On the Path of Eternal Strength.-Chapter 69 - 67 The Seeds the World Hid

There was no cut. Only the almost imperceptible change to denser air upon crossing the threshold. The floor was no longer warm, but made of a neutral, functional material. The ceiling descended slightly, just enough to give the sensation of having left behind the world of display cases, filtered light, and slow breakfasts. They were not underground. But neither were they still above.

The administrator walked ahead. She did not turn, did not explain, did not ask. Her stride was firm, as if the path had been written before anyone stepped on it. The walls on either side were clean, without adornments or signs. At the end of the corridor, a double door of white panels opened without a sound.

Behind it, the limousine awaited them.

It was long, impeccable, an opaque white that did not shine under the artificial light. It had no emblems or visible markings. Its edges were smooth, curved, as if it had been designed to move between spaces without being noticed. The vehicle occupied the entire platform. No one else was there. No visible driver. No staff. Only the silence that usually surrounds movements that do not appear on official plans.

The administrator descended the last step, crossed the space without altering her pace, and opened the front left door. She sat behind the wheel without instructions. Everything seemed habitual to her. As if that route were not new.

Sebastián observed the scene without moving yet. Virka, at his side, kept one hand behind Valentina, more out of closeness than necessity. The girl looked at the limousine with wide eyes, without fear, but with an attention that did not seek decoration.

—Shall we go? —she whispered, barely audible.

Sebastián nodded. He went down the step. Not like one who obeys, but like one who accepts. Virka descended beside him. Valentina followed them, holding the straps of her backpack with both hands.

The rear side door was already open. They got in without haste.

The interior was sober. Ivory-white leather spaces, matte black surfaces, dim lighting in thin lines embedded in the ceiling. There were no active screens, no useless lights, no unnecessary luxuries. Only clean functionality.

Valentina was the first to move inside. She touched the edges of the seats, slid her fingers over a closed compartment, leaned in to see how the window curved outward. Then she chose a seat by the window and settled in, with the backpack on her legs.

Sebastián and Virka sat facing her. He with his back straight, hands clasped over his lap. She with her legs crossed, one hand on her coat, the other hanging naturally at her side.

They did not speak.

The engine started without a sound. The limousine began to move with a smoothness that made it impossible to identify its speed. They passed through a short tunnel. Then another. After that, the levels ceased to be distinguishable. Only the movement existed.

The journey was long.

And time was not noticed on clocks, but in the light.

The side windows showed the city descending. At first, the buildings were still tall, with clean glass and angular facades. Then the older sectors appeared, where modernity had not erased every corner. The sunlight, which upon leaving the building had still fallen straight on, began to turn. From white it turned golden. Then, to a soft orange.

Valentina kept watching.

She rested her forehead against the tempered glass. Her eyes moved with the city, not with thoughts. Her breathing was slow, focused, as if the world could not surprise her, but could entertain her. From time to time, she murmured something to her backpack, where Narka rested in silence.

Sebastián watched her without speaking. His posture did not change throughout the journey. Virka did not divert her gaze much either. But her fingers had begun to move slightly, as if tuning internal tensions.

There was no music. There was no intercom. The administrator did not speak.

Only the vehicle advancing, the light descending, and the space between them sharpening into something that needed no explanation.

After what could have been an hour or a brief eternity, the vehicle turned onto a narrower street. The facades on the sides were of old concrete, with touches of restoration. They were not in a forbidden area. But neither was it an area someone would go to unless they had reasons.

In front of them, the pawnshop.

The limousine stopped without jolts.

There were no bright signs. Only discreet display windows. Gold chains, watches that caught the light like insects trapped in glass, gems that feigned eternity with polished shine. The entrance was rectangular, guarded by two men in dark suits. There were no visible weapons. They made no unnecessary movements. They only waited. Like dangerous furniture.

The front door opened. The administrator got out. She walked toward the rear and opened the door for them.

—We’ve arrived, boss —she said. Her voice did not change—. Just in time.

Valentina was the first to step out.

Her shoes touched the asphalt with that brief, rounded sound that only small, weightless steps make. She carried her backpack as if she were carrying secrets. She looked at the facade with open eyes, without passing judgment.

Virka got out next. Her long coat fell to either side with a faint whisper. Her silhouette seemed made not to belong to that place. And yet, she did.

Sebastián was the last to descend. He did not look at the building. He looked straight at the door.

The administrator said nothing more. She simply walked toward the entrance, unhurried, without spectacle.

The afternoon had not died yet.

But it was already another one.

