The Invincible Auction House

Improved Chapter 13: The Crimson Game

The days that followed the last auction brought an uneasy calm to Rydale, the kind that settled before a storm. Beneath the surface, however, tensions simmered like molten lava. The Ironclad Sect tightened its patrols and sharpened its swords; the Merchant Guild fortified its warehouses and scrutinized every trade deal. Both factions were poised, waiting for the first excuse to ignite the flames of open war.

From his seat in the grand chamber of the auction house, Adam watched it all unfold. The glowing orb shimmered before him, its surface displaying fragmented visions: disciples sparring with grim determination, merchants barking orders as they loaded wagons, and robed figures slinking through alleyways under the cover of night.

The system flared to life, its bold golden letters hanging in the air.

Adam's lips curled into a faint smile, sharp as a knife. The system demands chaos—and I will deliver it.

With a casual gesture, he summoned Ren and Lira into the chamber. Ren entered first, dutiful as always, his expression tinged with unease. Behind him, Lira moved with predatory grace, her amber eyes gleaming as they swept the jade-lit room.

"You called, Master Adam?" Lira asked, her voice smooth, a trace of mischief curling her words.

Adam stood, clasping his hands behind his back. "The game must change." He looked directly at Lira. "I want your mercenaries to intercept an Ironclad Sect supply caravan."

Lira raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "And risk retaliation? What's the angle here, auctioneer?"

"The angle," Adam replied, his tone measured, "is to make it look like the Merchant Guild orchestrated the attack. Your mercenaries will leave behind the evidence—broken crates stamped with the guild's seal, scattered merchant tokens."

Lira's smirk widened, her teeth flashing like a wolf's. "A tidy little frame job. I like it."

She turned as if to leave, but Adam's voice halted her mid-step. "One more thing, Lira."

She glanced back, her amber eyes narrowing slightly. "What is it?"

"Your mercenaries are efficient, but how loyal are they, truly?" Adam's voice was calm, his gaze cutting through the question like a blade.

Lira tilted her head, amusement flickering across her face. "Mercenaries are loyal to coin, Master Adam. You know that better than anyone."

Adam smiled faintly. "Coin can buy loyalty. But power? Real power—that inspires it. Finish this job to my satisfaction, and I'll show your Crimson Blade something far more valuable than gold."

For a moment, Lira said nothing, though curiosity glimmered in her gaze. Then, with a sharp nod, she disappeared into the night, leaving only the faint echo of her footsteps behind.

Adam turned back to Ren, who lingered uncertainly by the door.

"Master Adam," Ren began cautiously, "is it wise to escalate things this quickly? If either faction realizes we're manipulating them—"

Adam's gaze cut to him, sharp as ice. "They won't." His tone left no room for argument. "Ambition blinds them. They'll see what they want to see—enemies at their throats and salvation in my treasures. Now focus, Ren. Leave the consequences to me."

That night, Lira and her Crimson Blade Mercenaries moved like shadows through the mountains. Under her command, an elite squad ambushed the Ironclad Sect's caravan on a narrow, remote pass. The strike was brutal and precise—over in moments, with no witnesses left behind.

As Adam had instructed, the mercenaries planted evidence: splintered crates stamped with the Merchant Guild's insignia and trinkets bearing their seal. Before the blood had dried, the Crimson Blade melted back into the wilderness, leaving behind only chaos.

The next morning, the Ironclad Sect's stone hall thundered with outrage. Elder Wei Lian paced furiously, his heavy robes snapping with every step as disciples stood at rigid attention. Reports of the ambush lay scattered across the table, each one another nail in the coffin of restraint.

"Enough!" Wei Lian bellowed, slamming his hand onto the table. "The Merchant Guild believes they can strike us with impunity? Prepare the disciples for retaliation."

"Elder Wei," one of his advisors ventured, his voice cautious, "if we escalate this conflict, we risk drawing the city's neutral factions into the fray."

Wei Lian's expression darkened. "Let them come. We are the Ironclad Sect, forged in the fires of adversity. If the guild wants war, we will show them the cost of challenging us."

Across the city, in the Merchant Guild's marble-clad chambers, Harron raged as he read the reports. His prized supply routes had been decimated, and now whispers of blame from the sect were spreading like wildfire.

"They dare accuse us?" Harron snarled, slamming his fist onto the desk. "The arrogance!"

Felmar, his ever-cunning advisor, stepped forward, voice low and measured. "Perhaps this is an opportunity, Guildmaster. If the sect focuses its energy on retaliation, their other dealings will be left vulnerable. We could strike where it hurts most—cut their supply lines, isolate their allies."

Harron's scowl twisted into a cruel grin. "Do it. If they want a fight, we'll give them war."

Back in the auction house, Adam watched it all unfold through the glowing orb, every move another thread woven into his tapestry of control. The system flared brightly with updates.

Adam's eyes gleamed with intrigue. "A puppet, you say? How delightful."

Turning to Ren, who hovered nervously by the doorway, Adam gestured toward the preparations in the hall below. "Prepare for tomorrow's auction. This one will be special."

"What's the theme, Master Adam?" Ren asked warily.

Adam's smile was slow and dangerous. "Desperation. We will offer salvation to the most desperate buyers. Watch as they tear each other apart for the privilege."

The next evening, the auction hall buzzed with tension. Representatives from the Ironclad Sect and the Merchant Guild were seated on opposite ends of the room, their gazes sharp and mistrustful. It was as though a single word might ignite the powder keg.

Adam stepped forward as the glowing orb flared to life, golden letters shimmering in the charged air. "Welcome, honored guests. Tonight's treasures offer more than mere value—they offer salvation to those bold enough to seize them."

The first item appeared, its details suspended in glowing text.

The bidding erupted like a storm.

"2,500 spirit stones!" barked an Ironclad disciple.

"3,000!" countered a Merchant Guild envoy, his voice sharp with urgency.

Adam's expression remained composed, though satisfaction flickered behind his calm demeanor. Desperation makes men reckless.

By the end of the night, the coffers overflowed, and the system's updates glowed triumphantly.

Adam returned to his private quarters, reviewing the night's success as the orb's glow reflected faintly in his eyes. The sect and the guild were closer than ever to collapse, their greed and pride fueling their own undoing.

"Mercenaries, merchants, and sects," Adam murmured, steepling his fingers. "They think they hold the reins, but I'm the one pulling the strings."

The orb pulsed softly in agreement, its light flickering like the heartbeat of a growing storm.