DCD - B3 - Chapter 39 - Alleyway Scuffle

The moment Winsley raised his fan to begin the bid, three placards rose from section 0 like wolves who had smelled fresh meat.

“Six platinum.”

The voice belonged to a tall, wiry man with steel-grey hair tied back in a short ribbon. His eyes were sharp and discerning as he stared at the showcased pill. Ravien Ketter, a former dungeon hunter from the third layer turned auction hunter. His treasury was infamous—wealthy enough to buy out entire noble estates.

“Seven platinum.”

A woman spoke this time, her voice smooth, bored, but confident. Lady Mirtha Selene. Draped in a mantle of shimmering blue scales, she was a draconid of the Azure Tribe. She sat with her legs crossed, utterly unworried whether she won or lost. A ruthless hunter among hunters; she bought, sold, and bankrupted sellers, buyers, and traders alike.

“I raise eight platinum.”

The next bid came from Dorges Al-Kann, the half-human, half-giant merchant-warrior. Though not as tall as a full giant, he dwarfed most men. He was known for deep pockets and deeper appetites. He rarely resold anything—every artifact he bought disappeared into his private vaults or into personal use.

A hush spread among nobles and commoners alike. It was rare—unheard of—to see all three auction hunters bid on the same item at once.

Their interest was clear.

They didn’t even bother with gold.

Ravien tilted his head toward the others. “With how fast you jumped in, Mirtha, I’d almost think you’re desperate. You sure your purse can keep up?”

She didn’t even glance at him. “If you’re worried about my purse, Ravien, feel free to drop out. Spare yourself the embarrassment of losing early.”

Dorges chuckled, his laugh rolling like thunder. “You two bicker like hatchlings. It humors me that you think either of you will get this pill. Eight platinum isn’t even breakfast money. Best not start crying before we hit ten.”

Ravien smirked. He enjoyed the challenge.

“Nine platinum.”

Mirtha flicked her wrist lazily, raising her placard.

“Ten platinum.”

Dorges raised a brow—unbothered, only amused. He let out a hearty chuckle.

“Eleven platinum.”

Winsley didn’t even bother calling out the bids. His grin was so wide it looked like it could reach out and stab a dragon. He simply stood there, watching the hunters tear into each other.

Every other bidder knew better.

This was a fight among apex predators—wealth even nobles only dreamed of.

Pell, Enya, and even Elria watched in silent awe.

Ravien leaned back. “Tch. Tch. You two really want to do this? Fine. Twelve platinum.”

Mirtha’s lips curled. “Don’t act cocky. Slay a Rhinebracht Wildbeast once and suddenly you think you own the world. Thirteen platinum.”

“Fourteen platinum,” Dorges called without hesitation.

Mirtha glanced his way. “Fifteen.”

Dorges boomed with laughter. “Sixteen.”

Ravien’s jaw tightened as he raised his paddle again.

“Seventeen.”

“Seventeen?” Mirtha echoed, shifting in her seat. “You’re already wheezing, Ravien. Eighteen platinum.”

Dorges answered instantly. “Nineteen.”

Ravien clicked his tongue. “Twenty.”

A ripple of shock flowed through the audience.

Twenty platinum was enough to purchase a noble title in the first and second layers. That was enough funds to manage a business and pay workers for several years.

Pell felt his soul-flames flicker. Even Enya sat still, for once. She knew how much money this was based on how much coin Pell and her always ran around with. Seeing how nervous Pell was, Enya couldn’t help herself but feel the same.

From below, Winsley looked like he might faint from happiness.

Mirtha sighed as though she’d been inconvenienced. “Twenty-two.”

Dorges grinned, showing his large teeth. “Twenty-five.”

Ravien laughed lightly, though the stiffness in his jaw betrayed him. “Twenty-seven.”

Nobles and merchants began whispering faster than a flock of birds:

“Gods above—”

“How deep do their pockets go?”

“Twenty-seven platinum and no signs of stopping…”

“Are we even witnessing a first-layer auction anymore?”

Mirtha leaned forward, finally taking things seriously. “Thirty.”

Ravien inhaled sharply through his nose. “Thirty-two.”

Dorges tilted his massive head. “Thirty-five.”

Mirtha narrowed her eyes. “Thirty-seven.”

Ravien hesitated. For the first time, he hesitated. Yet, he pressed on. “Forty.”

For a moment, there was silence.

