Second Floor:
The second floor was quieter, yet more refined. The scent of rare metals mixed with faint spirit energy, creating an atmosphere heavy with pressure.
Here, each stall resembled a miniature exhibition hall. Blades with runic engravings gleamed under crystal lamps, armor infused with elemental resistance radiated heat or frost, and rare ores shimmered faintly with natural light.
"These products," Si Long whispered , "are forged only by smiths of at least Master rank. Look there—" He pointed at a crimson spear hanging on the wall. Its shaft glowed faintly, as if blood pulsed within. "That weapon contains fire-aspected ore. With it, a Soul Master's flames would burn at least thirty percent hotter."
Wu Meng studied it carefully. "And the price?"
"Enough to make an ordinary noble bleed dry." Si Long laughed lightly. "But worth every coin. Everything here is battle-ready. Many Spirit Masters come seeking equipment that can turn the tide of a fight."
A few wealthy buyers were browsing, followed by attendants. Wu Meng could see the quiet negotiations, the gleam of greed in the merchants' eyes, and the pride on the faces of smiths who sold their masterpieces.
---
Third Floor:
The third floor had a different air altogether—serious, disciplined, filled with the sound of hammering echoing from testing chambers.
Several enclosed forging areas allowed smiths to prove their skill under the Association's supervision. One could see apprentices nervously hammering, their foreheads beaded with sweat, as examiners stood by with sharp eyes.
"This," Si Long explained, "is where a blacksmith's level is determined. A smith wishing to advance must forge a piece before the Association's judges. Only if the work meets the standards will they be promoted."
Wu Meng folded her arms. "So it's merit-based, That's good. No room for fraud."
"Exactly," Si Long agreed. His tone then dropped to a hush. "And, Sister Wu, let me tell you something important. Across the entire continent, there are only three men who stand at the pinnacle of this craft."
Wu Meng turned his gaze to him. "Three?"
"Yes. The first is Lou Gao, our President—a Divine Craftsman whose name shakes the forging world. The second is Tang Hao, a man of unparalleled strength, who, though not officially tied to the Association, has produced divine-level works. And the last is Tai Tan, patriarch of the Strength Clan, also the Vice President of the Blacksmith Association."
There was reverence in Si Long's voice, his eyes glowing with admiration. "These three names alone command respect from empires."
Wu Meng's gaze deepened slightly. She was starting to understand why Qian Renxue had sent her here.
----
On the fourth floor was the auction area
Si Long led Wu Meng through the guarded entrance towards the VIP seats. The moment he flashed his token, the guards bowed slightly and let them pass without a word. The interior was quiet, luxurious, and filled with an air of exclusivity. Soft carpets muffled footsteps, the scent of sandalwood lingered faintly, and every seat was arranged with perfect precision, facing the glittering stage.
"The best products are sold here," Si Long explained in a low voice as he guided Wu Meng toward their seats. His tone carried a touch of pride. "Sometimes even items crafted by Teacher Lou Gao himself will appear."
Wu Meng's gaze swept the surroundings. Compared to the noisy lower floors, this place was calm, yet the silence wasn't comforting—Every person seated here had an aura of wealth and power.
At that moment, attendants in fine robes carried out the next item. A pair of heavy black-gold gauntlets rested on a velvet tray, their surface faintly glowing with metallic sharpness. The finishing on the gauntlets were food enough to compare it to a polished mirror.
"This is a work of Teacher Lou Gao," Si Long explained softly. His eyes gleamed, betraying his admiration.
The host began the introduction, listing the gauntlets' attributes, the rare materials fused within them, and how they could double a Spirit Master's raw strength. Whispers of awe stirred in the crowd, and bids were about to begin when suddenly—
A sharp, unpleasant voice cut through the hall.
"These gauntlets are fine… I'll take them at the original price."
The crowd turned toward the source.
Wu Meng and Si Long followed the voice with their eyes.
Seated in the center row was a man who looked out of place even among the wealthy nobles. He was middle-aged, his hair grizzled with streaks of gray, and his nose sharp and hooked like a bird of prey. His small, piercing eyes were filled with disdain, while his wide mouth twisted into a sneer. His skin was wrinkled and rough, his face resembling a dried, shriveled tangerine. Despite his plain black robes, the emblem of Spirit Hall gleamed at his chest.
The disdain in his expression was unmistakable. He spoke not as if making a bid, but as though declaring his ownership.
Wu Meng's pupils contracted. She knew that face, it was Bishop Meyers.
The branch leader of Spirit Hall in this city.
The man who, through his arrogance and corruption, had dragged Spirit Hall's reputation through the mud here.
Wu Meng lowered her gaze, hiding the icy light flickering in her eyes. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
She already knew most of the information about Bishop Meyers.
An arrogant fool, he used his position to crush merchants and families that refused to bow to him. He was vulgar, offensive, and greedy, treating Spirit Hall's prestige as his personal weapon. To him, the people were ants.
'So this is the man who stains the name of Spirit Hall…' Wu Meng thought coldly.