In that instant, he marked the cloaked figure silently in his heart. The second dungeon diver for his plan.
Liam believed his judgement to be true, that this figure must be a protagonist level person.
And as the bidding continued, the entire venue seethed, caught between awe, fear, and laughter, while the mysterious figure simply leaned back, utterly unfazed by the storm he had stirred.
Clearly unfazed to the fact that he 100% would be hunted down once the auction ended.
Hell... That's a protagnosit for yah...
As for the auction...
The numbers had climbed so high that people in the crowd were swaying as though drunk.
A second-grade puppet going for such a ridiculous sum, no one here could decide if they should laugh or cry.
Heads shook, whispers ran wild, and still the bids hadn't stopped.
By now, the price had already reached one and a half million. The last shout belonged to the Dustpetal Cult.
The Dustpetal Leader's voice carried across the entire venue, strained yet arrogant, echoing against the walls until the rest of the hall went silent. Even the air seemed to freeze around the sound.
In the Windspike Caravan's private room, the two old men sat stiffly, brows furrowed.
They exchanged a look heavy with unease.
"He's actually willing to go this far…" the fat old man muttered, his thick fingers tightening against his armrest. "Seems those rumors weren't just rumors after all."
His thin companion lowered his voice, lips pressed into a thin line. "This is bad news for us. If he gets his hands on that puppet, the entire region will be in chaos. How about we deal with him outside? Removing him now would spare us the trouble later."
The fat man gave a sharp shake of his head. "We can't. If the backing behind him is real, then touching him would drag us into the games of the second-rate powers. That's not something we can afford."
Their whispers filled the small room, while the elders seated around them looked increasingly grim.
None of them liked the thought of that puppet falling into the Dustpetal Cult's hands.
Meanwhile, in the chamber of the Violet Needle Sect, Nie Baoyan leaned back, her petite frame unusually tense. Her fingers tapped lightly against the armrest, her brows drawn together in thought.
"Damn it," she muttered under her breath, "what a headache."
The elders beside her shifted uneasily, waiting for her words. Baoyan exhaled, eyes still on the puppet. "If it comes to it, I may need to talk with the senior behind this Purple Cloud Pavilion. Letting such a dangerous weapon fall into the magic way… it would crush the current balance."
"But that wasn't the point exactly"
"What mattered right now would be either the Senior behind this auction house will make his standing clear tonight or remained neutral."
"If it is the first, then the shift of power in the region can't be avoided."
Her tone was sharp, but beneath it was hesitation. She knew more than most here, and that knowledge kept her from rushing into a decision she might regret.
Back on the stage, the auctioneer's clear voice began the slow countdown, her tone gentle, carrying the weight of finality.
Around her, the crowd held its breath, and on the upper floor, the Dustpetal Cult leader sat back with a smug gleam in his eyes, convinced the victory was his.
Then, from the middle rows among the benches, a hand rose.
The air shifted instantly.
A distorted voice cut through the silence like a knife.
"Two million."
Gasps broke out in waves.
All eyes snapped to the cloaked figure who had raised his hand.
The mask, the same heavy cloak, everyone recognized him. And everyone knew exactly who he had just slapped across the face.
"You bastard!!!"
The outburst tore from the Dustpetal leader like thunder. His spiritual energy exploded in an instant, shaking the walls of the auction house.
The sudden force made the chandeliers rattle and the auctioneer herself almost stumbled, her legs trembling under the weight of the pressure.
But the cloaked figure only rose from his seat, calm under the storm.
He tilted his head toward the Dustpetal's private room, voice cutting, sharp, and full of challenge.
"Bark all you want," he said flatly. "This puppet is destined to be mine tonight."
The words slammed into the hall like a stone into still water. A blatant challenge.
In the private room, the Dustpetal Cult leader's face twisted beneath his mask. His voice was low, muttered one word at a time, dripping with venom. "You. Are. Courting. Death."
Through the small cracks of his mask, faint, unsettling movement could be seenke flesh wriggling and twisting, something alive just beneath the skin.
In an instant, like an ocean of killing intent, the hall was suddenly submerged under a thick killing intent.
Up in the other rooms, Nie Baoyan exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Idiot. He should've known better."
The two old men from the Windspike Caravan thought much the same. "Foolish," the long-haired elder said quietly. "Losing his temper here only digs his grave deeper."
But before anyone could add more, the Dustpetal leader froze. His eyes widened. The elders around him also stiffened, their faces paling. None of them had time to even sit down properly.
Boom.
The murderous pressure that had been flooding the hall shattered, crushed beneath a far greater force. A weight descended from the heavens, vast and suffocating. The entire auction house trembled violently.
Tremors ran through the walls, the floor, even through the hearts of every cultivator present. It felt like the very sky had collapsed, pressing against their chests, seizing their lungs.
Then came the voice.
"So daring, ant of the magic way…"
The sound was enormous, booming, rolling across the hall like thunder.
And with it, another round of overwhelming spiritual pressure poured own, this one from the uppermost private room.
Every face turned upward in unison.
The true storm had arrived.
"Showing your killing intent so blatantly before this seat's face, how rude... "