Unrepentant

The tension in the room could be easily sensed, each breath was held as the Priest's question hung in the air.

"What is the item being traded?"

Zinnia, of course still disguised as Selen, stepped forward with a calm demeanor. "It is a Bloodmoon Thorn," she declared confidently.

Lorian followed suit, his voice steady but tinged with irritation. "It is a Bloodmoon Thorn."

The Magistrate, ever composed, nodded. "It is the Bloodmoon Thorn."

The Priest's eyes narrowed slightly as he focused on each speaker in turn. Silas could see the gears turning in the young man's mind, a flicker of doubt crossing his features. The miracle had once more detected a lie, but he now knew better than to jump to conclusions hastily.

"Guildmaster Arim," the Priest called out, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of urgency. "As an independent expert, what are your thoughts on this item?"

Arim stepped forward, taking the container from the Priest's hands. He opened it carefully and levitated the Thorn between his hands using his energy. The crowd watched in awe as Arim channeled his power, the faint glow of his Alchemist grooves beginning to shine through his sleeves. His eyes took on a slight glow as he inspected the herb.

Silas observed with mild interest as Arim's aura washed over the Thorn. The attunement he made to the Mimic was showing its value, the simulated potent effects were undeniable; even from a distance, Silas could feel its pull on his own Qi. He glanced around and noted similar reactions among the crowd.

Kell and Emma, seated in their gallery, exchanged astonished glances. The aura released from the Thorn tugged at their Qi as if it sought to sunder it. The crowd murmured in wonder, understanding why Alchemists valued the Bloodmoon Thorn so highly. Its mere presence was enough to stir their energies; they could scarcely imagine what a Sage or Paramount could achieve with it.

Arim's expression remained composed, but Silas knew better. He could see the flicker of uncertainty in Arim's eyes as he inspected the herb. "Senior Ji... definitely messed with this... just what the hell did he do to it?" Arim thought to himself.

The crowd's attention remained fixed on Arim as he continued his inspection. The faint glow of his grooves intensified momentarily before subsiding. He lowered his hands slowly, allowing the Thorn to settle back into its container.

"It is indeed a Bloodmoon Thorn, as far as I can tell." Arim announced finally, his voice carrying across the hall.

The Priest nodded slowly, digesting this information. He turned back to face Zinnia, Lorian, and Lachlan. "Thank you for your honesty," he said evenly.

"However!" the Priest's voice rang out, slicing through the murmurs of the crowd. The collective annoyance that followed, mirrored the bafflement on the faces of those on stage.

The Priest continued, his tone resolute despite the growing tension. "Due to my abilities being limited, I wish to invoke a hold on this item, as well as the items that were traded today and will be traded in the coming offers."

Outrage erupted from the crowd. Opula's voice rose above the collective, her sharp features contorted in indignation. "This is outrageous! A one-sided decision like this cannot stand!"

The Priest's irritation was noticeable, as he briefly thought to himself, "This is an especially frustrating day." Silas could see the young man's composure fraying at the edges.

But it was Lachlan, the Lord Magistrate, who spoke next. "Calm." His voice boomed, instantly silencing the disgruntled voices. "The Priest… unfortunately my dear guests, is within his rights. However, I will only allow a hold of three days for your items and the funds. They shall be kept under guard here in the auction house by my personal guards as well as the other sponsors of the venue. You can rest assured, Rhysling will not allow you to be uncompensated for this trouble."

Surprise flickered across the Priest's face. Clearly, he had not expected such support from Lachlan. Meanwhile, the Magistrate's mind seemed to be working through a complex web of considerations—"Senior Ji's warning… what is this Priest's goal… the attacks on the castle… the strangeness of this Priest… Hmm, an investigation is needed, the hold could buy me time."

Arim stepped forward next, his demeanor shifting to one of reassuring confidence. "I will personally stand guard here," he announced with a smile.