The door of the pawnshop opened inward with a silent, heavy movement, as if the building itself chose when to allow passage. The warehouse administrator was the first to cross the threshold. She did not hesitate, did not look back. Her posture had not changed since the limousine: straight, practical, with that strange mixture of outward informality and internal precision that defined her. Behind her entered Sebastián, Virka, and Valentina, in that order, without haste, without the need for words.

The interior did not seek to impress. It did not need to. The first room was built so that luxury would not shout. Dark wood on the walls, thick glass display cases aligned with calculated symmetry. Inside, objects displayed with an almost cruel sobriety: gold chains without labels, antique watches stopped at irrelevant hours, gems cut with a perfection that promised not beauty, but value. The air was colder. More contained. As if even breathing had a price there.

A man waited at the center of the room.

He was not leaning on anything. He did not need to. He wore an impeccable suit, classic cut, tailored with the exactness of someone who never buys clothes without a mirror. His face was well kept, shaved with daily precision. His hair was combed back, without rigidity. And in his expression, a controlled, permanent smile, the kind that is born not of fondness but of the habit of possessing. He was the manager of the pawnshop. Not because anyone announced him, but because everything about his presence said so.

When he saw them approach, he took two steps forward. His eyes first traveled over Sebastián, then Virka, and lastly Valentina. It was not an inspection. It was a confirmation.

—Boss —he greeted, addressing Sebastián with a slight nod of the head—.

—Beast Queen —he continued, looking at Virka without lowering either his voice or his respect—.

—Miss —he added finally, barely inclining his chin toward Valentina.

Valentina held his gaze for only an instant. She did not step back. Nor did she respond with words. She simply gripped the strap of her backpack a little tighter, feeling the calm weight of Narka inside.

The warehouse administrator stepped forward half a pace. Not to interrupt, but to complete the picture, as was appropriate.

—I informed you that we would be selling accompanied —she said, in her usual tone.

The manager nodded slowly. This time, the smile shifted just slightly. He did not look at the administrator when he replied. He looked at Sebastián.

—Of course —he said—. The house receives families as it should.

There was no additional comment. None was needed.

He turned on his heels with an elegant, almost theatrical movement, and extended an arm toward the back of the room.

—If you would be so kind, follow me.

It was not an order. Nor was it a suggestion. It was an invitation phrased from the certainty that it would be accepted.

They walked together. The manager in front. The administrator at his side, with no visible hierarchy between them. Sebastián and Virka behind, flanking Valentina in a natural way, not protective, not invasive. The wooden floor did not creak under their steps. Nothing in that place made noise without permission.

They crossed the main hall and arrived at a wall that, at first glance, seemed to be nothing more than decoration: a large antique mirror, with a frame carved in dark wood, golden veins worn by time, not by neglect. The reflection returned the image with an uncomfortable fidelity. Valentina saw herself there for a second and looked away, as if she did not fully recognize herself.

The manager placed a hand on the edge of the frame and turned it with a precise movement. There were no clicks. There were no visible mechanisms. The mirror slid to one side, revealing a descending staircase.

—This way.

The staircase was made of dark marble. Wide, solid steps. Lighting embedded along the sides, just enough to see without standing out. There were no railings. They did not need them.

They descended.

With each step, the air changed. Drier. More controlled. More aware of itself. Upon reaching the end, a door without a handle opened before anyone touched it.

The auction room unfolded before them.

It was spacious. More than seemed necessary. The floor was covered with a dark gray carpet that absorbed sound. On both sides, ten private booths lined the wall, five on each side. Each one defined by thick curtains of heavy fabric. Behind those curtains, enclosed spaces could be sensed: seats, low tables, and windows sealed by other internal curtains, designed to guarantee absolute privacy.

At the front, on the lowest level of the room, was the center of the place.

An elevated dressing platform of fine wood occupied the visual focus. Polished wood, clean lines, lights integrated into the frame that illuminated without dazzling. In front of it, hanging from above, a large silk curtain fell to the floor. It did not shine. It absorbed the light. It was the boundary between what was shown and what was offered.

The chairs were arranged in rows, cinema-style, all oriented toward the platform. They were still empty. The auction had not begun.

The manager stopped before descending to the main level and turned toward them.

—You may choose a private booth or remain in the central rows —he said—. The arrangement is free.

Sebastián scanned the place with his gaze. He was not looking for luxury. He was looking for control. Virka observed the angles, the distances, the shadows. Valentina remained still, her backpack firm against her chest.

—Private booth number five —Sebastián decided—. We did not come to be seen.

