The auction hall shimmered beneath crystal chandeliers, the air thick with whispers and pride. The Four Kingdoms had gathered–nobles, merchants, princes, and elders, each cloaked in power and pretense. The faint scent of rare incense floated through the grand court, unable to mask the tension rising between the golden walls.
At the far corner, the Leiwis family occupied a private chamber. Leinor, the patriarch–draped in dark silks embroidered with crimson thread–sat still, his gaze colder than the marble beneath his feet. In the reflection of his wine cup, the flicker of his own rage burned brighter than the flame of the nearby lamp.
When the servant whispered something into his ear, his lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Oh, he is too young," Leinor muttered softly, more to himself than anyone else. "Such a young age… and he killed my son. Truly unfathomable."
He rose. "Elder Leiven," he said smoothly, "why not invite him here before the bidding begins? You're still a presbyter of this auction, aren't you?"
Leiven hesitated only for a moment. He could read the venom beneath the calm. "As you wish, Chief."
–
Leiven descended from the private floors, robes trailing, bowing politely before Kiaria and the royal entourage. "Young Master Kiaria," he greeted, his voice deceptively respectful, "I am Elder Leiven of the Leiwis family. My chief requests your presence in our chamber. He wishes to meet you personally."
Kiaria's eyes shifted to him, glinting faintly. "Oh? Your chief wants to meet me?" His tone was light but cutting. "That's interesting. And where might he be waiting?"
Before Leiven could reply, the Princess's voice rang out like a blade unsheathed. "How dare you!" she snapped. "If your chief wishes to meet my junior brother, then he should walk down himself. A servant's invitation is not enough."
The eldest of the royal princes turned too, gaze sharp as a drawn sword. "Impudence," he said coldly. "Has the Leiwis family forgotten its place? You stand before the Kings of this Kingdom. Shall we remind you what decorum means?"
"Senior Sister, Elder Brother, wait," Kiaria interrupted gently, his smile composed. "I'll go. It's fine. Lead the way, Elder."
Leiven bowed quickly, hiding the tremor in his hands. "This way, Young Master."
As Kiaria and the East Valley Wing mercenaries followed, the spectators in the audience exchanged sly murmurs. Princess shadowed from behind.
"Look! The so-called Blessed Child humbling himself before them."
"He must feel guilty. That boy killed their heir, didn't he?"
"Maybe he's gone to beg forgiveness. Even saints kneel before power."
Their whispers slithered like snakes through the room. Kiaria heard them–every single word–but said nothing. His silence was sharper than retort.
–
Inside the Leiwis chamber, Leinor sat with a cup of untouched wine. His smile was too thin to hide his hatred. "Prince Kiaria," he said smoothly, rising with feigned humility, "you honor us by coming. We thank you for not holding a grudge against our family. I–personally–owe you my deepest gratitude for sparing my son's life… until the very end."
Kiaria looked around the room, unimpressed. "Are you finished?" His voice was calm, yet every word struck like iron. "Leiwis Chief, you invited me, yet forgot the courtesy of standing to greet your guest. Or have you grown too comfortable commanding others to bow?"
The hall fell silent. Leinor's expression twitched. He stood quickly, bowing stiffly. "Ah… forgive me. A poor lapse in etiquette. I was merely excited–you see, I didn't expect Your Highness would accept my humble invitation. It was foolishness, nothing more."
"Oh?" Kiaria tilted his head, smiling faintly. "Then perhaps I overthought it. How could I refuse the hospitality of a major family–especially one so… repentant?"
Leinor forced a laugh that sounded more like a cough. "Please, be seated, Prince. Let us speak in peace."
Kiaria took the seat without hesitation. "Then let's not waste time. Why did you invite me? Say what you came to say."
Leinor set the cup aside, the faint clink betraying his nerves. "Nothing special, my prince. I merely wished to apologize for my late son's actions. His foolishness brought shame to both our houses. As atonement, please allow my family to bear the cost of any treasure you wish to purchase at this auction."
Kiaria's gaze sharpened. "Do I look like someone who can't afford his own will?"
The air stilled.
"Your son was cruel," Kiaria continued. "But I'm not here for repayment. If you truly feel remorse, then don't apologize to me. Apologize to the people he trampled."
Leinor's fingers twitched on the cup. Before he could answer, the Princess–ever keen to twist the knife–leaned forward, her voice sweet but lethal. "Chief Leinor, since you offered gifts," she said, "why not extend that generosity? After all, such a wealthy family can surely afford to send a few gifts to the royal family as well. Don't tell me your repentance ends at words?"
Laughter rippled quietly among the other chamber guests. Leinor's smile stiffened further.
