"Ugh-h-h..." groaned Ai, slowly getting up from the ruined stone floor of the basement. At that exact moment, his body felt overly heavy to him, as if he were an ordinary human who had strapped on a couple of extra kilograms of weights. Killing the Solver seemed to have made him worse — his reactions slowed down, his digital vision dropped, and his magnificent control went back into the wilds of chaos.
But it didn't last long.
A couple of seconds later, the world seemed to click, to reboot. His body became light again; the mental strain after the difficult battle, although lessened, had not completely disappeared. Control over magic and energy returned to what it was before that fateful battle. To summarize, one could say that Ai felt truly well-rested for the first time. All that incalculable number of nanobots in his body pulsed with activity, like an ant colony that was given a whole bag of sugar.
He couldn't resist a good old stretch, reaching his arms up and standing on his tiptoes. Even though physically nothing could crack in him, even such simple actions brought him some pleasure.
Lowering his arms and shaking his head, Ai opened his eyes slightly and swept his electronic gaze across the entire basement. The picture was depressing: the walls were cracked, the floor had turned to pebbles, and the ceiling was in a state of "holding on by a thread," which clearly did not suit the owner of this house.
Ai switched his eye mode and looked at the world with magical vision. Here the picture was even merrier. The entire air was literally saturated with a heap of hot aether, which was quickly absorbed not only into the Voidwalker's body but also into the remains of the basement. Otherwise, the magical picture was ordinary.
Thinking for a second, Ai turned off his magical vision and raised his right hand. A moment later, white lightning began to play between his fingers, becoming brighter and faster with every second. When the speed reached an absolute peak, such that Ai's robotic eyes could not follow the play of electricity, all these little lightnings turned into a single figure. This could no longer be called a Solver.
Dozens of silver lines intersected with each other, forming mind-boggling figures that quickly changed their geometry, turning into completely different figures. All this happened almost every second. In each new change, one could see different multidimensional structures, from a tesseract to a hepteract.
Ai looked at it with a tired expression on his face; his eye even started to twitch. The longer he looked at this... Thing... the more he wanted to shove a crucifix-patch into himself.
"Well, this is definitely not a Solver," the mage said, rolling his eyes. He had no choice but to carry this ability with him, so he decided to ignore all the upcoming bullshit and returned to pressing matters.
Inspecting the basement once again, he looked at the Solver again and, not wanting to waste a single second more, waved his hand, forming an order for a complete rebuild. The floor, walls, and ceiling were immediately covered with terminal windows, lines of unknown code, and simply white lightning. After a few moments of such a light show, the basement was clean and whole, as if no one had ever entered it yet.
Even in magical vision, everything was smooth here. The magic became part of the walls, strengthening their internal structure. It would be convenient to draw a couple of dozen various runes to fully turn the basement into a bomb shelter with a pinch of a training room.
But for now, it is what it is.
Casting a final glance at the now whole basement, Ai approached the exit stairs with firm steps and quickly went up, slightly opening the door at the end of the stairwell corridor. Finding himself in the main house, Ai looked around. Since the time he was here, more than two years ago, nothing had changed. The materials he used stood strong, solid, not allowing a drop of corrosion to ruin this beauty. However, this was also his merit — he had to slightly change the properties of metals, wood, and fabrics in order to make them practically indestructible. At least from the point of view of decomposition.
Walking past a pile of unused furniture, Ai approached the door and opened it slightly. Almost immediately, the smell of freshly cut grass, clean air, and the light scent of flowers that covered the overgrown garden of his house hit his nose.
Despite his power, the Voidwalker seemed to like being in such a calm environment and observing what was happening around him. How children ran from house to house, playing with either a ball or a jump rope. How adults walked their dogs or just took a stroll. How stray cats scurried everywhere. The picture was... warm.
While he looked at the beautiful picture in front of him, the nano-swarm's thoughts slowly flowed in another direction. How beautiful Copper-9 was before the collapse. It and Earth were so similar. Only one planet went down the path of a post-apocalypse.
His thoughts flowed from the beauty of the planets to their flora and fauna, infrastructure... Until they stopped at the main inhabitants. And then something clicked in the Voidwalker's mind. He remembered something important.
A moment later, he was already standing in his domain next to the levitating cluster wormhole generator. Ignoring the blue sphere emitting endless energy, Ai walked to an inconspicuous corner where a small glass box nestled with the souls... Of his friends? Or enemies? He himself did not know what they were to him.
Picking up the box from the floor, Ai peered inside, expecting to see three various information clusters bouncing all over the Cube... What was his surprise when, instead of all this, he saw one large orange information cluster hovering in the center of the glass Cube and, seemingly, watching what was happening outside of it.
The longer Ai looked at this cluster, the more the realization hit his head that this cluster was looking back at him. No aggression was felt from it, not a drop; the Voidwalker's empathy never lied to his face. But something told the nano-swarm that it would be better to postpone actions with this cluster, otherwise, he could get a highly unstable variable that Ai would not be able to control.
With a wave of his hand, Ai created a small pedestal, about waist-high to him. At the very top of this pedestal was a red pillow sewn with golden threads. Ai carefully placed the cube on the pillow and stepped back a couple of paces, thinking about how beautiful it was on a scale from one to a hundred. Noting in his head the idea of creating a separate domain for storing items, the Voidwalker smirked and disappeared, exiting the domain.
A moment later, Ai was standing on the porch of his little house again, enjoying everything happening around him. Going down a couple of steps, the nano-swarm bent down and plucked a small flower that had managed to grow among all these thickets of weeds, grass, and other plants that wouldn't have allowed an adequate life... for anyone.
Stretching to his full height, Ai brought the flower to his nose and inhaled the lightest, almost non-existent scent. His lips spread into a satisfied smile. How wonderful ordinary life is if you forget for a second about everything you have experienced and everything you expect to experience in the future. You can always choose your path. And the peaceful path... was not a choice for Ai.
Tossing away the nameless yellow flower, Ai spun on the heels of his boots and marched into the house, slamming the heavy door behind him.
Waving his hand, he drew several runic interlacings in the air, which quickly descended to the floor. A wave of magical energy spread throughout the house, but not a drop went beyond the property. No one should see what he was going to do now.
Nodding to himself, Ai approached a small table and created several sheets of paper on it, which he immediately strengthened using runes. Picking up an ordinary blue ink pen with his fingers, Ai placed the tip at the beginning of the sheet. After a couple of seconds of thought, he wrote the first words: "Dynamic system of runic interlacings. Urgency: high."
