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Chapter 28
Chapter 28: Auction (2)
The auctioneer stood dumbfounded.
The bidding pace for the Peacemaker was so frenetic that even the nation’s top rapper would’ve gasped for air.
The price surged relentlessly, zeros piling up endlessly.
Barely ten seconds passed, and it had already broken 22 billion.
Еnům̃ ӑ .і ḋ
Yet the bids kept climbing at the same breakneck speed.
Some VIPs, short on funds, hurriedly summoned staff to request a break.
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The reason was simple: they needed time to replenish their accounts.
Their bidding cards were dry, but their bank accounts weren’t.
At the auctioneer’s raised hand, he announced.
“With number 2’s bid of 22 billion, a brief announcement.”
W e b̊ ṅоv̄е l̂ .Е̄ ñú m а̄
Someone shouted irritably to continue, but the auctioneer deftly ignored it.
“My apologies for interrupting this heated auction, but due to its intensity and requests from
several VIPs, we’ll take a short break.”
Fifteen minutes—a brief respite, but enough for those seeking not rest but a cash infusion.
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VIPs rose en masse, rushing out to contact their financiers, explaining the situation and their funding needs.
The Peacemaker’s astronomical bids weren’t just due to its status as a former top hero’s weapon.
Еṅu m̂ а.їd̊
Beyond its fame, the metal used in its creation was priceless.
Historically, less than a kilogram of this metal had been mined worldwide.
Over half formed the orb atop the rod, its rarity needing no explanation.
Its properties defied physics and natural laws.
Before such a metal’s intrinsic pull, hundreds of billions were trivial.
A breakthrough in its study could etch one’s name in history.
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During the brief break, most VIPs left the Moonlight Hall to make calls, but a few stayed.
Some VIPs, uninterested in the Peacemaker or having abandoned bidding early, remained.
Amid the bustle, Ho-cheol hesitated.
With people milling about, he couldn’t pull out assignments.
He had to wait for the break to end.
He sighed softly.
W̄ еb̆_n̂ӧ v̄e l Ӗ n̄ ũ m̆ а̊
Staring at the Peacemaker stirred old memories, souring his mood.
In his old days, he’d have flipped the place and walked off with it.
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* * *
The resumed auction was fierce—vicious.
Perhaps to spare the auctioneer from collapsing, bid increments doubled from before.
But only briefly.
Е̄nû m̊ а̀
Bids soared, jumping 5 billion per call, setting Lunard’s record for the largest price leaps.
Even those who’d reloaded their funds hit limits fast.
The amount transcended astronomical.
Tycoons, top hunters, billionaires—mere riffraff were long out.
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The battle for the Peacemaker’s new owner narrowed to two, furiously pressing bid buttons.
Numbers 8 and 44.
Е̂ ñ ŭm а̃. і d̃
The VIPs watched, sweating, wondering who’d claim victory, but Ho-cheol, at the center, felt nothing.
Having resolved to let no one else have it, the Peacemaker was his.
This was just a tedious, annoying formality en route to the inevitable.
“Number 8 bids 70 billion! Oh, number 44, 75 billion!”
Expressionless, numb, he pressed the bid button like a 100-won gacha machine.
When 8 bid, he countered instantly, no hesitation.
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His relentless pace visibly unnerved them.
The predetermined bidding dragged on.
The auctioneer swallowed hard.
“Three calls to close.”
Number 8 didn’t bid again.
Ho-cheol watched leisurely, legs crossed, hands clasped on his knee—no joy or relief.
Е nŭ ḿ ǎ .іd
It was obvious.
His savings were drained, but that wasn’t an issue.
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The card held illegal funds, unusable legally, and his untapped tangible assets remained.
“…Sold. Heartfelt congratulations to number 44, the Peacemaker’s new owner.”
At the auctioneer’s declaration, someone in the front row shot up—number 8, Ho-cheol’s rival bidder.
Turning, 8 glared at him.
Wѐ b̃nо vе ľ Е̌ nu m а̇
Though masked by the mosaic, the hostility was palpable.
Ho-cheol smirked, raising his middle finger.
Know your place, beggar.
“Now, to keep the heat, the next item!”
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The final items followed, but none stood out.
Ho-cheol resumed grading assignments, uninterested.
Еn̄ ũ m̊ а. іd̆
* * *
As the auction neared its end, post-Peacemaker items—antique music boxes, ceramics, taxidermied monsters—failed to draw Ho-cheol’s attention.
Grading reports, he waited for it to conclude.
Whoosh—
A hissing sound erupted, and black smoke billowed between seats.
A Lunard event?
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“What—what’s this?”
The auctioneer’s panicked tone suggested otherwise.
Ho-cheol glanced around, tracing the smoke’s source.
Dozens of small smoke canisters hid between seats.
No odd smell or bodily reaction—just smoke.
But the VIPs didn’t know that.
Ẇ e b̈n о v̇ ё l̀ Е̌ n̄um̈_ӑ
“What’s this!”
“Fire?”
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“Fire!”
Panic spread like wildfire.
One confident shout sent the VIPs into chaos.
Worse, clouds rolled in, dousing the moonlight that lit the ceiling.
W̃еb̊ ǹ.оv е̃l Еn̂u̇m̆ а̇
In pitch darkness, thick smoke choked the air.
No matter their wealth or power, they were human.
Keeping calm in this was impossible.
Someone stood, yelling,
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“Emergency exit! To the exit!”
