"…"
Lorenzo narrowed his eyes and gave the attendant a deep glance before turning his head to look out at the entire auction hall through the one-way glass.
After a brief bustle, the spectators—like naked swimmers in retreat—were gradually leaving, while a few small boats filled with lingering hopes continued furiously chasing treasures they could never catch.
The bidding had reached five million, but for the Heart Blood of Antient Dragon, this price was far from worthy.
Based on market value, five million might only purchase a single drop of Heart Blood of Antient Dragon.
But here, there were ten drops.
Furthermore, items like Heart Blood of Antient Dragon always exist in scarcity, even when they have a price.
"And the price..."
"It's naturally the amount you bid. Spend as much as you wish."
"Heh, and your boss—so generous?"
Considering the current pace of the auction, Lorenzo estimated that the bidding might conclude around eight or nine million, and the dragon heart blood could be secured directly.
This was far lower than his initial estimate.
Originally, he'd come with a sense of righteous indignation, yet upon realizing he was actually gaining an advantage, he found himself somewhat unsettled.
"My boss said, in business, friendships is paramount. Conveniently, your Red Flame Gang, as one of the major factions in Lower City District, qualifies as a potential ally."
The attendant pressed one hand to his chest and bowed respectfully.
"Of course, whether you can grasp this opportunity is entirely up to you and has nothing to do with us."
"Hah! My Red Flame Gang isn’t so inept that we’d choke on meat handed straight to our mouths."
Lorenzo sneered and then waved his hand, dismissing the attendant. "In that case, pass on my regards to your boss. Say that this favor, the Red Flame Gang gladly accepts."
"Naturally, that shall be done."
The attendant quietly withdrew.
One of Lorenzo's confidants hurried over, expressing concern.
"Boss, isn’t this seemingly too good to be true? Could there be a hidden trap here?"
"If there is, so what? Can we afford not to comply? Do you dare defy the orders of the superior lord? Without the dragon heart blood, we'd just have to resort to kidnapping again—damn it, how many people are even left for us to kidnap? No matter how chaotic Lower City District is, it’s still beneath the emperor’s feet!"
Lorenzo picked up the red wine the attendant had delivered earlier, glancing at its label. He couldn't help but sneer.
"Wine from the Locke Estate, huh? Figures it's the kind of thing those aristocrats fancy."
"Boss... Do you think the rumors that the black market is secretly controlled by Belland’s most powerful nobles might actually be true?" the confidant asked, doubting.
"Rumors? That’s no rumor, you idiot. It’s an unsaid truth everyone avoids acknowledging. During the previous crackdowns, only the black market emerged unscathed. If that 'boss' didn’t hold a noble title at least as grand as Count, Baron, or Duke, even street rats wouldn’t believe it."
Lorenzo roughly knocked the cork off the wine bottle, gulping down several sips, then suddenly swung the bottle hard, smashing it with a loud crash, cursing:
"Damn, sour and astringent! I’ll never understand what’s so good about this dainty, lady-like crap. Twenty thousand a bottle? Ha, for twenty thousand, I could rent a curvy, sexy, long-legged gal until I got tired of her!"
He plopped down on the sofa, sprawling lazily as his gaze roamed over the slow climb in bidding within the hall. His fingers rhythmically tapped against the armrest, an unreadable expression on his face. He muttered:
"Even if that boss has some kind of conspiracy or something, we have no choice. This dragon heart blood must be secured!"
"Don’t worry, boss. As that attendant said, without leaking the information that dragon heart blood is available, those attending this auction must be small fry. What could they possibly use to compete with our Red Flame Gang?"
"Hah, true enough," Lorenzo scoffed lightly, smirking before slapping a hand against his confidant’s head.
"Why are you dawdling? That hot chick's already hammering away! Hurry up and bid!"
"Oh, right!" The confidant grabbed the auction paddle but hesitated, glancing back nervously.
"Boss, how much should we bid?"
"What’s the current bid?"
"Seven million and five hundred thousand."
"Seven million and five hundred thousand..." Lorenzo stroked his chin thoughtfully, then smirked.
"In that case, let’s make things exciting. Bid ten million right away and teach these country bumpkins a lesson in sophistication!"
...
...
"This feels... too cheap."
Observing the bids from those below, Moen couldn’t help but suspect that perhaps the dragon heart blood on sale might be counterfeit.
Several million for ten whole drops of dragon heart blood—was such a good deal even possible?
Aren't auctioned items supposed to command premiums?
Unless it’s an unusual treasure so unique that even the auction cannot accurately appraise it—how could an item sell for such a bargain?
"Moreover, thinking further, dragon heart blood suddenly popping up at this tier of auction already seems odd."
The previous items for sale, even the highest-priced ones, had fetched just three million—for ten sets of enchanted armor.
But that was nothing compared to the dragon heart blood, which sat on an entirely different level.
Even if the auction wanted deliberately to highlight one piece of treasure, the contrast between featured product and filler still felt overly stark.
And really—did they expect this crowd of penny-pinchers, trembling over hundred-thousand-dollar bids, to even appreciate such magnificence?
Moen examined the crowd below. Through the room’s special visual angle, he could notice many attendees scanning the auction frantically, tracking bidders like celebrity paparazzi hell-bent on exposing the truth beneath disguises.
"Truly worthy of being called the black market," Moen muttered, stroking his chin, a flicker of amusement crossing his face.
Compared to the tense unseen rivalry within the venue now, the aftermath following this auction would undoubtedly be the true spectacle.
"If that’s the case, to avoid risking unwanted attention, I shouldn’t directly bid for the dragon heart blood."
Although money wasn’t an issue for him, being targeted by so many parties over an auctioned item absolutely spelled danger.
Gambling his safety for something easily purchased felt entirely unjustifiable.
"Still… Watching someone else snag such a steal does feel a bit annoying, doesn’t it?" Moen grinned wickedly.
Watching others profit off opportunities—almost worse than losing money myself.
In that case, stirring some chaos seems appropriate.
...
...
"Ten million! From the secretive Guest No. 1 in the private booth, bidding one million!"
The fairy auctioneer's seductive voice, amplified through magical loudspeakers, reverberated across the venue, rekindling the once-cold atmosphere.
Everyone audibly gasped, murmuring in awe at Guest No. 1’s audacious display—directly raising the bid by two hundred fifty thousand!
That alone could buy two and a half Tear of True Love!
Curious gazes turned toward the concealed booth, wondering what kind of towering figure stood capable of such extravagance—a name surely prominent within high society.
Unfortunately, the tinted one-way glass veiled all prying eyes, leaving only speculation in its place.
"Guest No. 1 bids one million. Any other guests wish to continue bidding?" The fairy auctioneer swept her gaze across the room.
But soon realized that this burst of heated excitement was fleeting—born not from genuine interest but intimidation.
Many potential bidders—overwhelmed—simply hesitated to report any amount.
"Is this the end bidding price?" she murmured, biting her lip in reluctant frustration.
Although management had stated beforehand that dragon heart blood didn’t need extravagant bids this round, professionally it left her indignant.
For an auctioneer, selling anything below baseline valuation was mortifying—a blemish on one's career.
Yet she felt powerless.
This venue, hastily assembled via simple street-side fliers, clearly hadn’t attracted players of substance.
Reluctance—and defeat—mixed bitterly within her sighs as she raised the gavel to finalize bidding procedures.
"Ten million—going once…
"Ten million—going twice…
"Ten million—going thr—"
"Wait."
A voice interrupted—familiar yet spine-tingling, laced with aristocratic arrogance and the overpowering swagger of ridiculous wealth.
"Guest 88 bids…"
