The Royal Auction House – Sol-Regis Capital. Midday – 13:00.
The Royal Auction House loomed with the architectural gravitas of a grand opera house. The main floor was a cacophony of whispers from transcontinental merchants, while the second floor was adorned with VIP balconies—the exclusive thrones of the high nobility.
In VIP Balcony 1, Grand Chancellor Morvath sat with the posture of a vulture circling a carcass. The deep hollows beneath his eyes were a testament to his sleepless nights after his secret slush fund vanished without a trace two days ago. Despite his loss, he had managed to secure an emergency loan at a predatory interest rate for this very occasion.
In VIP Balcony 2, House Sudrath projected an intimidating calm. Duke Lucian sat back with his legs crossed, while Rianor stood beside him, clutching a brass-bound mechanical calculator—a complex array of gears and levers crafted by Elara. Rhea stood near the door, her hand instinctively grazing the hilt of the dagger hidden beneath her silk skirts.
"Any word from Riven via telegraph?" Lucian whispered, his voice masked by the ambient noise of the hall.
"Not yet, Father. The last update this morning was just a routine patrol," Rianor replied, checking his silver pocket watch. Click. "Let's focus here first. Morvath looks like he's betting his life on this."
In VIP Balcony 3, directly adjacent to them, Princess Seraphina sat in solitude. She sipped her herbal tea with regal poise, seemingly indifferent to the masses fighting over treasures below.
Suddenly, Roland slipped into the Princess's balcony uninvited. "Excuse me, Your Highness. I believe this seat offers a far better view than being squeezed between my father's overflowing ambitions," Roland greeted her with a practiced, fluid smile.
Seraphina didn't turn, but her eyes cut a sharp sideways glance. "You again. What is it this time, Roland? Still hawking soap?"
"Business, Princess," Roland sat with effortless confidence. "The auction for the Southern Mithril Mine is about to begin. Morvath is going to be desperate. House Sudrath has the capital, but... we need 'Imperial Gravitas' to shatter his morale."
"You want me to be your financier?" Seraphina asked coldly, her crimson eyes finally meeting his.
"A bit blunt, isn't it?" Roland let out a soft chuckle. "Let's call it a Strategic Partnership. If we win, Draconia gets thirty percent priority access to the ore. And as a bonus, Morvath—our common enemy—will be financially crippled for overextending himself."
Seraphina set her cup down slowly. "Forty percent."
"Thirty-five," Roland countered instantly. "Plus an exclusive crate of Rose & Mint scented soap delivered to your dorm at the Academy every month."
The corner of Seraphina's lip twitched—a nearly invisible smirk. "Deal. Don't disappoint me, Sudrath."
The Auction Begins.
The Royal Auctioneer struck his golden gavel. THUD!
"Ladies and Gentlemen! The main item of the day: The fifty-year management rights for the Southern Hill Mines! Estimated contents: High-grade iron and... other rare minerals. We open the bidding at fifty thousand gold coins!"
A collective gasp filled the hall. The starting price alone was equivalent to the cost of a small fortress.
"Sixty thousand!" a trade representative from the West shouted.
"Seventy thousand!" an arms-dealing Baron followed.
Morvath, in the opposite balcony, raised his paddle with an arrogant sneer. "One hundred thousand gold coins!"
The room went dead silent. Morvath had just made a massive leap to assert his dominance. Rianor looked at his father.
"Father, now. Let's turn up the heat slowly."
Lucian nodded. Rianor raised their paddle. "One hundred and ten thousand."
Morvath let out a frustrated huff, his eyes burning with spite as he glared at Lucian. He stood from his seat. "One hundred and fifty thousand!"
"One hundred and sixty thousand," Rianor replied flatly, his voice so calm it only served to further provoke the Chancellor.
"Two hundred thousand!" Morvath bellowed, the veins in his neck bulging as his face turned a violent shade of red. "Give it up, Sudrath! Do you honestly think the pocket change from your soap stalls can match the wealth of a Minister of State?!"
Rianor leaned in to whisper to Lucian. "Father, our funds—including the 'donation' from his bank—only leave us with a hundred and eighty thousand. We need Roland's ace now."