"Item two..." doing a couple of tricks with the pen, he returned the tip to the paper and continued: "Seize power in magical Britain / Magical world. Urgency: Medium."
On the paper, it looked like the delirium of an alcoholic on bath salts, but if you thought harder, everything written gained meaning.
Magical Britain is a cesspool of failed ideas of totalitarianism and bureaucratic greed, which sent the entire magical branch of the country practically into the Middle Ages without the possibility of return. The authorities do not see anything unusual in this, nor do the residents themselves. But the moment migrants or Muggle-borns appear here, everything immediately goes crazy.
He just needed to take this power and send magical Britain into a bright future... But first, he needed to get rid of the interfering variables.
And so the third item appeared: "Get rid of Dumbledore / Voldemort / other people ruining plans. Urgency: Medium."
Twirling the pen once more, Ai placed it on the table and lifted the sheet in front of his eyes. Honestly, nothing else came to his mind besides these three items. If he calculated every step, there simply wouldn't be enough space on the sheet. It's best to add to the list as all the following events occur, so as not to run into any surprises.
Looking at this sheet, Ai asked himself many questions, in particular why he specifically started writing this on a piece of paper. The answer came quickly — he remembered the times when he wrote the notorious "Isekai Protagonist's Diary" while living on Copper-9. Nostalgia came from where it was not expected.
Rolling the sheet into a tube, the Voidwalker created a rubber band in his hand and tied the sheet with it, stuffing this scroll into his domain. If anything — he would take it out and add to it. Otherwise — let it lie there.
Getting up from the chair, he took a step and found himself behind the house. Glancing over the horizon, Ai took another step and immediately found himself directly inside Borgin's shop, causing the man to almost jump out of his skin from surprise.
The Voidwalker looked Borgin in the eyes and asked:
"How much time has passed since our last conversation?" the glowing eyes stared at the poor man, not blinking at all. The atmosphere in the shop instantly heated up, but Borgin didn't even seem to notice it.
"Four days, Master. And are you sure your appearance in the middle of my shop won't raise any questions from anyone?" the shop owner asked, stepping out from behind the counter and circling around Ai. The latter's eye twitched.
"Stop with the nonsense. What are the results of my request?" the nano-swarm grabbed Borgin by the neck and forcefully threw him into an armchair. The furniture let out a pitiful creak the moment the owner's carcass made contact with the old upholstery and wood.
"Cough... Actually... I managed to get two invitations to one of these 'gatherings'," rubbing his neck, Borgin answered, slowly getting up from the chair.
"But you can't just show up there. If you're considered insufficiently... qualified, it could lead to a duel. Possibly even a lethal one." The man walked past Ai and retreated somewhere into the back room, but his voice could still be heard clearly.
"A society of barbarians..." the Voidwalker muttered under his breath. If everything could be solved so simply — through duels, he wouldn't even have to try and develop a plan to seize power. He could just walk up to Fudge, challenge him to a duel, whack him, and start his fun with the state apparatus of magical Britain.
"There is no more accurate description!" a pleased voice came from the back room. A minute later, Borgin came out with a bunch of trinkets in his hands and started arranging them on the shelves of his shop. Since Ai started supplying him with gold, Borgin had become more thorough in caring for his "Dark Arts Shop".
"By the way. The meeting will take place in four days. Based on the data obtained, there will be an auction where you can sell your artifacts, a banquet, as well as a couple of entertainment events," the shop owner explained, continuing to place various items in different parts of the room. Ai felt slight magical fluctuations emanating from these objects. That was probably why Borgin was arranging everything by hand, and not with magic.
"You've become somewhat overly friendly. Do you think many won't notice the change in character?" Ai asked, sitting down in the very armchair he had earlier thrown Borgin's carcass into. Taking out his pipe, he snapped his fingers and quietly lit the tobacco inside. Bringing the mouthpiece to his lips, he drew in the sweet smoke.
Borgin, at this time, was thinking about how to answer the question of his... boss, essentially. The answer came faster than expected, but not as fast as planned.
"Why was I mean? I had no gold. And no connections either. Working with you has brought me huge profits, so every time I see you, I feel so good that sincere joy is born involuntarily," Borgin answered, lingering his gaze on the ceiling for a second. The fact that Ai found him was the best thing that could have happened in his life.
"Smooth talker," the Voidwalker answered indifferently, blowing a few smoke rings.
"It's a pity I don't believe you. And I won't believe it even if you block a grenade with your body for me. I survived such a fucked-up mess that I even started smoking. You know? I used to be strictly against smoking," Ai said, paying attention to nothing but the smoke rings.
It was weird for Borgin to hear this from a seemingly eight-year-old child. Which he expressed with rolled eyes and a quiet phrase:
"Your words do not match your age..."
"Oh, I am much older than you think," Ai smiled charmingly and crossed his legs. This smile made Borgin flinch, even though he didn't even see it. He felt that gaze on his back, as if a predator was standing right behind you.
"How old?" the owner asked unexpectedly, turning to face Ai and looking into his eyes with a hint of suspicion.
Ai was in no hurry to answer the question about his age. He put a finger to his chin, looked at the ceiling, twirled the pipe in his hands, miraculously not spilling the tobacco, and finally answered:
"Forty-eight."
Hearing this, Borgin froze and closed his eyes, quietly accepting the fact that this seemingly eight-year-old child was actually six times older than he looked. Even at his sixty-three, Borgin was seeing such a phenomenon for the first time, although he still had suspicions, which he immediately voiced.
"How much Polyjuice Potion do you go through..." Instead of an answer, Borgin received a furious glare from gray eyes, which, if they could, would have burned a hole in the poor seller's forehead.
"To your misfortune, I don't use any potions. First: they are inefficient. Second: I don't know how to make them or where to buy them. Third: if I had these potions, I simply wouldn't have found a child with this kind of appearance," Ai ran his hand through his long silver hair. Under his clothes, one could notice a dense physique that a child definitely couldn't achieve, even if they wanted to.
"This is my real body. Even more real than the one I had before..." Ai looked at the ceiling, as if remembering something.
A chill ran down Borgin's spine. What if he got involved with some necromancer-demonologist who whacked a demon and possessed its body? No, that's nonsense. He definitely couldn't do that... Right?
"Anyway, I'll be there at the appointed time. Wait for me," the Voidwalker said, hid his pipe, and disappeared without a trace, without a sound. Borgin was intrigued by such a silent Apparition, but inside he understood that he wouldn't be able to bargain for it from this... monster, even if he wanted to very much.