Instinct drove everyone to the rear exit.
Еn ǔ m̀а̂ .і̆d̄
Over a hundred people surged in panic.
Even a wide door couldn’t handle that mass—shoving, tangling, trampling, it was hellish.
“Control room! Restore lights! Send the fire team! Please, stay calm! We’ll resolve this!”
The auctioneer shouted into his earpiece, but the control room was silent.
The situation was beyond control.
Ho-cheol stayed seated, eyes not on the chaotic rear but the stage.
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Darkness and smoke couldn’t blind him.
On the Moonlight Hall’s stage, beyond the auctioneer, something moved.
Three figures. Male, trained awakened, by their build and motion.
With special means, they moved precisely in the dark, unhesitant.
Not auction staff—their clothes lacked employee badges.
Neither staff nor guests, they were intruders.
Е nu m̂а
Bold rats.
They hauled variously sized boxes, over twenty already moved.
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No question what was inside.
Propping his chin, he muttered, stunned.
“They’re out of their minds.”
The black market ignored external laws, crimes, or grudges, but it wasn’t lawless.
Ӗn ũ m̈а̊ .ìd
Crimes here faced stricter, harsher penalties than standard law.
Knowing that and pulling this?
Either insane or supremely confident.
How do they plan to escape?
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Lunard’s security, though mediocre in quality, rivaled national facilities in quantity.
Their tenacity daunted even Ho-cheol—could mere thieves shake them?
Ënŭm a. ì d̀
Feeling a faint unease, his gaze lifted.
Above the ceiling, the shadow cloaking the auction wasn’t clouds—it was a balloon.
“A hot-air balloon.”
He murmured, impressed.
“Romantic bastards.”
Lunard’s magnetic defense grid detected all metal within its range, even palm-sized stealth drones.
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Aerial escapes via helicopters were impossible.
But non-metal?
Canvas and heat.
The primitive hot-air balloon pierced that blind spot perfectly.
A mad idea no one dared try, but its effect was undeniable.
The balloon floated silently, mocking Lunard’s defenses.
Е̇n u m̂ a.
As Ho-cheol marveled, a swish sounded, and a black-painted rope dropped from the balloon.
The thieves tied boxes to it, ready.
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Once reeled up, the perfect crime was complete.
Even if security arrived, they’d prioritize calming the VIPs at the exit.
By the time order was restored, Lunard’s items would be long gone.
A 95% success rate, barring unthinkable variables.
Е̄ ñum̊å
Ho-cheol stood.
“That won’t do.”
Normally, he’d have no reason to intervene.
Lunard’s core was fencing stolen goods—being robbed by criminals was poetic.
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No victims here; Lunard could handle it.
But two of those boxes held items he’d paid for—his property.
Еńum̃а́.ĭd̆
No way he’d let them go.
* * *
The thieves, having secured the boxes, tugged the rope twice, signaling.
The balloon began ascending, lifting the tethered load.
Seconds from success, they fist-bumped, celebrating early.
Thud—
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The rise halted abruptly.
Thinking the balloon had issues, they looked up, but the crew leaned out, staring down.
The problem wasn’t the balloon—it was them.
They looked down.
Ho-cheol gripped the rope below.
Feeling their gaze, he waved with his free hand.
W̆ е.b̂ ň о̇ v̂ е l̇ Е̃ n_u̇ m̀ а̄
“As a kid, I dreamed of circling the world in one of these. Didn’t we all? But doing it as an adult’s a bit much.”
With a flick of his fingers, the balloon lurched like a toy.
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“What the—!”
The thieves’ panic was natural.
Even if Ho-cheol’s strength held the balloon, the rope should’ve snapped.
Yet the forces balanced impossibly.
Ě ǹ u m ӓ . і d
Only a master, not just a strong awakened but one who fully grasped and dominated force, could pull this off.
The lowest thief drew a knife, cutting the rope not below but above himself.
Landing nimbly, he gripped the knife backhand, facing Ho-cheol.
Ho-cheol nodded, impressed.
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“Quick thinking. A fool would cut below to flee, not above.”
He spread his index and middle fingers like scissors.
Е́ n̂ um̆ӓ
The thief replied curtly.
“Can’t escape without buying time. This is best.”
“Correct. Smartest villain I’ve seen lately. You the boss?”
He understood priorities, acting decisively.
Did he take out the stage guards too?
The boss stared, assessing Ho-cheol.
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His masked lips moved.
“Didn’t know Lunard had guards like you.”
“Not a guard. Just a guest.”
“Bad luck, then.”
The boss needed time, not victory.
Thirty seconds until the balloon escaped—enough.
W e̊ b n о̄ vеl Énu ṁа̊
His trait focused on stealth and speed.
He’d subdued the hall’s guards so fast they didn’t know what hit them.
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Alone, he could slip away easily.
No matter how strong this awakened was, he wasn’t easy prey.
Thirty seconds?
He could manage.
Е́nũ m̈а̃ .і d
“You’re an interesting character.”
“What?”
That was the boss’s last word before losing consciousness.
Boom—!
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He flew, crashing into the wall.
Ho-cheol, hands in pockets, gave a wry smile, lowering his right leg.
Е n̄u m̈_а.іd̂_
“Went easy on a mere thief. I misjudged my strength.”
He grabbed the balloon’s rope, still grounded.
“No escaping.”
Facing the terrified thieves, he tilted his head.
“Come down.”
With that, he yanked the rope hard.
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