The Obsidian Hall was a fortress disguised as a nightclub.
Located beneath an abandoned opera house in Sector 4, it was where the city's elite traded things the Guilds legally couldn't.
Mouse was sweating in his cheap suit. He adjusted his glasses nervously as they walked past the massive bouncers. "Act natural," Mouse whispered. "Don't look at anyone in the eye."
Lin walked beside him. He wore a fresh black trench coat (bought with the last of his cash) and the gruesome goblin-skin mask. He didn't look at anyone. Not out of fear, but out of indifference. Through the thermal vision of [Darkvision], the "elites" around him were just glowing blobs of heat. Most were Rank E. Some Rank D.
They looked powerful in their designer armor, but Lin knew he could kill half of them before they even drew their weapons.
"Tickets," the receptionist said coldly.
Mouse handed over the digital chips. The receptionist scanned them. "General Admission. Row 40. Please enter."
"Wait," Lin spoke. His voice was a low rasp behind the mask. "I have an item to consign."
The receptionist paused, looking at Lin's mask with disdain. "Consignments closed an hour ago. Unless you have a Priority Invitation, move along."
Lin didn't argue. He placed the Boss Core on the velvet counter. He didn't uncover it fully. He just let a sliver of the crimson light leak out.
The mana pressure hit the receptionist like a physical slap. She gasped, taking a step back. The sensors behind her desk screamed red.
[Energy Detected: E+ Rank (Peak)] [Purity: 99%]
An old man in a tuxedo appeared from a side door instantly. He wore a monocle that glowed with appraisal magic. "I am the Head Appraiser," the old man said, his voice trembling slightly. "May I?"
Lin nodded.
The old man examined the Core. His eyes widened. "Freshly harvested... no tool marks... perfect extraction. This is a pristine Hobgoblin Shaman Core." He looked up at Lin, his attitude transforming from arrogance to servitude. "Sir, this is a Main Event item. We cannot let you sit in General Admission."
The old man snapped his fingers. "Upgrade this gentleman to VIP Booth 3. Waive the consignment fee."
The receptionist bowed deeply, her face pale. "Right away, sir. My apologies."
Mouse's jaw hit the floor. He looked at Lin like he was seeing a ghost. VIP Booths were for Guild Leaders and Corporate Heirs.
"Let's go," Lin said, taking the VIP badge.
VIP Booth 3 was a private balcony overlooking the auction floor. It had leather seats, free champagne, and a terminal for bidding.
As they walked toward it, a group of young hunters blocked their path. Leading them was a young man with silver hair and armor that cost more than Lin's entire life. Julian. Heir to the Silver Wing Guild.
Julian was arguing with a waiter. "What do you mean Booth 3 is taken? I always sit in Booth 3."
"My apologies, Young Master Julian," the waiter stammered. "A VIP seller has reserved it."
Julian scoffed. He turned and saw Lin and Mouse approaching. He looked at Lin's rag-tag trench coat and the crude goblin mask. Then he looked at Mouse's sweaty face.
"This?" Julian laughed. "You gave my booth to a freak and a rat?"
He stepped in front of Lin, his two bodyguards (Rank D) flanking him. "Hey, Mask-face," Julian sneered. "I'll give you 1,000 Credits. Get lost. This seat is mine."
Mouse shrank back, terrified. "Lin... maybe we should move. That's Silver Wing..."
Lin stopped. He looked at the 1,000 Credit chip Julian was holding out. Then he looked at Julian.
[Target: Julian] [Rank: D (Boosted by Equipment)] [Threat Level: Low]
"1,000 Credits," Lin repeated slowly.
"That's right. Take it and crawl back to the Slums," Julian smirked.
Lin didn't take the chip. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of high-value chips. The 5,000 Credits he had left. He tossed them at Julian's feet. Clatter.
"5,000," Lin said calmly. "Bark like a dog, and you can keep it."
Silence. The entire VIP corridor went dead silent. Mouse looked like he was about to have a heart attack.
Julian's face turned bright red. "You courting d— you have a death wish?!" He reached for the sword at his waist. "Kill him!" he ordered his guards.
The guards stepped forward. Lin's shadows stirred. He was ready to kill them right here. It would be messy, but efficient.
"HALT!"
A booming voice echoed. The Head Appraiser and a squad of Auction Security (Rank C) rushed over.
"Mr. Julian!" the Appraiser shouted. "Sheathe your weapon immediately!"
"He insulted me!" Julian pointed at Lin. "Throw this trash out!"
The Appraiser stood between Lin and Julian. He looked at Julian coldly. "Mr. Julian, this gentleman is our Diamond Consignor. If you touch him, the Obsidian Hall will ban the Silver Wing Guild permanently."
Julian froze. Diamond Consignor? That meant the guy was selling something worth over 100,000 Credits. He looked at Lin again. The mask suddenly didn't look cheap. It looked terrifying.
"You..." Julian gritted his teeth. He couldn't afford to get his Guild banned. His father would kill him.
"Good choice," the Appraiser said. He turned to Lin and bowed low. "Please, sir. Your booth is ready."
Lin didn't look at Julian. He stepped over the 5,000 credits on the floor like they were dirt. He didn't even pick them up. (He would send a clone to pick them up later when no one was looking. He wasn't wasteful.)
He walked into the booth and sat down.
Mouse scrambled in after him, shaking. "You... you just humiliated Silver Wing's heir. He's going to kill us after the auction."
Lin picked up the champagne glass. He didn't drink. He just watched the bubbles rise.
"Let him try," Lin said. "I need to test my new weapons anyway."
（"Enjoying the massacre? Drop a Power Stone to feed the Clone Army!"）