Chapter 42: Charlotte and the Sound of Collapse

The auction begins. Maybe it’s because I know this is the real deal, but my mouth feels dry. Even if I’m ninety-nine percent sure there’s nothing to worry about, that lingering one percent refuses to disappear.

In moments like this, I look around. Riven and Trishel are sitting in their seats as calmly as ever. It’s obvious I’m the only one nervous. I let out a long breath, like venting steam.

Once I calm down, the surroundings come into focus. The venue is just as large as the first and second days. Empty seats spread out before me, with scattered adventurers filling a few here and there. Nothing seems unusual.

I glance toward Reynard. Nothing odd on his end either. And yet, the unease keeps churning restlessly in my chest.

"Well then, everyone, you’re used to the atmosphere by now, right? Whether you laughed yesterday, or cried yesterday—today will surely be your time to shine as we begin the third day!"

The hostess raises her voice, signaling the start of the auction.

No good—I need to focus. This is the critical moment. I can’t afford to drift off.

I slap my cheeks to sharpen my mind. Riven shoots me a look like, what the hell is this guy doing? I ignore it. I’m used to that by now.

"Trishel. Everything’s set up properly, right?"

"Mm, it’s fine. I told him to move on my signal."

"And the chance of him betraying us at the last moment?"

"Zero. If he tried something that stupid, I made sure he knows his life wouldn’t last beyond that."

Chilling words. I might’ve pulled the trigger, but it still makes me shiver. Well, as long as he obeys, nothing will happen. It’s just a precaution… right? Right. Though, with Trishel, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s plotting something behind the scenes. Still—she wouldn’t do that. Probably. I’ll trust she won’t. Yeah.

"And you, Riven? Think your plan will go smoothly?"

"Hm? Ah, well, somehow or other."

"You sound like it doesn’t even concern you…"

"Doesn’t concern me, huh."

He gives a resigned little smile. That’s not like him. What’s eating at you?

"The truth is, I’d prefer to handle this with my own hands. But it doesn’t look like it’ll work out that way."

"And that leaves you a little dissatisfied?"

"Dissatisfied… maybe so. Still, with that monster ahead of us, I can’t afford to waste thought on it."

So his reason understands, but his feelings are snagging on it. At least he still thinks it’ll all work out. That’s good enough.

I glance at Reynard again. No change. If he’s steady, then things really will be fine on his side. That’s just who he is.

For good measure, I scan for that idiot too. …There he is. Same seat as yesterday. Reclined in his chair, looking smug. Infuriating. The one beside him must be one of his men. He wasn’t there yesterday, so maybe they regrouped closer together.

"…Charlotte, are you nervous?"

Trishel, sitting right behind me, must’ve noticed my fidgeting and spoke up. Maybe I looked too restless, glancing around so much.

"Not nervous, exactly. Just… I’ve got this uneasy feeling I can’t shake."

My words catch Riven’s attention too. I quickly add on.

"It’s not like I think we’ll lose. More like there’s a lump in my chest, if that makes sense."

"Hm. This isn’t a dungeon, but with you, Charlotte, it might just mean you’ve noticed something you can’t yet put into words."

"Urk."

So that’s how they take it.

"Even if something is there, right now all we can do is focus on what’s in front of us."

That’s Riven for you—cool-headed, always facing reality. Hard to believe this is the same guy who once panicked so badly.

"You’re right. …Ah, look—that must be it, isn’t it?"

While we’ve been talking, time’s passed quickly. From below the stage, a display case rises, holding the blade in question.

"This piece hails from the East! A type of sword known as a katana! It boasts not only practical strength as a weapon, but also beauty worthy of admiration as a work of art! Its name is—"

"—Kagutsuchi. A cursed blade that chooses its wielder."

Riven mutters confirmation of information absent from the catalog. A cursed blade, huh. Hearing that, it does look ominous. …Nah, just kidding. To me it still looks like an ordinary sword.

"Now then, we’ll start the bidding at ten gold—"

"Two hundred!"

Before the hostess can finish, the price leaps sky-high. Of course, it’s that idiot. He’s looking our way with a triumphant grin.

"So, he’s cutting away the riffraff first, huh."

"We intended the same. Two hundred twenty!"