—As you wish —the manager replied, without changing his tone.

The warehouse administrator stepped forward and drew aside one of the curtains on the right side. The interior of the private booth was sober: a small table, three upholstered seats, dim light from the ceiling. The internal curtains were closed.

They entered in silence. First Valentina. Then Virka. Finally Sebastián.

The curtain closed again behind them.

And the distant murmur of the place remained outside.

Private booth number five closed its curtain with a smooth movement, without mechanical sound or dramatic gesture. The interior seemed suspended in another rhythm. It was not large, but it did not need to be. Each space was arranged with sobriety: a small table, three upholstered seats, soft lighting from the ceiling, and closed internal curtains that sealed any visual connection with the exterior. The air smelled of clean wood, of unused fabric, of waiting.

Valentina walked toward one of the sides and carefully set the backpack down on the table. She looked at everything with a mixture of silent respect and controlled curiosity. She touched the edges of the seat with her fingers, the seams of the fabric, the texture of the backrest. As if she were learning the place from its boundaries.

Sebastián did not sit down immediately. He observed the surroundings, the access points, the arrangement of the elements. Virka, at his side, had already evaluated the same with a single glance. Her pupil-less eyes absorbed everything without reflection.

The warehouse administrator remained standing, half a step from the entrance, touching nothing, interrupting nothing. Only when she noticed that Sebastián’s attention had focused again did she speak.

—The auction will begin in a few hours, boss —she said, without altering her usual tone—. The house will reach its maximum capacity. One hundred people in the lower area, and the remaining nine private booths are already occupied.

She looked at Virka, then at Valentina.

—Only this one was missing —she continued—. With you, the venue is complete. 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

The way she said it did not sound like a simple piece of information. It was a ritual confirmation. A kind of silent closure.

—Boss —she repeated with respect, looking at Sebastián—.

—Beast Queen —she added, looking at Virka with that mixture of recognition and neutrality that only she could sustain.

—Miss —she concluded, lowering her chin slightly toward Valentina.

The girl responded with a slight movement of her head. She said nothing. She had already learned that in that world, sometimes, silence was enough.

—And how does it work? —Sebastián asked then, directly.

—Booth five is enabled with a participation button —she explained—. Only the private booths have that system. A hidden panel in the table allows you to emit the entry signal whenever you wish to bid.

She walked to the right side of the table and lightly pressed a point on the surface. A panel opened without a sound. Inside, a single dark metal button, embedded in a plate without symbols.

—This booth was reconfigured for you. The others had already been reserved days in advance. We had to reassign numbering to accommodate you here.

She closed the panel with a smooth movement.

—The people on the lower level use numbered paddles, assigned to their seats. The mechanism is visual, not electronic. All bids are open.

—Are there no limits? —Virka interjected, without moving—. No separation between who can compete for what?

The administrator shook her head slightly.

—Everyone is free to bid on any object, Beast Queen. But in practice... —she left a brief pause— participants on the lower level usually withdraw when a private booth enters the game.

—Fear?

—Caution —she corrected, without forcing her tone—. The booths are reserved for individuals with real economic power. Or political power. Or power in the underworld. Sometimes all of it together. No one wants to fight over a ring if that can end with one less head outside this building.

Virka held her gaze for a moment. Then she smiled, just slightly, but with authenticity.

—And if the conflict is between the private booths?

The administrator turned toward her without delay.

—That is resolved outside the pawnshop, Beast Queen. Here, power is not negotiated. Only possession.

Virka lowered her eyelids for an instant. Like someone who accepts a rule that suits her.

—That is better.

The administrator did not reply. She turned her attention back to Sebastián.

—Do you already know how much money you have available for this auction, boss?

Sebastián did not hesitate.

—One hundred fifteen million ten thousand units —he said, without inflection.

The administrator nodded with precision.

—Are those still the profits you generated from the movements of the Crimson Empire?

—Yes.

—Then everything you acquire —she continued— will return to the same empire. Directly or symbolically. Even a portion of future profits can be incorporated immediately, if it is necessary to continue bidding for more. The channels are prepared.

She did not say it as if offering an advantage. She said it as if informing something inevitable.

Sebastián did not respond. He only nodded once, briefly.

—For now —the administrator added—, all that remains is to wait. I will stay with you throughout the entire auction, as the assistant assigned to this booth. If you have no objection.

—No problem —Sebastián replied, without looking at her.

Virka did not object either. She only changed position, crossing one leg over the other.