Ai, meanwhile, reappeared in his house, which he was so carefully turning into an insanely protected bunker. The times on the icy death planet had left their mark on him. He used to be strictly against smoking, considering this pastime useless and meaningless. But after two decades of wallowing in radioactive snow and under the canopy of constant fear that they could come and whack him — smoking ceased to be something shameful.
Ai lay down on the sofa. Well, what was he to do in the world of magic? He had already learned all the runic combinations and constructs. With a single act of will, he could create a new kind of spell. With a wave of his hand, he could play volleyball with buildings. Plus, a body capable of calmly withstanding a load of over 50 tons. For the first time, the Voidwalker felt bored.
Thinking for a couple of seconds, he suddenly jumped up from the sofa and took out that very sheet with the plan. With the power of his will, he erased the third point of the plan and rewrote it: "Get rid of Dumbledore and recruit Voldemort". This still wasn't a fully-fledged point, no matter how you looked at it.
It's not a given that Dumbledore is a villain here. Maybe he is quite the naive do-gooder as Madam Rowling portrayed him, but that's hard to believe. He could well be a maddened wizard of light who sincerely believes he is making the world a better place, in the name of the "Greater Good". What greater good? Unclear.
Hiding the sheet again, Ai sat down on the sofa. A moment later, another idea came to his mind, one he had wanted to implement for so long. Taking out his smoking pipe, he levitated it in the air with telekinesis and, with a single wave of his hand, separated the wood fibers from each other, turning the relaxation tool into a pile of splinters floating in the air.
Recalling some runic theory, Ai manifested several constructs on each of the fibers of this pipe. This included not only reinforcement but also enhancement: of taste, durability, duration, and so on. With a flick of his hand, he joined the pipe back together, as if it had been completely untouched. Putting it in his mouth, he immediately lit up, getting lost in calm thoughts.
Without putting the pipe away, he took out his wand, which he had successfully stolen from Borgin some time ago (to which the latter didn't object), and twirled it between his fingers, clearly interested in the properties of the "magical essences" that are infused between the fibers of the wood.
A desire, and the wand split open, releasing a magnificent phoenix feather that even radiated a little heat.
"An interesting specimen..." this artifact was a rather powerful thing by the standards of this world. Yes, it's just a feather, and not a full-fledged phoenix, but even this is enough for the wand to serve a very long time. And generally any artifact that does not require a strong magical strain. (A wand is a conduit.)
"Maybe I should build a wand myself?" Ai wondered aloud, estimating in his head what it could give him. And it would give him a lot of things, for example, reducing the number of questions directed at him, although that didn't bother him much. Conspiracy? What's that? In a world of a level like Harry Potter, you don't have to hide; they won't be able to do anything to you anyway.
"But I still need to make a wand," the mechanical cynic said, shaking his head. If only for the sake of practicing this strange magical art.
Sitting on the sofa and pulling the coffee table closer, Ai placed the feather on it and began examining it in all possible spectrums, trying to find at least some pattern. After fifteen minutes of mindlessly staring at an unchanging picture, the Voidwalker decided to do everything differently. Grabbing the feather, he lifted it with telekinesis and with maximum care began to feel it out with magic.
It would seem like a useless endeavor. Depends on who you ask. If an ordinary person were in Ai's place, they would immediately give up on this energy-consuming activity that guarantees nothing and yields nothing. But Ai... Saw an opportunity in this feather. An opportunity to elevate his magical mastery even further. And what could be more effective than a complete replication of the conceptual element of fire and life inside a phoenix?
Over the next three hours, the android conducted various experiments with the fiery orange feather. Telekinesis, magic, that new Solver-based ability he awakened after the battle in the subconscious, nanobots, and a bunch of combinations of these methods of perception, just to somehow understand what this feather is. Ai's desire to replicate this feather in "his" style only grew stronger the more failures he encountered.
Just the thought of a material that has the full properties of a phoenix feather, only consists of metal and can be created at any moment in time, made his head spin. But with this power came a price — the difficulty of creating and generally inventing this concept, because two hours had already passed, and the white-haired boy still didn't understand anything about how this little feather was structured.
The study of the feather dragged on. For the entire free time before the first auction, in fact. During this period, Ai managed to build a laboratory in the basement, blow up a couple of artifacts, and almost wreck his house, which he had so diligently reinforced from the inside. And despite all these attempts, the feather remained a mystery to him. By the end of the last day, he decided he needed to go to Knockturn Alley and pick up even more wands with various cores. And even better — pure magical essences, which are embedded as the core of a wand.
Leaning back in his chair in his laboratory, Ai stretched, raising his arms above his head. Getting up from the chair, he flew out of the basement like a bullet and looked in the mirror. Looking back at him was an attractive eight-year-old boy with silver hair, which he was so proud of. Adjusting his locks, he smiled radiantly, slung his sword over his back, and disappeared, instantly appearing in Borgin's shop.
Borgin, in turn, was also tidying himself up. He even put on a formal suit, because he knew that they were going not to a simple auction, but to a major league auction, where everyone present had no less than 50 thousand Galleons jingling in their purses.
Ai approached him and looked in the mirror, looking straight into Borgin's eyes through the reflection. The man flinched and sighed, shaking his head. Turning around, he looked at Ai and asked:
"Are you ready, Master?" In response, he only received a wicked but tired smile performed by the eight-year-old boy.
"Then let's go." Borgin walked up to the brand-new seller's counter and placed some strange object on it, looking like a crooked wooden statuette. It wasn't hard for Ai to guess that this was a portkey, and apparently, running on a timer, because the man was looking at the golden mechanical watch on his wrist far too often.
"Grab hold," he finally said. Ai fulfilled his request without complaint; few things in this world could harm him, so even if it threw him into the mouth of a volcano — he would get out.
Ten seconds later, the world around them began to spin. It felt like being pushed into a rubber tube, and considering this was happening to two people — the sensations were much worse... For Borgin. Ai didn't feel any discomfort at all, since his body was overly durable, and he simply didn't have internal organs, so there was nothing to experience discomfort with. Besides, he had already traveled this way before.
A moment later, they appeared in a large gazebo, on the floor of which there were many various runic circles. The portkeys were attuned to here. As soon as Ai's and Borgin's feet touched the floor of the gazebo, the statuette in their hands crumbled to dust, destroying all evidence. Convenient.
Ai immediately began scanning the surroundings. The first thing that caught the eye were the pillars in the gazebo, which were made of heavy, black marble. It looked so rich that the Voidwalker was even a little surprised. Borgin had done his job well, which meant they would be able to sell the rings.
