The XuanYi Continent held its breath as the Yan Pang Pavillion prepared for the Thousand-Treasures Auction—an event of near-mythic prestige across the Lower Realm. Cultivators from distant continents gathered, drawn not only by the promise of rare artifacts but by the unspoken authority of the Yan Thousand Merchants Group. Few powers in the Xuan Yuan Realm could rival their influence, and none dared oppose them openly.
The pavilion itself was a testament to their grandeur. Crafted from ancient, spirit-saturated wood and reinforced with treasures descended from the Upper Realm, its exterior was a masterpiece of intricate architecture and formidable defense. Within, the air shimmered with opulence. Glimmering treasures of every rank adorned the halls, each piece whispering of a legacy thousands of years deep.
Amid the murmuring crowd, a voice cut through like a blade.
"Yan Qin, you are such a loser. Despite being the ninth prince of the Yan Thousand Merchants Group, you are nothing but a weakling."
The speaker was one of the rising Tianjiao, his tone dripping with mockery. Silence fell. All eyes turned to the ninth prince—son of the legendary Merchants King Yan. Yet no guard moved to intervene; disrespect toward him had become commonplace.
The prince's expression remained placid, though a cold light glinted in his eyes. "Even if you are a disciple of the Sword King, everyone knows you obtained that position only because you are the son of his sworn brother." His voice was eerily calm, devoid of anger or shame. "You act as though you are a top talent, when in truth you are merely… above average."
The insult landed perfectly. In the XuanYi Continent, few forces could claim true supremacy—those with heritage tracing back to the Upper Realm. The Yan Thousand Merchants Group was rumored to be backed by the Yin Clan, descendants of the Nine Tails Heavenly Fox, one of the most feared Taboo Ten Thousand Races. Yet whispers had spread over the centuries: perhaps the Upper Realm had abandoned them. Perhaps they were no longer untouchable.
It was this doubt that had emboldened the Sword King's disciple—a talented but arrogant youth whose master stood at the very peak of the Lower Realm.
"You—!" The disciple's face flushed with humiliation. He clenched his fists but held back; his master had not yet arrived.
Just then, a clear bell rang through the pavilion.
All chatter ceased as Merchants King Yan materialized at the center of the auction stage. His presence alone commanded awe.
"Wait, isn't that the Merchants King himself?"
"It can't be…"
"How can he appear here?"
The auction hall was structured across three floors: the first for Tianjiao and major forces from the Ten Continents; the second reserved only for powers with direct Upper Realm backing; and the third—a forbidden level, last occupied by an envoy from the Yin Clan.
After a moment of profound silence, Merchants King Yan slowly bent at the waist, bowing deeply toward the third floor with unmistakable reverence.
"Merchants King… greets the Young Lord."
A voice, neither loud nor soft, echoed from above, carrying an invisible pressure that made every soul in the room tremble.
"Young Lord?" An old man in white on the second floor stiffened, trying to discreetly glance upward.
Could it truly be… a scion of the Upper Realm?
A moment later, the voice spoke again—elegant, profound, and chillingly powerful. "Merchants King need not be so polite. Luo receives your bow."
The king bowed once more before addressing the crowd. "This auction is special. The Young Lord has graced our humble gathering with his presence." He smiled faintly. "This old man's presence must already bore you. Let the auction begin."
With another chime of the bell, he vanished, replaced by a stunning auctioneer from the Thousand Merchants Group.
On the second floor, representatives of major powers exchanged glances. A Young Lord from the Upper Realm—surnamed Luo. If even the Yin Clan showed him such respect, his origins must be beyond terrifying.
In the third-floor chamber, Luo Fan sat upon a throne of dark jade, sipping celestial tea. His gaze drifted over the auction below, though it seemed to pierce through reality itself, perceiving beginnings and endings unseen by others.
Merchants King Yan reappeared behind him, kneeling at a respectful distance. "Young Lord Luo, this humble establishment is honored by your divine presence."
"Don't worry," Luo Fan replied casually. "I won't make trouble for you today."
Down below, the auction commenced.
The first item was a remnant stone, faintly pulsing with the aura of Upper Realm laws.
"A Upper Realm Remnant Stone?!" someone gasped.
"Brother… isn't that regarded as a supreme treasure in the Ancestral Hall?" a young boy whispered in awe.
His elder brother nodded gravely. "Once a cultivator reaches a certain realm, the weak laws of the Lower Realm become a cage. This stone… even with its faint energy… can help break through bottlenecks. It might even aid in ascension."
Bidding erupted immediately.
"50 high-grade spirit stones!"
"100!"
"150!"
"175!"
…
"1,000 high-grade spirit stones." The voice was aged, calm, yet edged with sword intent. It came from the Sword King's room.
A sigh came from another booth. "Ah, it seems the Sword King is truly wealthy. This old man must pass."
"Congratulations to the Sword King—winner of the Upper Realm Remnant Stone!"
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. The Sword King was one of the few who had earned a place on the second floor through sheer strength alone—without Upper Realm backing. His power was nearing the ceiling of the Lower Realm.
The auction continued, each item more dazzling than the last: divine weapons, a vial of remnant dragon's blood… treasures that made hearts race and ambitions flare.
Then came the forty-ninth lot.
A girl in chains was led onto the stage. Her hair was the color of abyssal night, her eyes like rubies burning with silent fire. Her skin was pale as sacred jade, and her features—ethereal, supreme—belonged to a fairy descended from the highest heavens.
Her beauty alone captivated the hall. She would make a prized slave for any man.
Yet her gaze was unnervingly calm. Inside, however, her mind churned. *How do I escape this?*
Most were reluctant to bid so early, saving resources for cultivation treasures rather than a slave, no matter how exquisite.
"Auction Fairy," called a voice from the Sword King's room—undoubtedly the disciple. "What can you tell us about this girl?"
The auctioneer floating mid-air—known only as the Auction Fairy—glanced coldly toward the booth. "The rules state that all treasures must be evaluated by the bidder themselves."
A lust-filled chuckle echoed from the same room. "Then I bid twenty low-grade spirit stones."
Disgust flickered in the girl's eyes, though her expression never changed.
Silence blanketed the hall. No one wished to offend the Sword King over a slave.
"It seems no one else will bid," the disciple's voice rang out, smug and threatening.
Then—
"What if this lord wants the girl?"
Luo Fan's voice drifted down from the third floor, light yet inexorable.
The silence deepened into something palpable—a mental pressure that seized every heart in the room.
How would the Sword King respond? Would he dare defy a Young Lord of the Upper Realm?
After a tense pause, the Sword King's own voice emerged, slightly strained but controlled. "If it is the Young Lord's wish… of course, this one willingly relinquishes his disciple's desire."
Shame lingered beneath the words—the humiliation of yielding publicly. But only a fool would challenge the unknown depth of the Upper Realm.