"One hundred million!"
Lorenzo's bold and domineering voice swept through the auction hall, like the arrival of a real storm, causing everyone's breath to catch inadvertently and their faces to show expressions of shock.
One billion!
That’s one billion!
If converted to paper money, it could pile up into a literal mountain worth of bills!
For most of those present, they had never in their lives grasped just how immense a figure one billion truly was. After all, in Belland's Lower City District, the most abundant things were the sewer rats—and even if every single rat was counted, it still wouldn’t come close to one billion.
Even the fairy hostess froze in astonishment.
Of course she had hoped the bids would keep rising—higher and higher.
But she hadn’t expected Lorenzo to straight-up offer one hundred million!
She had hosted countless auctions, but never had any item managed to break the one-hundred-million mark.
Now, that record had been shattered!
The fairy hostess trembled with excitement, yet her enchanting eyes weren’t focused on Lorenzo, the man who had just thrown out the one-hundred-million bid. Instead, her gaze locked tightly onto the mysterious Room 88.
She knew full well that Lorenzo’s ability to offer one hundred million wasn’t due to her own skill as a provocateur—it could only be credited to the enigmatic presence in Room 88.
From the moment that slip of paper with "Continue the auction" was passed up from the floor, she had foreseen that this person wasn’t simple. And now, like everyone else, she was eager to see whether Room 88 would continue to escalate the bidding.
At this moment, all eyes in the auction hall focused on Room 88, eagerly awaiting the next round of bidding.
"One hundred million already, huh?"
After a long silence, a leisurely voice echoed once more. It was tinged with a hint of regret and disappointment, and it sighed:
"I truly cannot afford one hundred million. You win, Mr. Lorenzo. The Heart Blood of the Ancient Dragon is yours."
"Whoa—"
The crowd let out an audible gasp.
Room 88 had conceded!
This meant that the competition for the Heart Blood of the Ancient Dragon had officially concluded, with the ultimate victor being Room 1: Lorenzo of the Red Flame Gang.
"As expected of Lorenzo—his sheer dominance is truly awe-inspiring."
"To casually fork out one hundred million in cash, the Red Flame Gang’s clout is undeniable."
"That mysterious Room 88 ultimately couldn’t measure up, huh?"
"Is this really where it all ends?"
The fairy hostess also shook her head in lament, though her face quickly lit up with a dazzlingly charming smile as she raised the auction hammer.
"I hereby declare that the Heart Blood of the Ancient Dragon, at a final price of one hundred million, belongs to our distinguished guest from Room 1!"
...
"Ha-ha-ha-ha! Compete with me? With ME?"
Inside Room 1, as the dust settled and he basked in the astonished gazes of the crowd, Lorenzo couldn’t help but laugh arrogantly, hands on his hips.
Though the opaque one-way glass blocked others from seeing inside, Lorenzo could imagine the stunned look of Room 88’s occupant, cowed by his overwhelming aura of supremacy.
Compete with me? I’ve got one hundred million—do you?
You have nothing.
In the end, isn’t the Heart Blood of the Ancient Dragon mine anyway?
Frustrated? Humiliated?
Are you seething watching me spend one hundred million to shame you in front of everyone?
Seething or not, doesn't matter—I'm the winner!
"Truly impressive, Mr. Lorenzo."
Just as Lorenzo was reveling in his triumph, the voice from Room 88 spoke again—this time filled with genuine admiration:
"A hundred million bid right off the bat? Looks like the fifty million I brought wasn’t even close to being enough."
Huh?
Lorenzo’s triumphant grin froze abruptly.
The astonished gazes of the crowd shifted as well.
Even the fairy hostess who was about to shower Lorenzo with praise, nearly bit her tongue when she heard the remark.
What did he just say?
How much did he bring?
Over fifty million?
Does that mean...
"Sigh, I thought I’d give it a shot, but now it’s clear I was too naive. Compared to someone like Mr. Lorenzo, who can easily whip out one hundred million on a whim, a poor soul like me scraping together just over fifty million is utterly insignificant.
Truly, this world is full of people more exceptional than we might imagine."
Number 88’s voice was full of sincerity. "Thank you, Mr. Lorenzo, for teaching me this valuable lesson."
Thank him... for being a colossal sucker?
"..."
At that moment, a wave of silence swept over the auction hall.
Yet, within this silence, everything began to shift.
The crowd felt as if the unfolding drama was straight out of a novel, as their eyes drifted toward Room 1 with an almost palpable sense of pity—as if Lorenzo were the tragic heroine of a story, swindled out of her fortune and dignity.
Sure, throwing down one hundred million with flair was undeniably impressive...
But losing over fifty million in the process? Absolutely pitiful.
"You son of a—!"
Inside his room, Lorenzo furiously picked up the couch beneath him with one hand and hurled it violently at the glass pane in front.
The glass shattered instantly. Yet through the cracks, Lorenzo found himself meeting those peculiar gazes—some strange, some pitying—which only stoked his burning rage further.
At this point, he fully understood he’d been thoroughly played!
Room 88 never had any intention of purchasing the Ancient Dragon’s Heart Blood.
Their sole purpose was to infuriate him!
"Bastard! I’ll kill you for this!"
His bloodshot eyes locked onto Room 88. If he could, he’d drag them out this moment and hack them to pieces!
Never in his life had he suffered such humiliation!
"Boss, you can’t act rashly here!"
Terrified that Lorenzo might truly lose control and do something irreparable, his trusted aide hurried up, clasping his waist tightly to restrain him.
"Get lost!"
Lorenzo sent his aide flying with a single kick. "I’m not stupid enough to do that!"
After all, this was the turf of the black market’s top players. Even he wasn't foolish enough to break the rules here.
Moreover...
Lorenzo’s sharp gaze shifted toward the ordinary seating areas below.
Although faint, he could detect a glimmer of true greed hiding amidst the pitying or schadenfreude-filled expressions.
"These mangy dogs dare to covet what’s mine?"
Taking a deep breath, Lorenzo quickly suppressed his rage.
To rise to his position in the chaotic Lower City District, he’d always known better than to act impulsively.
There was no room for the reckless one in a place like that; rash behavior meant a quick death.
"I’ll settle this score later—for now, the priority is securing the Heart Blood."
Without hesitation, he strode out of his room, intending to finalize the deal and leave before anyone dared act against his prize.
As he stepped into the dark corridor, he suddenly turned back toward the depths of the hallway.
Room 88, the source of his grinding fury, lay tightly shut—completely silent.
"Just you wait; this isn’t over."
A flicker of malice shone in his eyes before he turned away.
"Leave two men here to keep watching. The rest of you, go with me."
...
...
"My, such a temper."
When the couch came flying out of Room 1, Moen couldn’t help but flinch slightly in surprise.
Bless his heart, Moen wasn’t exactly lying either.
He had genuinely intended to cap his bidding at around fifty or sixty million—after all, what if he actually ended up purchasing the Ancient Dragon’s Heart Blood? Who would've thought that Lorenzo, leader of the Red Flame Gang, would be this easy to goad—immediately upping the ante to one hundred million without hesitation?
"I thought he’d storm in here with a machete by now."
Watching Lorenzo go off in anger but refraining from vengeance, Moen only muttered in mild astonishment, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
It just goes to show—being the boss of a gang does require keeping a clear head in such moments.
"And now, the real show begins, doesn’t it?"
With Lorenzo gone, many others in the hall quickly began filing out as well—though their hurried movements made it abundantly clear they weren’t departing to throw Lorenzo a farewell party.
