The Invincible Auction House

Chapter 10: Whispers of Discontent

The streets of Rydale buzzed with restless energy the morning after the auction. Word of the mysterious auction house had spread like wildfire, sparking excitement and unease in equal measure. Merchants whispered about treasures that defied belief, cultivators speculated on the risks of attending, and even the common folk—usually ignored in such lofty matters—spoke in hushed tones about the enigmatic figure behind it all.

Amid the rising tide of speculation, Adam strolled calmly through the market. His composed demeanor masked the carefully orchestrated chaos he had unleashed. Beside him, Ren walked with a lighter step than usual, his awe at Adam's growing influence apparent.

"Master Adam," Ren said, his voice tinged with admiration, "people can't stop talking about the auction. You've made a huge impact."

Adam smiled faintly, his sharp eyes scanning the bustling market. "A spark is meaningless without fuel. Let the rumors spread. They'll draw exactly who we need."

They passed a tea house, its windows fogged with steam, the air within alive with animated chatter. Adam's gaze sharpened as he caught sight of two Ironclad Sect disciples seated by the window. Their furtive glances and hushed tones marked their conversation as significant.

"Ren," Adam said quietly, "stay close, but act natural."

The pair stepped inside, blending seamlessly into the crowd. Adam chose a table near the disciples, ordering tea as he strained to catch snippets of their conversation.

"I'm telling you," whispered a younger disciple with a scar running down his cheek, "that auction house is trouble. Did you see Harron's face when we outbid him for the Jade Pill? He looked ready to draw blood."

The older disciple, his grizzled beard betraying years of experience, nodded grimly. "The elders aren't happy either. They're wondering why treasures like those weren't brought to the sect directly. Some are even saying the auction house might be a front for an enemy faction."

Adam sipped his tea, his lips curving into a subtle smirk. The tension between the Merchant Guild and the Ironclad Sect was growing, and now the auction house had become a catalyst. Exactly as planned.

By midday, Adam returned to the auction house. The former bandits-turned-assistants moved about the gleaming space, organizing it for the next event. The glowing orb pulsed gently at the center of the room, casting an ethereal light that danced along the jade walls.

One of the assistants approached, bowing deeply. "Master, we've received several inquiries about the next auction. Many are willing to pay just to reserve a seat."

Adam's expression remained calm, though satisfaction flickered in his eyes. "Good. Make them wait. Anticipation feeds desperation, and desperation drives prices higher."

The system's golden text flared into view, hovering before Adam.

Adam's gaze lingered on the glowing text, his smile growing faintly sharper. "Escalation, is it? Let's see just how far they can be pushed."

That evening, Adam convened a private meeting with Ren and his two remaining assistants. A map of Rydale lay spread across the table, marked with symbols and notes detailing key locations, trade routes, and faction strongholds.

"The Ironclad Sect and the Merchant Guild are on the brink of open conflict," Adam began, his voice steady and commanding. "Our goal is to push them over the edge without implicating ourselves."

Ren frowned, his unease evident. "Master Adam, won't that make the city more dangerous? If they start fighting, innocent people could get caught in the crossfire."

Adam's gaze turned cold, his tone sharpening. "Innocence is a luxury few can afford, Ren. This is a game of power, and sacrifices are inevitable."

Ren hesitated but nodded reluctantly, cowed by Adam's authority.

"The key," Adam continued, "is to ensure both sides believe the other is responsible for their troubles. Spread rumors, forge letters, arrange small provocations. Subtlety is paramount—enough to sow doubt, but not so much as to draw attention to us."

The assistants exchanged uneasy glances but nodded in agreement.

The plan was set into motion the next day.

A shipment of rare herbs destined for the Ironclad Sect mysteriously vanished en route to their headquarters. The trail of evidence left behind pointed squarely at the Merchant Guild. At the same time, one of the guild's most lucrative trading caravans was ambushed by masked attackers who left behind insignias resembling those of the sect.

The results were immediate and explosive.

Harron stormed into the Ironclad Sect's compound, his voice booming with accusations as he demanded answers. The sect elders, in turn, accused the guild of undermining their authority. Heated arguments ensued, their voices carrying through the city, attracting both curiosity and fear.

Meanwhile, Adam watched from the shadows, a faint smile playing on his lips. Every move, every reaction, every spark of anger—it all played perfectly into his hands.

The system's text flared into view, brighter than ever.

Adam leaned against the cool jade walls of the auction house, his arms crossed. "Perfect," he murmured. "Now, let's see how much they're willing to pay to tip the scales in their favor."

Back at the auction house, preparations for the next event were well underway. This time, the items on display would be even more irresistible—ancient cultivation manuals, enchanted weapons, and relics imbued with untold power. But as Adam knew, the true treasures were never the items themselves; they were the influence and leverage they brought.

The glowing orb at the center of the room pulsed with a steady rhythm, its light reflecting Adam's thoughts. He stood before it, hands clasped behind his back, his expression unreadable.

"Let them come," he said softly. "Let them fight, let them beg. In the end, all paths lead to me."

The orb flared briefly, its glow brightening as if in agreement, before resuming its steady pulse.

The auction house was ready. So was Adam.