Winsley’s fan trembled in his fingers. “F-forty platinum… bid acknowledged.”

Dorges placed one enormous elbow on his knee, chin on his fist. “Forty-three.”

Mirtha was next. “Forty-five.”

Ravien ground his teeth. “Forty-six.”

Dorges bid again. “Forty-nine.”

Nobles were turning pale. A few merchants clutched at their chests.

Enya whispered, “That’s… so much money…”

Pell, gripping the armrest, muttered, “Please keep going… please…”

Mirtha smiled thinly. “Fifty.”

More and more, it rose. With each bid, the auction-hunters turned more pale. It was a wager, a battle of whether or not the pill was worth it.

Sixty. Sixty five. Seventy. Eighty.

Ravien leaned forward, left hand clutching his knee tight. “Eighty-three platinum.”

Mirtha’s tail lashed behind her. “Eighty-five.”

Dorges inhaled, chest rising like a mountain. Then he exhaled a small laugh. “Eighty-eight.”

When neither of the other two bid—silence struck the hall like a spell. A magic captivated everyone as they all waited.

No counterbid came.

Even Winsley forgot to breathe for a full second before raising his fan. “Eighty-eight platinum… from Section 0! Going once…”

Ravien’s hand twitched.

Mirtha’s brows furrowed.

But neither moved. They were apex predators, but even predators could only bleed so much.

“…going twice…”

Across the auditorium, many whispered amongst each other.

“That’s so much…”

“Is the pill really that rare?”

“Was this just a show? It has to be fake.”

“Come on, bid more!”

Both Ravien and Mirtha were tense. Their expressions had hardened, yet neither of them moved.

“…and SOLD for eighty-eight platinum to Dorges Al-Kann of Section 0!”

The auditorium erupted—cheers, applause, disbelief, laughter—everything all at once.

Pell slumped into his seat. His bones were shaking.

Eighty-eight platinum. That amount was completely unimaginable. Enough to purchase the entirety of Eiyuria and maybe one or two neighboring towns. If he had this money earlier—maybe Elara could have been alive.

He clutched his cloak above his knee.

All this wealth was a hollow comfort. Elara was dead. The orphanage was long gone. But maybe this wealth could serve another purpose.

Because Pell was now certain of one thing.

He was much wealthier than Amberdean.

⬥⬥⬥

“Hey, just so you two know—we’re being followed.”

Elria was tucked inside a hidden pocket of Enya’s new dress, peeking out with a click of her mandibles. “Both of them seem trained. They’ll probably make their move in the alley coming up.”

Pell and Enya walked alone through the streets of Shallwick. They had left the auction late because they needed to receive the funds for the pill.

Winsley was ecstatic over Pell’s contribution. He even gave Pell an honorary black pass—granting VIP entry to any auction up to the third layer for an entire year. Pell even received the man’s contact information, in case if he was ever interested in auctioning another item. Particularly, Winsley could now serve as a middleman between him and the auction-hunters who would surely ask him about more Chilled-Soul Cleansing Pills.

After the auction house took their fee, Pell walked away with seventy-nine platinum and twenty gold.

“Stick close to me, kid.” Pell held Enya’s hand as they walked. To a passerby, it looked like a father escorting his daughter home. But the tension between them was far heavier.

“They’re probably Amberdean’s men,” he muttered. “I don’t think they know we were the ones who auctioned the pill. They’re most likely here to steal the scryer’s glass and silence us.”

Enya’s eyes glowed faint yellow. Her body kept moving forward, but her senses spread outward, tracking the two shadows behind them. They were fast and quiet, but she could read the subtle shifts in the wind as they moved.

“We can kill them, right?” Enya asked. “I could use some more soul-energy.” Her reserves were barely over two hundred—enough to cast several spells or create a couple of strong spear constructs.

“Let’s get to the alley first. We have to make this discreet,” Pell whispered back.

He fully expected something like this after humiliating Amberdean. Before leaving the auction, Pell even purchased a particular item from the marketplace using his skill. It had cost an entire platinum, but it was worth every coin.

They turned into the next large alley. Moonlight stretched across the ground, scattering shadows behind old crates and stacked barrels. The lamps from the street didn’t reach this far.

Perfect.

The assassins made their move.

“They’re here,” Enya whispered.

Pell’s hand slipped into his cloak.

Instead of turning immediately, he pulled out a thin paper talisman etched in sharp black ink. He flicked his wrist and tossed it against the nearest wall. The parchment slapped the stone, and the runes ignited in a dim violet shimmer.

