DCD - B3 - Chapter 38 - One silver, One copper

“What in all the hells do you think you’re doing?” Pell hissed.

Enya didn’t look away from the stage. She kept her paddle raised like it was an extension of her arm. “I need that item. I just got a class quest for it.”

“A class quest isn’t worth a hundred and ten gold coins!” Pell rasped. “That’s an entire platinum coin, Enya. An entire platinum. Ulter only gave me four to work with—and after buying that stupid bitterbloom leaf, we’ve barely got a hundred gold left!”

Enya finally glanced over, cheeks puffed defiantly. “It’s fine. I really, really need this. And we still have the Chilled-Soul Cleansing Pill in the auction.”

Pell’s jaw clenched so hard his skull creaked.

She wasn’t wrong. That was the problem.

The pill’s appraisal value was at least ten platinum—minimum. But auctions couldn’t guarantee market value. If nobody bid high enough, the auction house automatically bought the item at half the appraisal rate.

Five platinum.

Five hundred gold.

Even the worst-case scenario was massive.

But gambling on that this early made Pell’s soul-flames jitter.

On stage, Winsley raised his voice.

“One hundred and twenty-five gold! Do I hear one thirty?”

Pell reached for Enya’s paddle.

She yanked it out of his reach and shot it upward.

“One hundred and thirty!”

A ripple spread through the hall—shocked murmurs, curious whispers.

A balcony from the second tier placing high-tier bids was not common.

Winsley’s grin widened. “One hundred and thirty from Balcony 2-C! Going once!”

Pell sank into the couch, skeletal hand over his face.

He could feel every noble in the hall staring at their section.

They had just watched a little girl slap a platinum-sized bid on an item like she was buying candy.

“Going twice!”

Enya held her breath.

Pell prayed to every god he didn’t believe in that no one else would raise their damn hand.

“Sold! For one hundred and thirty gold!”

A chime rang out.

Enya pumped her fist. “Yes!”

Pell didn’t celebrate.

He sat very, very still—because that was thirty gold more than their entire liquid coin supply. Depending on how much Amberdean’s item cost, Pell would have to manage their remaining money with surgical precision. If the item went over four platinum, it would cut into their Chilled-Soul profits. Four borrowed platinum, at least five platinum minimum from the pill, minus one platinum for Enya’s item… it was getting tight.

He doubted Amberdean’s target would exceed eight platinum—but anything was possible. They just didn’t have a steady stream of income yet. The chilled-soul pill was still an unknown variable until it sold.

He didn’t protest. The money was, after all, the result of Enya’s own efforts. Pell had contributed, but everything happening now was rooted in a personal vendetta. Petty revenge—he knew that.

The auction resumed at a steady crawl—steady for everyone except Pell, whose soul-flames flickered every time a new number left the auctioneer’s mouth.

“Lot Seventeen! Aquaglass Filament Rope. Thirty meters, resistant to both frost and acid. Starting bid: ninety gold!”

Sold for one hundred and fifty gold.

“Lot Eighteen! Aether-Inscribed Shovel! Lets you dig twice as fast and half as tiring. Perfect for land-work! Starting bid: seventy-five gold!”

Sold for one hundred and four.

“Lot Twenty! Twin Serpentsteel Daggers! The blades themselves are quite average, but they are forged with matching resonances. This allows paired enchantments. Starting bid: one platinum!”

Sold for one platinum and sixty gold.

Enya continued watching, still glowing with satisfaction from her victory over the scryer’s glass. Everything after that felt like dessert. She was just enjoying the atmosphere now.

The auction always quieted when the special reserved balconies made a bid. So far, they had only taken two items.

Elria had fallen asleep inside the bowl of mints.

“Sold for one platinum, fifty gold!”

The lights dimmed.

A hush swept across the entire auditorium. Pell leaned forward instinctively. Enya looked around, puzzled.

“Ladies and gentlemen! We now approach the final two treasures of tonight’s event!” the auctioneer declared.

Final two. That meant—

“The Chilled-Soul pill, and—”

“Behold our second-to-last marvel—Janemelnor Dragon Scent Suppressant!”

A crystalline flask appeared on stage, swirling with iridescent liquid.

“This potion renders the user undetectable to a dragon’s scent for approximately fifteen seconds. It will not mask you from sight or sound… but to the stealthy few among you, the possibilities are endless. The starting bid is one platinum and fifty gold! And for fun—there is no bid minimum. Have at it!”