Without overthinking it, Ai copied the structure of this mineral and continued gathering information about the new place.
The runic circles on the floor expanded and trailed off somewhere beyond the gazebo in silver script. Judging by the connections, they not only accepted verified portkeys but also dampened the residual magical signature, as well as spatial distortion almost immediately after arrival. English mages aren't capable of this; some foreign master definitely worked here.
The gazebo itself stood on a slight elevation, surrounded by thick fog. The stars from the seemingly artificial sky were unable to disperse such masses of clearly feigned mystery. But despite the theatricality, you had to give the owner credit — the magical wealth of this place was staggering.
The deep black dome of the sky, studded with stars, accentuated the monumental building that was visible through the fog. It was an ancient gothic mansion, which looked more like a fortress than a place for a family getaway: narrow lancet windows were lit from within by a bright, amber light, and tall spires reached far into the dark sky.
A crowd was already forming around the gazebo, heavily contrasting with what you could see in Knockturn Alley. There were no tasteless robes and angry, dirty faces here. Everything was much more civilized: every participant's robe was custom-tailored using Acromantula silk; all these expensive earrings, brooches, amulets practically screamed of their owners' insane wealth.
Ai and Borgin stepped out of the gazebo. A pair of wizards passed by them, their faces hidden behind silver masks. They were chatting about something. Chatting exclusively in undertones, occasionally nodding to each other. Their robes seemed to absorb light, while the expensive baubles reflected it. These two exuded an aura of disdain.
Ten seconds later they disappeared into the crowd, while Ai tried to piece everything together in his head.
Turning his head, Ai noticed another contingent. These were people clearly poorer, but at the same time scarier and larger. Some of them wore the scales of some unknown beast instead of a robe. One of them held a cane with a skull-shaped pommel and nervously tapped it on the ground. They all reeked of blood and edge.
Looking in the opposite direction, the narcissist saw what he thought were foreign guests. They wore fine purple silks with intricate embroidery. Perhaps they were representatives of closed Asian clans or Eastern European syndicates.
To all these people, the appearance of Borgin, a known but still mid-tier merchant, at such an event was a slight misunderstanding. But even more gazes, full of heavy, icy curiosity, were drawn to Ai. Seemingly a little boy, with flawless posture, a serene face, and silver hair... Behind whose back hung a bastard sword almost as tall as the boy himself, and whose eyes held nothing but ice. In this den of sharks, he looked... unnatural. Pureblood mages understood: if a child is brought to an underground, elite auction, it's one of two things: either this child is a member of an ancient, dying bloodline, or he is someone's very dangerous and protected weapon.
Borgin grew flustered under such sharp glares, but quickly regained his posture and adjusted the collar of his robe.
"We go that way, Master. Stay close; they do not forgive breaches of etiquette here," Borgin said quietly, barely moving his lips. Ai heard him perfectly fine and gave a short nod, following the man. But soon a condescending snort was heard from him. His sensitive nanobots had long since sensed the vast number of defensive and offensive spells surrounding the mansion. The magical world tried to appear frightening, threatening. But definitely not to Ai.
While Borgin tried to act as independently as possible, stepping with a firm and resonant stride, Ai didn't even pay attention to the masks of the local lords. His gaze scanned this majestic, monolithic, gothic mansion, pulling out all its weak points, load-bearing structures, and secret passages. With his professional eye, he also looked for all the weaknesses in the magical defenses that were tightly woven into the very foundation of the building. With every new bit of information, the Voidwalker's gait became lighter and lighter, and his face more and more serene.
Ten seconds later, he already knew how to bypass all the mansion's defenses and leave zero evidence.
The design of the mansion amused Ai. He definitely liked this style. The mansion was built of massive blocks of volcanic basalt — a stone very dense and resistant to physical impact. The local builders clearly knew their stuff. The seams between the blocks were practically invisible. The entire building was held together not by some mortar, but by a complex system of counterweights and a deep foundation that went far into the bedrock. Colossal design resistance to compression.
The magical world, however, still left its mark on this monumental structure. Bright runic chains covered the entire perimeter of the mansion's walls, pulsing like blood vessels in some living organism. They bound the disparate blocks into a single, powerful structure that could stand for centuries, withstand, and dissipate the kinetic energy of explosions.
Ai took out his pipe, took a drag, and blew a few rings of smoke, mentally taking this mansion apart piece by piece. The basalt made the task of destruction more difficult, but not by much.
'A highly durable rock, but under directed shear stress it becomes as brittle as obsidian. The protective charms are concentrated throughout the mansion with the main binding at the front facade. If you apply a vector load of about 45 tons to the point where the three lancet arches of the left wing meet, the frame won't withstand the internal stress. An obvious domino effect will occur, and the stones will start crushing each other, taking the rest of the structure with them,' Ai thought, taking another drag and placing his left hand on his chin.
'And if you block the outflow from the foundation, the entire runic chain will simply detonate from an overabundance of energy, turning this structure into a pile of rubble and basalt dust in exactly four and a half seconds... The shockwave from the explosion will uproot all the trees within a hundred-meter radius, and the gazebo we arrived in will fold like a house of cards.'
The Voidwalker smirked, realizing that the mages felt absolutely safe here, not even entertaining the thought that this was a stone tomb, and if its integrity were breached, everyone inside would simply be ground into a bloody pulp or outright scattered to the wind. Ai had no plan to destroy and kill everyone present here; he was only here on business, and butchery wasn't part of business.
Soon Borgin and Ai approached the massive oak doors bound in black iron. Two two-meter-tall guards immediately raised their wands, checking the merchant and the Voidwalker for the presence of prohibited artifacts or curses. The amulet on the chest of one of the guards clinked softly as soon as he passed his wand near the sword behind Ai's back. Both guards immediately cast a sidelong glance at the gleaming blade with bright white glowing cracks that pulsed with hidden energy. Looking at the boy's face and seeing eyes full of cold, they decided not to continue the inspection. They were certain this eight-year-old would be quite happy to use his weapon if they said a word against him.
Sweating profusely, they let the two people inside. Indoors, Ai and Borgin were met with the hum of hundreds of voices, the heavy scent of expensive perfumes, and the ringing of crystal chandeliers. The auction was about to begin.
Looking around quickly, Ai nodded to Borgin and pointed to a massive staircase covered with a red velvet carpet with gilded edges.
