Enya and Elria were inside the sanctum again. Hours slipped by—morning to noon, noon to evening, evening to night. All that time was poured into a single project.

The skeletal goliath.

The once-small stone chamber was now filled with the expanded exoskeleton of a wyvern. Bones of every shape and density hovered in the air, suspended by Elria's witchcraft. It let them arrange the structure in three dimensions, aligning each piece exactly where it needed to go. The design was nearly complete.

"Okay… can you move the patella a little to the left?" Enya asked, book lifted in front of her face. Wyverns: A deep-flight into the beasts of the earth, authored by Pesha Deen—an exhaustive guide on wyvern habits, hunting patterns, and structure; muscular and skeletal.

Elria, perched on the workbench, lifted her left spider leg. "This one?" she asked, nudging a bone.

"No-no. That's a metatarsal. The patella is the one left of it," Enya corrected.

"Uh—this one?" Elria moved another bone.

Enya frowned. "No, that's one of the tarsals. The patella is the kneecap bone."

Elria's mandibles clicked in a sharp burst. "Argh—! Just say that next time! I don't know all the damn bones in the human body!" She shoved the tarsal back where it belonged and finally adjusted the patella.

Enya flipped to another diagram. "That patella's from a green ogre, I think. Some of these bones are ogre parts. It's way bigger than a human one."

All eight of Elria's eyes rolled in synchronized exasperation.

Most of the preparation for the creature was done now. Only some fine-tuning remained. After all, Enya didn't want to make a wyvern. She wanted a dragon. And dragons—had four legs.

And all of this, was still just step one.

Enya hadn't even touched the liters of blood yet. She would have to use her Transfiguration of Soul to manipulate the blood—lift it, thread it through the gaps, merge it into the skeletal frame. The blood would act as a binding agent, almost like a nervous system linking each bone.

She still needed five meters of spirit thread and a set of metal chains. The chains would be simple enough to get. Spirit thread, however, was expensive. Woven strands imbued with the essence of a spirit—mere inches cost gold coins. A single meter cost a platinum.

With Pell's upcoming auction scheme, Enya hoped they'd strike big and make enough money to buy the thread. Pell didn't want to spend any of their current funds on something so costly—not with the risk involved.

Behind her, space rumbled. A moment later, a spiral of energy opened, swirling with light. A voice called through.

"Miss Enya. Mr. Pell told me to remind you that the auction is about to start soon. I would recommend wrapping up your craft and preparing to leave."

Enya didn't turn around. She simply called back, "Okay! Thank you, Jallen!"

"Er—that's not my na—"

The portal closed before he could finish.

Enya looked up from the book at the floating skeleton in front of her. It looked close enough to a dragon—at least the kind described in stories. The structure matched the wyvern diagrams almost perfectly, though some pieces were bulkier than she expected. The shoulders especially, since they came from a Vareone beast, a large tiger-like monster an adventurer had hunted last month.

"Elria, can you keep this suspended even while we're gone?" Enya asked.

A soft click came from Elria's mouth. "Yes. I can maintain the enchantment for about two hours or so. If I don't return to refresh it, all the bones will fall."

"Okay. We should be back by then."

Enya closed the wyvern book and—without thinking—threw it at the wall. It smacked against stone, hit the floor, and flapped open like a startled bird.

To her right, the Grim Pullet floated silently into view.

Enya chuckled awkwardly, realizing her mistake.

Elria sighed.

Enya had gotten so used to tossing her Grim Pullet and dispersing it that, for a moment, she forgot she wasn't holding it.

"Oops."

"Here. Wear this mask," Pell said.

He handed her a small white Venetian mask, simple but elegant, the kind that covered only the eyes.

"What's this?" Enya asked, taking it.

"Just put it on. It's to hide your identity. Don't want anyone recognizing you later."

They were already on their way to the auction house. Lamplights were lit, casting orange hues and reflecting off storefronts and the polished stone beneath their feet.

