The Golden Tree’s top floor—the highest spot in Vegas—was as quiet as a theater waiting for a play to start, although some whispers were audible down below.
Plavin, leader of the Sinten Merchant Guild, opened the door to R-3. Click.
The venue for the VIP auction contained five rows of seats, as well as additional VIP sections. The “R” designation indicated terraces from which one could see the auction platform and the seats below. There were eight of these terraces in the auction house, all labeled with the letter R. In addition to a comprehensive view of the platform, each had soundproofing, providing another layer of discretion beyond a regular seat.
Plavin approached Terrace 3, his features concealed by a mask encrusted with beautiful jewels. The curtains rustled as he tugged them open. Despite the short notice, he had little difficulty finding a seat in section R-3. The original seat assigned to the Sinten Merchant Guild—one of the top five merchant guilds in the Empire—was already among the eight terraces, so the number itself was unimportant.
“Shall I bring some tea, sir?” came a voice from behind Plavin, prompting him to turn around.
Auction participants could each bring one servant with them, but knights and mages were not permitted. Hence, the assassins’ guild’s second-in-command had accompanied Plavin as his attendant.
“No need.”
Plavin didn’t even bother to sit on the luxurious couch as he scanned the terrace, consumed by a single thought: Is he on Terrace 4? That bastard. Really, where could the lunatic with the Fire Crystal be?
The eight terraces were arranged in sets of two, but the thick walls between them made it difficult to know who was on the other side.
Just how are we going to meet?
Plavin’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. He had no indication as to how the other party would approach him. “Is Flynn Merchant Fleets on Terrace 4?” he asked the assassin.
“Yes, sir. They say the representative is Bilose, who’s second in line to take over.”
As guildmaster, Plavin had used every last connection in his information network to figure out who was on each of the eight terraces.
Is that Flynn heir the madman responsible for this?
Bilose, the bastard son of Flynn Merchant Fleets’ leader, was still young. More to the point, he’d never gone near the Empire’s Vatican, nor had he ever interacted with the pope.
Though it’s possible he did so without my knowledge…
Perhaps Plavin was underestimating Flynn Merchant Fleets, but his veteran instincts told him they weren’t involved. They simply weren’t at that level; he was all but certain of it. The “bastard” he sought had to be someone lurking in the shadows, someone whose identity would be much harder to suss out.
“It’s nearly time, sir. Why don’t you sit down for now?”
“Sure.”
The assassin’s comment made Plavin realize he’d been overly anxious. His face beneath the glamorous mask was taut with nerves.
Flynn Merchant Fleets’ successor has already entered Terrace 4, then.
Plavin had been the last person to enter the terraces; as soon as he’d stepped inside, the auction house staff had closed the door behind him. Talented swordsmen were due to stand guard outside the door.
They’re probably no match for that crazy bastard. Plavin resented the person blackmailing him, but he was desperate to find out who it was. Is this what it feels like to be led around by the nose?
After the events of last night, the merchant guild leader had changed his goal. Originally, he’d planned to expose the blackmailer and steal the necklace back, but now he wanted a deal. A mutually beneficial deal. If he could accomplish that, this meeting wouldn’t be too bad. Plavin made up his mind to put his years of mercantile know-how to good use.
He had no idea that the other party also anticipated a win-win in the exchange to come.
Drumbeats boomed through the auction house.
“It’s starting, sir.”
“Right.”
At the assassin’s remark, Plavin straightened and peered casually down at the platform. The event’s auctioneer, also wearing a fancy mask, walked onto the platform to the rhythm of the drum. “Pleasure to meet you, everyone,” he said into the magic amplification device. “Thank you all very much for joining us for this VIP auction in celebration of the New Year.”
Though the auctioneer spoke politely, his posture was by no means deferent. He oozed confidence as he launched into brief descriptions of the day’s wares, stoking the audience’s anticipation.
“Our VIP auction is famous for presenting one top item every day for each of the three days.” He then went on to outline the concept of this particular auction: “The theme this year is ‘beastfolk.’ Ah, but of course, we won’t put living people up for auction. We despise barbaric institutions such as slavery. Ha ha!”
The assassin snuck a peek at Plavin, who had risen to his position through the barbaric slave trade. Studying his charge’s calm demeanor, he pretended to be unaffected by the auctioneer’s quip.
“Now, we’ll start with item number one!”
As the audience applauded the start of the auction, the first item was carried up to the platform. Plavin did not clap, his gaze fixed firmly on the auction.
Clap, clap, clap.
Tap.
When he heard a distinct sound amid the applause, he froze. The assassin immediately slipped behind Plavin, clenching the dagger concealed in his chest pocket. The faint noise had come from the railing—as if someone had landed on it in order to enter the terrace.
“The starting bid is one hundred million counds!”
Just as Plavin heard the auctioneer’s enthusiastic voice… Whish! The curtains closed, seemingly of their own volition. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from them.
Click.
The lock on the terrace’s inner door clicked into place by itself as well. Still, he didn’t see any intruders. He clung to the magic shielding device in his chest pocket.
Though there was no one in sight, a voice reached Plavin’s ears. “You don’t need to activate your shield.”
He’s young. Indeed, it was the voice of a young man. Plavin’s hand trembled around the magic device in his grip.
Unconcerned, the man continued, “Bringing an assassin as your servant—isn’t that too vicious? Put that dagger away.”
The assassin behind Plavin sucked in a breath. The two of them were thinking the exact same thing: He’s a master. This invisible man had to be a skilled and powerful practitioner.
Plavin gaped, wide-eyed, as the table in front of him began to move. Clunk.
“Why are you so shocked?”
A white-haired man materialized out of thin air, arms crossed as he sat on the edge of the table. Beneath a mask the same snowy shade as his hair, the man’s clear, blue eyes regarded Plavin.
Damn it! He’s got to be at least a highly skilled mage.
Plavin’s anxiety surged when he realized the man had been using invisibility magic, but the assassin was even more apprehensive.
He’s both a mage and a warrior.
This interloper had noticed that the assassin was about to draw his dagger; that alone signaled his familiarity with martial arts. He was a high-tier mage at minimum, and a fighter to boot. When the assassin thought about the man’s stealthiness, not to mention the red mist from the night before, he felt a headache coming on.