A ripple of hungry whispers spread across the hall.

Dragon hoards. Mythical, legendary creatures known for collecting treasures. Gold was considered a magical metal, and dragons were infamous for hoarding it, along with any artifacts they claimed.

“Is that the item you need?” Enya asked, noticing Pell’s focused stare.

The mint bowl rustled as Elria woke and latched onto the rim. “What a troublesome item you are bidding for.”

Enya looked at her. “What do you mean?”

Pell answered first. “If someone is buying a potion that lets them walk past a dragon’s nose, it means one thing.”

Enya squinted, then blinked. “Oh. It means they know where a dragon is. Or where the hoard is.”

Pell nodded. “Exactly. Anyone bidding on this is basically admitting they have reason to approach a dragon. That puts a target on them. Even if they only want to resell it later, suspicion alone is dangerous.”

He swept his gaze across the balconies. A few figures stood out.

A man wearing a hat so fuzzy it looked like a sheep had died on his head.

Two older women in shimmering shawls, calmly pouring tea from a silver kettle as if this were an afternoon picnic.

An old man with a cane who looked one wobble away from collapsing.

The other high balconies belonged to servants standing beside vision crystals. Five such booths. Amberdean had to be in one.

“One platinum, sixty gold!”

“One platinum, sixty-five!”

“One platinum, seventy!”

“One hundred and eighty!”

The center seats dropped out entirely. Only the high rollers remained.

“One point ninety-five.”

Pell’s eyes snapped to the bidder. Ulter. That was the cue. He had said it purely in platinum, using the deliberate “point,” exactly as planned.

Pell immediately looked to the previous bidder and found them.

Opposite his position, two sections across and one balcony higher. Two servants in black, stiff as pillars, with a vision crystal glowing between them.

“Amberdean,” Pell muttered.

One servant lifted their placard. “Two platinum and thirty gold.”

The hall grew quiet. Most nobles paused. That jump in price showed a refusal to back down and served as a warning.

Pell didn’t hesitate. He lifted his own sign.

“Two platinum and thirty-five gold.”

⬥⬥⬥

“Was that Ulter’s voice I heard? Up the bid.”

Amberdean’s voice carried through the vision crystal. He sat comfortably in his estate, watching the auction from afar. There was no need for him to come in person. All he needed were funds and a few servants to handle the travel.

“Yes, sir,” replied Mevan, one of his close aides. He raised the paddle and increased the price by nearly half a platinum.

“Two platinum and thirty gold from Balcony 1G!” the announcer called. “A fierce and aggressive bid. Two platinum and thirty gold, going once!”

“It appears Ulter is backing down,” Vedrick said. He stood beside the crystal with his arms folded.

A knowing hum came from Amberdean. “Of course he is. That man has the backbone of a dredge beast. He plays everything too safely. I do not understand how he manages business while being such a coward.”

“Well said, Lord Amberdean. No one here would dare place a bid after such a—”

“Two platinum and thirty-five gold from Balcony Two-C!”

Both servants went still. They turned sharply toward the balcony in question.

“What was that?” Amberdean said. “Is the auction over?”

“N-no, Lord Amberdean,” Mevan answered. “Someone else raised the bid by five gold. From Balcony Two-C.”

“What?” Amberdean’s voice sharpened. “Who is it? That is not Ulter, is it?”

“No, Lord. It appears to be a man in a cloak, accompanied by a young woman wearing a mask. I cannot tell if she is a child or simply short.”

“Tch. Raise the bid by another ten gold. Probably some newcomers who do not understand how things work.”

Vedrick lifted the paddle.

“Two platinum and forty-five gold from—”

“Two platinum and fifty gold!” came the voice from Balcony Two-C.

Amberdean did not need the announcer to repeat it. “Who in the hells is this fool bidding against me? Raise it by ten again. I doubt they have the coin to continue.”

Vedrick raised the paddle.

“Two platinum and—”

“Two platinum and eighty gold,” Pell said.

Amberdean erupted. “How dare they!” The two servants stiffened. “Filthy mongrels. They are not even nobles, yet they have the audacity to do what even seasoned auction hunters will not.”

There were several auction hunters present from higher layers. None of them bid on the dragon-stealth potion. The potion was valuable, but dragons were far too rare. They could easily afford it, but profit was uncertain. More importantly, they understood auction hierarchy. They knew Amberdean. He was a noble, and they had no interest in provoking someone who could become a future client. Nobles were fountains of wealth, even in first-layer towns.

