Not that there was room for recovery when there were still other blows to be had.

The shield had gone to the mecha masters, who looked like rabid dogs foaming at the mouth every time someone else dared to lift a hand. It had taken seventy-two billion to pocket it. And while the price could have gone much higher, no one was foolish enough to keep bidding against them. To do so was practically signing up for a lifetime of sabotage and broken machines.

Therefore, everyone simply prayed. They prayed that the Master of Ceremonies would not, by some twist of cruelty, suddenly announce the end of the auction.

And sure enough, he didn't. Instead, he announced another item.

An S-grade Kite Wing.

A retractable blade-wing hybrid, designed for both offense and defense.

It was one of the prototype iterations Luca had once created for Sid's wings. Luca himself found no end of faults in it, dismissing it as imperfect, but clearly, the rest of the Empire did not share the same view.

The master mechanics, even those who usually needed canes to stand, were suddenly on their feet, eyes bulging. And then, out of nowhere, Duke Caius Azren slammed down a staggering first bid.

"Seventy-five billion!"

The crowd gasped.

But really, what else was the man supposed to do when his daughter, Leah, was giving him a look that promised his untimely demise if she did not get a replacement wing?

Still, his bid did not scare the others away. House Orell and House Aramont began tag-teaming with their bids, voices like dueling cannons.

The mecha masters joined in, raising the bid higher than eighty billion, when suddenly, the booth of House Azren opened. A wave of spiritual energy carried the Duke's voice across the hall.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, it may be presumptuous, but it is my daughter's birthday soon, and as an S-rank mecha pilot, I believe it would be a fitting gift. Granted, something like this should also pass by the hands of the mecha masters. And since it would certainly need to be maintained by an esteemed mechanic, we will absolutely seek the help of the masters."

The hall fell into a stunned silence.

Auctions were not meant for speeches. Certainly not speeches that pulled on people's consciences.

Which was exactly why Duke Zorath's booth slammed open a second later. His voice thundered across the top floor.

"Caius, you sly bastard! How is that fair? My family has S-rank children, too! What gives you the right to monopolize the Kite Wing with such sentimental tricks?"

"Unfair?" Duke Caius bellowed back, pointing in the direction of Zorath's booth with so much emotion. "It is my daughter's birthday! Haven't the birthdays of those children come to pass already?!"

The audience was in disbelief. Were they really arguing about birthdays at a time like this?

Duke Zorath roared, "If it lands in House Zorath, at least three pilots could use it immediately! Your daughter is only one person!"

"They're twins! So even if it's not Leah, it's also Leo's birthday! And if it lands in House Zorath, then only Master Allan will get his hands on it!" Caius countered viciously.

"You dare insult my retainer?!"

"You dare try to steal my daughter's present?!"

The booths shook as the two dukes shouted across the hall like quarreling merchants at a fish market, their words anything but noble.

Meanwhile, unnoticed in the chaos, House Aramont placed a sly bid.

"Eighty-one billion," Cinco Aramont called smoothly, as if he were ordering tea.

For a moment, no one noticed. The dukes were too busy foaming at the mouth at each other.

And then—

"Eighty-five billion!"

The roar came not from Azren or Zorath but from Duke Leander, who sounded like he was cursing the entire galaxy. The sheer volume of his shout was enough to shake both arguing dukes into silence.

The hall reeled.

Caius, ever quick, seized the opportunity. "Ninety billion!" he declared, his tone suddenly gracious. "And thank you, Duke Leander, for your assistance."

Leander's face soured like spoiled milk. He looked like he had been forced to buy rotten fish.

But there was no stopping it now. With intimidation that made even the patriarchs hesitate, and the clear sign that Duke Caius would throw in half a trillion if pushed, both Peyton Orell and Cinco Aramont reluctantly pulled back.

The Kite Wing was his.

"Sold! To Duke Caius Azren, for ninety billion!" Mitchel cried, his voice so hoarse it sounded like it had gone through three lifetimes of smoke and ash.

The gavel slammed down.

The audience collapsed in collective exhaustion.

But before they could breathe a sigh of relief, Mitchel lifted his trembling hand once more.

"And now… for the final item."

"..."

The silence was so heavy it crushed the hall.

Even those who had no hopes of ever colliding with the powerhouses of Solaris leaned forward, their eyes fixed on the stage. Opportunities like this did not come twice. When else would they be able to witness such unbelievable things unfold before their very eyes?

Mitchel cleared his throat with a flourish, drawing the room's focus. His voice rang out, smooth but edged with excitement.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the final item of this round. A masterpiece of modern forging: a Forged Sword with a Calibration Fidelity of 89% and a Durability of 91%."

A murmur rolled through the auction hall. That was already impressive. But Mitchel wasn't done.

"What makes this sword exceptional, however, is its very composition. Forged from a Voidfang alloy core, with an edge that has been phase-honed to perfection."

The screen flickered to life, showing a generic but sleek mecha wielding the weapon.

At first, it swung through ordinary metal plating. The blade slid through like it was that glorious butter under a hot knife. That earned a few appreciative nods. But then, the mecha turned to face something far more terrifying.

A barrage of spiritual attacks surged forward, waves of glowing energy slamming toward it. With one smooth arc, the Forged Sword cleaved them in half, dispersing the energy like smoke.

The audience gasped.

But that wasn't the end. Next came the photon cannons, brilliant beams lancing out like miniature suns. With nothing but that blade, the mecha intercepted them, slicing the light itself into ribbons that fizzled out harmlessly into the air.

Silence dropped over the auction hall. Heavy. Suffocating. Unbelieving.

Then, out of nowhere, a voice rang out. Confident, resounding, absurd.

"One hundred billion!"

Heads whipped around, jaws dropping. From the most unlikely of booths, no less.

It was Duke Victor Vantari.

He rose partway from his seat, chest puffed up, eyes wide with sudden inspiration. "Dominic is about to celebrate his birthday!" he declared with unshakable sincerity. "A gift like this will be good to celebrate all those years I have failed as a father!"

"…"

The hall went still, then rippled with the most bewildered silence yet.

Inside the Vantari booth, Dominic's face was a masterpiece of disbelief. Every eye in the hall was drawn to him as the booth curtain opened. The young man's stunned expression said everything: what in the world was happening, and since when had his father become a failure?!

And to make matters worse, Duke Victor even raised a trembling hand and attempted to dab at the sides of his eyes, as though this grandiose declaration of fatherly regret was touching enough to draw tears.

"!!!"

The room erupted into incredulous stares. Some nobles clutched their foreheads. Others nearly toppled out of their seats.

Because really… who weaponized repentant parenting as an auction tactic?