Chapter 66: Lady One Gold Coin

Chapter 66: Lady One Gold Coin From within their private lounge, Kesha gave a soft yawn, leaning slightly against Aramith’s side as she poked a grape toward his mouth. "Do you think he practices that speech in the mirror?" "He looks like he argues with his reflection daily," Aramith muttered in all honesty. Mozrael nearly choked on her juice. The first items were... unimpressive. A rusted sword said to be wielded by a forgotten hero. A cracked music box that played one lullaby in three different off-key tones. A slightly glowing ring whose only magic was repelling small insects, though the man tried to make it sound majestic. Kesha didn’t even lift a finger. "Mozrael," she said, eyes half-lidded, "how much would it take to buy all these chairs and throw them at the auctioneer?" Mozrael blinked. "Uh, I think that might be—" "Expensive?" Kesha finished. "Then I won’t. Yet." The auctioneer, glancing every so often at the VIP room marked ’1’, began sweating a little. Why aren’t they bidding? Weren’t they the ones who bought the whole back half of the boutique section this morning?! He tried harder. A vase was brought forward. Ancient, gilded, absurdly elegant. Aramith’s eyes flicked to it. Just for a second, but the ever-observant Kesha noticed. Ping! The communication stone lit up. "Bid Number 1: One gold above the highest bid." There was a pause. The current bid had been 850 gold coins. Kesha had just raised it... by one. There was a stunned silence. "Going once... Going twice... Sold to Number 1." The previous bidder let out a slow, strangled sound of betrayal. And Then the Real Pain Began The next item: a ceremonial dagger used by temple priests. Kesha looked at it. "That looks sharp. Maybe Aramith can use it to cut fruit. One gold more." The next item: a lavish fur cloak from the Northern Isles. "Would make a decent rug. One gold more." The next: A bottle of elven tears sealed in diamond glass. "Mozrael looks dehydrated. One gold more." "I what?" Mozrael was startled. Item after item, the pattern repeated. No matter how much people bid—no matter if the item reached 5000 gold coins, she’d add just one more. And win. The audience was in shambles. Some masked bidders were visibly trembling. Others began laughing in disbelief. "Does she just- does she think she’s funny?" "She’s mocking us! That’s what this is!" "She’s going to run out of money, right?" "This is funny!" The belief spread like wildfire. Let her buy the garbage. Let her waste it all. The real treasures came later. The auctioneer clung to that hope as sweat poured down his back. He hoped they would splurge so much, but never expected that their actions would displease so many people. "She’ll stop... right?" No, she wouldn’t. This was Kesha. Kesha leaned back, nibbling a biscuit, watching the growing frustration with the calm of a wolf in a sheep’s clothing. "This is fun," she whispered to Aramith. "You’re causing an economic panic." "Exactly." The velvet curtains parted once again, and another item was brought in—a crimson-bladed shortsword, humming faintly with dormant fire magic. "Ladies and gentlemen, next we present a rare artifact believed to belong to a warrior from the Eastern Desolation—crafted with twilight steel and—" "400 gold coins!" a masked bidder shouted, voice sharp and confident. The auctioneer nods. "400 to Number 7—do I hear more?" Kesha, leaning slightly forward, plucked the communication stone off its perch."401 gold." There’s a pause. Whispers ripple across the hall. "Did she just do it again?" "One gold coin? Is she mocking again?" "600!" the bidder bit out again. "601," Kesha replied sweetly, sipping from her teacup without even looking at the stage. "1,000!" "1,001," she said, then slowly turned to Aramith. "Do you want this, or should I use it to open letters ?" Aramith sighed. "It’s too big for letters," Aramith gave an honest review without thinking much. "Then I’ll use it to slice bread. The heat would toast the bread at the same time," Kesha smiled. The masked bidder was visibly shaking now. Everyone was watching. The tension was becoming unbearable, and in that moment, the auctioneer, caught between professionalism and the absurdity of it all, cleared his throat. "Going once... twice... SOLD to Number 1 for 1,001 gold!" Kesha leaned back, crossing her legs. "That was fun." It continued. A delicate music box enchanted to