CHAPTER 63: 63

The auction continued.

They were on the tenth item now—some ancient relic with runic enhancements, its glow drawing cheers from the eager crowd. But for Caldrith Veinos Varn, nothing could have felt more distant. He sat stiffly, spine like stone, lungs tight, chest aching.

He was restless. Hopeful, maybe. But that hope was brittle. His soul—his trait—was screaming. Not whispering. Screaming.

This will end in failure.

Still, he stayed. Still, he pushed forward.

There was no backing down now. The pieces were in place. The operation had been set into motion. But then—it came.

A voice. Not spoken. Not heard.

Felt.

It wasn’t sound. It wasn’t vibration. It was an omnipresent pressure, a resonance that moved not through air, but through the soul itself.

He’s here.

The divine thread pulsed in his heart.

He knew in that moment—he had been caught. From the very beginning. The eyes of Lord Aurelian had never left him.

And yet, he had not been killed.

No wrath, no destruction, no divine retribution.

Instead—an offer.

A lifeline laced in riddles.

"Why?"

Caldrith had asked.

"Why are you offering help?"

He didn’t understand. He couldn’t.

They had been told to stand down. The mission was to be aborted.

Why show mercy to traitors?

He had answered Lord Aurelian’s questions. Laid bare his secrets. His cause. His desperation.

And now, the voice returned—cutting through thought like a blade through silk.

"Caldrith.

Imagine a scenario."

He tensed. Every part of him prepared for another unraveling.

"You subdue the Velmorian royal family.

You unleash catastrophe in the capital.

Chaos. Fire. Collapse.

And then—victory. The throne is yours."

The voice paused—cold, measured.

"Then what?"

Caldrith’s breath caught.

"Do you think the Empire will let it go?

You do know that the Velmorian royals sit on their throne only because the Empire allows it.

There must have been agreements. Bargains made in silence.

Do you think the Empire will let go of their slave so easily?"

Caldrith’s hands shook. His composure broke for a heartbeat.

He hadn’t thought that far. Not truly. His hatred burned too brightly. All he’d wanted was to tear down the gilded cage.

To avenge his people.

To restore freedom.

But more than anything... he had trusted his soul trait.

The gift that guided him. His unseen compass.

And then—Lord Aurelian asked the question that shattered him.

"How does your soul trait work?"

Caldrith’s breath stopped in his throat.

"Is it intuitive... or clairvoyant?"

The room spun.

No one knew about his soul trait. Not even his comrades. Not even his closest advisors.

Yet Lord Aurelian had peeled it open like parchment—seen into him, deep and clear.

Caldrith’s heart thundered. But he swallowed the storm, steadied himself, and answered.

"It’s intuitive. A soul-bound instinct.

It doesn’t show the future...

It simply leads me to the best choice in the moment.

I trust it to guide me."

The voice hummed—soft, amused.

"So... instinct, then.

It tells you what kind of decision to make."

Then came the sting.

"So what about now?

Why do you still push forward—even when it warned you this might fail?"

Silence.

"Is it broken?

Or is your desperation so strong... that you can no longer tell the difference?"

Caldrith lowered his head, his voice a whisper only the divine could hear.

"I was... too confident.

And too blinded by desperation."

"I see,"

Aurelion replied.

"So your rebellion, too, was born from that same blindness."

"Your soul trait is not worthless. It simply has limits.

It can guide you within a scope...

But beyond that? Beyond the veil of known consequence...

It fails."

The words were not cruel. They were truth—delivered with surgical precision.

"Still, it is a good trait.

But now—back to the real matter."

Caldrith’s heart began to pound again. His eyes darted across the chamber, but no one noticed him. He was alone in the most crowded room in Velmora.

"Let’s say you succeed.

You destroy the Velmorian royal family.

What do you gain?"

"Do you believe the Empire will allow it to stand?

They rule this kingdom already—through bloodless conquest.

The nobles, the laws, the council... all watched and tethered.

You’re not liberating a kingdom, Caldrith.

You’re breaking their puppet."

Caldrith clenched his jaw. He knew.

He had known.

But every time that thought crept into his mind, he shoved it aside.

"We’ll deal with it after."

"We’ll figure it out when the time comes."

But that time had come—and still, he had no answer.

Then the voice sharpened.

"Let’s take a step back and think.

How about using their own method... against them."

"I don’t understand, Lord Aurelian."

Caldrith asked.

"Let me explain. The Empire uses the royal family to rule this land.

The Velmorian crown holds ceremonial power.

But the Empire holds the leash."

"They allow the royals their luxuries, their courts, their titles...

While they pull the real strings behind velvet curtains."

