During the entire process of the auction, Aeren stayed almost completely silent. He did not speak a word as he waited for the sword Olivia wanted. Olivia was also quiet, lost in her own excitement about the blood she planned to ask from him later. Between them, a calm but heavy silence filled the room.
Aeren's eyes remained fixed on the stage.
Item after item appeared—artifacts, relics, treasures that all helped the world advance in some way. Many people bought items that would strengthen their families or kingdoms. But Aeren did not look away even for a moment. He was not watching for their sake. He was waiting to see if anything on that stage would have even the slightest connection to Reality—to the truth beyond the world, to the "nothingness" he knew existed behind everything.
Yet nothing appeared.
Not a single item resonated with him, not even faintly. He had expected very little—maybe a chance as small as 0.0001% that something related to reality would show itself. But to his disappointment, not one item in the auction connected to anything he sought.
On the stage,
"Dear guests of our auction," the host announced, her eyes drifting toward the VIP glass. She couldn't see through it, but she greeted it respectfully nonetheless, reminding everyone that honored individuals were watching. She then turned back to the hall, her smile bright and unwavering.
"Or rather—to all my guests tonight," she continued, her voice carrying easily across the room. "We have arrived at the final item of this auction. The most sought-after, most desired treasure—the very reason many of you are here."
She paused, letting silence settle over the hall. Hundreds of eyes locked onto her, but she didn't falter. Her smile only deepened.
"Our first and legendary hero, Daksh—an ascended man who tore open the heavens to climb beyond them—left behind one final relic…"
She lifted her hand slowly and gestured toward the center of the stage.
"A sword of absolute black, known simply as Blank."
The spotlight shifted, illuminating the sheathed blade standing upright on a pedestal. Even sealed, its presence spread through the hall. A subtle pressure—an ancient aura—brushed against every soul in the room. Its consciousness stirred faintly, like a sleeping beast acknowledging the eyes upon it. The seals held firm; no one here was in immediate danger.
Most of the guests were far too powerful to be harmed by a sword's mere aura. But still, the atmosphere shifted.
The sword's presence demanded respect.
And all eyes turned toward it.
People stared at the sword with awe shining in their eyes. Even sealed, its aura unfurled like a living pressure, brushing against every person in the hall. It wasn't hostile—it was commanding, demanding Recognition, urging them to bow before its very existence.
As the aura touched them, many felt a strange, instinctive respect rise in their chests. A few were mesmerised, unable to look away from the black blade. Low whispers began spreading through the hall.
"Oh, that's the sword the legendary hero Daksh used…" one man murmured, his voice trembling slightly.
"Yes. Daksh—the man who created this sword to protect humanity when monsters could wipe us out with a single strike," another added. "If not for him, humans would've gone extinct long ago."
A third leaned forward eagerly. "I heard a rumor that the sword has consciousness—like a spirit. It can sense people… even talk to them."
The first two men turned toward him, eyes widening. "Seriously?"
He nodded, proud of the information he remembered. "And there's something else. The sword hasn't accepted a single owner for centuries. They say it chooses by fate. Whoever manages to buy it—or even took it—it means the sword chose them."
Both of his friends stared at him in disbelief.
"What?! Why didn't you tell us this before?"
"I just told you now."
His tone was flat and unimpressed.
He then nodded toward the VIP room above. "And it doesn't matter anyway. Look around. We don't have a chance against the people up there."
All three men slowly turned their eyes to the mirror-like glass of the VIP suite.
Their shoulders dropped.
Their expressions sank.
And just like that, the hope of owning the legendary sword vanished from their hearts completely.
But their words were more than enough for Aeren. Even though they whispered among themselves, his ears caught every sentence with perfect clarity. And what he heard was exactly what he needed.
So the sword would accept whoever took it.
That meant he didn't need to buy it at all. He could simply walk up to the stage, put his hand on it, and the sword would be his—no exceptions, no resistance.
Who, exactly, would stop him?
Even if he stepped onto the stage right now… even if he killed a few humans in the way… no one here could touch him. No one would dare. Their minds wouldn't even survive the trauma of acting against someone like him.
Aeren glanced at the sword again, then at the woman speaking proudly to the crowd. The item would be revealed fully any moment now. He could walk down and take it whenever he wished.
But he didn't.
He remained seated.
He would wait for the bidding to begin. If he took the sword directly, Olivia might think he had put in no effort at all. And a gift should at least appear sincere. So Aeren stayed still, watching calmly, silently waiting for the auction to proceed—as if everything before him already belonged to him.
"All gentlemen and ladies of the auction, let us begin the bid for this—" She stopped.
A figure stepped onto the stage before she could finish her sentence. A young man—strikingly handsome—appeared as if he had simply materialised there. She had never seen such a face before. His silver hair caught the lights of the hall, glowing faintly, and as he walked closer, she found herself unable to look away.
Her breath hitched.
Her pulse jumped.
He approached, closing the distance with unhurried grace.
"Excuse me, my lady," he said softly. "May I borrow your position for a moment?"
His voice—calm, deep, and perfectly smooth—sent a warm tremor through her chest. She felt her cheeks heat instantly.
"Ah—o-of course, my good sir," she managed, forcing her hormones under control with a quick surge of magic. She steadied her voice, though she was clearly flustered.
The young man smiled at her response, a gentle, polite curve of his lips.
She stepped aside, moving behind the stage.
But she couldn't help herself—she glanced back at him once… twice… three times. Her eyes wanted to linger on him longer, wanted to drink in that impossible beauty. But she stopped herself.
Because the moment he stepped onto the stage, she felt it—pressure.
The auras of the VIP room and the elders in the hall spiked sharply, reacting to him. Danger swelled in the air, a silent warning only she seemed to notice.
She knew better than to stay close.
If she remained near him… she feared she might never walk away.
So she withdrew, even while every instinct begged her to look at him one more time.
Aeren watched the commotion on stage with a faint smile, genuinely amused by the unexpected drama. He didn't move from his seat; he simply observed, waiting to hear what the silver-haired man would say. From his perspective, the picture was already perfectly clear. A thin, vivid string connected the man directly to the sword. Aeren understood the meaning instantly.
So that's it. The sword has already chosen him.
The sword's intention was obvious—its consciousness wanted that man as its next wielder. And to Aeren, that was perfect. It meant he didn't need to kill everyone in the hall or erase the VIP guests just to take a simple weapon.
If the sword chose the man, then the man would hand it over if Aeren simply asked politely. Humans always responded well to kindness.
In Aeren's mind, it was already settled completely. He turned his gaze toward Olivia. She was already looking at him.
Their eyes met—violet and black—each hiding thoughts the other could not see.