Chapter 76: Phantom's Bid
The Velkarth Basin was nothing like Karlune.
Where Karlune had the sleepy charm of a border town, Velkarth roared with chaotic vitality. Jagged towers leaned into each other like drunken sentinels. The streets buzzed with bartering voices, hammer strikes from blacksmiths, magical sparks from alchemical stalls, and somewhere, a man attempting to duel a chicken with a ladle.
The moment Isaac and Lira stepped off Renall's wagon, the energy hit them like a warm punch to the face.
A bard in skull makeup was chanting about "the great cheese rebellion," a dwarf in heavy armor was arm-wrestling a minotaur, and a merchant offered Lira a "half-cursed dagger" at a "quarter-cursed discount."
"I think I love it here," Isaac muttered.
"I think we'll be mugged by the end of the day," Lira replied.
Their accommodations were found in a sturdy inn called The Shattered Tooth, run by a retired adventurer who claimed to have lost an eye, two toes, and a marriage in a single dungeon crawl. The inn was warm, safe, and blessedly quiet—rare commodities in Velkarth.
But they didn't stay long.
Renall, ever the source of whispered secrets, had passed Isaac a peculiar invitation hidden inside a coin pouch.
"You didn't hear this from me," he said, "but there's an auction tomorrow night. Underground. Weapons from ruin dives. Serious buyers. The kind of crowd who'd kill for a misspelled sigil."
Isaac squinted. "And you think we should go?"
Renall smiled. "You're not exactly normal adventurers. Consider it research."
The invitation led them to prepare with care.
Lira practiced etching soul glyphs faster. Isaac studied his skills—and in particular, one that had become far more valuable:
[Armament Phantom – Rank S+]You are the master of every blade you imagine.– Conjure spectral replications of any weapon, artifact, or item you've wielded or seen– Duration: 3 minutes per conjuration– MP cost scales with complexity– Multiple summons allowed– [Living Armory] techniques apply– Passive: Enhances transitions between real and conjured weapons
"A hall full of ancient gear," Isaac murmured, lacing his fingers together. "All just waiting to be copied."
Lira looked up from polishing her blade. "You're not going to try and steal anything, are you?"
"Steal? No." He smiled. "I'm just going to admire them aggressively."
That evening, they dressed accordingly—Isaac in a sleek black travel coat lined with hidden glyphs, and Lira in a mercenary's formal ensemble of soft leathers and layered plates. They blended well with the auction crowd: masked nobles, cloaked scholars, war merchants, and adventurers whose bounties probably had footnotes.
They passed through veiled checkpoints and illusion-marked doors, entering a vaulted chamber beneath an old market ruin.
That's when the full scope hit them.
A horned beastkin with tiger stripes examined an axe with twin blades that pulsed with blue lightning. His tail flicked idly with each movement. Nearby, a dwarven woman argued with a merchant over the authenticity of an obsidian tower shield.
A trio of high elves, faces like statues and eyes like glass, stood silently beside a crystalline spear. Half-elves conversed with a lizardkin draped in volcanic-red robes. A cloaked figure with curved horns and crystalline veins chatted with a masked noble bearing an eastern imperial insignia.
Lira whispered, "This is more than an auction. This is a convergence."
Isaac nodded. "And I'm here for it."
Artifacts glittered in displays across the chamber. Ancient blades etched in languages long extinct. Tomes sealed with molten wax. Armor so old it hummed with soul-memory.
Isaac's eyes locked onto a wicked spear carved from blackened glass, etched with runes that shimmered like fireflies.
[Recording Trace: Obsidian Flamepiercer – Complete]
He moved to another. A curved dagger that danced with shadow-light.
[Recording Trace: Veyrian Soulfang – Complete]
And another—a staff crowned with a frozen sun.
[Recording Trace: Borealis Scepter – Complete]
Lira gave him a side glance. "You're practically vibrating."
"I'm building a library," Isaac said. "A very stabby one."
They spent hours weaving through the crowd, watching bids rise for impossible relics. Some weapons had history etched into them—tales of wars, betrayals, and victories long turned to legend.
At one point, a masked man approached Isaac.
"You're not bidding," he said. "Not interested?"
Isaac smiled faintly. "On the contrary. I'm taking notes."
The man frowned. "That's not how auctions work."
"It is now," Isaac said, walking away.
By the time the final gavel fell, Isaac had recorded over a dozen legendary weapons.
He never lifted a single coin.
As they ascended the steps back into Velkarth's cool midnight air, Lira shook her head.
"I have to admit," she said, "your power set is… dangerously efficient."
Isaac grinned. "Sometimes, it pays to be a respectful thief."
"A thief with ethics is still a thief."
"True," he agreed, "but I'm the kind that makes copies and files them alphabetically."
Velkarth's towers loomed ahead, but Isaac felt no weight on his shoulders.
Only anticipation.
For the first time in a long time, he wasn't just surviving.
He was preparing.