Radeon hopped from roof to roof across Spendworth Hills, moving the way a pest moved. Quiet. Small. Unimportant.

Each auction house had its own scent, lacquered wood, incense, sweat trapped under fine clothes.

None of them were as extravagant as Honored Lynx, yet the same rot sat beneath the polish.

Cages hid under the boards and behind the walls, stacked as high as the seventh floor.

Radeon counted without pausing long enough to be seen. Twelve thousand slaves across the hills.

Most were fed well, washed well, kept in conditions that could pass for care if you squinted.

Even so, who would put their life in another man's hand and call it safety?

No one wanted to be a slave. Not truly.

Radeon also considered the red light district next. The thought came with a brief tug of curiosity, then he let it go.

He remembered too well how those women were woven into politics and secrets, how their trade was not always the cruelty outsiders painted.

It would be another nest of webs, another hour lost, another set of eyes that knew how to look back.

Not today. He left Spendworth Hills to its smiling auctions and hidden cages.

When he returned to Cairnlight Barterhold, seven days had already bled away.

His ghostly form had held the mountain in his absence. It had not spoken to Fay, not once.

It had only drifted in and out of the master pavilion like a reminder that the master could be present without being kind.

Radeon entered through the main gate and blended into the crowd. He wore nothing that announced him.

He moved with the flow of bodies, a man among many, while the wraiths slipped behind him in plain sight and still unseen.

He dashed up the mountain path. When he reached the peak, he let the tension in his shoulders ease a fraction.

The five wraiths went to his statue and burned incense as if devotion was a meal.

Night fell. From the pavilion porch, Radeon watched the city layers working.

Two layers ran near their maximum, stalls lit, attendants moving, rules enforced, customers buying and leaving with eyes bright and hands full.

It was good work. He tasted it once, then spat it out with a single word.

"Mediocre."

He had closed the third layer on purpose. Opening everything at once would have been noisy and thin, like a feast served to an empty hall.

Sales would still come, yes, but not the kind that mattered. People trusted what felt established.

They crowded where crowds already existed. They followed the scent of other people's confidence.

He also knew what would happen if he held an auction on the first day.

Merchants would play their grouping games, rig prices, and trade favors behind smiles.

He would be forced to watch it happen while pretending it was fair.

So he held the third layer back. Let the city earn its reputation first. Let the traffic thicken.

Then he could take it from them. That was the reason he meant to collapse the economies of the four nearby cities.

Not out of spite. Out of necessity. A market that had choices did not bend. A market with one safe choice knelt.

As those thoughts turned, another tug came to him. The four disciples.

Two were not children of heaven. He had confirmed it. Yet they were diligent. That mattered. He too had not been chosen by heaven.

That was why he despised the habit of putting common men down.

He walked toward their pavilion.

Spice Cure lay on the bed, too weak to sit for long, while Fay taught him in a low voice.

Gauge Point and Good Chip were nearby, quiet, watching, listening, trying to be useful without knowing how.

When they saw Radeon, they stood at once and bowed so quickly their knees nearly hit the floor. Their eyes searched his face for judgment.

Radeon noted the details before he spoke. No black marks on Fay or Good Chip. No cruelty on their hands.

No signs they had taken the easy road and thrown the burden away. That pleased him more than their bows.

"Follow me."

They followed him to his pavilion. They sat where he indicated, stiff backed, hands folded.

Radeon did not circle the point. He went straight through it.

"Gauge Point and Spice Cure can't cultivate."

The words landed heavy. Spice Cure drained white. Tears sprang up as if the body had decided crying was the only answer it knew.

She clutched Fay and held her tight, as if her arms could bargain with heaven.

Gauge Point's mouth trembled. He fought the sound in his throat, but his shoulders still shook with it, anger and grief and humiliation knotted together.

Heaven's cruelty did not need a hand. It only needed indifference.

Radeon let them feel it for a breath. Then he spoke again, measured.

"That said, there are ways."

Hope flared too fast. Spice Cure's eyes snapped up. Gauge Point's breathing hitched.

Radeon's expression stayed frosty.

"They're not gentle," he said. "You could die. You still want it?"

They nodded immediately. No hesitation. No bargaining. Desperation made courage cheap, yet it was still courage.

Radeon placed a booklet on the low table between them. The paper was crisp. The ink smelled fresh.

"Choose," he said. "Alchemy. Sword cultivation. Array creation. Others are inside."

"Step wrong and that's it. You don't get a second try. Two weeks. Decide."

Spice Cure swallowed and nodded again. Gauge Point nodded too, harder, like he could hammer his fate into a different shape.

Radeon raised his hand. The five wraiths answered at once, appearing with the neat obedience.

Fay's gaze flicked to the middle one and paused. Something in that presence felt familiar to her, like a dream she could not quite recall, yet she could not place it.

Calyx stepped forward with the others. They already knew trouble was coming.

Radeon spoke it anyway.

"Calyx. Your team handles them," he said. "Teach them the system. Put them through live combat."

His eyes cut across Calyx and the wraiths.

"Three days. You're going on a mission. Train like it."

He did not explain. He did not soften it. A mission list would teach faster than comfort ever could.

"You're dismissed."

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