"Hold," Lucian said softly. "Let him taste victory for a moment."
Rianor lowered his paddle, feigning a panicked discussion with his father. The auctioneer began the count.
"Two hundred thousand... once! Two hundred thousand... twice!"
Morvath smirked, a triumphant laugh bubbling in his throat. "See? The Northern rats are out of breath."
However, from VIP Balcony 3, a golden paddle was hoisted high.
"Three hundred thousand gold coins."
The voice was cold, clear, and saturated with authority. Every eye turned in unison. Princess Seraphina stood at the edge of the balcony with a killing gaze. Beside her, Roland waved at Morvath with a sickeningly sweet smile.
Morvath's face went deathly pale. "The Draconian Princess?! Why is she interfering?!"
"Three hundred thousand!" the auctioneer screamed in excitement, his voice cracking. "Do I hear a counter-offer?!"
Morvath panicked. He turned to his banker, cold sweat drenching his brow. "What is the remaining limit on our loan?!"
"Sir... our safe limit was two hundred and fifty. Beyond that, you'd have to collateralize your personal assets. The deeds, the estates... everything."
Morvath ground his teeth. He couldn't lose. That mine was the lynchpin of his plan to hire the Iron Empire mercenaries. "Collateralize it all! The house, the land, everything! Outbid her!"
"Three hundred and fifty thousand!" Morvath shrieked, his voice hoarse and trembling.
Roland whispered something into Seraphina's ear. The Princess nodded, then raised her paddle again without hesitation.
"Five hundred thousand gold coins."
BOOM. The room practically exploded with the hysterical cries of the attendees. Half a million gold. That was equivalent to the annual tax revenue of an entire province. This was no longer an investment; it was a public financial execution.
Morvath collapsed into his chair. His eyes went hollow, staring at the ceiling. He had just realized something horrifying: the gold the Sudraths used to bid against him earlier... was likely his own stolen coins.
"Five hundred thousand... once... twice... SOLD!"
BANG!
The Exit Corridor – Post-Auction.
The Sudrath family and Princess Seraphina strode out under the flashes of magical camera crystals from the press.
"Splendid cooperation, Your Highness," Rianor said, bowing politely.
"You owe me thirty-five percent," Seraphina replied coldly. "I will send my guards to oversee the mine next week." She turned to Roland. "And you, Roland... since you're now my 'business partner', you will accompany me around the Capital tomorrow. I find myself in need of a guide who isn't dreadfully boring."
Roland blinked, then grinned wide. "Is that an invitation for a date, Your Highness?"
"It is a field inspection," Seraphina deflected, though the tips of her ears flushed a faint pink. She turned abruptly and entered her carriage.
As the Draconian carriage pulled away, Rhea slapped Roland's back with a resounding thud. "You absolute madman! You actually charmed the Ice Princess!"
"Not charm, Rhea. It's called God-Tier Diplomacy," Roland said proudly.
Duke Lucian smiled with satisfaction. "We have the mine, we have Draconian backing, and Morvath is utterly bankrupt."
However, Rianor remained alert, adjusting his spectacles. "Steady. A cornered Morvath is a cornered predator. He'll resort to total violence now."
Suddenly, Rianor felt a violent vibration in his inner coat pocket. The small, box-shaped portable telegraph was buzzing frantically. BZZZT... BZZZT...
Rianor pulled the device out. His calm expression vanished, replaced by a deathly pallor as he translated the incoming Morse code.
"What is it, Rianor?" Rhea asked, noticing her brother's sudden change.
"A message from Riven," Rianor's voice shook. "SOS. EMERGENCY. CAVE SEAL BREACHED. ANCIENT MONSTERS UNLEASHED. CASTLE UNDER ATTACK. HE IS HOLDING THE LINE ALONE."
Lucian snatched the device. The Duke's killing intent exploded instantly, sending a chill through everyone nearby.
"My son is in mortal peril."
"Father... we have to go home. Now," Rianor said firmly. "To hell with the travel regulations. We have to force Elara to open an emergency teleportation gate."
"Move!" Lucian commanded.
They sprinted toward the Academy, leaving behind the hollow scent of a victory that suddenly meant nothing. In their minds, there was only one goal: Save Riven.