The duo of grandpa and grandson quickly headed to the second floor. Once there, they occupied one of the private boxes of the amphitheater; from here, everything was in plain sight. Every person, every exhibit, every potential buyer.
The signal to begin was given by a lean old man who stepped onto the stage under the giant crystal chandeliers. He wore an impeccable tuxedo, and his eyes gleamed from under a half-mask.
Actually, there were many people in masks here, but a certain portion was still without them. Usually, those without masks were people who did not fear the consequences for themselves, their own reputation, or their family. Or they simply didn't know that one should attend such events wearing masks.
The old man touched his wand to his throat and began to broadcast:
"I welcome you, gentlemen, to the midnight auction," his voice, softly amplified by Sonorus, echoed throughout the vast room, killing all conversations and whispers.
"Today we have a unique collection. Lots gathered from the most dangerous corners of the world. You are all familiar with the rules: first come the lots financed by the 'midnight auction' itself, and then your lots."
Ai leaned back in his chair and blew a couple of smoke rings toward the protective barrier of the box. The Lords below had already started bidding on all sorts of conceptual garbage and slag. For example:
The heart of a Ukrainian Ironbelly, preserved in a stasis sphere. Starting price — 8,000 Galleons.
"Bio-trash," Ai uttered, glancing at this piece of flesh. Yes, it's useful for making wands, and possibly useful for Ai's own wand, but for that price it's easier to run out and kill a dragon yourself.
Borgin, hearing Ai's brief remark, swallowed hard and pretended he was absolutely uninterested in the dragon's heart muscle.
A cursed tiara of the Noble House of Black. Drives anyone who wears it insane.
Ai didn't even dignify this artifact with a glance. He could assemble something like that in a couple of minutes, and that's despite having absolutely no experience in artificing. Right now, he simply forcefully inscribed runes directly into the essence of the item itself so that it performed the functions he needed, nothing more.
Borgin, meanwhile, sat on the edge of his chair, nervously fiddling with his fingers. He felt out of place here, but he had no other choice. Working with the Voidwalker was too profitable. He sighed quietly at his thoughts.
After what felt like an hour at the auction, another... exhibit, if you could call it that, was brought to the pedestal. It was a massive chest, bound in dragon hide. When the host threw back the lid, a disappointed murmur rippled through the hall. On a velvet cushion lay an unassuming but incredibly dense metal ingot, the mass of which heavily indented the cushion. By all appearances — ordinary gold, but with a bright scarlet tint, as if blood pulsed beneath it.
"Lot number seven," the auctioneer announced. Notes of caution and slight fear slipped into his voice. He kept glancing nervously at the ingot.
"A discovery from the ancient catacombs of Babylon. Our best curse-breakers could not determine the composition of this metal: it is absolutely inert to any magical influence. It cannot be melted by Fiendfyre, Transfiguration has no effect on it, and its density... Such an ingot weighs nearly sixty-six pounds. Due to its strange radiation, our experts named this metal Auramite."
Snickers were heard in the hall. Who would even need a metal you couldn't even hang enchantments on? It's just a heavy, useless chunk of metal.
"Starting price — a mere three thousand Galleons!" the old man on stage shouted, spreading his arms. He was sure this ingot would put him deep in the red. Researching it had cost thirty thousand Galleons, and he was selling it ten times cheaper.
"Due to its unique... decorative and physical properties. Who among you wishes to acquire a riddle of antiquity?"
A heavy silence hung in Ai's box. The boy's eyes narrowed, and the pipe he had been smoking all this time almost fell to the floor from how close his jaw dropped to it. Catching the pipe at the last moment, Ai straightened up and threw all his power into a remote scan of this metal. A moment later, all the auctioneer's words were confirmed. This wasn't just "heavy gold" with a made-up name, but actual, pure Auramite.
Ai didn't even know how Auramite was supposed to feel, but something told him that this ingot was true Warhammer Auramite.
The Voidwalker slowly turned his head to Borgin. That same predatory but charming smile spread across his face, the mere sight of which made Borgin's hair stand on end.
"Borgin~," Ai literally purred the man's name. "Raise your placard. Bid one hundred thousand. I will acquire this metal, whatever the cost." He pointed his finger at the bar of metal lying on the purple velvet.
Hearing the Voidwalker's words, Borgin gulped loudly. His hands started shaking uncontrollably, and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead, reflecting the dim light of the hall, making it even more noticeable.
Overcoming the initial shock, the man stared at the Voidwalker and asked:
"One hundred thousand, Mr. Elliot?!" His eyes widened to the size of the Galleons he was talking about. His voice was hoarse, weak.
"For that kind of money we can buy every official in the Ministry! A herd of Hippogriffs! That's literally all the revenue I pulled from those dozens of gold cubes you sold me!"
He met Ai's gaze. Or rather, his predatory, promising smile, which tied all the old smuggler's internal organs into a knot that refused to untie itself. The man understood that arguing would cost him dearly. This boy, although he hadn't shown his real power, but this aura... And this knowledge... Which placed him above all the aristocrats present in this room, were terrifying. He clearly understood something others didn't.
At the same time, the auctioneer on stage was already about to declare the lot unsold.
"Three thousand Galleons — going once! Anyone else interested? Three thousand — going twice..."
"One hundred thousand! One hundred thousand Galleons!" Borgin shouted, jumping up from his seat and raising his placard high. His voice broke into a falsetto from his own terror.
The ironic snickers in the hall stopped instantly. Such an oppressive and thick silence descended that it seemed someone had cast a massive Silencio over the entire building. Borgin could hear the blood moving in his veins. Hundreds of heads immediately snapped up toward the Voidwalker and the smuggler. Everyone who had sneered at the metal a minute ago now sat or stood with their mouths agape. The host himself nearly dropped his wooden gavel and joined in burning a hole through the two figures in the box with his stare.
"O-one hundred thousand?..." the old man on stage asked again, stuttering heavily. He looked like he was about to have a heart attack. Taking out a handkerchief, he dabbed his bald spot with it.
"Ahem... Box number four bids one hundred thousand! Does anyone... wish to outbid?"
Naturally, no one in the hall even moved. No one wanted to overpay for an ingot of unknown, useless Babylonian iron. Everyone thought the old man from the fourth box had simply gone mad from his own wealth.
"One hundred thousand — going once! One hundred thousand — going twice! Sold to the fourth box!" the strike of the wooden gavel echoed throughout the hall, cementing the insane deal.
Borgin fell back into his soft chair, exhausted, breathing heavily. His eyes glanced warily at the pleased Ai, who seemed oblivious to his partner's strange state.