"I hope that all of you may feel at ease. All things considered, perhaps it is not such a bad thing to have so many confirmations of authenticity."

The crowd's mood lightened slightly at Arim's words.

Kell leaned back in his seat, his eyes fixed on the stage where Arim had just concluded his speech. Emma, seated beside him, nudged him gently with her elbow.

"Quite fascinating to see a Sage work their craft, isn't it?" she remarked, her voice carrying a note of genuine admiration. "Outside of their Guilds, you rarely see an Alchemist working."

Kell nodded in agreement. "True, but it's not a profession with much room for growth," he said thoughtfully. "My grandpa always said it was a cultivation dead end."

From behind them, Old Renan, Kell's loyal servant, interjected politely. "Young Master Kell, what the gods took away from the Alchemists in progression… they have returned several fold for those who did achieve the Paramount level."

Kell turned to face Old Renan, curiosity piqued. "Is the third step for Alchemists, really such a drastic upgrade?" he asked.

Emma leaned in closer, her interest clearly piqued as well. Old Renan cleared his throat before speaking.

"While physically they may lack the strength compared to other cultivators," he began, "when it comes to lethality... well, they are a terrible sight according to all known records. Getting close to them is a momentous task. Those who manage it often meet even more tragic ends than those who immediately run away."

Emma's eyes widened slightly as she listened intently. "What do you mean by that?" she asked.

Old Renan continued with a grave expression. "Paramount Alchemists wield flames that can refine you to dust and have their bodies filled with such vicious toxins they could eradicate cities by themselves without anyone noticing they were poisoned."

Emma shuddered slightly at the thought. "It's a good thing then that they are so rare," she said softly.

Sensing the mood growing too somber, Kell decided to shift the topic. "After the Bloodmoon Thorn," he said with renewed excitement, "the next item is going to be the one I want!"

Emma raised an eyebrow and placed a hand under her chin. "And what might that be?" she asked playfully.

Kell's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. "A hammer made by the renowned Deep Dwarven Smith Xrach!" he exclaimed.

Emma couldn't help but let out a melodic chuckle at his excitement. To tease him a bit, she added, "You know you'll have to wait at least three days for it even if you win."

Kell visibly deflated at her words, earning laughter from Emma and his servants. The light-hearted moment eased the tension that had built up from their earlier conversation about the morbid powers

Senior Ji, with a calm demeanor, handed the [Spirit Chains] back to the staff member who came to collect it. The staff member, a young woman with a professional air, accepted the item with a slight bow.

"We apologize for the inconvenience, Senior Ji," she said, her voice steady. "You can reclaim it after three days. Rest assured, it will be undamaged."

Silas waved her off with a smile. "No trouble at all," he replied smoothly. The staff member seemed to appreciate his cooperative nature and quickly departed.

Once alone, Silas leaned back in his seat and allowed himself a moment of reflection. The events of the auction played out in his mind like a well-rehearsed performance. The fake Bloodmoon Thorn had been accepted as genuine, and a significant sum of Reshal now resided within the auction hall alongside many other valuables. Zinnia's cover as Selen remained intact, and the Magistrate's high regard for him due to a past connection he made with Rhysling added an extra layer of security.

The auction had been relatively peaceful so far, but Silas knew that this was merely the calm before the storm. He glanced at the Priest, knowing that Nyx was hiding within his shadow.

"Now it will be your turn to set the scene for me," Silas thought to himself.

Once the auction concluded, only then would his part would truly begin.

His thoughts drifted to Arim. The Guildmaster had played his role well. Silas considered what to do with him next.

"Hmm, what to do, what to do…" he mused aloud. "Well, he has earned his keep. What kind of friend would I be if I can't make exceptions for my own?"

A stoic expression settled on Silas's face as he pondered Arim's fate. Slowly, it turned into a smile that would send a cold shiver down the back of anyone who saw it.

With that final thought, Silas continued to observe the proceedings below.