Other citizens were funneling toward the same direction—some dressed well, others plainly, but all with the same jittery excitement that only auctions seemed to bring.

Pell had received the four platinum from Ulter earlier, and a few hours after that, he'd sent the Chilled-Soul Pill to the auction staff for registration. Thanks to that, the two of them were granted special seating from the auctioneer.

Enya slid the mask over her face and tightened the strap behind her hair. "Do I look good?"

Pell gave her a quick glance. "You look fine."

Enya puffed her cheeks, grabbed Pell's gloved hand, and tugged hard enough that his bones almost clicked out of place. "At least call me cute…"

He let out a gravelly exhale, jaw scraping faintly. "You're cute, alright? Cute. There."

The way he said it—gruff, begrudging, like someone forcing out a confession at knifepoint—only made Enya more happy that he actually said it.

Enya's expression lit up behind the mask. "Close enough!" she said, swinging his arm once before letting go and continuing down the road with a skip in her step.

Pell muttered something under his breath but followed. After a few seconds, he added, "Also—can we talk about what you're wearing?"

Enya looked down at herself, then twirled once. The black dress flared out dramatically—layers of ruffles, satin threads, and soft, flowing fabric that caught the lamplight like she was wrapped in midnight. A silver sash rested at her waist, and her hair was tied with a matching ribbon.

She looked like she'd stepped out of a noble's ball.

"It's pretty," she said simply.

"Yeah, that's the problem," Pell grumbled. "I told you to buy something different to wear for the auction—not a big frilly dress. It looks like a wedding gown. We're going to bid on stuff, not attend a wedding."

"Is it bad?" Enya asked.

"No. But you're going to stick out like a sore thumb."

"But I have a mask."

Pell sighed. "Yeah. A half-face mask and a dress big enough to fill a doorway." He quickened his pace and took Enya's hand in his. "Don't leave my sight. Things might become a bit heated inside the auction."

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"Okay!"

They arrived at the auction house shortly after. The building was tall but deceptively plain—smooth stone walls, the Merchant Guild's crest above the doors, and two armored guards flanking the entrance. Nothing about it suggested half the region's wealth would be flowing through it tonight.

A line had already formed. Cloaked figures, masked nobles, wealthy travelers with attendants—everyone looked like they carried secrets and too much money.

Pell nudged Enya. "Stay close."

They joined the line. When they reached the front, a clerk lifted a crystal tablet.

"Your medallion, please."

Pell produced the platinum crescent medallion. The clerk inspected it, nodded once, and returned it.

"You may enter. Right corridor, second hall. Room 2-C." He bowed politely. "We hope you enjoy tonight's auction."

The lobby beyond was wide and polished—marble floors, floating chandelier, portraits of legendary items once sold here. Ushers guided guests to different hallways based on seating tier.

Pell and Enya followed the clerk's directions and found their way to a large marble door. Pell pressed his medallion into a small crescent hole, and the door clicked.

Pell pushed the door open.

Enya stepped inside first—and froze.

"…woah."

The interior was nothing like the modest exterior suggested.

They stood at the edge of a vast balcony suite, overlooking a gigantic auditorium that absolutely could not fit inside the physical building they'd walked through.

Rows upon rows of lavish seating stretched downward in layered arcs. More balconies lined the walls—tiers upon tiers of private booths, each glowing faintly with the same runic barrier that protected theirs. And far at the front was the main stage, illuminated by crystalline lights that floated like stars in midair.

The air itself hummed with quiet mana. Enya could sense it.

"Spatial dimension. Like the spell-testing room we went to in the magic association. Small space that is exclusive to us. We can see the auction house and other people can see us, but no one can touch us here."

He squinted at a label. "Tch. Erville. I hate Erville."

Enya plopped herself down on the couch and picked up a mint. Before she could eat it, Elria jumped out of her dress and snatched it up, gulfing it down in one crystallized bite.

"Hey!"

"Finders, keepers," Elria said, munching on it.