"That's... Just a huge sum of money... Even your gold cubes will take an incredible amount of time to make that money back..." the man said quietly, closing his tired eyes. Having spent so much money at once, he looked as if he had aged a couple of decades in an instant.
"What is this thing that you're willing to give away the fortune of a minor pureblood family for it?"
And the metal ingot still lay there on the purple velvet cushion, almost glowing with a soft golden and almost arrogant light. The metal from which, in the future (or in another universe), the armor of the Emperor Himself and his Adeptus Custodes would be forged. And this artifact, brought into this world by pure chance, now belonged to the Voidwalker.
Ai didn't even deign to look at Borgin when his question sounded. His eyes were still glued to the chest, which the auctioneer's assistants were carrying backstage with the utmost care and almost breaking their backs under the weight, preparing to hand it over to the buyer.
Inside the Voidwalker, triumph boiled. True Auramite! What could he do with it?! It exists in both the physical and energetic planes simultaneously. Ai didn't give a shit how much gold had been spent on this ingot. No amount of gold could compare to this masterpiece of metallurgy.
Ai didn't answer Borgin's grief-stricken question right away. He took a drag and blew a perfect spiral of smoke into the air, which dissipated upon contact with the box's protective barrier.
"This is something you could sell all of England for, along with the Ministry and the pureblood Lords," the boy said quietly but with terrifying conviction. In the darkness of the box, his eyes seemed absolutely silver, mirrored.
"This material," he extended his hand and pointed a finger at the chest being hauled offstage, "it does not bend to your magic, because it is simply above it conceptually. So you understand, I will call it 'bone of the gods'. And now this bone is mine. As for the money... Money is a renewable resource; there's no need to fret over it like it's your life."
Borgin just swallowed convulsively. In any case, a hundred thousand had already flown away. That ship has sailed, as they say.
Meanwhile, the auctioneer on stage was literally glowing. A bid of a hundred thousand Galleons greatly elevated the prestige of this event. He struck his gavel three times, drawing the attention of the still-whispering guests.
"And so, gentlemen! The first part of our auction, financed personally by me and a few other investors, is officially concluded. I must admit, it exceeded all my expectations! Yes, there weren't as many items this time, but they have fully paid for themselves," the old man gave a slight half-bow toward the fourth box, which made Borgin involuntarily shrink into his seat. Ai, however, just smiled madly, puffing on his pipe.
"Now we move on to the most intriguing part of the evening — the lots provided by our highly esteemed guests! Items that cannot pass Ministry inspection, the most powerful artifacts... And various dark secrets." The auctioneer beamed with enthusiasm.
The hall noticeably perked up. Multiple heads, masks, and hoods turned toward the stage. It was precisely for this part of the auction that many had come here. To sell their goods, or buy something worthwhile that couldn't be picked up in Diagon Alley without ending up in Azkaban.
Ai slowly got up from his seat, adjusted the sword on his back, and placed his chair in front of him. Stepping onto it, the Voidwalker took one short step forward.
Everyone who saw this gasped, drawing the attention of other people in the hall. The magical barrier surrounding the box parted smoothly, like water before Moses. The boy immediately began his fall into the emptiness of the massive hall.
Someone screamed and turned their head away, not wanting to watch this horrific scene of what seemed to some to be "suicide". Ai fell straight down, and right before hitting the basalt floor, defying the laws of physics — he stopped. The kinetic energy of his fall was nullified by his will. A moment later, he touched down on solid ground with a quiet slap of his soles. He seemed like a feather in that moment, even though the density of his tissues could easily withstand a meteorite strike.
A hum of whispers rippled through the entire hall. Borgin, still up in the box, quietly prayed to all the gods that this day would end normally — without racking up various war crimes.
The eight-year-old boy with silver hair ignored the hundreds of dumbfounded stares and wands aimed at him. He slowly walked onto the stage. The old auctioneer recoiled upon seeing the Voidwalker's icy eyes and yielded his place at the podium, nearly knocking it over in the process.
Ai took out a small box, lazily leaned against the podium, and placed the box on it. Next, he turned to the hall, took the pipe out of his mouth, and blew a thick stream of smoke toward the stalls. Many who thought the pipe was decorative flinched as they realized they were mistaken.
The boy carefully opened the box and turned it toward the audience, showing everyone present the five rings lying inside. Hiding his pipe, he began to speak:
"These rings are the best thing you will see at this auction. Nothing can compete with them." His voice was childish but steady and devoid of any emotion. His eyes slowly roamed from side to side, inspecting everyone present, every mask, every face, and making his own conclusions.
"Their creation... Turned out to be a much easier task than it seemed. I could have even made them better, but I decided you simply wouldn't be able to afford them if I made them overly powerful," the Voidwalker smiled. Disgruntled whispers ran through the hall, which died down almost immediately. Some boy dares to assure them that they won't be able to afford something! They are aristocrats! They believed their wealth was their pride.
"And what do they do, you ask? Nothing much. They simply provide protection against... The third. Unforgivable. Curse." His voice echoed through the building, immediately igniting disgruntled outcries.
"A scam! It's a scam! Throw this boy out of here!" shouted some aristocrat in a black-and-gold mask.
"If you're going to lie, at least try! That's impossible! Nonsense!" and many other words flew in Ai's direction. He ignored it all and patiently waited for the emotional storm to finally end. It took several minutes.
"Since you, gentlemen, are so loudly shouting about impossibilities," Ai's voice broke through the remaining quiet conversations about a scam, echoing from every corner of the hall.
"I decided to personally relieve you of your doubts. Calling my artifacts a 'scam' is a deep insult to my power and intellect. And I cannot stand it when my calculations are doubted." Ai cast a brief glance at Borgin, which caused the latter to break out in a cold sweat and try to disappear.
He slowly shifted his gaze to the left wing of the hall, where the very same pureblood Lord was sitting who had been the first to shout that it was a scam. And he had done it the loudest.
"You," Ai lazily jabbed the mouthpiece of his pipe at him, which he had taken out during the barrage of insults. The Lord didn't understand at first, then pointed questioningly at himself.
"Yes, yes, you, in the black mask with gold engraving. You claimed that everything I said was impossible. That you can't block an Avada. So please, prove you are right with actions."
The hall fell completely silent. The masked Lord clearly didn't expect such a turn of events. Under the sharp gazes of his "colleagues," he couldn't just back down. That would be a disgrace to his entire bloodline. Having no choice, he slowly got up from his seat and walked onto the stage.