The auction continued with a few more incidents, primarily involving the Priest's overzealous behavior. He seemed to have a knack for annoying buyers, questioning their intentions and scrutinizing their purchases with an intensity that bordered on obsessive. Weapons, tomes, artifacts, pills, and many other items were traded and put on hold.

Silas noted how the crowd's initial excitement had waned into a mixture of irritation and fatigue. The Magistrate, Lachlan, maintained order with a firm hand but even he seemed to be growing weary of the Priest's antics.

As the auction drew to a close and attendees began to file out through the front doors, Silas felt a presence approaching him. It was Lachlan, his rotund figure cutting through the dispersing crowd.

"Senior Ji," Lachlan said, his voice low and urgent. "May I have a word in private?"

Silas nodded and followed him to a quieter corner of the hall. Lachlan wasted no time.

"Is there danger you've sensed?" he asked bluntly.

Silas adopted a serious expression. "Several factors have raised my suspicion," he began. "The Priest was acting disproportionately tense even before the auction started. It seemed to me that he was behaving like an exaggerated character within a playwright's script."

Lachlan frowned but listened intently.

"Originally," Silas continued, "I assumed he was being overly observant of the attendees to sniff out deception—perhaps out of passion for his role. However… when it came to the Bloodmoon Thorn, he once again grew exaggerated in his actions, even without my jests."

Lachlan nodded slowly. "That is slightly abnormal behavior," he agreed.

Silas leaned in closer. "I've never heard of a Priest of Probitas who would accept words that imply their faith was not enough."

Lachlan's face grew tense at this revelation. "I see," he said finally.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention," Lachlan added after taking a deep breath. "I will investigate him and keep an eye on him."

Silas inclined his head slightly. "I appreciate your vigilance."

Before they could part ways, Zinnia—or rather Selen—appeared between them with her usual flair.

"What is this~ a secret boys club?" she teased.

Lachlan looked surprised at her sudden appearance but Silas responded smoothly. "Indeed it is."

Lachlan chuckled at this while Zinnia slipped her arm under Silas's and pressed a small note into his palm.

"I owe you a dinner date for the lovely afternoon yesterday," she said playfully.

Silas chuckled as he untangled himself from her grasp. "Perhaps another time."

Lachlan raised an eyebrow but kept a happy expression on his face; it was not his business what Selen and Senior Ji did in their spare time.

"I'm quite tired," Silas admitted, feigning weariness. "While I look young, my actual condition is quite worn and does need rest."

"Fine~ you owe me dinner then!" Zinnia pouted playfully.

Lachlan chuckled again and asked Silas if he was calling it an early night.

"It is indeed the case," Silas replied with a laugh. "If you should have need of me, you can find me at the Merry Minstrel Lodge."

They exchanged goodbyes amicably before parting ways: Lachlan to set up an investigation into the Priest and Zinnia to follow him back to her new room in Castle Rhysling, while Silas made his way back to the inn.

Kell trudged along the lively evening streets of Rhysling, his head hung low in defeat. The lively chatter and vibrant energy of the city seemed to mock his rotten luck. Emma, walking beside him, couldn’t suppress her laughter.

"Are you really going to mope all night?" she teased, her voice light and playful.

Kell glanced at her with eyes so sorrowful they could melt the coldest iceberg. Emma felt a lump form in her throat and coughed to hide her embarrassment.

"Don't look at me like that," she muttered, though her tone lacked its usual sharpness.

Behind them, their servants exchanged wry smiles, but those smiles quickly turned to expressions of shock when Emma leaned in and planted a quick kiss on Kell's forehead. She whispered something that made his face turn as red as a ripe apple.

"I've never seen a man get so depressed when he gets bought a gift," she murmured, her breath warm against his skin.

Kell's eyes widened, and his expression earned a hearty laugh from Emma, who was usually as unapproachable as molten metal. She waved a hand in front of his face, her smile teasing.

"Are you still there?" she asked.