Valentina, meanwhile, had walked the entire inner perimeter. She had run her hand over the internal curtains, checked the texture of the walls, looked under the table as if expecting to find another secret door.

When she returned to her seat, she sat with her legs crossed, just like Virka, but with the carefree movement of a child who did not yet carry more names than her own.

The booth settled into its new silence.

And the outside world remained sealed, intact, behind the fabric.

Time began to weigh differently inside booth five. Not because something made it move more slowly, but because the exterior began to seal itself off. One by one, the mechanisms of the venue closed the visible accesses, reinforcing the isolation. The entrance curtains were secured from within. The lights lowered their general intensity and focused on the platform at the front. The murmur that had floated among the attendees on the lower level disappeared. The chairs were full. The private booths, occupied. The air, calibrated. Everything was in its place.

Valentina approached one of the side seats and sat in silence, with her legs crossed on the carpet. Narka, in his reduced form, was already out of the backpack, on the table. They did not speak, but their closeness was enough. The girl looked at him from time to time with a kind of certainty that did not ask for explanation. He responded with that gentle tremor that was not sound, but vibration of existence.

Sebastián occupied the central seat. He had not leaned back. His posture was straight, elbows resting on the armrests, hands interlaced in front. He did not need to move to evaluate. Only to look. Virka, to his left, kept one leg crossed over the other, back straight, face impassive. Her black coat fell like contained shadow. To his right, the warehouse administrator remained standing, without intruding, without speaking.

A side curtain of the front platform opened softly.

The manager of the pawnshop appeared, walking with measured steps to the center. He was accompanied by a woman in a light blue dress, long to the floor, with translucent fabric on the sleeves and the neckline. She did not speak. She did not smile. She only walked one step behind, as if floating.

Both stopped at the center of the platform. The light concentrated on them without anyone touching anything. There was no applause. There was no empty ceremony. Only silence.

The manager spoke.

—We officially begin this auction.

His voice did not need amplification. It was trained to be heard without raising its tone.

—The first items will be jewelry, gems, and high-value precious minerals.

He explained no more. He did not justify himself. He simply turned slightly toward the back of the platform and nodded.

The woman in the blue dress disappeared behind the silk curtain.

A few seconds later, the spectacle began.

The jewelry arrived one by one.

Each piece was brought by a different woman, wearing a dress of the same cut as the first, but in pale tones: grays, light blues, pearl. Each jewel rested on a rectangular cushion of black velvet, covered by a thin display case of tempered glass. The cushion was held by the gloved hands of the one who brought it, and placed on an elevated base at the center of the platform.

They were not announced with words. Only with side screens that projected the image and the number of the item in silence. A ring with a cut sapphire. A platinum bracelet with inlays of living opal. A pendant with a bleeding ruby and a rustless clasp. Each one with its own history. None spoken.

The paddles began to rise.

On the lower level, the movement was quick, elegant. Arms dressed in silk or leather raised the numbers in sequence. The amounts were projected in exact figures on the side wall: 90 thousand. 110 thousand. 200 thousand. 340 thousand. Some auctions ended in seconds. Others lasted minutes. But all of them closed without scandal.

In booth five, no one moved.

Sebastián watched in silence. Virka did not even blink. Valentina kept looking at Narka, or rather seemed to follow an invisible thread that only she understood. Narka, on the table, did not interfere. He simply was. Vibrant. Ancient. Present.

The warehouse administrator, for her part, leaned slightly toward Virka, without invading her space.

—Do any of these jewels interest you, Beast Queen?

Virka did not turn her head. She only replied, in a soft voice:

—No.

There was no need for more. The administrator returned to her position without altering her expression.

One by one, the jewels continued to pass. Some generated immediate enthusiasm. Others provoked silent discussions among the attendees on the lower level. But each time a jewel seemed to attract too much attention, a private booth paddle would rise and the rest would withdraw.

Booth five did not move.

Time passed as it is expected to pass in places where gold is ritual. Neither slow nor fast. Simply measured. Twenty jewels. Then thirty. Then fifty.

When the last jewel was removed with the same hands that had brought it, the platform fell into pause.

The woman in the blue dress returned, this time alone, and placed one last empty cushion on the table. Then she withdrew.

The manager reappeared at the center of the platform.

—First block completed.

He made a brief pause.

—Next: precious and rare minerals. A curated selection for this occasion. Many of them will not be offered again.

In booth five, the warehouse administrator looked toward Sebastián.

—What matters begins, boss.

He did not respond.

He only let his breathing settle a little more.