A ripple burst outward—silent, wide, and seamless. It spread to cover the entire alley from wall to wall.

“Time to make good on your promise, witch,” Pell whispered. Pell and Enya stopped, turning together.

Two masked assassins in black cloaks stood at the alley’s mouth, their blades glinting faintly in the moonlight. Their masks were expressionless—smooth, stitched leather, one marked with a single red stripe, the other with a small silver dot.

Pell tilted his head. “Amberdean’s men, huh?”

The assassins said nothing.

The air between them tightened, tension stretching like a wire about to snap.

Pell gestured casually at the glowing talisman behind him. “You probably want this done quietly, right? Lucky for you… nobody outside can see or hear a thing now. Perception barrier talisman—convenient for all of us.”

The assassins glanced at one another. They exchanged a single silent nod. They pulled out their daggers. short, curved blades coated with a thin sheen that shimmered green under the moonlight. Poisoned soaked.

Pell lifted his arm and summoned the Harvester Scythe. Darkness curled around his forearm as the weapon materialized in his grip, the black blade almost hungry for lost souls.

Enya’s eyes ignited into bright yellow. Her pupils narrowed, time slowing around her as Absolute Focus surged. Mana flowed through her veins like a rigid stream, ready to burst into form.

A spear construct was already taking shape in her mind as she planned out their summoning points.

The assassins moved.

The first one vanished.

Not merely stepping into shadow—gone. Moving so quickly his body blurred and faded into a shimmer.

The second one simply blinked.

In one heartbeat, he was ten paces away. The next—he was behind Enya, dagger raised and already striking downward.

Enya didn’t flinch. Because she wasn’t looking at this one. Instead, her attention was focused on the blur of invisible mana flowing in front of her. That initial assassin—he cast some type of stealth skill, and she could faintly make it out.

Before the assassin behind her could land the dagger strike, black shadowy hands burst from the ground and wrapped violently around the man’s torso and arms, locking him in place. His blade froze mere inches away from Enya’s spine.

A soft chittering could be heard from within Enya’s dress.

Pell’s soul-flames flashed bright as he realized what just happened. Without hesitation, he swung the harvester, hoping to slice the man in half. Before it could connect, the man blinked away once more, standing several meters backward on the other end of the alley.

Meanwhile, Enya didn’t even flinch from her near-death encounter.

Her Absolute Focus narrowed her senses on something else entirely.

The invisible assassin closed in.

Enya threw her hand forward, channeling soul-energy. A jagged spike of bone ripped straight out of the ground where she sensed the mana pulse—aimed perfectly at the rushing presence.

But the assassin’s mana signature vanished.

Completely.

“What—?!” Enya’s breath hitched. Her senses went blank, Absolute Focus locking onto nothing.

Elria clicked her mandibles from the shadow of Enya’s dress pocket. “You need more training. You can’t rely only on mana perception.”

Before Enya could respond, the walls erupted.

Black shadows—Elria’s shadows—lashed out again, clawed tendrils tearing from the brick and stone. They seized something in what appeared to be empty space, right in front of Enya.

The assassin materialized—dagger drawn, inches from her chest.

He should not have been there. She hadn’t sensed even a flicker.

His mask tilted slightly, and his real eyes met hers through the slits.

“Wha—?” Enya managed before a wave of nausea slammed into her. Her next breath vanished; her mana channels scattered like shattered glass. Her muscles locked up, as if her entire body had been buried under sand.

Pell reacted instantly.

His scythe carved down in a brutal diagonal arc, aimed at the assassin restrained by Elria’s shadows. But the masked man snapped his wrist upward, catching the descending blade with a reinforced dagger. Sparks crackled along the metal.

“Tch—!” Pell pushed harder, bone fingers tightening around the haft.

The assassin’s free hand flicked out.

Two ethereal daggers formed—thin, pale, spectral blades.

They shot forward and buried themselves in Pell’s chest.

The assassin waited for a reaction—shrieking, collapsing, anything.

Pell simply stared at him.

The daggers passed through the gaps between his ribs and hit nothing vital, because he had nothing vital.

The assassin blinked, stunned.

Then the second assassin—the one who had blinked behind Enya earlier—reappeared in a ripple of distortion. He thrust a hand toward Pell, releasing a skill that caused Pell’s entire body to slow. His senses dulled, his movements felt thick, as if his bones were drowning in syrup.

