Killyaen sprawled in the VIP room of Starveil Auction House, the 30-kilogram weight of N'Nazmuz's curse grinding his bones like a scorned tavern wench. The chamber's Qi-blocking formations hummed, runes cloaking his voice and presence from the cultivators below. Perfect for a Supreme Elf to stir chaos without leaving a trace.
Through the one-way Zenoite pane, he watched the auction floor, where the Legendary-grade Veilstone Sword—3.2 feet of shadow-forged steel with a Glintmoth-wing hilt—shimmered under torchlight. Its starting bid: 500 Level 2 Spirit Stones. His spatial ring (Goran's gift, Chapter 15) held 10 Level 4, 170 Level 1 Spirit Stones, and 500 gold coins, plus his Crystal Wyver loot and quarry haul listed for auction. But Killyaen wasn't here to win that blade.
Cunning as a Glintmoth dodging a net, he knew a Legendary-grade sword would make him a magnet for every bandit and sect sorehead in Valthorne.Qi-blind and cursed, Killyaen's mithril swords and prankster arsenal—Moonflower sap, Feather-Ticklers, Glowvine nets—could outfox Middle Knight cultivators, maybe Middle Expert if he played dirty. But a Veilstone Sword? That'd scream "rob me" louder than Tira's thighs in a firestorm.
His plan: bid high, jack the price to absurd heights, then slip away, letting some fool wear the target. His real score? The Rare-grade Pyroclast Dual Swords—twin 2.4-foot blades with Krovar-bone grips, sharper than mithril but subtle enough for a mortal. He'd also grab Rare-grade Pyroclast Sheaths to match and two Rare-grade magical rings to boost Bera and Tira's fire skills by 25%, keeping his "Fiery Triangle" lethal and loyal.
The auctioneer, a Middle Scholar Wind cultivator with a voice like honed Zenoite, kicked off the bidding. "Legendary-grade Veilstone Sword, forged in Azurion's lost depths! Starting at 500 Level 2 Spirit Stones!" A Middle Master Fire cultivator in crimson robes raised a paddle. "510!" A Peak Knight Earth elder growled, "520!" Killyaen smirked, sipping Firebloom ale, and pressed the VIP room's bidding rune, his voice warped by formations. "600!" The crowd gasped, heads swiveling toward the veiled boxes. The Fire cultivator snarled, "610!" Killyaen upped the ante. "700!" Murmurs erupted—Level 3 Spirit Stones were rarer than Lunargent ore in Crestmoore; Level 4, a fever dream. "710!" the Earth elder barked. Killyaen pushed harder. "800!" The auctioneer's eyes gleamed. "A bold mystery bidder!" A Middle Master Lightning cultivator, her braid sparking, jumped in. "850!"Killyaen's fingers danced. "900!"
The hall roared, merchants clutching chests, cultivators muttering about sect wars. "950!" the Fire cultivator spat. Killyaen pictured their sweating faces, then struck. "1,000 Level 2 Spirit Stones!" The crowd lost it. "1,050!" the Lightning cultivator hissed. Killyaen delivered the final blow: "1,378 Level 2—or 106 Level 3, your call!" Silence, then chaos. "Insanity!" a sect elder bellowed. "Who's this madman?" The auctioneer, barely hiding his glee, called, "106 Level 3! Going once… twice…" The Fire cultivator, face purple, nodded grimly. "Sold!" The hall exploded, half-cheering, half-cursing. Killyaen toasted the pane. "Enjoy the bullseye, hothead."His gambit worked—the price soared, ensuring the winner would bleed enemies and resources.
Killyaen collected his auction haul: Crystal Wyver's High-grade Beast Core (12 Level 4 Spirit Stones), scales, fangs, claws, Tempestite crystals, Opeka Zenoite Coin, and quarry loot (Gloomvine, Mice pelts, Moonstone, Moss spores, Krovar horns, Drake feathers, Lotus sap, Wolf fangs, Lunargent ore, Glintmoth shards) netting 50 Level 3, 350 Level 2, and 200 Level 1 Spirit Stones. Total wealth: 22 Level 4, 50 Level 3, 350 Level 2, 370 Level 1 Spirit Stones, and 500 gold coins. From this, he bought the Rare-grade Pyroclast Dual Swords (150 Level 2 Spirit Stones), Rare-grade Pyroclast Sheaths with Zenoite-inlaid Krovar leather (120 Level 2 Spirit Stones), and two Rare-grade magical rings boosting fire skills by 25% for Bera and Tira (30 Level 2 each, 60 total). Post-purchase: 22 Level 4, 50 Level 3, 80 Level 2, 370 Level 1 Spirit Stones, 500 gold coins.
Outside Starveil, Crestmoore's dusk pulsed with Zenoite traders and ale-drunk merchants. The curse slowed Killyaen's swagger, but his Pyroclast Dual Swords, snug in their Pyroclast Sheaths, clinked at his hips, their fiery runes glinting.
A shadow loomed—Varko, a Middle Master Water cultivator with a scar like a Krovar's claw, flanked by two Middle Knight goons.
Killyaen's scavenging instincts caught the assassination contract scroll in Varko's belt. His pulse spiked, but his grin stayed filthy.
"Varko, chasing my supreme sword's fame?" Varko sneered, "Your bids riled the wrong sect, elf. They want your head." Killyaen twirled a Pyroclast blade, voice low.