lull beasts into sleep."Starting bid, 300 gold—" "400!" "401," "550!" "551," Kesha purred. "800!" "801, darling." Every. Single. Time. No matter how high they went, she was there, adding just one coin, always naming the entire price with the extra coin. Some screamed into their sleeves. One old noble collapsed in frustration. Another tried to start a counter-bid war, only to be outdone by a coin and a yawn. The crowd erupted into a mix of outrage, awe, and amused admiration. Some began betting amongst themselves on whether she’d ever stop. A massive three-eyed bear pelt was being auctioned next. "We begin at 1,500 gold—" Nothing. "1,600!" Someone bid higher Still nothing. Kesha’s attention was elsewhere now. "Aramith," she said, nudging him gently, "do you think Mozrael would look good in emeralds or sapphires?" Mozrael’s ears reddened instantly. "W-Why would I—?" "Just thinking ahead. I’m going to buy a necklace in the shape of a snake and give it to her. Very ominous. Adds character." Aramith grunted. "What about something that doesn’t look cursed?" "Oh, you’re no fun." She smirked after. "And that’s why I love you." The auction continued in the background, and the crowd relaxed. The auctioneer was able to regain his rhythm. The air of normalcy returned, and people cheered as another item was bought without Lady One Gold coin interrupting. "Perhaps she was just bored." "She ran out of money, obviously." "Serves her right—" "I bet she’s checking whether she has enough money for food now." "Nah, she’ll definitely come back." "You think?" The stage was cleared and the lights dimmed. "Now... we enter the final phase of tonight’s auction," the auctioneer said, his voice thick with excitement. "Rare treasures, heirlooms, forbidden relics, and ancient remnants of power available only to the bold and the wealthy!" A loud drum boomed, and a pedestal rose on the stage. Upon it: a glass vial of swirling silver mist, rumored to be harvested from the breath of a dying star. Even the air in the room seemed to quiet as everyone quieted down to take in the scene. Aramith’s eyes flicked toward it, almost uninterested, but just curious enough.. Kesha, seeing the glance, reached for the stone with the speed of a predator who’s just spotted weakness."2,001 gold," she says instantly. A full five seconds of suffocating silence followed. Not even the auctioneer breathed. He was too startled by her declaration. The auctioneer stumbled over his words. "I—I hadn’t—uh, well—Number 1 has made the first bid at 2,001 gold coins!" The starting bid was supposed to be 1800 gold coins anyway. "She’s back." "No. Not again." "Why does she always add the one?!" Then, when everyone was certain she was back to taunt, someone either braver than most, or stupider than all, dared to speak. Desperation pushed him to compete. "3,000!" "3,001." "5,000!" "5,001," Kesha said, now casually brushing Mozrael’s hair behind her ear. it was sold to her, as expected. "Why did you buy that?" Aramith asked, wondering if she knew what it was or how to use it. "Well, look at it very well. It looks like it would smell nice. Could be used to give rooms nice scents." "This crazy woman!" she had spoken into the stone, so her voice was loud and clear. The people were shocked. What she bought was a very rare substance that was used to increase the speed of one’s cultivation. And she dared to use it for perfume??? "No, this is not real." "How could she?" "I needed that." "Yeah, me too." "I can’t believe I lost my only chance of obtaining it because someone wanted her room to smell nice." "Who is she?" One young girl who was in there with her family took a pen and started writing in her book. Dear journal, today I met the devil in silk. She wore white and ... Somewhere else, another bidder gripped his stone so hard it broke into dust. He stared down at the broken pieces like it were the stone’s fault. Beside him, another bidder whispered, "Stay strong, brother. You don’t wanna end up like him," he pointed at one man who was being carried out because he was foaming at the mouth out of rage. The bidder who challenged Kesha fell into his chair. The auction house—once regal and solemn—descended into a strange spiral of dread and comedic horror. What made it difficult for them to process was the fact that they couldn’t place her identity. Who she was, or where she came from was a mystery to almost everyone else.