Cavendish sat between Raymond and me, listening to our childish bickering. His face stayed blank, and he kept silent. Suddenly, his nose twitched. His expression jolted. “Orca Beast—an Orca Beast eye! I’m refining a high-grade vigor potion and I’m short that exact material. Raymond, why wasn’t this in the catalog you gave me?”

“Uh, the Red Wolf Mercenary Group delivered it this morning, so we didn’t have time to inform you, Master.”

I cut off the squabble with Raymond and looked down, curious. Staffers were carrying a sealed iron box onto the stage. The host began the pitch. “Ladies and gentlemen, inside is the eye of an Orca Beast. It’s a high-grade alchemical material and a prized tonic. Eating it dispels accumulated fatigue and sharply boosts spirit. Orca Beasts are A-class monsters from the deep sea, extremely hard to hunt. Even with money, you can’t find them. Starting bid: one thousand standard gold coins, minimum raise one hundred.”

Yikes, that’s pricey. You could buy several big villas in Saxton City with that. But the host had barely finished when a bid rang out. “Eleven hundred!”

“Twelve hundred!”

“Three thousand,” came Cavendish’s low voice from our box.

No wonder he’s a master alchemist—loaded.

After a brief silence, another box called, “Three thousand five.”

“Five thousand,” Cavendish said, without even blinking.

The hall went quiet. About a minute later, a staffer arrived with the iron box. “Master, here’s the Orca Beast eye you won. Please inspect.”

Cavendish lifted the lid, and a rank, fishy stench drifted out. He shut it quickly and nodded with satisfaction. “Good quality. I’ll settle the payment in the next few days.”

“Master’s credit is guaranteed. No problem.”

Five thousand on tab—looks like a master alchemist’s standing really is exalted.

Raymond piped up with a fawning grin. “Master, your consignments are coming up. Would you like—”

“I’ll go down and introduce them myself.” Cavendish dropped the line and left the box alone.

That left me, Raymond, and two alchemists. They were Cavendish’s disciples, quiet as shadows, almost no presence. Raymond didn’t care about them. He stared at me with venom. “Rylin, so what if you’re a Mage? Think you can offend our Scott Clan and walk away fine? Listen. My second sister married Prince Rui two years ago. You know Prince Rui, right? The top contender for the next throne. Three of the Seven Electors have openly pledged support, including the Duke of Saxton. When the time comes, our Scott Clan will be imperial kin, with power through the roof—”

“Okay, okay. I’m not into your power games. Don’t try to scare me. One line: if you’re not convinced, duel me. If you don’t dare, quit yapping.”

“Fine! You’ve got guts. Just you wait!” Raymond’s fat trembled when he got mad. It was almost funny.

Cavendish had already stepped onto the stage. Applause broke out before he spoke—respect for strength. He bowed slightly in thanks, then began in his steady tone. “The next three products were crafted by me, at the cost of countless precious materials. I’d like to introduce them myself. If you have questions, ask anytime. This red potion is a slimming draught. It suits those troubled by weight or women postpartum. It reduces weight drastically in a short time with no side effects, and also enhances the bust…”

No way could I afford a master’s work—I was just here for the spectacle. Watching a small bottle of miracle weight-loss go for two thousand gold, I had to admit: women care about figure in every world.

All three items sold well. Cavendish came back to our box, looking pleased. I jumped at the chance. “Master, about the Skin Mask—could I pay later?”

Cavendish pondered seriously, then said, “I can tell your grasp of truth runs deep. Do you have time later? I’d like a private talk. If we can be friends, everything will be easy to arrange.”

A “private talk” means only the two present. Between Mages, it usually comes with a soundproofing spell to prevent eavesdropping. I didn’t know what the old fox wanted, but I needed a favor, so I wouldn’t refuse.

Raymond heard we were going to have a private talk, and his face went ugly—as if he’d swallowed crap. He couldn’t step in to stop it, though.

Soon, the auction hit its finale: a ruby necklace sealed with defensive magic. It was crafted by Bell Collins, one of the inner council—an Archmage of Azure Flame. On sensing danger, it auto-triggers and forms a level-9 defensive shield clinging to the body. It has three charges in total.

The hall erupted. A literal life-saver. Nobles and tycoons fear assassination most. Pre-stored magic items are extremely rare. Only an Archmage can craft them.

The Mages Association has over sixteen hundred members. More than half are apprentices. Around six hundred are full Mages. But there are only twelve Archmages. Each has an honorific. They are humanity’s apex—feared by Demonkin and revered by commoners.

Usually, Archmages aren’t keen on making such items. The process is complex, and the failure rate is high. That’s why the necklace was extra precious.

“Ten thousand!”

“Ten-two!”

“Fifteen thousand!”

Bids went crazy, like those numbers were cabbages, not coins. Money can be earned. Lose your life, and it’s all gone. Besides, these magic items last for centuries. If you never use it, you pass it to your son. He passes it to his son. A family heirloom. Miss today’s auction, and you may never see such a life-saving relic again.

I couldn’t afford it, but my heart itched. Turns out Archmages rake it in. If only my cheap master had left me a heap of gold, I wouldn’t be this broke.

In the end, some big shot in a box took the necklace. The auction concluded. Cavendish rose calmly. “Lord Black, please join me at the inn. Let’s talk about universal truth together.”