"I didn't buy that Veilstone toy. I'm too weak, you see? Qi-blind, cursed, barely scrape Middle Knights with pranks and these twins. That sword's a death sentence for a nobody like me." He flicked a Glowvine-sap coin at Varko's boots, winking.
"Check the logs if you want." I walked.Varko's Fire Qi flared, but his eyes scanned Killyaen's lean frame and unflashy swords. The elf's words held—no fool this weak would carry a Legendary-grade blade.
"You're nothing," Varko grunted, crushing the scroll.
"Waste of my gold." He stalked off, goons trailing.
Killyaen exhaled, smirking. Cunning trumps muscle. But Varko's client—likely the Fire sect bidder or a rival—wouldn't forget. Time to move fast.
At The Iron Bloom, Bera (Peak Expert Fire, post-Cultivation Tower) sat across from Killyaen, her red tunic hugging breasts that set his cursed eyes ablaze, while Tira (Peak Master Fire) lounged beside him, her phoenix tattoo glowing under her thigh-high slit.
"No legendary blade, elf?" Tira purred, her Peak Master Fire aura flaring.
Killyaen eyed the stool she nudged him toward, catching a faint shimmer—alchemist-made invisible glue, crafted to stick the Supreme Elf to his "new throne."
Sneaky, Fire Girl.
Grinning, he fumbled a Level 1 Spirit Stone, letting it roll near Tira's stool. "Oops, clumsy me," he said, voice dripping. "Your tattoo's hotter than Sani's lightning, Tira. Grab that stone for me?" Her eyes gleamed, smirk widening, as she bent to pick it up, missing Killyaen's sleight as he swapped their stools.
He slid onto her seat, tossing the magical rings, their fire runes pulsing. "25% more fire, girls. Keep up with my supreme spark." Bera's foot, under the table, stroked his groin guard—"Supreme Sword Sleeps Here"—her rosy skin flushed. "Buying my flames, pervert?" Killyaen's lustful narration lingered on her "fiery breasts."
"Just stoking them, curves." They ate Gromble ribs, Killyaen dodging Tira's smug glances. Dinner done, he stood, stretching. "Off for evening training, ladies. Gotta keep these swords sharp."
Tira, smirking, rose to follow—then a loud rip echoed. Her skirt tore, glued to the stool, exposing her bare, glowing cheeks to the tavern. The crowd froze, mugs mid-air, as Bera turned crimson, choking on laughter. Killyaen leapt from a corner, arms wide. "Behold and marvel at the Fiery Cheeks of the Fiery Fissure! Mugs up, everyone!"
The tavern erupted, hoisting drinks, chanting "Supreme Elf!" Tira, red as a setting sun, flashed a wicked smile, cursing internally: That bastard elf! I'll burn him to ash!
She stormed off to change her skirt, muttering oaths.
A sect disciple, a Beginner Knight Wind, approached with a letter from Elder Sani, since Killyaen's qi-blindness barred jade slip use. The note detailed a 2-star mission for Fiery Fissure: clear Zenoite quarry of Krovars and secure a blue relic for Lord Crestmoore, starting tomorrow. Success would promote their team to 2-star status.
Killyaen groaned, curse dragging his limbs. "Krovars? Where's the glory?" Bera smirked, her foot still teasing.
"Glory's not getting glued, elf."
A merchant's whisper of a "Middle Master Earth cultivator" nearby—Lila?—stirred his reflection: "Earth queen's too stubborn to quit". His split-leaf amulet pulsed near a Zenoite mug, dismissed as "bad ale vibes".
Killyaen and Bera headed to Lord Crestmoore's stables to check the glowing egg, black with red veins, thrumming louder under torchlight. Killyaen's eyes lit up, ignoring Bera's presence as he knelt beside the egg, stroking its warm, pulsing shell.
"You beauty," he murmured, voice soft.
"You and me, we'll rampage through Aenerion, cracking skulls and stealing hearts. Supreme Elf and his shadow beast, unstoppable." He traced the red veins, grinning like a kid with a new blade, lost in his vision of glory. Bera's brow twitched, her Peak Expert Fire aura flaring .
She crossed her arms, foot tapping, irritation rising. He's fawning over an egg? Then it hit her—jealousy, absurd and burning, over Killyaen caressing a damn egg. She huffed, muttering,
"Ridiculous. I'm hotter than that thing." Killyaen, oblivious, cooed,
"Grow strong, little shadow. We'll show 'em."
The egg trembled slightly, a low hum vibrating the stable floor, startling Bera and Jogen (Beginner Master Wind), who stood nearby. Jogen's eyes widened. "High-grade Spirit Beast, likely Darkness. Level 1 and 2 Spirit Stones won't cut it anymore—needs 10 Level 3 Spirit Stones to stabilize. It's hatching soon, Killyaen. Stay close; it'll see you as its father." Killyaen tossed 50 Level 1 Spirit Stones (now 320 Level 1), muttering, "Hatch and fight, little shadow." His amulet pulsed, sparking a vision: Middle Sea waves, a voice whispering, "The Child binds the Shadow." He snapped, "Piss off, sparkles!". Bera, still fuming, snapped, "You're weirder than that egg, Killyaen." He smirked, mind on her breasts, Varko's shadow lingering.