"And what do you propose, boy?" the man hissed. Chuckles were heard from the audience. The aristocrats liked how this Lord addressed the kid.
"Do you want me to test your costume jewelry on someone?" The Lord carefully drew his wand, pulling it from the holster on his forearm, under his expensive robe.
"Yes. On me," Ai smiled serenely. He took one dark ring out of the box, casually slipped it onto the index finger of his right hand, and stepped to the center of the stage, standing a few meters from the man. Spreading his arms to the sides, he puffed out his chest, making himself a perfect target.
"Go ahead. Prove to everyone that I'm right. Throw an Avada at me. Kill me, if you can."
A hum of horror rolled through the rows. The auctioneer at the edge of the stage covered his mouth with his hands. Willingly stepping into an Avada sounded like a very elaborate suicide.
Borgin, on the other hand, merely shrugged. The images of what this "boy" pulled in his shop a while ago were still vivid, and no less terrifying. Just the image of him holding a wand to his temple and casting Avada gave Borgin goosebumps.
And now, looking at the stage, he genuinely felt sorry for this Lord, who had decided to play a game where the winner had been decided long before news of this auction even surfaced.
The aristocrat hesitated slightly. Murdering a child... At such an event... But the mad, condescending look in the silver eyes, along with the predatory, mocking smile, dispelled all his doubts. It knocked all the arrogance out of him, igniting rage.
"You asked for it, whelp," the mage made a sharp wand movement, in the shape of a lightning bolt.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
A flash of toxic green illuminated the magical hall. The deadly curse shot from the wand, heading straight toward the boy. Many squeezed their eyes shut, not wanting to see the boy's soul leave his body. The curse was flying right at his chest.
Clink!
The sound was like a small crystal goblet or shot glass striking a steel anvil.
Inches from Ai's chest, the spell hit a geometrically perfect, hexagonal protective film. The green beam rapidly began to absorb into the barrier, emitting harmless sparks all around. Moments later, all the green energy was completely absorbed into the ring, and a small red indicator lit up on it.
Ai didn't even sway. He took out his pipe again and took a drag of seemingly endless tobacco. His gaze swept over the pale-as-death aristocrat, whose legs had given out.
"One," the Voidwalker said in a bored tone, looking disappointedly at the finger with the ring.
"Nine charges left. Shall we continue, or is everyone already convinced of the truth of my words? Any questions about the quality of my work?"
Such silence fell that you could hear the beads of sweat rolling down the Lord's limp forehead. Ai looked around at everyone and smiled; he was about to walk to the podium, but stopped at the very last moment.
"Ah, yes. Since this ring has already been used once, it will not participate in the auction," he pulled the fifth ring off his index finger and showed it to the entire hall.
"And if you think you can beat this used ring out of me after the auction, I hasten to disappoint you..." Ai put the ring in his fist and slowly squeezed it. A cracking sound rolled through the hall. Putting his pipe in his mouth, the Voidwalker opened the palm of one hand and placed the palm of the other over it, beginning to grind the ring into fine dust. The aristocrats watched this scene in horror; how wasteful do you have to be to destroy perhaps one of the best artifacts on the planet?!
Ten seconds later, the boy clapped his hands, scattering dust everywhere.
Turning around, he approached the podium. Without looking back, he began to speak:
"You have four more chances to secure these rings for yourselves," he picked up the box and sat on the edge of the stage, placing the box on his knees and starting to swing his legs carefree.
"We will auction them separately. Everything is in your hands. The starting price of each ring is thirty thousand Galleons. Who is first? And yes, you can return to your seat," Ai turned his head to the Lord, who was still standing, fighting a tremor. As soon as the man limped back into the audience, the boy returned his gaze to the people.
The hall exploded. Not with shouts, but with a very loud whisper that quickly grew into tens, hundreds of chaotic bids. Hundreds of voices shouted nonsense, and it was practically impossible to make out everything, but Ai caught every voice, even those lost in this ocean of sound. The aristocrats, who had previously sat haughtily in their chairs, sharply leaned forward, practically falling out. Concentration played on all their faces.
Thirty thousand Galleons? For an artifact capable of withstanding ten Avadas?! Why, for such immortality of their bloodline, they would give all their gold in the Gringotts vaults with the vaults themselves thrown in!
"Thirty-five thousand!" the first coherent bid rang out. An elderly mage in plum-colored robes even forgot to raise his placard; his hands were visibly shaking. With that shout, a real struggle began.
"Forty!" the previous bid was immediately topped by a hoarse but loud voice from the back of the hall.
"Fifty thousand Galleons!" a Lord in a blue mask stood up. He understood that such a ring could make the head of a family practically invulnerable to assassination attempts. Immortality was on the line.
Ai lazily watched the unfolding chaos, slowly updating the amount of money and the people placing the bids in his head. The smoke from his pipe rose in even rings to the top of the amphitheater, and his legs kept swinging, dangling off the stage. He looked too calm for a creature that had orchestrated this madness.
Borgin, still in the box, constantly wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. He now understood why Ai had asked him to bid a whopping one hundred thousand Galleons on some metal ingot. The man had clearly underestimated the Lords' desire to attain immortality.
"Sixty thousand!" a witch in a strict veil shouted, jumping to her feet.
"Seventy!"
The price was rising at an incredible speed. The aristocrats, who knew every trick in the book when it came to haggling over every spare Knut, were now throwing around entire fortunes as if they were nothing more than a couple of copper coins. To them, these rings had moved from the category of "baubles" to "powerful artifacts, I swear on my life".
"One hundred thousand!" A man in a striking white mask stood up, in whom Ai recognized... Malfoy Senior. Malfoy had definitely recognized Ai. He leaned on a cane with a snake-head pommel and surveyed everyone present with an icy stare. Everyone except Ai; he looked at the Voidwalker with a mixture of hope and curiosity. Everyone around him fell silent, but only for a moment.
Ai closed his eyes and nodded to Lucius, giving a sign that he recognized the blond Lord. Lucius nodded back and sat back down in his chair.
"One hundred and ten!" spat out another masked Lord whom Ai didn't know. The feverish glint in the aristocrat's eyes made it clear he wouldn't let such a deal slip away.
Ai snickered quietly. One hundred and ten thousand Galleons. An amount of money for which you could buy two or three manors with all the house-elves included, and still have change left over for your own private little island. And now this was just an intermediate bid for only the first of the four rings.
It seemed Borgin up there was slowly dying of a heart attack. The old man finally realized that the hundred thousand Ai had forced him to bid on an ingot of some "Auramite" would return to him this very evening tenfold.
