From the VIP lounge, a voice interjects with calm authority, "One hundred and fifty thousand." All eyes turn toward Lord Mesvin, a renowned collector known for his discerning taste.
Not to be outdone, Marquis Elowen, seated across, raises his paddle. "One hundred and seventy-five thousand."
The bids escalate rapidly.
"Two hundred thousand," calls a viscount from the eastern territories.
"Two hundred and fifty thousand," responds a duchess, her eyes gleaming with determination.
In the VVIP lounge, Ingra observes the fervor with a smirk. "They're like vultures over carrion," she murmurs.
Pyke leans back, a subtle smirk playing on his lips.
"Captain," he murmurs, addressing Prince Asdri, "if we were to sell the Obsidian Aegis back in Weldea continent, it would scarcely fetch a hundred thousand gold coins. Yet here in your home, the nobles clamor over it, driving the price to astronomical heights."