“Keep bidding,” Amberdean ordered. “And when this is over, get their names. I want to know which idiots refuse to stay in their place.”

Both servants nodded. Vedrick resumed bidding while Mevan kept his gaze fixed on Balcony Two-C.

“Two platinum and ninety gold,” Vedrick shouted.

“Two platinum and ninety-five.”

“Three platinum.”

“Three platinum and five.”

“Three platinum and fifteen,” Vedrick said. His voice was clipped with irritation. He was also worried. This had already passed the three platinum limit Amberdean expected to spend.

“Three platinum, fifteen gold, and one silver.”

A wave of whispers spread across the auditorium.

“Did they just raise the bid by one silver?”

“That is bold. Do they know who they are challenging?”

“Hah! I thought this auction was getting dull. Looks like the auctioneer saw this coming.”

“It has been years since we have seen a bidding war like this.”

Commoners, nobles, and merchants leaned forward, whispering excitedly. Auction wars were more common in the higher layers, but not in Shallwick. It was a relatively peaceful city without much to provoke conflict. Commoners bought the lower-tier items, nobles followed their hierarchy, and bids usually remained orderly. The last time anything this dramatic happened was nearly a decade ago.

Inside his estate, Amberdean slammed his desk so hard the crystal trembled in its stand. The crack of splintering wood echoed straight into the ears of both servants.

“Keep upping the bid!” Amberdean roared. “Raise it by whatever you need. I will make up the loss by dealing with those idiots afterward!”

Vedrick and Mevan swallowed hard and nodded in perfect unison.

On the stage, Winsley lifted his hand. “Three platinum, fifteen gold, and one silver, going—”

Mevan shot his paddle up. “Three platinum and twenty gold!”

Pell raised his. “Three platinum, twenty gold, and one silver.”

A stir rippled through the room.

Again. It happened again. It was clear they were trying to provoke the other bidder.

“Three platinum, thirty gold!”

Pell answered. “Three platinum, thirty gold, and one silver.”

Whispers grew louder. Several nobles leaned forward, amused or intrigued.

Amberdean’s voice snarled from the crystal. “Again.”

“Three platinum and forty gold!”

“Three platinum, forty gold, and one silver.”

Inside their booth, Enya and Elria were smiling and giggling. Pell’s hood hid most of his skull, but underneath, he was grinning too.

The bidding climbed like a steady drumbeat.

“Three platinum, fifty!”

“Three platinum, fifty and one silver.”

“Three platinum, sixty!”

“Three platinum, sixty and one silver.”

Half the auction was now laughing or muttering, wondering how long this spectacle would continue. Three platinum was a significant sum, enough to dent any noble’s coffers. Many whispered among themselves, wondering who the masked man and girl in balcony 2-C were.

The bids continued in a rhythm. Every time Amberdean’s men raised the price in solid, respectable increments, Pell countered with absurdly tiny increases. Silver by silver. Until—

“Three platinum, eighty and one copper,” Pell said. His voice felt a little dry.

Some guests stared wide-eyed. Others laughed and shook their heads. A few had expected it; if someone wanted to provoke a noble, a copper bid was the perfect insult.

Winsley repeated the bid. “Three platinum, eighty gold, and one copper!”

Amberdean’s face, viewed through the vision crystal, turned the color of boiled blood.

Inside Ulter’s booth, the noble chuckled. “He was not joking about making a show of it. Amberdean must be livid right now. Do you not agree?”

“Yes, my lord,” one servant replied. “He seems determined to antagonize him. But angering a noble like Amberdean could lead to consequences.”

Ulter laughed quietly. “Perhaps he already knows that. Perhaps he is counting on it.”

“Four platinum!” Vedrick shouted.

Winsley’s smile widened. “Four platinum from Balcony 1-G!”

Every head turned toward balcony 2-C. There was a brief pause, only a few seconds long, yet it stretched like years.

Pell lifted his paddle.

“Four platinum, and half a copper coin.”

The hall erupted in laughter and scattered gasps.

“Can he do that?”

“That is not even a real bid!”

“He must be making things up!”

“What will the auctioneer do?”

In Ulter’s booth, the merchant simply smiled into his teacup.

Amberdean’s servants were no longer nervous. They were furious. Although they were only bidding on their lord’s behalf, the taunt felt aimed directly at them.

“That is ridiculous!” Mevan snapped. “That is an illegal bid! You cannot raise it by half a copper coin!”

