Chapter 69: The Gilded Cage
The Royal Auction House at night was a beast of light and noise. The main hall had been transformed, tiered seating rising into shadow, chandeliers burning with mana-fueled brilliance, every surface polished to a mirror gleam. The scent of old money and expensive perfume hung in the air, threaded with the tang of too many enchantments in one place.
Claire Summerstone met them at the side entrance and guided them through a private corridor to a secluded box high above the floor. The box was a pocket of quiet luxury: a curved window of one-way glass, plush chairs, a low table already set with wine and small confections. Privacy wards hummed at the edges, and a small communication crystal on the table allowed them to speak to Claire without being overheard.
"Refreshments will be replaced between lots," Claire said, already in professional mode. "If you wish to bid on any item, simply tell me, and I will signal the auctioneer. The bids are anonymous to the public unless you choose otherwise."
Dominic nodded, taking a seat by the window. Florence sprawled in the chair beside him, one leg thrown over the armrest, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd below. Theresa sat more composedly, catalog open in her lap, already marking items of interest.
The floor below was a sea of silks and jewels. Nobles filled the lower tiers, while the upper boxes, like their own, held the true power players, hidden behind their own wards. Dominic could pick out Lady Vex in the far-left box, her silver hair catching the light like a blade. Across the hall, Lord Cassian Morne sat in an open-front box, his massive frame hunched forward, already glaring at the auctioneer as if the man had personally offended him.
And somewhere, in another sealed box, the anonymous SS-rank bidder waited.
The auctioneer, a tall man in crimson robes, struck the gavel. The first lot came up.
The early lots were trinkets—enchanted jewelry, minor artifacts, a pair of gloves that never lost their grip. Dominic let them pass. He was here for practical gains, not vanity.
Lot 9, however, caught his attention: a set of warding stones from a fallen mage house, each one the size of a palm, engraved with defensive scripts that would layer over the manor’s existing protections. Claire’s voice came through the crystal: "Useful for your residence. Undervalued due to the house’s disgrace. I recommend bidding."
"Bid."
The first bid came from the floor, a minor noble hoping for a bargain. Dominic raised. The noble hesitated, then raised again. Dominic raised higher, without pause. The noble dropped out.
The stones were his.
Florence grinned. "Sensible. Boring, but sensible."
"There’s nothing boring about wanting to stay alive," Dominic said.
The next few lots passed without incident. Dominic bid on a pair of enchanted boots for Lysandra, light, silent, with a traction rune perfect for her aggressive footwork, and a set of mana-conductive bracers for Theresa’s spellwork. Each time, he bid precisely, never overpaying, and each time, the item was his.
And each time, from a box on the opposite side of the hall, Harwick’s steward Aldric raised a hand.
The first clash came on Lot 14, a ceremonial dagger with a bloodstained history. It was the kind of thing nobles collected for their display cases. Aldric opened the bidding. Dominic countered. Aldric raised. Dominic raised again. The price climbed past the dagger’s appraised value, then past its value to anyone sane.
Florence’s eyes flicked to him. "Are we actually buying this, or just bleeding him?"
"Just bleeding him."
The next bid came from Harwick’s box, a savage increase, clearly meant to end it. Dominic let the silence stretch, then shook his head. "Let it go."
The gavel fell. Harwick had won the dagger, for a sum that would have bought a small estate.
Florence’s grin was feral. "He’s going to be out for blood by the time the core comes up."
"That’s the point."
The pattern repeated. A set of enchanted dueling pistols: Dominic drove the price up, then dropped out. A rare grimoire of fire magic, same. Each time, Harwick paid more than the item was worth, and each time, the crowd’s murmurs grew louder.
Lord Morne, who had been watching from his box with the focused intensity of a man who hated being outbid, seemed to notice. He didn’t know who was in the private box, but he knew someone was making Harwick look like a fool, and he approved. The military man’s scowl transformed into something almost like a grin.
Lady Vex, by contrast, remained stone-faced, her attention fixed on the auction floor. She was saving her resources for the main event.
The anonymous bidder’s proxy made a single move on a dark affinity focus, unmarked, unwrapped, clearly ancient. The bid was placed without emotion. Vex countered. The anonymous bidder raised. Vex withdrew. The anonymous bidder won, and the room shifted uncomfortably.