"So here is what you will do."

Caldrith listened—leaning in, heart thudding in his ears.

"You will strike.

The royal family will fall. But one shall remain."

Caldrith blinked. Confused.

"One shall live—publicly. Visibly. A symbol."

"That survivor will carry the name of the Velmorian crown...

and rule under your hand, with my help."

"To the Empire, it will seem that Velmora still stands under royal command.

They may try to intervene, to control, to reassert dominance."

"But we will be ready."

"So what do you think?"

Silence settled again, heavy like a divine pause.

"You may not fully understand what I’ve said.

But I trust you understand enough."

"If you are interested... if your soul still whispers to you in favor...

Then come to the Crydeus family estate."

"I will wait three days."

Then—nothing.

The divine thread fell silent.

Caldrith remained seated, frozen in the stillness that only divine contact leaves behind. He waited. Hoped. Feared.

But the voice did not return.

And for the first time in years, he had no direction.

Only choice.

*****

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

✶ I Reincarnated as an Extra ✶

✧ in a Reverse Harem World ✧

⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

*****

When Alaric confronted Caldrith why he desired rebellion, countless thoughts passed through his mind.

Possibilities—some dark, some bold—began to braid themselves together. In that quiet yet charged moment, one truth rose above the rest:

He could do it better.

Not in measured steps. Not in shadows and diplomacy.

He could take this kingdom. Break it open and rebuild it from within, not over years but in sweeping, irreversible strokes.

And if the Empire—this looming giant that was meant to protect its subjects—was this hollow and corrupt, then he had seen enough. Not everything. But enough.

Enough to act.

The auction surged forward, as though unaware of the storm silently gathering behind Alaric’s stillness. The room was packed, the tension crackling beneath its gilded ceiling.

The final item was announced.

Aurevia’s voice echoed through the chamber with solemn clarity.

Her tone silenced the murmurs. Her words carried weight, and when she gestured, the final veil was lifted.

It was then the atmosphere shifted.

The golden curtain of mana that surrounded the pedestal peeled away like morning mist—and beneath it stood the object of legends. The [Grade 5] Mana Crystal. Not merely rare. Perfect.

A wave of pure Mana radiated out as if the air itself had become a conduit of refined divinity. Not oppressive—no, it was exhilarating. The kind of purity that left even seasoned mages short of breath. The stone didn’t just contain mana; it sang with it.

Gasps broke out. Cries of disbelief. Some even rose to their feet, unable to remain composed.

What they were seeing was not just a [Grade 5]

It was one nearing the Great Peak.

An apex of cultivation sealed into a single crystalline form—unblemished, uncorrupted.

No one had expected this.

Even those with ancient bloodlines and legendary titles had never seen one in person.

This wasn’t wealth—it was authority incarnate. Whoever owned this crystal could shift the balance of power across borders.

Then, the bidding began.

The starting call was a thunderous 10 million gold.

And it escalated with a ferocity rarely seen even among monarchs.

"Fifteen million!"

"Twenty!"

"Forty-five!"

"Sixty! With a contract of land in the Iridellan Basin!"

A noble from the western duchies offered enchanted formations etched by a forgotten elven ancestor. A merchant king from the eastern isles pledged not only gold, but a binding pact of trade exclusive to the winning party.

Then came the sound that cut through all of it:

"One hundred and ten million gold."

The voice that spoke was calm—Velmora’s royal steward.

The crowd fell silent.

"One hundred and ten million,"

The steward repeated,

"plus highland territory spanning five districts north of Caerywn—autonomous stewardship granted, with no interference from the Velmorian Crown."

A pause. Then:

"And a Princess of the Caelthorn royal line."

The room exploded.

The word Princess echoed like a sword drawn across marble.

This wasn’t just a purchase. It was an act of desperation. Or madness. Or both.

Even Aurevia’s hand hesitated briefly before she composed herself and turned her gaze to the crowd once more.

"Is there anyone else,"

She asked, her voice unwavering,

"willing to bid more?"

Silence.

A silence so deep it rang.

Serineth stood at her station beside the stage, blinked in disbelief. Her fingers briefly curled around the edge of the podium, knuckles white. But she said nothing. It wasn’t her place. She simply stood ready—professional, poised—as the shock settled like dust.

Then came Aurevia’s final words.

"Sold."

The seal flared. The crystal dimmed.

And with that, the monarchy’s stone passed into new hands.

A [Grade 5] Mana Crystal exchanged not just for wealth, but for land, autonomy, and blood.

Alaric did not move.

But a new path had already opened before him.

And behind the gilded fanfare, the kingdom had already begun to shift.

-To Be Continued