"Since my senior sister agrees," Kiaria added lightly, "I won't restrain her kindness."
Across the hall, the Auction Master was watching, arms folded. He hated Leiwis family too much, and took this chance to humiliate him to the public.
The Auction Master quietly activated a Voice Crouler – an arcane transmitter that carried every sound from this room to all other chambers.
He hid a smirk and spoke into Kiaria's mind through telepathy.
"You little fox. Turning courtesy into punishment, are you?"
"Just precaution," Kiaria replied mentally. "If I let them linger, they'll think silence is weakness. Better to humiliate than to forgive."
The Auction Master's laugh echoed faintly in Kiaria's head.
At that moment, an attendant entered, bowing low before Leinor. "Chief, there's a message from the Auction Upper Council. It concerns your participation in the auction."
Leinor's eyes narrowed. "Speak."
"The Auction Council has reallocated your chamber," the attendant said nervously. "Since your family offered it as gift to Prince Kiaria, your registration is invalid. All other chambers are occupied. You and your family are requested to vacate before bidding begins."
The silence that followed was absolute. Then, laughter erupted–from nobles, princes, even common merchants peeking from balconies.
"Ahaha! The mighty Leiwis, stripped of a seat before the auction begins!"
"Poetic justice indeed!"
The Princess covered her mouth, struggling to contain her laughter. "Chief Leinor," she said between amused breaths, "since you owe us a few gifts, and you won't be staying for the auction anyway, why not leave behind a few beast cores for our use?"
Leinor's jaw clenched so hard the veins on his temple pulsed. But with every royal gaze on him, he had no choice.
"Of course," he said through his teeth, forcing a smile. "Here."
He removed his spatial ring, signaled to Elder Leiven, and had the treasures transferred–piles of shimmering cores glowing faintly on the table. "Two hundred General Beast Cores," Leinor said.
Kiaria leaned forward, his tone playful. "Two hundred? Really wealthy!"
The Princess's laughter stopped; her eyes turned sharp. "Two hundred? Are you mocking us, Chief? Even our tableware costs twice that."
Leinor swallowed hard. "Forgive me… here." He transferred more–five hundred and eighty General Beast Cores and two hundred million spirit jades–into spatial ring. "This… is all I have on hand."
Kiaria accepted it with a faint smirk. "Apology accepted. But there's still the matter of your pride."
The Princess's voice turned cold. "As my junior brother said–you should apologize to the people of the Grasslands. Publicly. Before the auction ends."
For a moment, Leinor's mask cracked. His face turned pale, then red. "You…" he began, but before he could finish, the air rippled–space itself twisting. A sudden rift tore open beneath the Leiwis chamber.
A pull of force–a whisper of Auction Council intervention–dragged the entire family inward. The hall gasped. One moment they were there; the next, the Leiwis family was gone–vanished from the Grasslands.
The crowd froze. Only the faint echo of Kiaria's calm voice remained.
"Some debts," he said quietly, "are better settled while the blood's still warm."
In the stunned silence that followed, no one dared to laugh anymore. The humiliation of the empire's proudest merchants had turned into something else–fear.
And from that day onward, every noble remembered:
The boy who killed without raising a blade.
The child who humiliated giants with a smile.
And the name Kiaria whispered not as rumor–but as warning.
[Halo Premise…]
The words echoed from the ceilings like a divine decree. Suddenly, a radiant pulse erupted from the central core vine lantern suspended above the auction dais. The light burst outward in rippling waves, golden and pale as dawn, filling every corridor and chamber of the Grand Auction Hall.
All movement ceased.The nobles, the merchants, even the royal heirs paused mid-breath. Faces tilted upward as the wave expanded–then softened, shimmering across the floor like a living veil.
From the balconies, the great families and imperial delegates leaned forward, eyes reflecting the glow. The laughter and murmurs that had filled the air only moments ago dissolved into reverent silence.
The light coiled gently around Kiaria's shoulders, then tried to sink into his body–only to be swallowed by the faint gleam of his scar.A sound like shattering glass whispered through the room as the golden light dispersed.
Kiaria's gaze turned to the Auction Master. "What was that?"
The old man chuckled softly, his voice carrying a trace of pride and caution."Haha… Kiaria, dear friend, there's no need for alarm," he said, raising a hand as the glow faded from his eyes. "The Halo Premise is merely a safeguard. It seals this chamber from deceit–locking every participant's true identity and intentions. No illusions, no disguises, no lies."
His grin widened beneath his trimmed silver beard."Now that the premise is active," he said, turning toward the stage as the air grew taut once again, "let the Grand Auction of the Four Kingdoms… begin."