Pell’s grip faltered.

The assassin lunged, blinking again, dagger sweeping toward Pell’s skull.

But Pell was still close enough to Enya to act. His hand snapped back, grabbing her arm. In the same breath, he forced soul-energy through his frame. His bones thinned and reshaped, his outline sharpening into a lean and predatory form.

Using his Re-Role assassin skill, he blinked the two of them to the far end of the alley, barely evading the assassin’s strike. He whirled back around and saw both masked figures staring at them, ready to pursue.

Then—

One of them convulsed.

The assassin with the ethereal daggers staggered, dropping to a knee. His mask cracked as black rot spread under the skin, crawling like living vines across his throat and arms. A hoarse, strangled sound forced itself out of him.

Elria poked her head fully from Enya’s pocket, mandibles curling in satisfaction.

“Ah. There we go,” she said. “Took a bit longer than expected.”

The assassin collapsed, clutching his chest as the spreading corruption consumed him from the inside.

The second assassin froze, eyes widening behind his mask.

Pell glanced down at Elria. “That was you?”

“Of course. We witches love our curses. The moment my shadows touched him, he was marked.”

“And the other guy?”

Elria shook her small crystal head. “It’ll take a bit longer. My power’s still too weak, so the curses aren’t as effective as I’d like.”

Enya was still disoriented, but she forced her hands together and muttered, “Bone… spear.” The ground split, pale bars erupting upward to form a thick cage around the remaining assassin. It might have trapped a lesser rogue, but this man didn’t even pause. One slash of his dagger shattered the entire structure like brittle chalk, and he burst through the collapsing debris, closing the distance in seconds.

Pell hurled his scythe. It spun like a reaper’s wheel, humming with soul-energy, but the assassin ducked beneath it without even slowing. Enya—still dizzy and fighting the lingering haze—tried desperately to block his path with spike after spike of bone erupting from the stone. Her timing was sloppy; the assassin avoided every piece with effortless, weaving steps.

Pell resummoned the Harvester the instant it missed and met the assassin head-on. Their weapons clashed once, steel ringing against bone, and then the assassin blinked behind him. His dagger plunged down but struck only something hard—solid bone. No flesh to cut, nothing soft to pierce. The assassin froze for a heartbeat, shocked at the lack of resistance. He grabbed Pell’s cloak and ripped it away, revealing a thin skeletal frame with faint soul-flames burning in its sockets.

“What are you—”

He never finished.

Elria’s shadows lashed up from the ground, clamping around his ankles. At the same moment, two bone spikes shot from the alley walls toward his neck. He blinked away a split second before they struck, and reappeared directly behind Enya, dagger already arcing downward in a lethal swing.

He would have killed her—if not for the tiny crystal spider perched on her head.

Elria snapped a badge forward in her legs. The sigil flared, releasing a burst of blinding white light. The assassin recoiled, cursing as he shielded his eyes.

Enya spun around, forcing her senses to sharpen despite the fading haze. She wrapped her perception around him completely, mapping the shape of his body, imagining his bones. Spell circuits formed in her palms—one she hadn’t used in a long time. Reading the wyvern book earlier gave her a push for the idea.

The assassin blinked his vision clear—

—and screamed.

His legs buckled. His back arched like someone had jammed a spike straight through it. He collapsed instantly as Enya’s spell hit him.

While he writhed, Elria’s sorcery seized hold. Black rot crawled across his body, spreading faster now that his movement had stopped. Ten seconds of agonized thrashing later, the assassin went still as the corruption reached his head.

Pell approached the corpse. It looked almost mummified, shriveled and blackened as if the life had been boiled out of it.

“Your witchcraft is terrifying,” Pell muttered. “Now I understand why people are afraid of witches.” Even he felt a chill looking at the body.

Elria rolled all eight eyes atop Enya’s hair. “Takes one to know one, undead freak.”

Pell ignored her and looked down at Enya. “The hell did you do to him?”

Enya took several steadying breaths as the debuff or whatever skill he’d hit her with finally faded. “I ruptured one of his discs.”

“What?”

She pointed vaguely down at his spine. “His spine. In between the vertebrae are discs. I used two bone shifts to crack one of them. That’s why he screamed like that. I got the idea after looking at how long a wyvern’s spine was.”

Pell recoiled, almost wanting to rub his own skeletal back. “I take it back. Both of you are terrifying.”