The atmosphere within the Bloodshed Pavilion's auction hall, already scorching from the appearance of various demonic artifacts and rarities, suddenly felt as if a massive torch had been hurled into a vat of oil.
Shaman!
To ordinary cultivators, these two words might only be a distant, ancient concept. But to those with true knowledge—the representatives of the great powers—they carried a staggering, earth-shaking weight. The Shamans of the Lac Viet era did not cultivate spiritual energy in the conventional manner. They were beings capable of communing with Heaven and Earth and the souls of all things. They could summon winds and rain, and lay down formations that would make ghosts wail and gods weep.
The burial grounds of the last Shaman—what secrets would be hidden within? Lost cultivation techniques? Bizarre shamanic artifacts? Or perhaps... more pieces of the Lac Viet Legacy?
In an instant, dozens of powerful divine senses swept forth without the slightest attempt at concealment, converging upon the beast-skin map on the high dais. However, they were all repelled by a faint, crimson protective ward enveloping the jade tray, unable to penetrate even a fraction.
"Everyone, please, restrain yourselves," the ghost-masked old man croaked, though his voice betrayed a sense of smugness he couldn't quite hide. "This map has been verified by our master appraisers to date back to the Lac Viet era. As for its authenticity, our Bloodshed Pavilion makes no guarantees. In the Black Market, as always, purchases are made based on your own discernment and luck."
Despite his words, everyone understood: if there wasn't a significant degree of certainty, the Bloodshed Pavilion would never have chosen it as the grand finale of the night.
Tran Kien paid no heed to the old man's chatter. His entire being was focused on the burning, pulsing sensation radiating from the Sun Essence Guardian fragment in his pocket. This resonance was far more intense than when he had faced La Nhat Thiet. It wasn't just a recognition of a similar kind; it was a profound resonance—a desperate yearning to be made whole.
This map... it definitely has a connection to the Lac Viet Heavenly Cycle Array!
Tran Kien's heart hammered against his ribs.
"The starting price for this map," the ghost-masked old man announced, holding up one skeletal finger, "is five hundred lower-grade spirit stones! Each subsequent bid must be no less than fifty!"
The moment the figure was spoken, the entire auction hall erupted in a collective intake of cold air. Five hundred lower-grade spirit stones! Such a price was enough to purchase a mid-grade magical treasure! Clearly, the Bloodshed Pavilion was preying on the mentality of "better to buy a fake than let a treasure slip away."
"Five hundred and fifty!" a gravelly voice rang out from a dark corner.
"Six hundred!" the representative of a minor clan immediately countered.
"Seven hundred!" the handsome youth from the Azure Cloud Sect spoke up calmly, having just received instructions from an elder via a jade transmission slip. The involvement of the Azure Cloud Sect caused many smaller factions to hesitate.
But this was the Black Market. Not everyone here feared the name of the Azure Cloud Sect.
"Seven hundred and fifty!" a somber, chilling voice echoed from the section occupied by the Black Dragon Stronghold.
The tension in the hall reached a breaking point. The struggle for the map had evolved into a proxy war between the two greatest powers in Thanh Chau.
"Elder Wei," Tran Kien transmitted his voice, a hint of anxiety creeping in. "We..." He had no spirit stones. The purse Van Tam Thong had given him only contained mortal gold and silver.
"Do not rush," Elder Wei replied, his eyes as clear and tranquil as a mountain lake in autumn. "Simply watch the play unfold. A map of uncertain authenticity is not worth exposing ourselves for. Furthermore, do you truly believe that once something enters the Black Market, it can be carried out so easily?"
Tran Kien froze, suddenly enlightened by Elder Wei's implication. Regardless of who won the bid, the moment they stepped out of the Bloodshed Pavilion, they would instantly become prey for the countless wolves lurking in the shadows of the Black Market. The contention with wealth was merely the opening act; the true struggle—one of blood and lives—lay ahead.
The price climbed with startling speed.
"One thousand spirit stones!" The youth from the Azure Cloud Sect frowned but held his ground.
"One thousand one hundred!" The Black Dragon Stronghold followed without a moment's hesitation.
The stalemate continued until the price reached a staggering sum: one thousand five hundred lower-grade spirit stones. This was an astronomical amount, enough to bankrupt an ordinary Foundation Establishment stage cultivator. The Azure Cloud Sect youth seemed to have received orders to cease, his expression twisted with frustration.
The ghost-masked old man on the dais wore a triumphant smirk. "One thousand five hundred spirit stones, going once! Are there any other Daoists willing to bid higher? This could be the fortuitous encounter that changes your destiny!"
The men of the Black Dragon Stronghold looked smug. It seemed the map was within their grasp.
But at that precise moment, a languid voice—yet one carrying an undeniable pressure that commanded respect—drifted down from a private suite on the second floor, reserved for the most esteemed guests.
"Two thousand."
The auction hall plunged into a deathly silence. Every eye turned in shock toward the tightly closed doors of the private suite. A single jump of five hundred spirit stones! This was an absolute display of overwhelming financial might!
The Black Dragon Stronghold members froze, their faces turning incredibly unsightly. The Azure Cloud Sect youth knit his brows, a trace of wariness appearing in his eyes.
"May... may I ask which Senior has placed the bid?" the ghost-masked old man stammered, caught off guard by the sudden escalation.
"What is this?" the languid voice drawled again. "Does your Bloodshed Pavilion now demand the identities of its bidders?"
"I wouldn't dare! I wouldn't dare!" The old man waved his hands frantically. "Two thousand spirit stones, going once! Two thousand spirit stones, going twice!"
The men of the Black Dragon Stronghold gnashed their teeth but ultimately did not dare to bid again. Though they were ferocious, they were not fools. Someone seated in a Heaven-rank suite who could casually toss out two thousand spirit stones was not someone they could afford to offend lightly.
"Two thousand spirit stones, going thrice! Sold!" The old man slammed his gavel onto the table. "Congratulations to the Senior in the Heavenly Suite!"
The map had found a master. Yet, the atmosphere in the auction hall grew even more sinister. Everyone was secretly speculating who the mysterious tycoon in the Heavenly Suite could be.
The fox-masked woman personally carried the jade tray up to the second floor. A short while later, she returned, but the map was no longer in her hands.
The auction concluded. The crowds began to filter out, but many did not leave the Black Market. Instead, they melted into the dark alleys, their eyes gleaming like predators as they fixed their gazes upon the exit of the Bloodshed Pavilion.
"Elder Wei, what do we do now?" Tran Kien asked.
"Wait," Elder Wei replied with a single word. He remained seated, showing no intention of leaving. "Wait for the truly big fish to take the bait."
Roughly half an incense stick's time later, a figure wrapped in a black cloak from head to toe emerged from a side exit of the Bloodshed Pavilion, swiftly disappearing into a narrow alley.
Immediately, at least seven or eight shadows detached themselves from the darkness to follow. Among them were the men of the Black Dragon Stronghold.
"Let's go," Elder Wei said, finally standing up. "The true show is about to begin. But we are neither the hunters nor the prey. We... are the fishermen."