Finally, the auctioneer called a pause. The lights dimmed slightly, and his voice dropped to a reverent hush.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the final lot. The highlight of tonight’s auction. A mana core recovered from the tenth floor of the Caldmore Dungeon. An SSS+ class object, one of the largest and most potent magical organs ever brought to market. Bidding will begin at one hundred thousand gold."
The display rose from the floor, a rotating column of golden light, and within it, the core pulsed with an inner fire that made the chandeliers seem pale. It was magnificent. It was obscene. It was power, pure and simple, and every soul in the room wanted it.
The bidding opened.
Lady Vex started aggressively. Morne countered with a near-shout. The anonymous bidder’s proxy raised silently. Harwick’s box, which had been quiet for the last several lots, suddenly came alive; Aldric raised high, a statement of intent.
Dominic watched the numbers climb. Vex dropped out first, her discipline overriding her desire. Morne held on a few rounds longer, then threw up a hand in disgust. The anonymous bidder remained, calm and steady, matching Harwick bid for bid.
Then Harwick raised again, a number that made the room gasp.
The anonymous bidder hesitated. For the first time, the proxy glanced toward Dominic’s box.
Claire’s voice came through the crystal, tight with anticipation. "They’re at one million seven hundred thousand. Harwick seems determined. The anonymous bidder may be nearing their limit."
Dominic leaned back in his chair. "Send a message to the auctioneer. I have a condition for this lot."
Claire’s pause was brief. "What condition?"
"House Harwick may continue bidding only if their representative performs a bow of deference to this box. Publicly. Right now."
A beat of silence. Then Claire’s voice, laced with something that might have been admiration: "That is within a consignor’s rights. I’ll relay it."
The auctioneer listened to a whispered message from an aide, then cleared his throat. His composure cracked, just for a second, before he straightened.
"The consignor has issued a condition for this lot. House Harwick may continue bidding only if their representative performs a bow of deference to the consignor’s private box. If House Harwick does not wish to comply, their bidding privileges for this lot will be revoked, and they may leave the floor."
The room went utterly still.
Every eye turned toward the private box. No one could see inside, but the box suddenly felt like the center of the world. Then every eye turned toward Harwick’s box.
Hector Harwick’s face was a mask of stone. Beside him, Aldric looked as if he’d been struck.
The silence stretched, thick and unbearable.
Then a single laugh erupted from the floor, a sharp, derisive snort. It came from a minor noble who’d been outbid earlier, and others quickly joined it. The laughter rippled through the crowd like a wave, growing louder, crueler.
Hector’s knuckles went white on the railing. He turned to Aldric, said something too low to hear. Aldric’s face went pale.
Then, without a word, Hector Harwick turned and walked out of the box. He did not look back.
The doors at the back of the hall opened, and two auction house guards stepped aside, their expressions carefully neutral. The laughter followed him out, and the auctioneer cleared his throat again.
"House Harwick has withdrawn. The bidding will resume."
The anonymous bidder’s proxy raised their hand. The gavel fell. The core was sold to the anonymous bidder for one million nine hundred thousand gold.
The settlement documents were waiting in Claire’s private office. Dominic signed without looking at the final figure; he’d seen enough.
The system chimed.
```
[Quest Complete: The Gilded Cage]
[Objective: Survive the Royal Auction. Protect your interests.]
[Reward: 300 GT Tokens]
[Bonus Objective: Identify all three SS-rank presences by name and affiliation before the auction ends.]
[Status: failed.]
[Current GT Tokens: 1,780]
```
Dominic closed the interface. 1,780 tokens. Enough for three pulls on the limited banner, if he chose. But not yet.
Florence leaned against the wall, watching him. "You just made Hector Harwick walk out of the Royal Auction House with his tail between his legs."
"That’s enough for tonight."
"He won’t stop, though."
Dominic met her eyes. "No, he won’t, but it was enough to make him reckless. Reckless men make mistakes."
Theresa closed her catalog. "The ball will be his next move. He’ll try to salvage his reputation, or he’ll try to destroy yours."
"Then we’d better be ready." Dominic pocketed the settlement. "Claire, is the carriage waiting?"
"It is, Lord Kane." Claire smiled, the same sharp smile from the morning. "And I’ll be at the ball. If you need anything, you know how to find me."
Outside, the city was alive with lights and noise. The auction’s outcome was already spreading: the VIP box, the condition, Hector’s retreat. By the time Dominic reached the manor, the story would be all over the capital.
He climbed into the carriage, Florence and Theresa beside him. The ball was in three hours. And Hector Harwick was a wounded animal.
That was exactly where Dominic wanted him.