Enya frowned, but grabbed another mint for herself. "Can you even taste anything?"

Elria leapt straight into the mints bowl. She kicked one mint straight up into the air, and caught it between her mandibles, crunching it in one go. "Nope."

"Pell, I thought the security would be good. That guy didn't even notice Elria," Enya said, plucking mint into her mouth.

Pell sat himself down beside her. "No, they probably did. They just don't care since we have reserved seating. Not much trouble we can do in a spatial room disconnected from everything. Besides—shes got the collar on. Pets are allowed in here as long as they behave."

Elria cackled at that.

Pell scowled. He knew why she was laughing.

The auditorium was filling up with more and more people. The seats below were steadily increasing, while the balconies near and above them were being situated with all sorts of fancy and mysterious nobles or influential persons.

Far opposite them, on the highest balconies, Pell spotted Ulter and his entourage. The large merchant seemed to also notice him—and he smiled back, before diverting his attention to the stage.

Enya leaned forward, eyes glittering behind her mask.

"This is so exciting…"

Pell didn't respond. His gaze was sweeping the other balconies, searching.

He didn't know where Amberdean's lackeys were sitting yet.

But he'd find out.

The auditorium lights dimmed.

A soft chime resonated through the auditorium.

The auctioneer appeared onstage in a swirl of red-and-gold light, voice magically amplified.

"Esteemed guests, nobles, hunters, crafters, and collectors—welcome to the Four Hundredth and Forty-Seventh Shallwick Night Auction! My name is Winsley, and I will be your auctioneer tonight!"

Polite applause rippled through the broad chamber. Enya clapped enthusiastically; Elria clicked twice. Pell simply crossed his arms, gaze sweeping across the balconies.

"We will begin," the auctioneer continued, "with our lower-tier items. Practical wares, curios, and entry-level tools for the aspiring adventurer, uprising merchant, or the hoarding noble. Please bid responsibly! Or… irresponsibly." He smiled. "We don't mind."

There were waves of low chuckles in the lower seats.

"Here are the rules of the auction. I will present tonight's items one by one. I will describe their effects, starting bids, and bid intervals. If you wish to make a bid, please use the white sign placed near your seat in the rows, or the table stand in the private rooms. Simply raise the sign to place your bid."

"After the show, our representatives will call upon you to finalize any deals. If we determine that you do not have the funds to pay for an item, you will be taken in by the authorities and tried before the merchant's council."

He bowed. "With that warning out of the way, let us begin. Tonight we will start with our lesser curios before gradually ascending toward the rarities and marvels you have all traveled so far to witness."

A wave of polite applause spread across the seating tiers.

Winsley snapped his fingers. A pedestal rose from the stage floor on command.

Pell and Enya leaned forward. Pell rested his elbows on his knees, while Enya clasped her hands together. Elria sprawled across the back of the couch like a lounging cat.

"Lot One," the auctioneer announced as five small vials shimmered into existence beside him, "a bundle of Ember-Affinity Potions. They grant mild fire resistance and increased temperature tolerance for a short duration. Excellent for novice miners or desert travelers. Starting bid, five silver."

Hands shot up. Several quick bids followed.

"Once. Twice. Sold for eight silver," Winsley declared.

"Lot Two. Ironclaw Throwing Dagger Set. Ten blades, alchemically tempered for consistent weight. Useful for rogues or hunters. Starting bid, ten silver."

Sold for twenty-one silver.

"Lot Three. Lesser Mana-Saturation Crystal. Used for training low-tier mages in safe mana cycling environments. Starting bid, thirty silver."

Sold for one gold.

Enya leaned closer. "Mana cycling?"

Pell grunted. "Fancy mage thing. Lets you practice low-tier spells without using much mana."

He tried to sound calm as he explained.

He was absolutely not calm. Not because of the mana crystal, but because of the auction in general.

As the items rolled on and bids climbed into the tens of gold, Pell felt something cold settle behind his ribs.

Hells. These merchants and nobles toss gold around like sawdust.

