As the auction finally came to an end and the crowd dispersed one after another, Moen slowly sauntered out of his private booth.

By this time, the attendant was already waiting respectfully outside.

"Honored guest, these are the items you successfully bid on."

On a silver tray lay a gemstone box adorned with gold, emanating an air of opulence. Moen casually opened the box, revealing the pink teardrop-shaped gemstone that symbolized true love, nestled quietly against the red lining inside. Even without illumination, its brilliance remained breathtaking.

"Very good."

Without bothering to verify its authenticity, Moen trusted that the auction house wouldn’t be foolish enough to tamper with matters in such an environment. He nonchalantly pocketed the gem.

Just as he was about to pay, however, the attendant spoke with deference:

"Sir, as an apology for our previous misconduct, this gem is yours free of charge."

"Oh? Weren’t you already giving me a twenty percent discount earlier?"

"But sir, apart from this gemstone, you’ve purchased nothing else, have you?"

The attendant, wiping sweat off his forehead, murmured in a low voice:

"This is the boss’s decision. He wishes to make your acquaintance."

"The boss?"

Moen quirked an eyebrow.

He wasn’t surprised by the behind-the-scenes owner's gesture. Earlier, he had warned the attendant to remain discreet, ensuring no fourth person discovered that the auction house had a "big fish" like him. The so-called three aware individuals included himself, the attendant, and the boss behind the attendant.

After all, this was the boss's territory—such a matter could hardly escape their notice. What Moen hadn’t anticipated was how swiftly the boss acted.

"Do all you underworld folks enjoy making friends this much?" he asked.

"The more friends one has, the wider the network, right? For people like us, who dwell in the shadows, lacking a broad network often means taking a fall."

"Fair enough."

Moen patted the attendant on the shoulder.

"Then I, as the son of Duke Raymond, shall accept your friendship. Remember to give me a discount next time."

"Certainly, absolutely."

The attendant nodded fervently like a pecking bird, though his lowered expression twitched involuntarily.

The son of Duke Raymond?

Who are you trying to fool!

We just checked using our intelligence network. The so-called paragon of nobility, Duke Raymond’s son, returned to his estate long ago alongside the Duke.

If you’re going to fabricate a tale, at least make it plausible! Claiming to be the son of Duke Campbell might’ve been somewhat believable!

…

…

At the entrance to the auction house, a seductive woman stood, beaming warmly as she bowed and greeted each departing or arriving guest, seemingly tireless.

As Moen walked past her, she lowered her head and muttered softly:

"Most of those people from earlier headed west."

"Thank you."

Moen nodded without pausing, departing quickly.

After taking just one step, however, he suddenly felt someone stopping him.

Turning back, he saw the heavily made-up woman clutching the hem of his clothing. Her deer-like eyes pooled with uneasy emotion, yet she summoned the courage to speak:

"I will leave this place and use the money you gave me to apply to the Rhine Women's Academy. I want to become a teacher."

"Is that so?"

Moen smiled. "That will be wonderful—good luck."

"Mm."

As if a sunrise had dawned or flowers had bloomed, all her anxiety and fear seemed to fade away. The woman released her grip, her gaze shining brightly as she nodded firmly.

"I will, sir."

…

…

Moen strolled leisurely along black market alleys as though on a casual walk, even stopping at a roadside stall to purchase a pair of binoculars allegedly capable of clearly observing women bathing from a kilometer away.

The black market, an underground space whose origins—natural or man-made—remained unclear, was vast yet spanned only several street blocks. Its layout was complex, but it was impossible to shake off the others' trail here.

Thus, Lorenzo’s immediate plan after securing the ancient dragon’s heart blood was undoubtedly to escape the black market. For him, Belland’s Lower City District was a battlefield much more familiar.

As for the greedy dogs eyeing an opportunity to betray and steal, they likely had similar ideas.

After all, the black market prohibited fighting. Engaging in combat here would be akin to slapping the face of the major forces backing the market, a move no one with half a brain would choose.

All Moen needed to do was confirm which exit they chose to leave by, then follow leisurely in their footsteps. Losing their trail was unlikely—after all, the black market had only a few exits.

Moreover…

Moen’s gaze swept across nearby shadows, where several furtive figures appeared to be mirroring his own tactic: trailing from a distance and sneaking forward bit by bit.

They wish to play mantis stalking the cicada, unaware of the lurking yellow sparrow?

A mischievous smile tugged at Moen’s lips.

The true sparrow may still be undetermined.

…

…

In the Lower City District, a group of fully armed men moved hastily through narrow, sewage-filled alleys. A homeless man startled awake by the commotion glanced blearily at the group before his sleep-ridden daze shifted to fear. Without hesitation, he scrambled to bury himself under a nearby pile of trash.

"Damn! Damn! Damn!"

Lorenzo’s expression grew grim and furious as he felt the relentless eyes glued to him like chewed-up gum, stubbornly stuck to his back and impossible to shake off.

He had underestimated the greed of these scavengers!

Initially, he thought that even if some dared covet the ancient dragon's heart blood, very few would actually risk pursuing him due to Red Flame Gang’s notorious name.

Yet since earlier, he’d sensed at least twenty distinct sets of spying eyes emanating from different directions!

And these were just the most foolish of them. The truly crafty and formidable ones remained at a distance, trying to position themselves as lurking sparrow waiting to reap the rewards.

"It’s alright, boss. Those scavengers might be disgusting, but they’re nothing more than stragglers. As long as they don’t join forces, they pose no threat to us."

Nearby, his aide scanned the surroundings and reassured:

"Besides, the odds of those greedy thugs working together are about as low as Miss Sers turning over a new leaf!"

"Miss Sers?"

"She’s the top one at the whorehouse on Elm Street—rumored to handle over twenty dockworkers in one night, affectionately nicknamed the Rhine River’s Loch Ness Monster."

The aide smacked his lips as if savoring a memory. "Her waist moves more enticingly than a coiling python."

"Damn it! I told you to stop frequenting such seedy places! Do you want to catch some disease and become a liability to me? Is that why I pay you?"

Lorenzo smacked the aide hard over the head, scolding furiously.

"Hehe, gotta save money for my sister’s medication," the aide replied, scratching his head nonchalantly.

"You’ll end up being dragged down by that sickly sister of yours someday!"

Lorenzo shot his aide a fierce glare. Yet, the absurd exchange had indeed helped alleviate his anxious mood.

The aide’s assessment wasn’t wrong—scavengers were merely scavengers. Unless they united into a pack, they could never become threatening wolves.

All Lorenzo needed to do was reach the Red Flame Gang’s turf. Once there, no one would dare snatch anything from his grasp!

With renewed determination, Lorenzo quickened his pace further.

It was then that a sudden chill swept through the air, like an invisible hand stirring thickening evening mists.

He heard a sharp whistle pierce the silence, indistinct and haunting as it floated through the dim alleyways.