The closing of the jewelry lot produced neither applause nor relief. Only a change in the density of the air, almost imperceptible, like when a door closes far away and the echo takes time to reach you. The front platform remained empty for a few seconds, the silk curtain motionless, absorbing the light without returning it. In booth five, the silence did not break: it sharpened. Sebastián kept his gaze fixed forward, fingers interlaced without visible pressure. Virka did not alter her posture; her breathing remained a steady, controlled thread. Valentina, seated on the carpet, held Narka with care, as if the ancient weight of the small body were a certainty that needed no words.

The manager returned with the same economy of gestures. He announced nothing beyond what was essential. A slight movement of the head was enough for the next block to begin unfolding. The curtain opened just enough and, one by one, the first minerals appeared: small, crystalline pieces, mounted in discreet display cases. They did not shine ostentatiously. They showed clarity, clean edges, contained colors. Quartzes tinted by rare impurities, fragments polished to the limit of their resistance. The side screens displayed numbers and places of origin without added stories. The paddles rose immediately on the lower level. Quick, precise auctions, almost automatic. Amounts that climbed in short steps and closed without friction.

Then came the processed metals. Small ingots, thin plates, rings of intense colors that did not belong to nature without intervention. Deep blues, burnt reds, greens that seemed to hold light of their own. Treated metals, stabilized, ready for specialized forging. The bids were even faster. No one argued. No one hesitated. These were purchases of trade, of routine, for those who knew exactly what they would do with them upon leaving that place.

In booth five there was no movement. The administrator observed without interfering, attentive to the room’s breathing more than to the figures. Virka showed no interest. Sebastián neither. Valentina watched, but her attention slid away, as if something had not yet arrived.

The rhythm changed with the entry of refined jade. The piece was placed with different care. It was not large, but its polish revealed internal layers, a deep green crossed by milky veins that seemed to hold a memory older than the rest. As soon as the display case settled, two signals arose from the private booths: one and six. The figures climbed rapidly, no longer in thousands, but in millions. The lower level withdrew without resistance. It was a brief, tense duel, without theatricality. Booth six closed the bid with an amount that silenced the platform. The jade was removed.

Narka emitted a slight vibration, almost a murmur that was not sound. Sebastián inclined his head just enough to listen.

—It serves —said the ancient one, in his reserved tone—. For techniques, for stable artifacts. But it is not enough.

There was no reply. Virka accepted the assessment with a minimal nod. Valentina looked at the place where the display case had been and then at Narka, without understanding, but registering the weight of the moment.

The manager returned to the center.

—Before continuing —he announced—, a warning.

He did not raise his voice. It was not necessary.

—Three final pieces remain. Greater ones.

The murmur on the lower level died out completely. In booth five, Narka straightened slightly.

—Greater materials? —he asked, directly.

The administrator answered without delay:

—Yes. Three.

The curtain opened completely. This time, women with cushions did not enter. Men did. Two for each mobile display case. Metal bases with silent wheels advanced to the center. The display cases were tall, sealed, reinforced. Inside, the crystals rose imposing: one point sixty meters tall, forty-five centimeters wide. White. Not translucent, not opaque. Dense white, crossed by golden veins that ran through the structure like roots frozen in the midst of growth.

The instant they were exposed, Sebastián felt the Qi. It was not a blow. It was a fine, sustained pressure, as if the air itself had acquired intention. His eyes did not change, but something in his posture anchored itself deeper. Narka did not hesitate.

—They are not crystals —he stated with absolute firmness—. They are Mother Qi Cores.

Virka did not ask. She observed. She nodded.

Narka continued, without raising his tone, with the gravity of one who names ancient truths:

—When the Qi of the world concentrates without escape for thousands of years, it forms a matrix. A core. These... have more than four millennia accumulating essence. They are not for decoration or trade. They are pure seeds. They contain enough energy to create cultivation crystals on their own... or even regenerate a body on the brink of collapse.

Sebastián understood without blinking. The internal logic fit effortlessly. Valentina looked at them. She felt that something important was happening, even if she could not name it.

The manager confirmed from the center:

—They come from the south of the continent. Only these three exist. In the country, they are... extraordinarily rare.

He added nothing more. He did not need to.

The decision was made without words. Virka nodded, certain. Valentina watched, still unaware of the scope. Narka turned toward the administrator, with absolute seriousness.

—Prepare to bid for all three.

She inclined her head a single time.

The tension held. The true beginning of the important auction had just begun.

______________________________________________

END OF Chapter 67

The path continues...

New Chapters are revealed every

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