Chapter 294 - Sacrifice

Bologue had never attended an auction before, and neither had Aimou. Bologue’s expertise was of little use here, especially since this auction was completely different from those in the past.

There was no capital verification process, nor any identity check. The Gray Trade Association exercised an unusually loose control over the venue, making a vigilant person like Bologue feel uneasy.

So far, Bologue had only spotted a few scattered guards, but it was clearly impossible for them to manage the scene effectively with just a handful of people.

The sound of a bell echoed from the pale light above, drawing everyone’s attention to the man on the high platform. Everything proceeded quickly and silently, with only the man speaking to introduce the items.

The auction progressed rapidly; everyone came with clear objectives, having decided what they wanted before the auction even began.

Interestingly, everyone was bidding with Mammon Coins. Although many came from other regions, they could still produce the Mammon Coins that only circulated within the Great Rift.

First, there were some precision Alchemy Armaments, followed by expensive and rare Alchemy Materials. Occasionally, a few Contract Objects appeared in the auction.

Many items piqued Bologue’s interest, but unfortunately, he didn’t have enough Mammon Coins to trade, so he could only watch silently from the side.

Currently, a type of Alchemy Material was being sold. It was a glass container with exaggerated curved decorations on the surface, inside which thunderclouds churned, lightning flashing in and out, as if a storm had been trapped inside a bottle.

Bologue knew what this was: a rare Alchemy Material known as "Thundercloud Qi," one of the key foundations for ascending as a Negative Power User. It was said to be a product refined and collected from the thunder and lightning exhaust generated during metal transformation in a furnace.

Unlike regular Alchemy Materials, this Thundercloud Qi’s stability was extremely poor. The container not only held it but also provided stability; once the bottle was broken, it would release an unstable thundercloud.

Buyers fiercely competed for this item, as Alchemy Materials that could be used for ascension often fetched high prices. After several rounds of bidding, only one man and one woman remained in the fight, but it was clear the man was about to be defeated; he was running out of money.

The woman felt victory was within her grasp when the man called out to the host with a number he could not bear.

"Sir, don’t bid recklessly,"

The host said kindly, but beneath the gentle tone was pure menace.

"I am willing to offer my value," the man spoke.

The host was momentarily stunned, then burst into laughter, cheering to everyone.

"Value!"

All eyes were on the man again, and beneath the golden mask, the host’s sinister laughter continued.

"Please step forward, sir. We never reject any value."

The man slowly walked to the stage, appearing a little nervous. It was his first time attending an auction, and his understanding of everything here came from information he had acquired, including the notion of offering value.

Fortunately, Gray Trade Association’s transactions were different from the Devil’s. While the Devil cares only for your soul, the Gray Trade Association values anything with worth, even if it’s not a soul, as long as it holds value in their eyes, they are willing to trade with you.

"What kind of value are you willing to offer?" the host asked.

"What kind would you like?" the man retorted.

The host examined the man’s eyes as if through them he could see everything about the man’s past.

"Oh... I see, you crave more powerful strength, just pure strength."

The host whispered in the man’s ear.

The man’s gaze remained resolute, and after a few seconds of silence, the host inquired again.

"Are you sure you want to offer value?"

"I am sure."

With a strange and piercing laugh, the host grabbed the man’s hand, and beneath the mask sounded the voice of madness.

"Counting the Mammon Coins you’ve paid, please offer your fingers!"

Before the man could react, the host easily twisted off his little finger and ring finger, the flesh and bone tearing away together. The man did not utter a sound amidst the agony, while the host placed the bloody fingers onto a tray beside him.

Turning his attention to the bidding woman, the host asked, "Will you raise your bid?"

Without a moment of hesitation, the woman spoke, "Raise."

The man understood what this meant. He silently extended his other hand, allowing the host to take his index finger. The woman raised her bid again, and the man lost his thumb.

Finally, after losing four fingers, the man obtained what he wanted, holding the container with his bloodied hands, the thundercloud churning within.