Kell nodded mechanically, unable to form words.

"Would you like to have a drink with me tonight?" she continued, her tone still playful.

Again, Kell nodded mechanically. Emma chuckled and shook her head.

"I need to deliver a letter from my mother to Guildmaster Arim and have a short chat with him," she said. "In the meantime, why don't you find us a nice place for our date?"

Kell nodded once more, still in a daze. Emma gave him one last amused glance before heading back towards the auction hall. As she disappeared into the crowd, Old Renan approached Kell with a knowing smile.

"Congratulations, Young Master," Old Renan said, his voice filled with genuine warmth.

Kell nodded mechanically yet again. Old Renan's eyes twinkled with amusement as he leaned in closer.

"Can I get a raise?" he asked cheekily.

Kell nodded once more, much to the delight of the other servants who couldn't help but laugh at their Young Master's dazed state.

The Priest of Probitas stared into the bowl of water, his reflection distorted by the ripples he caused when he splashed it onto his face. He had behaved most inappropriately today, and it gnawed at him. His actions at the auction had been erratic, uncharacteristic. What had come over him? He rubbed his temples, trying to dispel the fog clouding his thoughts.

Turning away from the bowl, he took in the simplicity of his room. The church of Rovinius had provided modest accommodations for his stay in Elrean. The Empire was a land where the faith of Rovinius reigned supreme. Other deities were not forbidden, but the people’s hearts belonged almost solely to Rovinius. It was a curious thing, this singular devotion.

He removed the necklace bearing Probitas's image and placed it gently on the table beside his bed. The metal felt cool against his fingers, a contrast to the warmth of his skin. Perhaps a prayer would help clear his mind and ward off the strangeness of the day.

As he was getting ready, his shadow elongated outside of his view. From behind the Priest, a mass of shadows began to coalesce.

Kneeling on the floor, the Priest clasped his hands together and began to recite a prayer for guidance to the Most Honorable. Whenever he felt confused, whenever he felt lost, this was the way he brought back peace upon himself. His voice was soft at first, but as he continued, it grew louder, more fervent. He felt something stirring within him—a revelation perhaps! An answer to why he had acted so strangely today. He was humbled, thinking that perhaps Probitas himself was going to enlighten him.

As he prayed with increasing intensity, an image began to form in his mind. He saw an obscured face, and a hand covered in what seemed like dried blood. It was handing him a tonic. Realization dawned on him—the man from yesterday… the man from the auction! He had been drugged! Just as he was about to rise from his knees, a strange sensation overcame him. As if he became lighter, yet something was off. He felt the world around him spinning, his line of sight quickly falling.

His vision began to blur, confusion was the only thing on his mind. He could not make sense of what just happened. However, his answer was about to come, within his gaze he saw an impossible sight… a familiar frame, his own in fact… only to his horror he could not see anything above the shoulders. The wound that was there was grotesque, a stream of crimson liquid rising so high it almost reached the ceiling. His mind was still processing the sight, however faster than he could comprehend the liquid landed atop his face and into his mouth. The taste of iron only brought one word to mind ''…Blood?''. Standing atop his headless frame was a crow, an ominous creature at the best of times, its black wing was covered in a sheen of deep red.

Terror etched itself onto the Priest's face as the light quickly faded from his gaze. He could not comprehend anything… was he… watching his own murder? The world quickly faded to black, and cruel fate would not even allow him to scream once for his miserable end.

Nyx tilted his head, regarding the scene with mild interest. "What a gusher!" he thought to himself. "Going to have to clean up this stuff for Silas… haaah~ the things we do for our Masters…"

With grace, Nyx pulled out a vial from his sash containing a yellow liquid known as [Corpse Eraser]. A few drops would dissolve an entire body and all its fluids within seconds. But just as he was about to administer it, his stomach rumbled loudly.

Nyx paused, considering his options. He did need to give everyone enough time to get away from the hall… and he was famished.