The Lords below were literally drooling. All this vaunted etiquette flew into the abyss. Each of them wanted to get this guarantee of survival in case some upstart or enemy of their family tried to kill them with a green beam. The aristocrats shouted, shoved each other; their ultra-expensive robes worth hundreds or even thousands of Galleons were getting wrinkled... No one wanted to miss this chance.
"One hundred and thirty thousand Galleons!" someone from the back rows shouted. It was clear that such a decision was very difficult for the person to make.
Ai shifted the pipe in his mouth and tilted his head slightly, scanning the hall. His eyes seemed to reach into the most hidden corners of the souls of everyone present here.
"One hundred and thirty thousand — going once," the Voidwalker drawled lazily. His ringing, firm voice made the people quiet down.
"Is anyone willing to give more? I remind you that there are only four rings. There will be no second chance."
"One hundred and forty thousand!" an icy voice literally shattered the hanging pause. The head of the Malfoy family stood up from his chair again. He wasn't panicking or fussing like the rest. His voice carried absolute confidence in his power and wealth. His posture oozed superiority over the others.
The man who had bid one hundred and thirty thousand before him slowly slid down in his chair. Few could fail to recognize Malfoy, even in a mask. Therefore, many decided to just let him have this ring, because if the blond Lord entered the game for real, only a handful of individuals in this room would be able to oppose him, one of whom would be Ai himself.
The boy continued swinging his legs on the stage. His thoughts had already moved far ahead. This was a smart move for Lucius: if Voldy did manage to restore his body, the blond Lord would have at least some protection from his master's favorite spell. An excellent investment.
"One hundred and forty thousand — going once," Ai lazily scanned the whole hall again. There were no brave souls willing to argue with Malfoy.
"One hundred and forty thousand — going twice... One hundred and forty thousand — sold. To the Lord in the white mask. You will collect it after the auction."
Ai casually took one ring out of the box and used telekinesis to send it to the podium, right in front of the auctioneer, who still hadn't recovered from the initial shock and the insane bids he had just witnessed. An idea immediately formed in his head — to start collaborating with this kid, to represent his artifacts on behalf of the auction itself and split the revenue perfectly down the middle. With people like this kid, it's best not to mess around.
Lucius Malfoy bowed his head slightly in gratitude and sat back down in his seat. He had won. One artifact was going to him.
"Three left," the Voidwalker shifted the pipe to the other side of his mouth again and tapped his pinky on the lid of the box, which was still resting on his knees.
"Your safety is slipping through your fingers. I advise you to place your bids in time."
What happened after that was hard to call high-society bidding. It was a full-blown stampede disguised as a social event. As soon as the aristocrats realized that Lucius had already gotten his piece of the pie, and the boy had destroyed one of those pieces with his own hands, they completely lost their minds. One hundred and forty thousand for the first ring had set a simply insane bar.
Ai sat on the edge of the stage, surrounded by fragrant smoke, while down below some kind of horror was taking place, in his own opinion.
In the end, the second ring went for a fabulous one hundred and fifty-five thousand Galleons to some foreign smuggler who was ready to sell his liver just to get this masterpiece of artificing out of England.
The third ring was snatched away with a screech by some Lord from the Ministry whom Ai didn't know at all. He paid one hundred and sixty thousand Galleons for it. His robe was skewed, his mask was holding on by a wing and a prayer, but he was overflowing with triumph. The expensive artifact was finally his.
In box number four, Borgin was no longer wiping the sweat away with his handkerchief. He had quietly slid out of his chair onto the carpet and sprawled there, unable to believe his eyes and ears. These huge numbers spun in his head. One hundred and forty thousand... One hundred and fifty-five thousand... One hundred and sixty thousand... In total, for just three rings Ai had raised over four hundred and fifty thousand Galleons. This could be compared to the budget of a small country for a couple of years in advance.
That ingot of Auramite for a hundred thousand now seemed like mere pocket change.
"And finally, the last one," Ai took the fourth ring out of the box and twirled it between his fingers, making the matte metal catch the glare of the crystal chandeliers.
"The last chance for those who were greedy or doubted. Starting price is the same. Who is first?"
The hall held its breath. This was the last chance, the last lot. Financial blood, though not real, was about to be spilled for its purchase.
"Two hundred and fifty thousand Galleons," a new voice sounded unnaturally calm, considering what had happened prior. All the people turned their heads simultaneously toward the source of the sound, their faces depicting bottomless shock and incomprehension. Who could bid so much money?
Instead of a pompous Lord, they saw a person in grey robes, in a grey mask without any crests or initials, as if this person was not an aristocrat at all.
Ai noticed this too. Hearing the bid, he was surprised at first, but then decided to take a closer look at the person in the grey mask. There was approximately zero information about him. He had bid two hundred and fifty thousand as if it were the price of ice cream at a roadside stall. He showed no reaction to the sudden attention drawn to his persona.
Who can bid 250k without grieving over lost money? Correct! A goblin proxy! Ai quickly deduced the underlying situation.
For the goblins, he was a gold mine at this moment, which their proxy buyer couldn't let slip away. The little freaks were always interested in rare and powerful artifacts, researching them and, perhaps, even replicating them. And a ring capable of protecting against a spell that knocks the soul out of the body is an artifact worthy of catching the goblins' attention. Ai smiled inwardly. It seems he'll have competitors. Not for long, but they'll appear.
"Two hundred and fifty thousand — going once... Two hundred and fifty thousand — going twice... Two hundred and fifty thousand — sold. To the man in the grey robes and mask. You can collect the artifact after the auction," the man in the grey mask nodded to Ai and took his seat. The bidding for the most powerful artifacts of this auction could be called concluded.
"By the way, to everyone who bought the rings. As soon as you expend all the protection — I advise you to burn the ring in Fiendfyre," Ai said, took the box with the rings, and walked off the stage, disappearing into the darkness closer to the exit.
Borgin almost fainted from the last bid... Two hundred and fifty thousand... With one bid they had recouped today's expenses two and a half times over, and that's not even counting the revenue from the sales of the other rings... Borgin no longer regretted buying that "Auramite" at all.
The auction continued for another hour and a half. There were no worthwhile artifacts from other people, especially after the performance Ai had put on. After the "Rings of Death," as the Lords had dubbed these artifacts, nothing else could compare to them in quality.
Eventually, the lots ran out, and the still slightly trembling auctioneer invited everyone to the banquet, where all the purchased goods would be handed out.
But by no means did everyone leave the auction in a good mood.