The bishop remained silent, looking Cale up and down.
Meanwhile, the auctioneer’s voice resonated from beyond the curtain. “Lot Number 1 is a fountain pen with a lovely feather. The feather is, as you might expect, the remains of a beautiful beastfolk individual.”
The voice was loud enough to break the silence in Terrace 1.
“How much do you want?”
The servant’s dry voice echoed inside the terrace. He’d broached the topic of the deal almost arrogantly, his question all but confirming that he was indeed the bishop. He said nothing more after that. For the bishop, who’d lived through all sorts of experiences, the questions of who Cale was or if he truly possessed the item weren’t important; the only thing that mattered was a single line in Cale’s invitation.
Do you wish to own a divine artifact?
The sentence written underneath it lent the invitation further credibility:
I am in possession of the Night’s Exultation that the pope had hidden away. Buy it from me.
The bishop had known the late pope to be a greedy man, hence his offering up the Night’s Exultation. He also knew the pope kept all his treasures in a secret location. Was it possible that a divine artifact had been stashed there as well? The bishop yearned to succeed the pope; he was just waiting for the right opportunity to seize the position.
He continued to observe the man in the white mask. His guest had yet to answer his question about the item’s price.
Slowly, Cale’s lips parted. “They say that unlike normal items, which are corrupted when they come into contact with dead mana, the Night’s Exultation shines even brighter.”
The bishop sighed; the masked man was spewing nonsense. “What? You want to take your Night’s Exultation and test it against the fake one in the temple?”
Cale scoffed and shook his head. “What a terrible personality you have, old man.”
“It’s a natural consequence of getting older.”
The priest flinched, but he didn’t turn to look over his shoulder. Instead, he stood there without making a peep, pretending to be unaware of the chat between the bishop in servant’s clothes and the intruder.
“How much do you want?” No sooner had the bishop repeated his question than the Night’s Exultation appeared before his eyes.
“I guess you don’t suspect that I’m a spy from the Empire?” Cale asked.
The bishop’s answer was blunt. “Spy or not, you’re still a merchant offering his wares in this exchange.”
That was true enough. Whether Cale was a spy from the Empire or not, the bishop cared more about the chance to recover the Night’s Exultation and purchase a divine artifact.
This guy is smart.
Cale liked the bishop quite a bit. Nevertheless, he didn’t correct the man’s misjudgment. Cale was no merchant—he was a hunter. He would toss out pieces of bait one by one and lure his prey into a trap.
The divine artifact was his first proffered temptation. The bishop would definitely purchase the Night’s Exultation to get his hands on a divine artifact. He needed to forge a connection with Cale.
It was then that Cale asked, “How much?”
“What?!” The bishop cackled in disbelief—this punk was telling him to suggest a starting price. Deep down, the bishop approved. Why? Because the merchant understood who held the upper hand in this discussion. The masked man knew he was the one in control, so he was putting pressure on the bishop. And the bishop liked a man of intellect. Rational people recognized what they stood to gain better than anyone else, which made them easier to handle.
“Five billion.”
He’d started out with five billion, a reasonable sum for the Night’s Exultation. The jewel had cost the same amount when it was originally found, so if one considered how long ago that discovery took place, the bishop’s offer was astronomical.
Yet Cale stood firm. “How much?”
“Six,” the bishop shot back without missing a beat.
Thus, the bidding between the two of them began.
“How much?”
“Seven.”
Negotiations were even-keeled. From beyond the terrace, they could hear the auctioneer’s voice.
“All right, we have three hundred million counds! Any other bids? Oho! An extra thousand counds!”
In perfect rhythm, Cale asked again, “How much?”
The two words Cale kept repeating over and over made the priest anxious. Though he kept his eyes glued to the curtained-off section in front of him, he practically jumped every time Cale spoke.
“Eight.”
The priest gasped at the bishop’s response. Both the bishop and the intruder were making it hard for him to breathe.
“How much?”
The bishop could tell that the man in front of him was growing bored. “Ten billion.”
Ten billion counds. Although this offer doubled the original selling price, the bishop could see in the masked man’s eyes that it wasn’t enough.
Before Cale could open his mouth, the bishop spoke again. “Fifteen.” He was bidding the value of the Night’s Exultation in exchange for the divine artifact and the pope’s position. “However, I can’t give you any more than a lump sum of ten billion.”
“How much?”
Sucking in a breath, the bishop gave Cale a sour look. “Is that the only thing you know how to say? You’re supposed to respect your elders, you little punk.” While his words were chastising, the bishop’s tone was gentle. Affectionate, even.
Nevertheless, Cale wasn’t one to be fooled by such an act. Tired of speaking, Cale asked with his gaze alone this time: How much?
The bishop raised his hands in defeat. “Twenty.”
They heard the priest gulp, no doubt flabbergasted by the price.
“That’s my limit,” the bishop said with a tired shake of his head. He wanted to convince Cale that he was telling the truth, but Cale had learned something during his time as Kim Roksu. His former team leader had given him this hint: “The corrupt can handle one more push.”
It was sound advice and almost always turned out to be right.
“How much?”
“You son of a bitch.”
The bishop swore, but Cale didn’t care; he’d heard all sorts of curses directed at him when he was Kim Roksu. Corrupt bastards always resorted to profanity in a pinch.
The bishop closed his eyes before he spoke again. “Twenty-two billion.”
“Twenty-three.”
“You coldhearted scumbag.”
The sale of the Night’s Exultation was settled at twenty-three billion counds. The bishop rubbed his weary face.
Cale remembered one more thing his team leader had said during his time as Kim Roksu…
“If they’re corrupt and they have a lot of money, you can try hitting them one more time, just to see what happens.”
But Cale didn’t plan to do so with the bishop.
“If you can use them later, though, make sure to give them some breathing room.”
Since he intended to put the bishop to use, he had no reason to rip him off entirely and destroy their relationship. His thoughts focused on the future, Cale watched the bishop call the priest over. The priest turned around at last and handed over a small coin pouch.
“Here,” the bishop said, tossing the pouch to Cale. “Ten billion counds.”
“You came prepared. I expected nothing less, Your Excellency,” Cale said politely, as if he had never ditched formalities in the first place.
The bishop clicked his tongue in response.
Then Cale tacked on one more comment: “I’ll see you once more in the future.”
That brought a smile to the bishop’s face. To his ears, Cale had promised to meet him again and bring the divine artifact.
Cale took a piece of paper out of his pocket and placed it on the table. It contained the address to send the remaining thirteen billion counds. Rustle. The curtain opened, and Cale disappeared from the terrace with the coin pouch in hand.
The priest, who’d pretended to be anxious throughout the interaction, calmly rose to his feet. His composed expression matched the frigid look on the bishop’s face—in fact, it was even colder.
“Go investigate that white-haired man.”
The “bishop” posing as a servant bowed his head. “Yes, Your Excellency.”
Click, click. The servant activated a magic device in his chest pocket, and his features changed into those of a forty-year-old man. His scarred face looked as if it belonged to an assassin.
The “priest” settled into the chair and leaned back, accepting the magic device from his servant. With a single click, his appearance morphed into the elderly bishop’s.
Brushing his cheek with his fingertips, he griped, “I hate touching this wrinkly mug.” His voice had taken on the throatiness of age as well. “It’s also rough pretending to be old. But he doesn’t seem to know I killed the former bishop, right?”
“No, Your Excellency.”
“Start the investigation in Faern, since he has white hair.”
“Yes, sir.”
With that, the bishop touched the magic device once more.