Chapter 20: Chapter 20: The Auctioneer

Chapter 20: The Auctioneer

Nathanel had excused himself a little earlier from the meeting with the Noble Connoisseurs. Today was a strange day. Too many unannounced things had happened, and he hated it when something was unplanned. He was not even sure if the day had been lucky or cursed.

It had started with a receptionist asking if he had time to assess an item from a wandering mage. That in itself was not unusual. Wandering mages often brought curious things to the auction hall. But two details had made him hesitate.

First, the medallion the mage used as proof of identity. It was a student medallion from the High Mage Academy of Burm, and Nathanel knew for a fact that no student had permission to leave the capital. A student outside the city was already a red flag.

Second, the mage had brought with him an apprentice. A student with an apprentice? That was the second red flag. So Nathanel chose to meet them in one of the secured rooms, with every intent to keep the advantage. He did not care how people acquired their items—crown had no conscience—but he would make the deal on his own conditions.

Then he saw what they had brought.

A [Greater Healing Potion].

The sight of it pulled him backward through his own life, to memories he had never been able to bury.

When Nathanel was young, he had been an orphan in the streets of Veythral. One day a priest of the Ecclesia collected him, as they did with so many. At first it seemed like salvation: three meals a day, a roof over his head, and an education. But in truth it had been hell. They had to dedicate their lives to the Church, to serve and obey, to spread its name with every breath. Anyone who faltered was punished. Anyone who faltered too often simply vanished. Nathanel had seen it happen. He had lived every day in fear that he would be next.

The anger still burned in him when he looked at that potion, because he knew only one place on the continent where they were produced—the Cathedral of Light, under the blessing of the so-called goddess of light.

After inspecting it and seeing it was the real deal, he asked calmly where the mage had gotten it. Calmly, though suspicion churned in his gut. He half suspected they were Church agents sent to sniff him out. But when the mage began to lie, something in him snapped. He had not clawed his way free of the Church only to be hunted down here.

That was why he reacted first. Violence was a shield. He struck without hesitation, unleashing [Quick Strike] against the mage. Mages were weak in melee, and Nathanel had trained as a brawler. He went all in. He tried to give them another chance, just to speak, so he said: “Better talk now or I will beat it out of you.”

And the apprentice opened her mouth, but instead of answering his question she spat black miasma into the air.

As a former part of the Church, he naturally knew what this meant. These were not Church agents at all. They were cultists. And not just common ones, but cultists with access to a [Greater Healing Potion]. That was almost as bad as the first option. Maybe worse. With this realization, real fear struck him inwardly, but on the outside he kept the mask he had worn his whole life—the mask of the brutal street kid who had clawed his way up, carving his place in Tiara with blood and sweat.

After he had made short process of them, he had wanted to interrogate them, to drag the truth out with the one universal language he spoke best; violence. But before he could, the second random element of the day arrived. The Noble Connoisseurs had summoned him to a meeting, to meet a visitor, a friend of Gideon’s.

He had gone with haste, not knowing what to expect. And there, on the table of the Salon, he had seen the most unique item of his entire career. And that was saying something, because he had worked as an auctioneer in Tiara for fifteen years. The scepter glittered with wealth and mystery in a way he had never seen before.

And its owner was an elf. Surely this was some kind of divine joke. The chance of meeting an elf in Tiara was… well, not zero, because here she was, but not high either. And she was here because of the auction hall, because of rumors of an auction. An extraordinary item and an extraordinary buyer on the same day. Was this really a coincidence?

He tried not to believe in fate, but his years in the Ecclesia Regnum still haunted him. So, he decided to clear things up. He would give the elf the potion and send her far from Tiara. The last thing he wanted was a church agent asking questions. Worse, the two cultists still sitting in the armored chamber might have far stronger backing than he could handle, so he needed to get rid of them as well.

Nathanel did not want to lose the life he had built in Tiara, not because the Church sniffed him out and not because he had pissed off some cultists who were resourceful enough to acquire an item like the [Greater Healing Potion]. Hell, why had they even tried to sell it to him in the first place? But if there was one thing he knew, it was that cultists were like rats, when one appeared, others were never far behind. And it was troubling that of all places, they had shown up in Tiara.

But in the auction hall there were around fifty auctioneers, and only one person knew who these cultists had actually met. And she was the one person he trusted with his life. Lin, the receptionist—or better said, his client handler. If he managed to get rid of these cultists, maybe he could still fix this mess.

And strangely enough, his chance to clear things up had presented itself with the elf in the same moment he got into this mess. But he had to handle her with care. She was clearly a very high-level merchant with a specialized class, and she already had connections with the Noble Connoisseurs. She was resourceful enough that he had no desire to end up on her bad side. And sending cultists after her was definitely not the way to stay in her good graces.

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So, he needed to sell this matter carefully. Maybe he could even combine it with the fact that he was part of the Salon Gideon had introduced her to, and that he would handle the sale of her scepter. That way it might look natural, and he could steer the matter away from danger.

Nathanel straightened his coat, set his jaw, and prepared himself for the meeting with Lysaria Greenwood. Then he lit his pipe, letting the familiar smoke steady his thoughts.

Half an hour later there was a knock on his door. A page opened it for the elf, and she stepped inside his office. Nathanel rose at once, a broad smile on his face. “Glad you are here, Lady Greenwood.”

She smiled politely and answered, “After you proposed to auction my item and also mentioned you have something I would be interested in, how could I not follow your invitation?”

