Morning in Drakenfall did not begin gently.
It ignited.
Before the sun fully crested the horizon, the inner district was already alive. Carts rolled across stone streets, wheels grinding against frost that had settled overnight. Merchants lifted shutters. Guild banners unfurled. Mana lanterns dimmed slowly as daylight claimed dominance.
Kel and Reina stepped out of the Ember's Rest just as the eastern sky blushed pale orange.
Kel wore his dark coat once more, neatly fastened, its silver threading subtle beneath morning light. His gloves were secured, his expression composed. Nothing about him suggested nobility. Nothing declared authority.
He was not Kel von Rosenfeld here.
He was Heral.
Reina walked beside him in simplified attire—her white and silver clothing toned down beneath a muted grey travel cloak. Her hair was tied differently today, lower and tighter, giving her a sharper silhouette. Her posture remained straight, but her aura—her presence—was restrained.
If asked—
She would be Rei.
A hunter's partner.
Nothing more.
They moved toward the Auction House.
The building stood prominently at the center of the inner district—three stories of reinforced stone, tall arching windows framed in bronze. Above its entrance hung an engraved plaque bearing the drake sigil and beneath it the words:
Drakenfall Grand Exchange.
Two guards stood outside, halberds grounded, expressions professional.
Inside, the atmosphere was entirely different from the markets.
Polished marble floors.
Chandeliers infused with mana crystals.
The scent of parchment and coin rather than blood and smoke.
Kel approached the reception desk.
"I have an item for auction," he said evenly.
The attendant—a thin man with slicked-back hair—glanced at him briefly, then at Reina.
"What item?"
Kel placed the wrapped container upon the counter and opened it just enough to reveal the heart core.
Crimson light pulsed faintly from within.
The attendant's breath hitched.
He quickly signaled a manager.
Moments later, a middle-aged man in dark formal attire approached. His coat was trimmed with gold embroidery along the cuffs. A signet ring glinted upon his finger.
He studied the core carefully.
"…Crimson Wolf," he murmured. "Leader class."
Kel did not respond.
The manager looked up.
"We offer auction services at twenty percent commission."
Kel's gaze did not waver.
"Five."
The manager blinked.
"Five percent?" he repeated slowly.
"Yes."
"That is… unacceptable."
Kel closed the container halfway.
"I can sell privately."
The manager's expression tightened.
"This is the Grand Exchange. Our network ensures competitive bidding. You will earn far more here."
Kel tilted his head slightly.
"Then your profit margin can endure five percent."
The man's jaw flexed subtly.
"Ten percent is the lowest we offer for high-tier monster cores."
Kel remained silent.
Seconds passed.
In negotiation, silence was pressure.
The manager exhaled slowly.
"…Ten percent. Final."
Kel closed the container fully and nodded once.
"Agreed."
Paperwork was drafted swiftly. Name required.
"Heral," Kel said calmly.
The manager wrote it down.
Within the hour, word had spread through the building.
A Crimson Wolf leader core.
Not common.
Not small.
By midday, the auction hall was filled.
Rows of polished wooden seats rose in tiers. Wealthy merchants, guild representatives, alchemists, and private collectors occupied them. Murmurs filled the air like low thunder.
Kel and Reina stood in the upper balcony—observers.
Reina leaned slightly toward him.
"You anticipated this."
"Yes."
Below, the auctioneer unveiled the core.
Gasps rippled across the hall.
Its size alone drew attention—large, dense, mana pulsing visibly within crimson crystal veins.
"Starting bid," the auctioneer called, "five hundred gold!"
A hand rose immediately.
"Seven hundred!"
"Eight!"
"One thousand!"
The numbers climbed rapidly.
Kel's expression did not change.
But his eyes sharpened faintly.
The competition intensified when two guild representatives locked into direct rivalry.
"One thousand three hundred!"
"One thousand five hundred!"
The room vibrated with tension.
Reina folded her arms lightly.
"They want it badly."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Kel watched carefully.
"Such a core can anchor high-grade alchemical constructs. Or be embedded in enchanted weaponry."
The final stretch came like a storm.
