned to me. “Is this truly your creation?”

“Yes.”

“Who taught you?”

“I taught myself.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“Deadly serious.”

“I’ve met artificers before. But they were always … more theoretical. More of those creative engineer types who want to make quirky gizmos that easily break.” The Auctioneer tapped his knuckles on the breastplate. “But this is firm. Everything is made for function more than aesthetic. It’s a weapon. And it’s called power armor of all things! You know how many Modern Earth Realm culture snobs we have in the auction?!”

“What’s the fee?” I asked plainly.

“Be wary, my liege. One who is kin to me will try to roast you over the pit on a deal,” Hellion warned. “He may be a great fellow otherwise, but we are in his house! And in his house, the half-devil is in the details.”

The Auctioneer’s black eyes narrowed. He flashed his white and pointy teeth at Hellion before glancing back at the shaded visor in my helmet.

“Fifteen percent,” he said with a shrug.

I snorted. All of my time spent haggling for decent food came to the forefront. “One percent.”

We went back and forth.

He argued. He whined. He nagged.

It was like verbally wrestling a slippery and powerful snake that wanted to coil me up and crush me. His range of emotions was wide, verging on anger that threatened before flipping into compassion that charmed.

There was no manipulative magic at work. His manipulative prowess didn’t need it. But this counted as an event of sorts. It was a big enough deal for me.

Warrior Nomad Mentality kept me as grounded as a mountain. Golden Hound Fortune directed me to attack whenever an opening appeared.

By all means, he should easily crush me. There was a vast difference in power and experience between me and the half-devil Veteran. Yet I came away better than most.

“Eight percent, really? Come on, Arden! I’m telling you I deserve so much more. I’ll hype this up for you like you won’t believe! My team will even cozy up to the highest bidders before the event begins if you just give me one more percent.”

“You’ve already won. I won’t go any further than eight percent.” I made sure my tone was angry even though I was inwardly relieved.

Thumper had warned that most nobles would’ve given up twenty percent to the Final Rose Auction House. The Auctioneer Veteran starting at fifteen percent had been more respectful than expected.

Still, getting him down to eight percent had been such a fierce battle I lost more energy over the ordeal than anyone would think.

Path Energy: 179%.

Ignoring the temptation to chug an elixir, I watched the Auctioneer sigh dramatically and shake his head.

“Fine then. Under the System and through my Domain, I present with you this contract. It’s System-enforced, so if I try to cheat you, I’ll get wiped out hardcore. There’s also a section for donating to a cause or several. Forgive me for being presumptuous, but at the top is a cause for lost nomads.”

If it wasn’t for the Domain, we would’ve had to use a pair of enchanted orbs hooked to the System. Domains made things a lot easier, even if only for administrative purposes.

I scrolled through the contract in my System Logs. It was pretty extensive, so I used Path Energy to speed up my mind, breezing through it all.

I reviewed the contract multiple times before checking the part for charitable donations. I mentally inserted the percentage amount for three different causes equally. Then I selected the yes option and gave a mental signature.

The Auctioneer Veteran received my signed copy through his Domain. His black eyes shot open as he roared, “NINE PERCENT?!”

A hint of a smile entered my voice. “What’s wrong?”

“I expected one percent. Maybe two percent. Nobody gives away nine percent to freaking charity! That’s seventeen percent altogether!”

I could say giving three percent for lost nomads, three percent for disabled adventurers, and three percent for non-ranking Rank 0s was worth nine percent. But that was personal to me.

I shrugged. “I figured it’d be funny if I gave more to charity than I gave to you.”

“You can’t be serious. A whole whopping nine percent? All for you to dunk on me?”

“I’m not very familiar with phrases from Modern Earth Realms. But, yes, nine percent is worth giving away to dunk on you.”

The Auctioneer Veteran let out a roar that reverberated through his Domain and pushed against me. Doomie – System dammit – became agitated and extended more of her energy, invading the Auctioneer’s Domain, stopping him short of his tantrum.

He shivered, reexamined the two of us, and then broke out into high-pitched laughter. He wiped at his eyes and shook his head.

“Okay, okay, you got me. I haven’t had someone kick me in the gonads that hard since my ex-wife, and she had a strong kick and big feet.”

Shaking his head again, he narrowed his eyes, his smile sharpening. “You’re definitely as brash as the juniors say. It’ll probably be your undoing. But on the unholy System, I can’t help but enjoy this show you’re putting on for all of us.”

I shrugged. “It’s not much of a show. This is just how I live my life.”

He laughed some more. “Ha! What a helluva an answer! Fine then! I’ll give you the best performance a half-devil Veteran on Path of the Auctioneer can ever give. It’ll be fun!”

***

“Why am I here? Why are you prolonging my suffering?” asked our one and only Ranker. Since he stopped resisting, I allowed him to sit freely on my right side while we waited for the other bids to happen.

We didn’t have the upfront credits to purchase a private viewing booth. My entire squad had to sit among theater seats in a grand coliseum-style atrium. It was far larger than what the Auction House looked like from the outside.

The two of us nomads sat in the middle of the squad while the others chatted excitedly or watched the event with focused silence.

Item after item went up on the stage at the bottom of the bowl-shaped atrium. The same Auctioneer Veteran who’d haggled me for eight percent was standing on the side of the stage while his juniors performed for the highest bids.

“What’s your name?” I asked the other nomad, ignoring his questions.

“Turak,” he muttered. “Just kill me, brother. I’m forsaken.”

“Why do you think you’re forsaken?”

Turak hesitated as more auctions played out.

Nobles raised their bid paddles or shouted out a number to beat out their competitors. They were aggressive, too, one-upping each other as much as possible.

Some items had slow and long bids when the nobles were trying to get a deal while not giving away their hand. Other items had bids that were thrown back and forth between passionate parties.

I appreciated it for its combative nature. That and it was funny to see young masters and mistresses cry when they lose.

Turak watched me as I watched the auction proceedings.

Then the half-orc nomad finally said his piece. “I killed another nomad. A half-orc girl like me. It was to prove myself to my horde. It wasn’t a proper horde. But many half-orcs are improper. In the end, the horde fell apart and disbanded, and I still have the blood of our spirit kin on my hands. I became lost as I wandered about with no idea of what to do. Then the God Consumer Cult found me.”

I searched inside of myself for the ancestral roots. There was no decision I could make without them.

Yet, the roots were silent. I wasn’t sure if the ancestors were leaving it up to me or if I needed to bring the ancestors more into the fold somehow.

“Just wait and see,” I ended up saying.

Turak slumped in his seat miserably.

Thumper patted me on the arm, ignoring the slight touch of fear extended from – dammit – Doomie. “We’re up next, Arden. Let’s hope we gamed this properly.”

The System notified me as well.

[Congrats! Your offered item is about to take part in a special silent auction in the Final Rose Auction House: Rank 4 (Legendary)!]

[You seem to have squad members that you trust. Through the Auctioneer’s Domain, a special service is extended to you per the contract. Would you like for your squad mates to be notified of real-time updates as the silent auction proceeds? Yes? No?]