Riven quickly raises the bid. His limit is four hundred. Even then, he had to dip into other funds, so the real ceiling is probably lower.

"Two hundred thirty!"

"Two hundred thirty-five!"

"Two hundred fifty!"

Bids echo from all over. Could those be the people Reynard brought yesterday?

"Hey, Trishel."

"Mm? What is it, Charlotte?"

"If we’re just filtering out the weak first, why are our own people driving up the price too? Wouldn’t it be fine to just outbid whenever the other side calls?"

When I ask, she tilts her head thoughtfully before answering.

"See, in these things you always set your final limit beforehand."

"But wouldn’t you try to win it as cheaply as possible?"

"In a normal auction, yes. But this isn’t normal. This is two factions clashing."

I nod slowly. Hm, okay… but what’s the difference?

"If both sides are ready to bid their full limit, it’s simple and easy to follow."

"So that means it won’t actually go that way?"

"Exactly. The outcome will be decided before it ever reaches the limit."

Huh? What does that mean? I can’t quite wrap my head around it. Why would things be settled before reaching the limit?

Trishel beams at me, clearly amused by my puzzled look. Grr…

"Well, just watch and you’ll see."

"Ah, so you’re dodging the question."

"Not at all. Look, it’s at just the right stage. See? The bidding’s crossed into the three-hundreds."

Prompted by her, I tune back into the auction. The heat of the room is palpable. And yet, I can’t shake the sense of a cold draft running through it all.

When I glance beside me, I see Riven wearing a faint smile plastered across his face.

"Finished talking?"

"Uh, yes. How’s it looking now?"

"Your little setup. Their side just broke."

"Huh?"

I turn toward the idiots’ side. There he is, standing up in plain view of the entire crowd, grabbing the collar of the man next to him.

Ah. Looks like Trishel’s arrangement has already kicked in.

"I just… whispered a little something to stir the pot."

What I’d asked Trishel to do was disrupt their group bidding strategy. I’d heard they planned to coordinate their raises, so I had her plant the idea of making bids off-script—higher than planned, if possible.

She triggered it early so as not to interfere with Riven’s side of things. Honestly, I only expected it to shake their trust a little, but… it seems to be working better than I thought. They’re clearly hesitating now.

"That’s the fatal blow, Charlotte."

Trishel leans forward from the seat behind me. If she was going to get this close, she should’ve just sat beside me from the start.

"In a group effort, only one person—the real bidder—pays in the end. Which means there’s always the risk of going over the limit unintentionally."

"When the limit gets reached, panic sets in. And then, allies you thought you could rely on might accidentally push a bid higher than what you can cover. In a battle fought at the edge of the budget, that risk is always there."

"O-oh? I see…"

So if you bid alone, that risk vanishes. But then, you lose the ability to control the pace. Without absolute resolve to go to the limit, that’s not an option either. After all, the basic principle is still wanting to win it as cheaply as possible.

"If the other side takes control of the pace, hesitation creeps in."

"And once hesitation sets in, you can’t raise your hand to bid."

"As a result, you lose the right to decide the price. Unless you’ve got the will to gamble everything at your limit, your only option is to withdraw. I was surprised the idea came from you, but it’s a clever move."

…So it was a deeper psychological play than I realized. All I thought was, let’s throw a wrench in things! Really now.

But yeah, it makes sense. If you don’t know how high it’ll go, it’s hard to put down money. I can understand that feeling myself.

"Enough! The rest of you, sit down! Three hundred ten!"

That idiot’s voice echoes loudly across the hall. He kicks aside his so-called allies and shouts his bid with bravado.

"…He seems plenty eager to keep bidding."

"Hm. Perhaps he’s more stubborn than expected."

"Or maybe he’s just too dumb to understand the mind games. He could just be charging straight to the limit out of pride."

"That may be."

Harsh words. But… painfully accurate.

"So then, this really is going to turn into a contest at the limit, isn’t it?"

"From what I’ve dug up, their ceiling’s about three hundred fifty."

"But… is that wise? Didn’t you say it’s family money he’s using?"

"Wise? Not in the slightest. At worst, he could be disowned—"

Wait, wasn’t this supposed to not come down to a pure limit battle? And yet, here we are, heading straight for one. What a mess.

"Three hundred fifty!"

And there it is—the moment he touches the ceiling.