"One thousand eight hundred!"
A pause.
Then—
"Two thousand!"
Silence fell.
No one countered.
The auctioneer's gavel struck.
"Sold! Two thousand gold!"
The hall erupted in controlled applause.
Kel exhaled quietly.
Ten percent commission meant two hundred gold deducted.
He would receive eighteen hundred.
Profitable.
After formalities concluded, funds were transferred discreetly.
Heral left the Grand Exchange richer.
But the day was far from over.
Next—
The Alchemist Quarter.
The shop they entered was cluttered with glass vials, dried herbs, and hanging preserved specimens. The scent of pungent reagents lingered thickly in the air.
The shopkeeper—a short, sharp-eyed man—examined the Crimson Wolf eyes carefully.
"Good quality," he admitted. "But twenty gold for the pair."
Kel's gaze remained neutral.
"Thirty."
The alchemist scoffed.
"These are not wyvern eyes."
"They are leader-class."
Silence.
A measuring look.
"…Twenty-five."
Kel closed the pouch.
"Then I will sell elsewhere."
A beat.
"…Twenty-eight."
Kel did not blink.
"Twenty."
The alchemist frowned in confusion.
Kel's lips curved faintly.
"You said twenty first."
The man stared at him.
Then laughed dryly.
"Fine. Twenty."
Transaction complete.
The meat followed.
After further haggling, thirty gold secured the deal.
From there, they moved to the Blacksmith Quarter.
The forge roared violently, sparks erupting with each hammer strike. The blacksmith—a towering man with arms like tree trunks—examined the Crimson Wolf bones.
He tested density.
Weight.
Mana residue.
"These are strong," he admitted. "Two hundred."
Kel nodded.
"Accepted."
Gold exchanged hands.
Throughout the day, whenever asked—
"I am Heral."
"And her?"
"My partner. Rei."
Reina did not speak unless necessary.
But her presence alone commanded subtle respect.
By late afternoon, the sun began descending once more.
The day had been long.
Transactions completed.
Identity maintained.
They walked toward the central square.
At its center stood a large stone fountain—water cascading from carved drake wings into a circular basin below. Children ran nearby. Merchants packed stalls. Lanterns were being lit again for the coming night.
Reina purchased small fried pastries dusted lightly with sugar and herbs.
She handed one to Kel.
They sat along the fountain's edge.
Water splashed softly beside them.
For a moment—
They were simply two travelers eating snacks.
Kel took a measured bite.
Warm.
Sweet.
He looked at Reina.
"Total."
Reina retrieved a small ledger she had been maintaining discreetly.
"Heart core: eighteen hundred after commission."
"Eyes: twenty."
"Meat: thirty."
"Bones: two hundred."
She looked up.
"Total: two thousand fifty gold."
Kel nodded once.
Profitable.
He took another bite.
Then—
"How much to use the teleportation gate for a single individual?"
Reina considered carefully.
"For common citizens traveling short range—fifty to one hundred gold."
"And to the Northwest?"
She exhaled softly.
"The Northwest is a primary region. Distance and status both increase cost."
"How much?"
"For non-nobles… likely two hundred per person."
Kel calculated silently.
"For both of us—four hundred."
"Yes."
He nodded slowly.
"Affordable."
The fountain water caught the fading light, scattering reflections across their boots.
Reina studied him quietly.
"You did not reveal your identity."
"No."
"Even at the auction."
Kel's gaze lifted toward the drake statue visible beyond rooftops.
"Names carry weight."
He paused.
"And weight attracts attention."
Reina's silver eyes softened faintly.
"You prefer to move unseen."
"For now."
A gust of wind carried the scent of evening markets.
Drakenfall was beginning to glow again under lantern light.
They finished their snacks in silence.
Two thousand fifty gold.
Four hundred for transit.
The rest—
Capital.
Kel rose first.
"We leave in 20 min."
Reina stood beside him.
"Yes, Young Master."
But here—
He was not that.
He was Heral.
A hunter who walked into Drakenfall and left with coin heavy in his pouch.
The fountain continued its endless flow.
And beneath the name of a fallen drake—