He glared toward the stage, waiting for Winsley to strike it down.

On stage, Winsley almost dropped the ceremonial fan he had taken out. He hid his growing smile behind it. He had not expected anything like this, especially not for this item.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat, “I did say there were no bid limits tonight. Very well. Four platinum and half a copper coin, going once!”

“What?” Vedrick shouted. “The auctioneer is encouraging this! He is actually allowing it!”

Many nobles and commoners shared the sentiment, although they looked far more entertained than outraged.

Vedrick and Mevan exchanged a tense glance. They both knew their limit. Amberdean had given them a firm ceiling of four platinum before the auction began.

Vedrick cleared his throat. “Lord Amberdean… we have reached the upper limit you set. Shall we continue?”

Silence hovered on the other side of the crystal. The servants could almost hear their lord grinding his teeth.

Finally, Amberdean spoke. “Raise it to four platinum and fifty gold. If they outbid that, then let them have it. They will drown in their own stupidity.”

“Yes, my lord.” Vedrick lifted the paddle with stiff fingers.

“Four platinum and fifty gold from Balcony 1-G!”

A ripple spread across the hall. Whispers rose like a breeze.

“That is a massive jump.”

“Half a platinum in a single bid?”

“That masked pair cannot possibly—”

Pell raised his sign.

“Four platinum, fifty gold… and half a copper coin.”

Amberdean went silent. There was no shout this time, no slammed fist. Only a long, venomous exhale.

“Let those fools waste their platinum,” he said at last, his voice low and bitter. “If they want to bleed their coffers dry over a trinket, let them.”

Winsley lifted his fan.

“Four platinum, fifty gold, and half a copper coin, going once!”

The hall quieted.

“Going twice!”

A hush settled so thickly it seemed to muffle even the mana lights.

“And… sold! To Balcony 2-C!”

A wave of applause and laughter washed through the auditorium. Many nobles relaxed now that the chaos had passed. A number of them, especially those allied with Eiyuria, seemed relieved that Amberdean had not escalated further.

Inside their booth, Enya cheered, Elria clacked her mandibles in triumph, and Pell—beneath his hood—released the smallest, faintest, extremely nervous exhale of his entire life. He was playing with powers far above him, spending coin that was not his. He couldn’t hear Amberdean through the crystal, only the servants relaying bids, but he could read their reactions. Amberdean was furious.

Winsley tapped his fan against the pedestal. “Ladies and gentlemen, our final item of the evening. A late addition, yet perhaps the most precious treasure this hall has seen in decades.”

The stage dimmed. A single spotlight descended.

A velvet box rose from the floor.

Inside it lay a single pill. Pale silver. Faintly glowing.

Enya clasped her hands and leaned forward. Even Pell felt the flicker in his soul-flames.

Winsley cleared his throat, his voice carrying through the stadium with measured weight. “Presented to us mere hours ago… the Chilled-Soul Cleansing Pill.”

A murmur swept through the hall. Confusion from many, sudden interest from a few.

Winsley lifted the pill using a pair of silver tongs. “This pill is a cure for the Chilled-Soul ailment. As many of you know, or perhaps do not know, Chilled-Soul is a rare but devastating condition caused by excessive exposure to ghosts and spirits. Most treatments do not cure it. They suppress symptoms temporarily… weeks, months, sometimes years. The ailment remains.”

He paused, letting that settle.

“This pill, however, clears the ailment entirely. A complete cure.”

Several higher balconies shifted, posture sharpening. Voices fell silent. Interest spiked.

Pell saw it clearly. Section 0, the very top tier. The domain of auction hunters. Three of them sat there tonight. Two had bid early in the auction, but neither had moved since.

All three now leaned forward.

Winsley continued, smooth and steady.

“In cases of severe Chilled-Soul, multiple pills may be required. However, the seller has informed us that, if necessary, it may be possible to procure more. This pill, however, is guaranteed to be the cheapest such cure that will ever appear in the auctions.”

Enya blinked and whispered, “Did you tell him to say that?”

Pell shook his head. “No. He’s stirring the pot to raise the price. But he isn’t wrong. We could make more.”

Winsley placed the pill back into its velvet nest.

“For this final marvel of the night, we begin the bidding at five platinum.”

A hush settled over the auditorium.

“Bid increments are fifty gold.”

Pell inhaled slowly.

This was it.

Across the auditorium, in section 0, all three auction hunters raised their paddles in unison.

The room tightened like a drawn bowstring.

The bidding began.