Chapter 79: Relics and Reverence
The shimmer of the Twinblades faded from Isaac's mind's eye, replaced by the rising hum of anticipation rolling across the auction floor like distant thunder.
"Next item!" called the auctioneer, voice woven with magic. "The Skyrender Pike — Grade S. Highwind-forged, capable of piercing dragonhide and absorbing mid-air force. Recovered from the ruins of Cloudspire. Starting bid: 13,000 gold!"
The silver-blue spear gleamed as it hovered into view, lightning runes pulsing with faint energy.
Isaac leaned forward just enough.
[Recording Trace: Skyrender Pike – Success][Phantom Pattern stored.]
He didn't need to raise a single coin. He needed only a moment. The rest of the floor could fight for ownership.
And fight they did.
By the time a southern prince took the winning bid at 17,500, the next relic was already levitating into place.
"The Hand of Vellutar! Grade S! Temporal grip-lock, favored in the Sevenfold Duels. Starting bid: 15,000 gold!"
A shimmering, crescent-shaped handguard rotated slowly in a gravity field. Isaac didn't blink.
[Recording Trace: Hand of Vellutar – Success][Phantom Pattern stored.]
Another flash of gold changed hands. Another artifact claimed.
Then came Gravemaw.
"Recovered from the catacombs of the Broken Monastery! Grade S! A blade so massive, it's rumored to have slain a titan!" the auctioneer announced, voice nearly cracking.
The blade hit the platform with a boom. Long. Heavy. Inscribed with faded crimson marks.
[Recording Trace: Gravemaw – Success][Phantom Pattern stored.]
Bidding turned to roaring.
"Eighteen-five!"
"Nineteen!"
"Twenty-two!"
Isaac stayed silent, eyes scanning the crowd. He noticed the elven princess didn't even glance at the blade. She was waiting.
So was he.
And then—
"Ladies and gentlemen…" The room went still. "Our final item of the night. The centerpiece of this evening's collection. Silverveil, the Longblade of Elareth the Forgotten. Grade S+."
The lights dimmed. All magic quieted.
And the sword emerged.
It floated like a whispered memory—long, elegant, its edge glowing with soft white fire. The hilt shimmered like moonlit steel. A relic that remembered every style it had ever parried.
"Starting bid: 25,000 gold!"
"Twenty-six!" called a noble.
"Twenty-eight!" barked a lizardkin envoy.
"Thirty-two!"
"Thirty-five!"
The bids climbed fast. The air grew electric.
"Forty!" said the dwarven matron.
"Forty-five!" came from an unseen speaker in the shadows.
Isaac focused.
[Recording Trace: Silverveil – Success][Phantom Pattern stored.]
Sylvalen Thalara rose, her silver hair catching the light like flowing water.
"Fifty," she said.
It wasn't loud. But the hall fell silent.
Then Volmyr's voice rolled like distant thunder. "Fifty-five."
"Sixty," Sylvalen replied, eyes never leaving the blade.
"Sixty-three," said a veiled noble from the back.
"Sixty-five!" snapped a delegate from the Crimson House.
Isaac leaned back, arms crossed. "She's going to win."
"Because of power?" Lira asked.
"No," Isaac said. "Because no one else has the confidence to keep raising their hand when the entire room is watching."
"Seventy," said Sylvalen, voice calm and absolute.
That was it.
Even the ambitious nobles began to lean back. Volmyr smiled faintly. The other contenders fell silent.
The auctioneer raised his hands, nearly giddy.
"Seventy thousand—going once! Going twice! Sold, to Her Highness Sylvalen Thalara of Elaraiyan Glade!"
Polite applause followed. Some respectful. Some bitter.
Sylvalen did not bow. She did not smile.
But her eyes drifted—once again—to Isaac's box.
She had won the blade.
But she wasn't done.
The intermission bell rang.
Isaac remained in place, running phantom blueprints through his mind like a smith reviewing schematics. Beside him, Lira nibbled on a biscuit someone had abandoned.
Then a knock on the side of their box.
A well-dressed attendant bowed low and offered a sealed letter.
"For the Flame-eyed one. From Her Highness."
Isaac took it. The seal was floral silver.
He opened it.
"I saw you watching. I watched you, too. The sword was for me. But you… are another kind of weapon.
If you value your freedom, meet me in the Highshade Garden before midnight."— Sylvalen Thalara
Isaac folded the letter.
Lira looked over his shoulder. "Midnight meeting. Garden. Subtle flirtation from an immortal beauty. Classic assassination setup."
"I don't think she wants me dead," Isaac said.
"No," Lira mused. "She wants you useful."
Isaac stood, coat settling on his shoulders.
"Then let's see what a princess wants with a walking arsenal."
And with that, the two descended into the halls of the unknown.