I couldn’t just stand there staring at the bamboo spear forever.

  For now, I moved away from the spear and, while keeping an eye on my surroundings, discussed it with Nel and the others.

  “That’s definitely my bamboo spear, right?”“Yes, no doubt about it. Why is Libertà’s spear being auctioned off?”

  Since I’d also used the bamboo spear Ganji made for me, Nel recognized it too. She gnced suspiciously at the dispyed spear.

  “Ingrid, we haven’t heard anything from the Duke, right?”“No, we haven’t.”“Could it be they pnned to sell it without telling me?”“That seems highly unlikely.”

  There was no mistaking it—that was the spear I’d used. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, it was now up for auction.

  If I had to guess, Lady Esmeralda confiscated it from me with the intent to sell it off, then quietly listed it here. By branding it as the “Dragon-Sying Spear” with actual proof of killing a swamp dragon, she could fetch a decent price. If she lied to me about losing it, that would at least make some sense.

  In a way, this was a stupidly obvious betrayal.

  But even I couldn’t seriously entertain that theory. I couldn’t imagine the Duke or his daughter stooping to petty theft for money. If they were that desperate, they wouldn’t have paid me for the swamp dragon materials in the first pce.

  “Yeah, you’re right.”

  Ingrid shot down my far-fetched assumption, and I nodded in agreement.

  “Most likely, it was the doing of a subordinate acting alone.”“Meaning?”“Given the circumstances, Libertà-sama has achieved remarkable feats—feats even most nobles would struggle to accomplish. Naturally, that would breed resentment.”

  Ingrid’s theory went like this:

  “So… jealousy-driven sabotage?”

  I owed the Ducal House a great debt. It wasn’t hard to believe that someone in their ranks would resent that.

  Those eyes—the ones that refused to acknowledge me. With more than one or two people giving me those looks, it wasn’t hard to connect the dots.

  “Sabotage is part of it, but nobles also have expensive tastes and often resort to underhanded means to fund their lifestyles.”“What do you mean?”“Some nobles believe commoners’ achievements are solely due to their tools—that nobles are inherently superior and commoners ck real skill. They probably assumed your accomplishments were thanks to the spear. By confiscating and auctioning it, they could both strip you of your ‘advantage’ and line their pockets.”“…Sorry, this is hard to say, but is that person an idiot? Even if they wanted to sell it, an auction is the worst way. Nel, Amina, does this make sense to you?”

  If it were just some petty noble harassing me by confiscating my weapon to vent their frustration, I’d get it. That was my initial assumption. But the sheer childishness of Ingrid’s expnation made me look up at the ceiling in disbelief. I even turned to the other two for confirmation.

  “I’d rather not understand.”“But we’ve heard stories like this before. Nobles confiscating goods from market stalls.”“Don’t they get punished?”“The soldiers patrolling the markets are under noble jurisdiction, so they can’t speak up. Most victims just swallow their losses. Not all nobles are like that, but from our perspective, it’s impossible to tell the difference.”

  Even in the game, the gap between good and bad nobles was stark. But facing that reality here was unexpected. Yeah, privileged csses really do the ziest jobs.

  “As Nel-sama said, not all nobles are like that. However, it’s true that some hold such beliefs.”

  Ingrid kept her voice low, careful not to be overheard, but the conversation was undeniably harsh. Wait, as a noble herself, was she really okay being this blunt?

  “So this time, Libertà was the target?”“I’ll draft a report to the Duke ter.”“Given the likely personality of whoever listed it, it’ll probably turn into a ‘he-said-she-said’ mess. But it’s better than doing nothing. Or—wait, I could just sprint to the Ducal House now… Oh right, the staff there hate me. By the time I get an appointment, the auction will have started.”

  At the very least, I wanted to know who listed it. But aside from the specially dispyed fire dragon horn, the sellers’ identities were kept secret.

  “By the way, is the Edelgard Duke participating in this auction?”“Unfortunately, I don’t know that much. But Duke Edelgard rarely attends auctions. Maybe the seller knew that and listed it boldly.”“If they’re caught, it won’t end well. Should we bid on the spear?”“I wouldn’t recommend it. Many seem interested in the ‘Dragon-Sying’ name. It’ll likely be a fierce bidding war.”“Any weapon shop in the city could make one for a few dozen zeni…”

  Buying it back was a waste no matter how I looked at it. If anyone should handle this, it’s the Ducal House—they could probably just cancel the listing.

  Still, it was the first weapon I ever wielded in this world. I had some attachment to it. I wished the Duke would rein in his subordinates better.

  If I could get it back, I would. But it wasn’t a necessity.

  “Libertà-sama, the auction is about to start.”“Oh, already?”

  We’d been talking near the spear for so long that the crowd had already started moving toward the auction hall.

  The only things I pnned to bid on were the ancient weapon and the painting Nel had her eye on. The spear? I’d py it by ear.

  Nothing else seemed particurly interesting.

  “Alright, let’s go.”

  I took one st gnce at the bamboo spear.

  “Whoa! So this is the Dragon-Sying Spear?!”

  Just then, a familiar male voice rang out near the dispy.

