Chapter Four-1
1275 Words
The nights of the City of Shadows never belong to ordinary people.
This was a place where things existed that they could never touch.
Like blood.
Like lives.
“Next lot.”
The auctioneer's voice boomed through the vaulted hall, amplified by the architecture itself.
Many sat below the podium, each keeping a careful distance.
Here, distance wasn't a matter of courtesy, but vigilance.
In the auction hall, there are no friends, only competitors.
As the auctioneer's words faded, a glass vial slowly rose from the crystal display.
Slender and no larger than a thumb, it contained a liquid of peculiar mystery—under the lights, it shimmered with an unusual hue.
Not red, nor purple, but a flowing, dark gold.
“Lot C-17, consigned by an anonymous seller.”
The auctioneer's voice gave away his excitement—no mistaking it, as if this item held a special place in his estimation.
“This item has been jointly verified by three senior appraisers. It is the long-lost ‘Blood Moon Tranquility’ potion, with an estimated purity exceeding 92%.”
“A soft murmur swept through the crowd....”
A collective gasp erupted from the audience, followed by a wave of astonished whispers.
What did the words “Blood Moon Tranquility” signify in the dark underworld? There was scarcely a soul unaware of their significance.
If elixirs were ranked by tier, “Blood Moon Tranquility” would undoubtedly be classified as legendary.
The reason this elixir commanded such reverence and fervent pursuit lay primarily in its potency.
The Blood Clan's “Blood Frenzy” and the Werewolf Clan's “Moon Frenzy” were like curses etched upon the soul, erupting once each month.
Moreover, the intensity of these outbreaks grew stronger as one's power increased. In other words, the more powerful one became, the more violent the attacks would be.
“Blood Moon Tranquility,” however, could effectively suppress these symptoms.
Thus, its appearance commanded immense attention.
“Starting bid: thirty million,”
Would-be buyers jumped in almost before the auctioneer finished stating the opening bid.
“Thirty-five million,”
“Forty million,”
“Forty-three million,”
The price shot up like a rocket.
The numbers shot up, out of control.
The auctioneer's smile grew wider and wider. Yet the hand gripping the auction hammer trembled slightly at that moment.
Not from nervousness, but from exhilaration.
The commission alone from the current bids would be enough to buy half the block.
“Sixty million,”
This bid came from the exclusive VIP box on the second floor.
The voice, however, was distorted by a voice changer, making it impossible to discern whether the speaker was male or female.
But everyone knew it was the Fantor family's exclusive box.
Ryan Fantor sat in the shadows of the box at that moment.
He didn't touch the wine glass before him, nor did he pay attention to the watchful eyes, both overt and covert, from the viewing area below.
His fingers gripped the armrest, knuckles white.
The temperature inside the box was at least ten degrees cooler than outside, yet despite this, a fine sheen of cold sweat beaded on his temples.
It was happening again.
That familiar burning sensation began spreading from deep within his marrow throughout his entire body. It felt like a red-hot brand was being dragged through his veins.
If it were merely the burning sensation, Ryan wouldn't feel discomfort.
What he found most unbearable was the bloodlust and the gradual loss of sanity.
And every time the “bloodlust” struck, Ryan thought of one person: Ella.
“Five years now. Only her blood can soothe my bloodlust. Ah, if only....”
“Your Highness,” the old butler murmured, “shall we....”
“Continue,” Ryan cut him off.
His voice remained steady, but his jaw was clenched like stone.
Ryan's gaze returned to the small vial on the display stand.
The dark golden liquid swirled slowly under the lights, as if alive.
“Eighty million,” he declared.
The auction hall fell instantly silent.
This bid soared past what most had expected.
Yet another voice soon echoed from the opposite box: “Eighty-five million,”
Ryan's pupils contracted slightly. He knew exactly who occupied that box.
It belonged to the werewolf clan, and seated there was none other than Selena, the werewolf princess.
Five years ago, Selena had suffered a devastating blow to her reputation due to the “Aconite Poisoning Incident,” forcing her wedding to be postponed indefinitely.
Yet she remained the daughter of the Silver Moon Wolf King and the werewolf clan's representative in the City of Night.
More crucially, her purpose here was also the “Blood Moon Serenity.”
“Ninety million,” Ryan countered without hesitation.
“Ninety-five million,”
“One hundred million,”
The bidding climbed relentlessly....
The auctioneer's hands trembled more violently.
In nearly thirty years on the job, he'd never seen a single item reach such prices. This wasn't a transaction—it was a war of numbers.
Selena's side fell silent.
Ryan leaned back in his chair, eyes closed. A burning sensation spread through his limbs. He could feel his fangs lengthening and sharpening beyond his control.
If this continued, he might have to... tonight.
“One hundred million—once—”
“One hundred and ten million,”
The new bid came from a corner of the hall.
A man in a long black trench coat, his hat brim pulled low, face obscured. But the tone of his bid suggested this was just the beginning.
Ryan's fingers dug into the armrest padding.
“One hundred twenty million,” he said.
“One hundred thirty million,” The man in black countered without hesitation.
“One hundred fifty million,”
“One hundred sixty million,”
The bidding climbed again....
Inside the box, the old butler's expression darkened. He knew the Fantor family wasn't short on funds. It was precisely this kind of extravagance, however, that would draw criticism from the Council of Elders.
“Two hundred million,” Ryan's voice finally betrayed a hint of impatience.
The man in black fell silent.
The auctioneer took a deep breath and raised the gavel: “Two hundred million going once—two hundred million going twice—”
“Two hundred and ten million,”
It was Selena again, throwing in another bid.
Ryan's eyes snapped open, crimson pupils flashing in the darkness like sudden ghostly flames.
He turned to face the opposite box. Through the one-way glass, he couldn't see Selena's expression, but he could imagine it—that woman was undoubtedly laughing.
A laugh he despised.
“Two hundred and fifty million,”
This time, even the auctioneer forgot to bring down the gavel.
Dead silence fell over the entire room.
Five seconds, ten seconds, half a minute.
No one bid again.
Two hundred and fifty million for a bottle of medicine that only alleviates symptoms without curing the disease—this was beyond normal behavior. Only a madman would do such a thing.
“Sold!”
The gavel finally fell.
Ryan didn't wait for the attendant to bring the item. He rose, his black robe sweeping behind him in a cold arc, and strode straight toward the backstage area.
The old butler jogged to keep up, whispering instructions, but Ryan heard none of it.
All he wanted now was to get that bottle immediately, and then... continue waiting.
Waiting for the next monthly episode, waiting for the next astronomical auction, waiting for the next fleeting calm.
For five years, it had been this way.
......
- Writer
