CHAPTER 118: AN UPRISING EMERGENCY-2

Azhriel leaned his elbow against the armrest, his chin resting on his palm as he watched the bids unfold. "Quite a show," he murmured.

"Indeed," Caelyn said softly beside him, sipping her juice. "Though it’s funny seeing them fight over something so ordinary."

Azhriel gave a faint smirk. To those with vast mana reserves or rare bloodlines, a single mid-grade Atherium wasn’t much.

For common nobles and merchants, however, it was a treasure—useful for refining artifacts, strengthening mana cores, or even stabilizing potions of high value.

"Eighty-five!"

"Ninety!"

"One hundred!"

The crowd’s energy was now peaking, and even the host raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"One hundred and twenty golds!" shouted a man from the left side of the hall—a stout noble wearing a red coat lined with fur.

The room stirred with murmurs. His confident tone making a few bidders hesitate.

But soon, another merchant, clearly unwilling to back down, raised the price again. "One hundred and thirty!"

A brief silence followed, tension thick in the air.

Then came the final bid. "One hundred and fifty golds!"

The voice came from the same noble in the red coat. His tone carried pride and authority. The hall quieted. No one else raised the price.

The host clapped his hands once, smiling broadly. "One hundred and fifty golds! Going once! Going twice—Sold!"

A bright chime echoed through the hall as the crystalized bidding system confirmed the transaction.

"Congratulations to Lord Halvian of the Western Trade Guild!" the host announced enthusiastically. "This fine piece of Atherium will certainly serve you well!"

Applause filled the room, though most of it was polite rather than genuine. Azhriel and the rest of the main cast remained still, their interest mild at best.

"Hmm, that guy seems proud," Kevin muttered from the other seat of the lounge.

"Let him be," Chloe said, stretching lazily. "It’s his money."

"Besides," Alicia added, "the real fun starts after this. This is just the warm-up item."

"True," Raymond said with a small nod, his golden red eyes still fixed on the stage. "The good stuff always comes later."

Azhriel’s gaze shifted from the stage toward the list projected faintly on the mana screen above.

Several items were yet to come—rare weapons, enchanted artifacts, even beast cores. But his eyes lingered on one thing near the end.

The Map of the Fog Ruins.

He leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable.

The faint hum of excitement continued in the hall as the next item was brought up, but Azhriel’s mind was already elsewhere.

’So far, everything is going as I remember... except the elves, let’s hope it stays that way.’

The auction hall buzzed with restless excitement as the next few items passed by in quick succession.

Elemental stones, rare beast hides, enchanted accessories, and temporary boosters that could enhance one’s strength or agility.

Each was met with enthusiastic bids, rising voices, and the rhythmic hum of mana devices recording each sale. And then, the host’s tone shifted—lively and theatrical.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen," he said, his voice echoing across the glittering hall, "allow me to present something truly rare, something that graces our stage once in a decade!"

The crowd’s chatter quieted as he slowly lifted the cloth covering the next item. Beneath it stood a glass-covered flower pot, glowing faintly under the stage lights.

Inside was a small, twisted plant—its branches shimmered like pale crystal, while its leaves were pure white, and from its buds grew golden fruit-like bulbs that pulsed with a faint light.

Gasps echoed through the room.

"It’s the Harzhmer!" the host declared proudly, his arms spread wide.

Whispers erupted immediately.

Samuel’s brows rose as he leaned back in his seat.

"Oh, didn’t expect that to show up here," he said. "Though, what a waste. The one who knew how to unlock its full potential is long dead, without a successor."

Nyverra sighed softly beside him. "So very true. Without a proper alchemist, the Harzhmer might as well be a decorative plant."

Azhriel listened quietly, his gaze fixed on the glowing herb.

The Harzhmer was more than just rare—it was legendary. A plant of endless uses. Every part of it—from root to leaf—could be refined into something valuable.

But what made it so priceless was one thing: its purifying essence.

When processed correctly, the Harzhmer could cleanse the body from within, washing away impurities, strengthening mana circulation, and even extending lifespan.

A miracle in a pot.