He chuckled in response and gestured toward one of the plush stools. “Please, sit.” As she took her seat, he walked back behind his desk. He had studied her earlier in the Salon, but here, alone in his office, the atmosphere felt more pointed, and somehow dangerous. He found himself watching her more closely. Elves usually carried softer features, touched by grace and distance, but this one was different. Her face had sharper lines, a certain edge that did not fit the picture he remembered from his years in the Ecclesia’s books. And in her emerald eyes, there was something that went far deeper than a normal gaze, as if she was looking through him rather than at him. It was like a faint hunger, assessing him as prey.

But Nathanel pushed the thought aside. Business came first, and she was his ticket not only to rid himself of the troublesome potion but also to grow richer. He had seen the item she wanted to auction, and even five percent for him would be a huge amount for only a bit of work tonight.

He folded his hands on the desk and leaned forward. “So, let us speak first about official business—the item you want to sell in our auction hall tonight. When Gideon, also a friend of mine, recommends you, I will naturally give my best to help you fetch the highest price possible.”

She tilted her head slightly, her emerald eyes narrowing in thought, but then she shook it. “You see, after you mentioned you acquired an item from some cultists, my merchy senses were tickling. And I am dying to see the item myself.”

Nathanel blinked. Merchy senses? What was she talking about? Some strange elven saying, maybe. Well, it did not matter. Her curiosity was not strange, he had dangled the bait in front of a high-profile merchant, after all. He had planned to test the waters with talk of the scepter before bringing out the potion, but she was already interested. He only had to hope she was truly interested. Not every merchant would deal in potions, and fewer still in one as dangerous as this.

He leaned back, giving her a small nod. “Of course, Lady Greenwood. Since you are curious, I will not keep you waiting. But I must warn you, this is not the sort of item one usually trades in broad daylight. It is rare, valuable, and… troubling in its origin. Its sale is normally restricted only to the Ecclesia Regnum. If you still wish to see it, then I will show you.”

The elf raised an eyebrow. “The Ecclesia Regnum still exists?”

That question caught him off guard. For a moment Nathanel just stared at her, pipe smoke curling from the bowl in his hand. “Of course, it exists. Why shouldn’t it? It is the most influential church on the continent…” His words trailed slightly, suspicion prickling in the back of his mind.

Why would an elf of her standing ask such a thing?

She only smiled. “Let me see the item.”

And it clicked. It was a tactic, meant to offset him as the seller. She was good. She had caught him off guard, but as an auctioneer he was not born yesterday. So, he reached into his desk and pulled out the [Greater Healing Potion]. He set it carefully on the table between them.

“This,” he began, his voice steady, “is a [Greater Healing Potion]. The only place where these are brewed is in the Ecclesia Regnum, as you may know. It is so potent that it is said to heal even transcendent beings without difficulty. A single sip can mend every injury on an individual around level one hundred.” He spoke with confidence, watching her eyes as the deep red liquid caught the light.

“It is literally a potion that can bring someone back from the brink of death. So, it is only natural that this kind of high-class item is rare enough that it almost never reaches the open market,” Nathanel said.

The elf reached out and took the potion into her hand, turning it slowly, inspecting it from every angle. Then she set it back down on the desk with care. Her voice dropped flat. “It’s not full.”

Nathanel frowned. To his eyes, it looked full. Maybe a margin short, a difference of a few droplets in the filling process. That wouldn’t affect the price.

“And I see no proof it was brewed by the Ecclesia,” she added, her tone still even.

He glanced at the label. It only read Greater Healing Potion. No crest, no seal. But he did not mind it. He had inspected it with his [Monocle of Appraisal], and the result had been clear. “There is only one source in the world for Greater Healing Potions,” he said firmly. “But if you doubt the authenticity, I can prove it is the real thing—” He reached for his monocle.

She stopped him with a single raised hand, her eyes like ice. “Who sold this to you?”

He cleared his throat. “As I said… some cultists sold it to me. I haggled them down to a fair price, and—”

The elf’s mood shifted so suddenly that Nathanel almost flinched. Her voice grew completely cold, stripped of the polite tone from before, and now it was demanding. “How much did you pay for it?” she asked.

The question hit harder than he liked. For a moment he only stared at her, pipe hanging between his fingers. “That goes too far, Lady Greenwood,” he said at last, forcing steel into his tone. “Why should I tell you such details? The price of acquisition is my business, not the buyer’s.”

But she did not let it go. Her eyes fixed on him like knives. “Then tell me where these cultists are. Who they are. You cannot expect me to take this seriously without knowing the source. Cultists do not simply walk into Tiara’s auction hall for no reason.”

Her insistence made his skin prickle. She was no longer playing the polite merchant. She was pushing him, testing him, and Nathanel felt the heat crawl up his neck. Anger crept into him, hot and steady, pressing against the mask he wore.

He set the pipe down and leaned back in his chair, letting silence stretch for a beat before he spoke. “No,” he said firmly. “That is enough. Their names, their faces, where they crawled in from—that is not your concern. You asked to see the item, and I showed it. That is where it ends.”

The elf’s face hardened, and he could see her patience thinning. Nathanel found the whole situation strange, how quickly it was slipping toward something ugly. But he was hot-blooded, and he shoved his doubts aside. Something about this day was off from the start, and now he was simply fed up.

The big man stood slowly, rising to his full height, his shadow falling across the desk. “Lady Greenwood, in light of the fact that we both know Gideon, I advise you now to go.”

She rose as well, meeting his gaze without flinching. Her emerald eyes burned with anger. “Why is everyone in this damned world a fucking idiot? You wanted to sell my own potion to me.”

Nathanel froze. Her words slammed into him. What?

A realization struck like a hammer blow. The elf—she was the backing behind those cultists. Of course. That explained everything.

And if that was true…

He reacted instantly, his body moving before thought. Power coiled in his muscles as he launched forward with [Quick Strike].