Adam and Quintella spent the next three days exploring the noble district. They visited antique monunts representing magi, staves in hand, on warships that towered over slain abyssal beasts.
They also visited the local museum’s free exhibits. The paintings were exquisite and inspiring. n and won, united in naval wars against werbeasts. Leviathan always held a symbolic place in the sculptures, either ntioned on descriptive plates or depicted as an emblem carved into the cuirasses of those brave n.
One had marked him more than any other: a grey-robed man’s back stood tall against a hulking western dragon. Its maw was open, its throat bulging mid-roar—painted with such accuracy that he could almost hear the horrific sound. Jagged teeth like towers and bronze scales glinted against the ocean of flas and shadows surrounding the two foes. The canvas faithfully evoked the man’s valor against the insurmountable threat, yet he couldn’t help but twist his lips.
Where was the rest? Did the man win, or did the dragon vaporise him? He wanted to know. Perhaps the answer lay in the paid area?
However, upon learning about the fees from the curator—six thousand Prestige for two—he rolled his eyes and left with a disappointed sigh.
They marvelled at the castles’ designs and enjoyed the hotel pool and food for the rest of the ti. Of course, Adam wanted to gather libraries’ knowledge, starting with Brielle’s archive, but he begrudgingly gave up.
His chest tightened in worry each ti he thought about summoning Lulu. She was an artificial life form, sothing he had never heard about except for Aamon’s cleaver and Andras’ puppet. Summoning her to compile knowledge in a district filled with archmages and magi would only paint a target on both their backs. After all, mages focused on control and energy perception. He had no doubt they would sense the presence of a living artifact roaming nearby.
Now he sat inside the auction house, brooding over the fact that he had to strip the finery from his coat. "Minus a hundred style points." He sighed, but knew it was the only option.
How foolish would it be to keep them when the auctioned coats were of the sa style? He might as well claim he was the mysterious crafter.
Beside him, Quintella, dressed in her red dress, raised a thumb and winked. "You’ll always be the most stylish to , big brother."
"How kind of you." He chuckled, glancing at the spirited nobles filling the avenue.
They chatted about the artifacts with the casualness of individuals used to these big events, sipping wine from glasses, using golden spectacles to observe the stage, eager to see the curtains rise and the auctioneer appear.
As Robert had said, the auction house did not skimp on promoting the event. But why... why was that infuriating rascal seated beside him?
His veins twitched on his forehead as Desmond smirked at him. Next to the teenager was his father, a man who appeared ageless in his perfectly smoothed suit. White curled hair frad his deep blue eyes as he glanced at Adam.
"So, you’re the poorly raised child who troubled Demond?" He asked, the corner of his lips curving. "You’re a lucky one, you know? I wanted to crush you with our house’s resources. But it seems like my son wants to settle your disagreent himself." He patted Desmond’s shoulder. "I’m proud of you. Show him the consequences of ssing with house Drevrant."
"Humph," Desmond snarled, his voice carrying the confidence of a teenager who hadn’t learned his lesson yet insisted on reciting it. "The entire district will witness it during the college competition, Father. In the anti, we can compete in this auction." He jerked his head toward the stage, sneering. "I heard a mysterious crafter is auctioning dozens of magus-ranked artifacts. I wonder if you’ll secure even one."
Determined to ignore the fools, Adam massaged his temples.
Quintella, however, stood on her chair. A fist planted on her hips and pointing an accusing finger at Desmond, she growled. "You didn’t learn from the last beating, you sleep-wrecking nuisance. You want to compete? We don’t need the artifacts!"
The nobles surrounding them snapped their heads in her direction, intrigued to hear the reason, but Adam paled. His heart drumd against his ribs, an icy shudder jolting his shoulders. He gazed at her, eyes screaming no to let a provocation make her talk too much.
But Quintella was a child who loved her big brother. So, she naturally opened her lips. "Because he—Mphh."
He covered her mouth, sweat pearling between his brows, then pulled her into a hug. "What he says doesn’t matter," he whispered without a trace of his usual gentleness. "Calm down and rember what you can’t talk about."
Quintella’s eyes widened, tears blurring her vision. She hiccuped, strength leaving her legs, her anger fading like an illusion. She just wanted to defend Adam, but almost revealed his identity as the crafter in front of so many nobles. Sadness, amplified by Adam’s stern glare, overwheld her.
Adam sighed, blaming himself more than her. He should have seen it coming—warned her about undisciplined anger. He gently stroked her head as she buried her face in his coat, her shoulders trembling with silent sniffles.
"Ignore him," he murmured, not lifting his eyes. "Let people think what they want. It’s better than them knowing the truth."
His heart still thundered in his chest. That had been far too close. He could already feel curious gazes digging into his back. So nobles had picked up on her hesitation. Others were watching, like hawks eyeing wounded prey.
Quintella nodded weakly against him, wiping her tears with the edge of her sleeve.
Desmond raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Because what? Is this the part where you cry and leave before the real show begins?"
His father’s face twisted in a condescending grimace. "Even commoners have more manners. Eric Drevrant won’t stoop to the level of minor noblen."
Adam ignored them, his attention on the subtle movent he picked up behind the curtains.
A deep gong resonated from above the stage the next mont. The curtains parted, revealing a raised platform and a golden-cloaked man stepping forward with his arms wide open.
"Ladies and gentlen!" The auctioneer’s voice bood, magically amplified. "Today, we offer not just artifacts, but legends waiting to be reborn in your hands!"
Applause rang across the chamber as the auctioneer snapped his fingers. In a cloud of gray smoke, a glass display appeared in front of him. Inside was the first coat.
"I know you’re all impatient, so let’s begin without further ado. A freshly woven coat of the magus-rank, from a mysterious craftsman known as the creator," the auctioneer raised his fist. "Elental, piercing, and slashing protection. It’s armor made of fabric, but it’s also much more than that. Its enchantnt regenerate mana and doubles spell potency. And I’m not talking about the unique aesthetics you can all appreciate."
The nobles stirred, eyes alight with interest.
Beside him, Desmond chuckled. "Truly a marvel worthy of none but . Let’s fight over it!"
Adam t his gaze and rolled his eyes. ’Even style can’t fix your foolishness.’
---
AN: Bonus Chapter because why not? Hope the 3-day summary doesn’t bother you too much.
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