The host smiled as he let the audience admire it. "The starting bid for this Harzhmer will be... two hundred gold!"

"Three hundred gold!" came the first voice, sharp and eager.

All heads turned—the bid came from VIP Lounge 9, one of the most luxurious private rooms above the hall.

"Four hundred," Azhriel’s calm voice followed almost immediately, cutting through the murmurs.

Silence fell for a brief moment, followed by a faint frown from within Lounge 9.

"This guy again," one of the nobles inside muttered, his tone irritated.

"Five hundred," another voice from the same lounge called out, almost challenging him.

"Six hundred."

Azhriel raised the bid again, not even blinking.

The nobles inside Lounge 9 looked visibly annoyed.

The eldest among them, likely the leader, tried to calm the others. "Relax. We need that herb. Losing patience won’t help." His voice was even, but his eyes were sharp with restrained anger.

"Seven hundred."

"Seven hundred and one," Azhriel countered instantly.

The host’s eyes gleamed with amusement. "Oh-ho! The atmosphere is heating up! Don’t stop now, dear guests—let’s see how far your passion burns!"

"Seven hundred and fifty!"

"Eight hundred and one."

The crowd began murmuring in excitement as the bids flew back and forth. Some nobles chuckled under their breath, entertained by the subtle feud between the two VIP rooms.

Then Elizabeth, who had been quiet until now, turned her blue eyes to Azhriel. "Say, Azh," she began with a small smirk, "did they do something to offend you?"

"Huh? No, not really." Azhriel tilted his head slightly, pretending to look confused. "Why?"

"Because," Kevin said, leaning forward with a grin, "you’re clearly rage-baiting them. Every time they bid, you jump right in."

"Yeah," Sydelle added, laughing softly. "You’re making them spend three times more than they need to."

"True," Raymond said with a knowing look. "You haven’t interfered with any of our bids... only theirs."

Azhriel’s lips curved into a faint, mischievous smile. "Maybe I just don’t like their faces."

The group chuckled.

"Yeah, sure," Chloe said. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

The host’s excited voice pulled their attention back.

"One thousand gold coins!"

A soft murmur ran through the crowd. That price was already beyond the normal value for Harzhmer.

And then, without hesitation, Azhriel’s voice echoed again—calm, unhurried, but sharp.

"One thousand and one."

The hall went quiet for a beat, and then a ripple of laughter spread. The audience was enjoying the duel far too much.

The nobles in Lounge 9 gritted their teeth.

"Two thousand gold coins!" their leader barked finally, his patience snapping.

The host clapped his hands. "Two thousand gold! What an incredible bid! Two thousand one... two thousand two... two thousand three—Sold! To VIP Lounge 9!"

Thunderous applause filled the air as the final chime signaled the sale.

Inside Lounge 9, however, there was no celebration.

"Damn it," one of them hissed. "What’s the use of that herb now? We spent ten times its worth!"

The leader exhaled heavily, his jaw tight with irritation. "He’s toying with us."

Meanwhile, in Azhriel’s lounge, he sat back, his expression unreadable—but the faint twitch at the corner of his lips betrayed his mood.

’Heh. I’m enjoying this a bit too much.’

He could almost picture their faces—red with frustration, teeth clenched, trying not to lose composure.

It was too easy to push their buttons, especially when he already knew who they were and how desperate they’d be for this item.

"Remind me again," Kevin said with a laugh, "why are we even friends with this guy?"

"Because he’s too good at what he does," Sydelle said, smirking.

"Yeah," Alicia added dryly, "too good at causing trouble."

Azhriel only smiled faintly, his eyes glowing a soft azure under the dim light as he leaned back in his seat, watching the next item being rolled onto the stage.

He had no regrets. If anything, the night had only just begun.

"Now, time for the next bid for you all folks." The host said as he removed the cloth from the item.

"It’s the property that had been for sale. It belonged to a noble before however due to some circumstances, they are selling it." He explained.

"The bid’s starting price is 1000 Golds. So let’s hear it." The host said.

"Eleven Hundred" The Lounge 9 called again.