The Argonian porcelain set ended up in the hands of a lesser noble from Vorad on the second floor for two hundred thirty royls. A bronze cat statue was taken by a Syttle merchant for five hundred fifty royls. The bust of a man with a lion’s head would be going home with a merchant from Vorad for three hundred royls. A large longsword with a reddish blade would accompany a leather-clad Matarok warrior for four thousand sang.
The auction progressed smoothly as more and more money was thrown at the increasingly interesting and expensive items brought out. But so far, everything that had been shown on stage was simple and mostly legal items.
They were appetizers.
"Ladies and gentlemen, it seems your wallets are burning hot tonight. What do you all say we get started with the good stuff?" The old presenter asked, receiving a cheer from the crowd in response.
"Tonight’s first magic item is a magic stone. It generates cold. Those of you who know how effective that can be when preserving food should know its worth. Bidding starts at three hundred royls with minimum increments of twenty."
"Four hundred!"
"Five hundred!"
"Eight hundred!"
The price of the magic stone rose in seconds. It was a magic stone. While not as efficient as an artifact since it was just a stone that had been exposed to enough power to develop magic without being refined by intelligent hands, it was still a useful tool.
Besides, unauthorized use of magic items was illegal. Getting their hands on a magic item like this was impossible if it wasn’t through the auction house. And receiving authorization was even more difficult than that.
It didn’t take long for the stone to surpass the fancy sword. It was an investment, whether it be in its current state or as the material for a new tool. It sold to an anonymous person on the third floor for three thousand and one hundred royls.
A string of magical items followed it. Some were sold to people on the first and second floors like the rest. But most ended up in the hands of people on the third and fourth floors.
And finally, after the magic items, it was time for the softer goods to be brought on stage. One by one, chained people of all shapes and sizes wearing nothing but cloths were dragged up and sold, mostly to people of Syttle affiliation.
It was the only country of the three where slavery was illegal. The only way for people from Syttle to acquire slaves was to buy them from Vorad or Matarok. Of course, it took some finessing to bring those slaves into Syttle without losing them, but anyone who could get to the Mischel auction could return with their precious slaves.
They could just say that they were servants or something and slip some gifts to whoever tried to pry.
But the Syttle nobility and merchants still had to settle for the cheaper slaves that were in poorer condition. The good slaves, like the big, muscular guy who was three heads taller than everyone else, were for those who weren’t desperate for slaves but wanted the best on the market.
Eventually, it came time for Damas to step forward and become the center of attention. As expected, he naturally rose in price. He was an excellent specimen and was sure to produce great results whether it be for underground fighting or just labor.
One of the fiercer bidders was in a room on the fourth floor. It looked like they wanted nothing more than to bring him home. However, after a while, the room suddenly stopped bidding.
It was too soon for it to have been a matter of money. Everyone on the third and fourth floor could afford the two thousand royls with ease. But then again, that person had also bid on and bought a bunch of other items before. Maybe they had to consider their budget.
That wasn’t it.
A few minutes later, a large, flabby body tore through the curtains of the room and tipped over the railing.
Everyone could only look on in suspended disbelief as the well-dressed gentleman wailed and flailed the few seconds before he crashed into the ground with a large thud, landing on top of and killing one of the guests. Unfortunately, the man was too big for a single victim to soften the blow. The wood pole from the chair poking through his chest didn’t help.
"Mister Burgundy?" The auctioneer asked with a tilt of his head. It was the man who had requested Lily’s presence.
Lily’s head poked out from the room and looked down at what had happened. The auctioneer looked up at her, his expression darkening.
"Kava, deal with the intruder, please," The old man said. A servant who had been standing in the corner of the first floor nodded and moved. The old man also asked someone else to clean up Burgundy’s corpse.
However, few paid attention to that.
Most focused on Kava’s ghostly moments as he dashed across the room toward the stairs.
"Captain, that’s a transcendent!" Dima shouted agitatedly. It was a transcendent who was also going after Lily.
"How bad?" Squawks asked, stepping forward to get a look, but Kava had already left the first floor and was making rapid progress up the stairs.
"Bad!"
"Guess we have to do something about that, then. Your and Damas’ gear is there. Get him first. Mole!"
Mole popped his head in, slightly out of breath.
"Basement."
"Go! We’re doing this now."
"Captain, what about Lily?" Dima asked while grabbing and throwing the gear down to the first floor.
"I’ve got her."
Dima nodded. Squawks grabbed his sword and charged out of the room and up to the fourth floor. Mole was already gone.
It wasn’t quite according to plan, but they were used to plans failing them at the crucial moment. The Free Bird Mercenaries were used to improvisation.
Fortunately, they weren’t the only ones.