Chapter 459: Underworld Auction

Veyr didn’t lead Xavier and Klatos through a grand entrance or guarded hall. Instead, they passed through a freight elevator buried three levels below the underworld’s main artery, the kind used for cargo that didn’t want records. The lift descended without numbers, only a slow pulse of light climbing down its inner frame, counting depth in a way only machines cared about.

“Rules are simple,” Veyr said while the elevator moved. “No names. No open threats. If you bid, you commit. If you win, you pay. If you break either rule, you don’t leave.”

Xavier nodded, calm. Klatos folded his wings tighter, eyes tracking every reflection in the steel walls.

The doors opened onto a space that didn’t look like an auction hall at first glance.

It looked like a cathedral built by criminals.

The ceiling was impossibly high, supported by rib-like arches of black alloy that pulsed faintly with embedded energy lines. Platforms floated at different heights, each one occupied by private boxes enclosed in translucent shields. Below them, at ground level, a circular floor of dark glass reflected everything above, making it feel like the crowd was standing over its own shadow.

There were no chairs to sit on.

Everyone here either leaned against their shields or stood perfectly still.

Species from across Jupiter and beyond filled the boxes. Tall insectoids with crystalline mandibles. Pale-skinned humanoids with visible neural implants. A pair of beings that looked like walking smoke held together by armor harnesses. Even humans were rare here, and the ones present carried themselves like they belonged to the furniture, not the crowd.

Xavier pulled the mask on before stepping out of the elevator.

The damaged face settled into place instantly, adaptive mesh syncing to muscle and movement. The illusion was flawless. Anyone looking would see the same broken, unsettling man they’d seen in the underworld corridors earlier, not the one who had just rewritten his biology.

Klatos glanced at him once, then looked away. He understood what the mask meant.

Veyr led them to a mid-tier box and keyed it open. The shield shimmered, then sealed behind them. Sound from the hall dropped instantly, replaced by a muted hum that carried the auctioneer’s voice without carrying anyone else’s.

The auctioneer stood alone on the glass floor below.

They were small, almost unimpressive physically, wrapped in a neutral robe that shifted color depending on who looked at it.

“Tonight’s exchange begins,” they said. “As always, verification is complete. All items are authentic. All claims are binding.”

A ripple moved through the hall, not applause, but attention sharpening.

The first items weren’t impressive to Xavier. Rare metals pulled from collapsing stars. Weapon cores banned in twelve systems. Memory crystals containing extinct languages. Valuable, yes, but not something Xavier cared about.

Klatos murmured occasional commentary, explaining which factions favored which items, who was bidding out of habit, and who was bidding with intent. Xavier listened, not because he planned to buy immediately, but because auctions were maps. Every raised bid was a signal.

Then the lighting shifted.

The auctioneer raised one hand and the previous lot sank back into the floor. Then, the glass floor darkened, and a single object rose from beneath it.

It was a jacket.

It hung suspended in a grav-field frame, slow rotation, sleeves empty, collar stiff and scarred. Matte black fabric that didn’t absorb light so much as refuse it. The surface wasn’t smooth. It carried micro-fractures, burn lines, and old stitch repairs done by different hands at different times. Someone had rebuilt it over and over instead of replacing it.

“Lot Seventy-Three. The Black Covenant.”

Veyr leaned closer, voice low. “That thing shouldn’t even exist anymore.”

Xavier didn’t look away. “What is it?”

“A contract you can wear,” Veyr said. “Originally commissioned by the Covenant Syndicate during the city purges. The inner lining is woven with oath-thread taken from executed debtors. Their neural residue’s bound into the fabric. The jacket recognizes violence as intent. It adapts. Reinforces. Seals wounds. Hardens under fire.”

Xavier exhaled slowly. “So it’s illegal…”

“On at least twelve levels,” Veyr said. “And religiously banned in three systems.”

The auctioneer continued, voice flat. “Previous owners include nine confirmed warlords, two bounty kings, and one city executioner. All died violently while wearing it. The jacket was recovered intact each time.”

The opening bid detonated the room.

“Ten million USC.”

Someone across the hall jumped it instantly. “Fifty.”

Another voice, filtered. “One hundred.”

Xavier lifted his hand. “Two hundred.”

The numbers stopped being numbers after that. They became pressure. The bids slammed into each other without pause, climbing by tens of millions, then hundreds.

Whoever wanted it already knew they were paying whatever it cost.

Xavier kept bidding anyway.

However, every bid he placed felt wrong and necessary at the same time. The jacket wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t powerful in a clean way. But he heard a whisper calling him to wear this.

It was as if he was charmed by it.

At five hundred million, he realized someone wasn’t competing.

They were pacing him.

Every time Xavier raised, the counter came back instantly. By seven hundred million, his palms were damp.

By eight hundred million, Veyr leaned back. “You’re burning money you’ll need.”

Xavier didn’t answer.

He pushed it to the edge anyway. Every credit he had left.

“One billion USC.”

The room went quiet for half a second. Then, the counter bid landed.

“One hundred and half billion.”

Xavier stared at the number. Whoever that was could keep going until the planet cracked. This wasn’t about owning the jacket. This was about making sure someone else didn’t.

Veyr leaned in again. “I can cover the gap.”

Xavier finally looked at him. “Why?”

“I’m not lending,” Veyr said. “I’d be buying part of Bull’s share. Clean exchange.”

Xavier thought fast. Even if Veyr backed him, it wouldn’t end. That bidder wasn’t measuring the cost. They were measuring dominance. He shook his head once.

“Doesn’t matter,” Xavier said. “They’ll bury us both.”

The final bid struck like a hammer.

Three billion USC.

The auctioneer brought it down immediately.

“Sold.”

The jacket drifted away, already claimed, gravity frame disengaging as handlers moved it toward a sealed lift. Xavier followed it with his eyes until it vanished.

Something tight in his chest eased and tightened at the same time.

The auction rolled on. Weapons. Organs. Data-cores. Things that screamed value but meant nothing to him. In the end, he stopped bidding.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep