Then, the effects were more than enough.
The female host brought up her hand, body shifting, as she regarded the whole crowd.
"…within its body is a replica of a cultivator's spiritual veins. This allows the puppet to draw in spiritual energy and replenish its strength just as a living Foundation Building monk would."
"A rare design! One in a million! A self replenishing puppet that is on par with a normal foundation building monk!"
"And this... ladies and gentlemen, this mean that the puppet doesn't require any spiritual stones to fuel it"
The words seemed to hang in the air long after they were spoken.
The grand hall, once filled with restless chatter, went utterly still.
Even the faint scraping of chairs, the shuffle of robes, all vanished.
After all, for such a thing to exist.
...
.....
Everyone went quiet.
Eerily quiet, as if petrified from the auctioneer's words.
Then, after the so called forever.
Someone finally let out a sharp breath, breaking the tension. "…That's… insane."
The voice was quiet, almost reverent, but it carried through the silence.
Another cultivator leaned forward from his seat, whispering low to the person beside him, his tone laced with disbelief. "A puppet that doesn't run out of energy… that's practically a cultivator without a soul. A machine..."
The murmur rippled faintly through the rows of seats, but no one laughed, no one mocked the statement.
Behind the veiled curtains of the private rooms, the atmosphere was even more stranger.
Just complete silence with deep focused gaze, and no one moved...
The auctioneer did not speak right away.
She stood poised at the center of the stage, her expression calm but her eyes shining with the faintest spark of satisfaction.
She let the silence linger just long enough, letting the tension build and coil tight before she moved.
With an elegant sweep of her arms, she addressed the crowd.
"Shall we begin the bidding?"
Her voice was clear and smooth, reaching every corner of the hall.
The faint glow of the crystal lanterns overhead caught in her eyes as she raised her arm. "The bidding starts now."
Every cultivator seated in the hall leaned forward, their gazes drawn unerringly toward the center of the stage.
From behind the silken curtains of the second private room, a cold, level voice rang out.
"Two hundred and fifty thousand low-grade spiritual stones."
The words fell like a stone into a pond, sending a ripple through the grand hall.
Several cultivators below drew sharp breaths, the sound overlapping in the hushed room.
It was the Dustpetal Cult's leader himself that made the shot for the first bid.
Before the weight of the first bid could fully settle, a deep laugh rolled out from the third private room.
"Three hundred thousand."
The fat old man spoke.
In the main hall, nervous glances were exchanged.
Hearing this bid, the tall cloaked man in the private room snorted, and calmly slapped back.
"Three hundred and fifty thousand."
Then, to join in the run, the Violet Needle Sect also put fourth there bid.
"Four hundred and fifty thousand"
A few in the lower hall flinched at the sound, the rivalry between the three factions.
"Five hundred thousand."
"Six hundred thousand." .
"Seven hundred thousand."
"Eight hundred thousand."
The atmosphere in the hall had turned thick and oppressive. Every bid felt like it landed with weight, shaking the hearts of the cultivators below.
Murmurs spread in waves through the crowd, each one louder than the last.
People cranked their necks, some standing on tiptoe, others clutching their sleeves in nervous excitement.
Spiritual stones worth hundreds of thousands were being offered up as though they were nothing more than coins tossed into a fire, and the common cultivators could only watch.
Then, just when the tension had reached its peak, a new voice joined the fray.
It was calm and familiar tone made everyone's heart trembled.
"One million... "
The entire venue froze.
For a heartbeat, the only sound was the faint rustle of clothing and the distant creak of the auction wooden floor.
Heads snapped toward the source of the bid.
Even the auctioneer on the stage faltered, her usual polished smile faltering as she blinked and traced the voice's direction.
From one of the common benches.
A shadowed figure leaned forward, just enough for the outline of his cloaked frame to be seen.
His face was completely hidden.
"i-its that senior from before... " someone in the common seats whispered, their voice almost swallowed by the heavy silence. "How could, who dares bid against those three?!"
"Especially that maniacal DustPetal cult... What a headache, I don't want this place to be turned into a burial place"
Murmurs broke out like sparks, but they were short-lived, smothered by the sudden shift in attention from above.
In the Dustpetal Cult's room, silence reigned for a long moment before their elder finally spoke.
A voice rang out...
"Bold," the cold, venom-laced voice said, the word like a drop of ice falling into the hall. "To think a rat would crawl out and bid against us."
"You must not know your place. Do not make an enemy of the Dustpetal Cult, stranger. Bidding here is not a shield, it is a grave. You've exposed yourself with that number, and your foolishness will be remembered."
Low, mocking laughter followed, seeping from behind the window.
The pressure of the invisible killing intent rolled out from the private room.
It pressed against the chest of everyone present, causing the monks to pale.
But then...
"Hahaha? What about a dog that stood a bit higher than a lion? Feeling windy up there?"
!!!