X776, Kingdom of Fiore, Hargeon Port
The night was deep. The sound of the tide was cut off beyond the high walls.
Underground, the air was thick and scorching, mixed with the acrid bite of premium cigars, the cloying sweetness of strong rum, and the heat and sweat of bodies steaming from greed.
Scantily dressed maidens carried silver trays, slipping like snakes between the crowd. None touched the wine on their trays. Every gaze was nailed firmly to the auctioneer on the high platform, whose spittle flew as he shouted.
This was an underground market. No names, no origins, only money.
"Next item!"
The auctioneer's voice carried a forced sense of mystery as he yanked away the red velvet cloth covering the tray.
Exposed beneath the dim light—
A compass.
Bronze-cast, covered in verdigris and rust, its needle lifeless, as if it had stopped turning centuries ago.
A brief silence. Then, loud, scornful jeers.
"What the hell? Scrap metal?"
"Not a trace of magic. Dug out of some junk heap?"
"Silence! All of you, quiet!"
The auctioneer hammered the gavel hard, his sharp voice pressing over the noise.
"This was dug from the very core of an ancient ruin! Its worth is beyond the sight of fools like you! Starting price, fifty thousand J!"
Silence.
In a shadowed corner of the hall, beneath a plain wide-brimmed hat, Erza's brow furrowed. Her crimson hair was tied up under the hat. Dressed as an ordinary merchant, she blended into this den of filth.
But her brown eyes never left the compass, sharp enough to pierce through it.
The intel could not be wrong.
This compass was the only lead to the infamous dark guild, "Black Sails." They used it to locate forbidden magic devices sunk beneath the sea, committing countless crimes.
She had to secure it.
"What now, Gildarts?"
Her whisper was barely a breath, aimed at the orange-haired man leaning lazily against the wall, disguised as a bodyguard.
He half-closed his eyes, as if already asleep.
"We can't blow our cover by seizing it. But if Black Sails takes it, the trail is gone for good." Her knuckles whitened from gripping too hard.
"Mm…"
Gildarts lazily cracked an eye open.
"Then we just bid. But those Black Sails dogs won't let it go. Could be a bottomless pit."
Before his words settled, a thick arm shot up in the front row, holding a placard.
On the arm—a tattoo of a black, snarling ship.
"Sixty thousand J!"
The man's roar was rough, arrogant. He turned, sweeping his gaze over the hall with a vicious grin.
A Black Sails member.
A chill ran down Erza's spine.
She gritted her teeth, ready to raise her card and drain the guild's funds if needed.
Then—
A voice cut through all noise.
Not loud. No emotion. Yet it slipped clear and cold into every ear in the room.
"One million J."
Silence.
Cups froze midair. Even breath seemed to vanish. Hundreds of eyes turned stiffly toward the source.
At the back, in an unremarkable seat.
A black-haired, black-eyed boy raised his placard.
He didn't even look at the stage. His gaze lingered on his empty fingertips, as if the one million J had nothing to do with him—words muttered in a dream.
The Black Sails brute's face twitched violently, drained pale beneath the flush of rage. He shot to his feet, joints cracking, his glare promising to tear the boy apart.
On stage, the auctioneer's hand trembled on the gavel. His Adam's apple bobbed. The gulp echoed in the silence.
He glanced between the boy and the furious guild member.
In the end, greed won over fear.
"O… one million J! Any higher bids?"
His voice cracked with excitement.
"One million J, once!"
No answer.
"One million J, twice!"
The Black Sails man's chest heaved. His teeth ground loud enough to hear. But he didn't raise his card. The number was far beyond his limit. Beyond anyone's imagination.
The auctioneer, staring at the boy's cold, unreadable face, realized it was no joke. He raised the gavel.
Under the seething bloodlust of Black Sails' gaze, he slammed it down with all his strength.
Thud!
"SOLD!"
Amid stares of shock, greed, envy, and fear, the boy named Hoshino Arashi rose.
Calmly, he walked to the stage and accepted the compass from the auctioneer's trembling hands.
He ignored everyone. He held the compass loosely in his palm, studying it.
Then, suddenly, he raised his head.
His gaze cut across the hall, through light and shadow, locking precisely onto the wide-brimmed hat in the corner.
Beneath it, Erza's pupils shrank.
For an instant, she felt a ridiculous illusion—that all her disguise, all her plans, were laid bare under those calm black eyes. Even the sword hidden beneath her cloak burned against her skin.
Fate's path twisted. Irresistible force bent it toward this intersection.
(End of Chapter)
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