The highest amount Pell had ever held in his life was about fifty gold pieces, back when he had the Rebound Talisman and the Sparks of Hellfire after Sable's dungeon. Even then, those were items worth that much, not actual coin. The four platinum sitting in his pouch now were not even his. He did not feel anything from them. Not until he held his own platinum coins would it feel real.

He'd gone to a couple auctions before, but never bought anything. He was too poor to get anything worth while. It was more for entertainment than anything. But now—he was one of the players.

"Lot Seven. Alchemic Flask of Mending. Healing efficiency up to intermediate tier. Starting bid, three gold."

Sold for eighteen gold.

"Lot Nine. Stormwing Feather. Lightning attribute, highly reactive, and capable of storing a lightning charge. Starting bid, seven gold."

Sold for thirty-six.

"Lot Eleven! Dustweaver Cloak. Lightweight, resists sand erosion. Starting bid: twelve gold."

Sold for thirty-one.

Although that item started higher, it still did not sell for more than the previous one.

"Lot Twelve!" Winsley called, his cloak sweeping theatrically as another pedestal rose from the stage. "A Seer's Whisper Bottle. It contains the echo of a minor premonition spell. Break the bottle to glimpse ten seconds into a random possible future. Whether it shows your future or the future of a squirrel, who knows. Starting bid: fifteen gold."

Sold for twenty-eight gold.

Pell's jaw tightened beneath his hood.

Fifteen gold as a starting price. Hells. These people breathe gold.

As the auction continued, the bidders in the central seats grew quieter. More and more of the bids began coming from the balcony rooms, where the wealthy or influential tended to sit.

Enya, meanwhile, was munching on mints and kicking her legs as if she were watching a puppet show.

"Lot Fourteen! A Resonant Tuning Rod. Helps stabilize spellcasting environments and is very useful for mages with unsteady control. Starting bid: eighteen gold."

It sold for forty-three.

A new pedestal rose, shining brighter than the others.

Enya squinted. "What's that?"

"Lot Sixteen!" Winsley announced with a flourish. "A rare treasure indeed. A Class Scryer's Glass."

A hush swept through the hall.

The crystalline lens glimmered with a faint inner pulse, mounted in delicate silver. Glyphs spiraled along the handle.

"This tool allows the user to view the class, level, innate class, and innate class level of any living creature or monster within sight. It is highly coveted by strategists, explorers, guild leaders, arena contestants, and monster hunters alike. Starting bid: eighty gold."

Murmurs rose louder than with previous items. This was an investment piece, something that could change a career or keep someone alive. It was valuable across many fields.

Pell sat up straighter, sensing the shift in energy around them. He personally had no interest in it.

Enya, however, inhaled sharply like she had just spotted a baby dragon.

Something stirred within her. The Grim Pullet popped open in front of her face, its pages flipping on their own.

<Grimmy> The item shown before you uses a class system matrix. Acquisition and experimentation may unlock a new crafting recipe for a Class Stigmata.

Enya squinted. "What…?"

The Class Stigmata… she remembered that. It was one of the early recipes she had skimmed. An item capable of assigning a class to her minions.

A system prompt appeared in her vision, hovering just in front of the Grim Pullet.

Optional Quest: Obtain the Class Scryer's Glass. Acquire the Scryer's glass and investigate its core. Explore and research the possibilities of re-engineering it into a class stigma.

She knew what she had to do.

Enya snatched the paddle resting beside the bowl of mints. Before Pell could react—before he could even process the suicidal price—she raised her hand high and shouted,

"One hundred and ten!"

The sound cracked through the auditorium.

Dozens of heads turned toward their balcony. Even some of the upper tiers glanced over, eyes narrowing behind masks. Winsley paused, then brightened.

"One hundred and ten! A fine bid from Balcony Two-C! Going once!"

Pell turned toward Enya slowly.

If a skeleton could go pale, he had.

His soul-flames twitched violently.

He looked more dead than dead.

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