  “Ugh.”“Nel, that’s not a sound a dy should make.”“Eeeh…”“Amina, don’t make weird noises either.”

  It was Ares, the adventurer who’d gotten in our way during the st orc hunt, along with his party. Looks like they were here for the auction too.

  Just seeing their backs was enough to sour the girls’ moods. Ingrid’s usual stoic expression twisted into outright disgust.

  “C’mon, let’s get to our room before they spot us.”“Yes, let’s.”“Yeah, hurry.”

  Staying here was just asking for trouble. I herded them into the auction hall.

  “Huh, so this is what it’s like.”“There are so many rooms.”

  After showing the invitation Ingrid procured at the reception, we were let in without issue.

  In the game, getting this invitation was a nightmare. But this time, with Ingrid as our cheat, it was a breeze.

  The entrance led to a hallway lined with doors, each leading to private booths.

  If I remembered correctly, the higher floors had fancier rooms—reserved for powerful nobles, no doubt. Meanwhile, folks like us were stuck on the ground floor.

  After a brief exchange with the staff, Ingrid led us to a first-floor booth with a less-than-ideal view.

  The room had a sofa for four, facing a stage. The only other furnishings were auction-reted tools.

  “Raising this fg indicates your intent to bid, and these number ptes are for bid amounts.”“Huh, so that’s how it works.”

  In the game, it was all done through a digital interface. This analog system felt refreshing.

  “Note that you can only raise and lower the fg once per item.”“Meaning if you back out, you can’t rejoin the bidding?”“Yes. Also, the starting price is the minimum, and each bid must increase by at least 10% of that. For 1,000 zeni, the next bid would be 1,100.”“What’s the maximum bid increment?”“Up to 50%. Also, once the bid reaches ten times the starting price, the minimum increment resets to the original starting price. For example, if 1,000 zeni becomes 10,000, the minimum increase becomes 1,000 again.”“Got it. So we just hold up these number ptes?”

  The handmade wooden ptes had a charmingly rustic feel.

  “Yes. Hold them up so the stage can see, and the bid will increase accordingly.”

  The ptes numbered 1 through 5 in this world’s script—1 for 10%, 3 for 30%, and so on.

  “Can they really calcute that on the fly? If multiple bidders raise ptes at once…”“In that case, the bids start at 10% increments. Once the field narrows, the auctioneer calls out the highest bids.”“Makes sense. I thought it’d be more like shouting over each other.”“Since nobles primarily attend, such behavior is discouraged.”“Fair enough. The painting’s up first, so we’ll use that to get the hang of it before the main event.”

  Ingrid’s expnation cleared things up. Now, it was just a matter of diving in.

  I’d expected a rowdy, old-school fish-market-style auction, but this was more refined. Well, “when in Rome,” as they say. I fiddled with the ptes to simute the process.

  “Now, let the auction begin!”

  With little else to do in the booth, we waited quietly until the auctioneer took the stage and announced the start.

  His voice carried clearly—probably using a vocal amplification skill.

  “First, Lot No. 1: A collection of uncut gemstones! This assortment of rare gems starts at 5,000 zeni!”

  The item was brought on stage, and the auctioneer expined it before ringing a handbell to start bidding.

  No gavel here—just that bell. In the game, three rings meant the deal was sealed.

  “Do I hear 5,000? 5,500! 6,000! 7,000! 8,500!”

  The bids climbed faster than I expected.

  To the other attendees, 5,000 zeni must’ve been pocket change.

  “15,000! Going once, twice… Sold for 15,000 zeni!”

  Each item took less than ten minutes. This one tripled in price.

  “I think I get the flow now.”

  One round was enough to grasp the rhythm—and to spot the shill bidders.

  I’d have to be careful when it was my turn.

  Even for items I didn’t want, watching was oddly entertaining.

  The occasional outburst added just the right spice.

  “Next, Lot No. 23: A ndscape by a rising-star artist! Starting at just 100 zeni!”

  Finally, the painting we wanted appeared. A hundred zeni was dirt cheap for something so meticulously crafted, but the ck of bids made sense—the artist was practically unknown.

  “100 zeni! 110! 120!”

  The bids crawled. The auctioneer was clearly struggling to drive the price up.

  “130! Do I hear 130? 130 zeni, anyone?”

  Just before the third bell, I raised my pte.

  “180 zeni!”

  With the bell already rung, shills couldn’t jump in without risking buying it themselves.

  “200 zeni!”

  Huh, this shill’s persistent. Or maybe a genuine bidder?

  Either way, whatever.

  “200 going once… twice…”

  Right before the final bell, I raised my pte again.

  “210 zeni!”

  I made it clear I wouldn’t go higher. That should scare off the shill.

  If anyone else stayed in, they really wanted it.

  Having pyed simir mind games in the game, I knew how to handle this.

  And this time, it worked.

  “210 zeni! Going once, twice… Sold for 210 zeni!”

  The shill backed off, and no one else contested. We’d won.

  “Well done.”“Eh, it was nothing. Let’s hang it at home or something.”

  Our real target was still ahead. And with the bamboo spear’s fate up in the air, this auction was shaping up to be more eventful than expected.