Outworld Liberators-Chapter 163: Preparation for the First Opening of the Auction Houses

Chapter 163: Preparation for the First Opening of the Auction Houses

Hammer blows rang in a steady fury, metal on metal, the sound thick enough to taste.

Heat rolled off the forges in waves that made the air swim, and every breath carried iron, flux, and the faint bite of burning oil.

Radeon walked close to a furnace whose body was not simple brick and clay, but layered alloys both ordinary and strange.

Riverglass Titanium laced its frame. Skymirror Chromium held the edges true.

At its core sat Firehaze Gold, stubborn as a curse, refusing to melt even when the heat climbed into cruelty.

A craftsman would have called it an artifact, maybe even Epic grade.

Radeon did not build it for himself. He built it for the auction.

He moved deeper into the workshop where the light was harsher and the shadows sharper, and a sword lay waiting on a rack.

When his fingers brushed the hilt, the balance settled into his palm like a familiar handshake.

It felt less like a weapon and more like an extra bone that had always belonged there.

He lifted it, tested the weight once, then tossed it across the room.

Thaddeus caught the flying blade by the hilt, eyes widening as the metal seemed to agree with his grip at once.

"Master, is this for me? This sword felt like an extension of my arm."

"Pass the swords to your fellow disciples," Radeon said, shaking his head. "These things aren’t for us."

Thaddeus obeyed. His lips pressed tight when his hands came up empty. The absence clung to him like hunger.

Fay agreed that it felt solid in her hand despite using a whip. She swung it a few times, then passed it on to Oswin.

Oswin gave it a swing, then Lifara did the same. Both were not fond of the weapon. Still, their bodies wanted to attune to the blade.

Radeon saw it, saw the sadness in Thaddeus’s eyes.

"We’ll have something much better than that," and left the promise hanging where it could grow.

He kept walking. Ten pills sat encased inside a glass array, each one suspended in clear restraint that showed its sheen and structure without letting a wisp of essence leak away.

Nearby, liquid elixir vats were being drained and bottled by the hundreds, the crimson syrup catching forge light and turning it into colors that looked too expensive to drink.

Ghosts and Tiyanak moved with practiced speed, careful and tireless, their hands already learning the rhythm of tomorrow.

Farther in stood a stone pillar taller than five men stacked, runes carved into it in swirling patterns that carried the five elements like a quiet song.

Each symbol seemed to breathe its own nature, a dry heat here, a cool pull there, a metallic edge that made teeth ache if you stared too long.

Ewan looked up from his checks and saw Radeon. His expression held the wary respect of a craftsman who had been handed a new set of eyes.

This setup was not Ewan’s old dream made real. It was Radeon’s hand guiding it, and the knowledge Radeon had shared had pushed both Ewan and Maeron forward by more than pride would admit.

Not a breakthrough. Not a miracle. Still, their horizons had widened, and that was more than enough for them to see the next realm of craftsmanship.

Yet this was not Radeon’s true prize.

In another room, beneath plain lantern light, a bent rod sat on a table.

Most people would not glance twice. The body was common basalt, the sort of rock that formed when lava cooled and the world forgot it had once been fire.

Along the inner bend rested a cushion of soft leather, worn to hold steady against recoil.

The longer end had an opening with a drilled hole. On the grip, a small array waited, hungry for a drop of blood so it could know its owner.

Four of them lay there. One already marked and used.

They had the vague silhouette of flintlock pistols, though cruder.

Radeon had modeled them after that shape on purpose, and he had also refused to make them peerless.

These were meant for mortals. Tools that could be held without a lifetime of qi.

On the other side of the room sat something larger. A musket with a thick barrel, built on the same idea but packed with a more lethal intent.

Its presence changed the air, as if the room itself knew what it could do.

Radeon took one last sweep of the rooms, counting with his eyes.

Pills secure. Bottles sealed. Arrays stable. Weapons accounted for. Ghosts and wraiths in place.

He turned back to his disciples and gave a small nod.

"Let’s go. Time to have dinner. Tomorrow’s the auction house opening."

They filed out, and the workshop behind them kept breathing, hot and busy, like a beast that never slept.

The rest of the ghost were also outside. They began sending out the boards into the city and beyond, bundles carried with the same calm care they used for pills and blades.

City Lords followed with their own orders, fewer than the Five Summit Emperor’s, but still enough to matter.

Some bought ten. Some saw a chance and grabbed a hundred, each one already building a plan inside their skull.

Mortal magnates snapped up the smaller handheld boards, since those able to attend the meeting were given right to purchase. The most famously sold one was smallest version of the board, which was half the size of a palm.

They scrolled like the rest of the boards, and carried a limit of a year, but the updates were real time, and merchants did not need poetry.

They needed numbers that moved. A hundred spirit stones for a tool like this was not a cost. It was investment, and they could already taste the return.

The boards spread like wildfire. Then, on each one, a notification rang.

[Radeon Terraces Auction House Grand Opening.]

[A gold coin is required to enter.]

As the night grew darker beneath the starless sky, those interested in attending the auction rented lodging up and down the Radeon Terraces.

Cultivators took rooms. Mortals did the same. Medium-sized merchants traded purchase ideas over drinks.

Quiet rivalries spread through the Radeon Terraces, with factions of mortals and cultivators alike already plotting how to seize the lion’s share.