Bologue squinted his eyes, watching everything that transpired on the stage. Since the man offered his value, more people began to imitate his behavior, sacrificing their own things when their Mammon Coins were insufficient.

Someone offered their eyeball and obtained a Contract Object capable of observing the short-term future. Another formed a contract with the host, allowing the Gray Trade Association to command them, in exchange for receiving a potion to extend their lifespan.

Most bizarre of all was witnessing a person sacrifice their time; their robust body withered, and in the blink of an eye, they aged to decrepitude...

Everything unfolding before his eyes challenged common sense. This was the true essence of the auction, and Bologue found himself amidst a maddening ritual of sacrifice.

The air was thick with the stench of blood. Unknown when it began, the platform was already drenched in fresh blood, which flowed and seeped down the edges, merging with the sands below.

Bologue felt a strong sense of nausea—it wasn’t him, it was Aimou. Aimou was appalled by the brutal scene before them, the warped sensation affecting Bologue as well.

Lowering his head, Bologue takes deep breaths to relieve his own stress.

"Is this your first time here?"

Suddenly, a woman’s voice rings out. Bologue looks warily in the direction of the sound and turns his head. Unexpectedly, a woman has taken a seat next to him. She is dressed in a light, black robe, her face completely hidden beneath a veil.

"Don’t be nervous."

Seeing Bologue’s reaction, the woman laughs softly.

"Who are you?"

Bologue looks at her warily. Her silent appearance and sudden conversation triggers his alarm bells, and the serpent beneath his collar has already crawled to his wrist, ready to morph into a sharp short dagger at any moment.

"Who am I? Do you think such a question is meaningful in this setting?"

The woman looks at the mask on Bologue’s face. Here, identity is worthless, everyone remains anonymous.

"I just find you very familiar," the woman continues.

"But I’m certain, I don’t know you," Bologue states firmly.

Bologue has few friends, let alone female friends. Through simple elimination, it’s crystal clear.

As for enemies?

Enemies of Bologue rarely leave alive from his grasp; so far, only Gray under the Tyrant’s protection has successfully escaped his pursuit.

"I meant the scent on you, there’s a familiar scent of blood."

Beneath the veil, blood-red eyes faintly reveal themselves. The crimson gaze suddenly reminds Bologue of someone.

The woman doesn’t continue, instead talking about something else.

"That’s the unique aspect of the Gray Trade Association; they act like Devils, strictly adhering to absolute fairness in value exchange. If your Mammon Coin is insufficient, you can compensate with your own value."

On the platform, the host takes away a person’s rib, making the woman frown. "I can’t imagine what value those things have, but the Gray Trade Association finds delight in them."

"These things are worthless to others, but to themselves, they hold extraordinary value."

Aimou’s voice echoes in his mind. This is the first thing he hears after offering value.

Fingers, eyeballs, ribs, time...

All of this is meaningless to others, yet it’s the most precious to themselves. They trade away the things they regard as valuable in exchange for their desires.

Those who desire power lose the fingers to wield a sword; those who dream of prolonging life become slaves; those who see the future lose sight...

"Did you know? Here, Mammon Coin can to some extent replace the soul," the woman whispers.

Bologue’s composed demeanor surprises the woman. His voice rises slowly, "I’ve known that for a long time."

Bologue fiddles with the coin in his hand, engraved with silver symbols.

The Crimson Queen sect can sacrifice flesh to receive her protection. In this regard, it seems the Gray Trade Association is also bound by some pact with the Tyrant.

Now the contract’s content is obvious; it is the underlying rule of the Forking Paths itself. Offer value to the Tyrant, and the Tyrant will fulfill your wish, even allowing Mammon Coin to substitute the soul for transactions.

The woman looks at Bologue a few more times, about to say something when the host’s voice interrupts.

"Next item!"

The host’s voice carries a hint of mystery, full of anticipation as he looks towards the audience on the stage. Then he abruptly removes the white cloth behind him, revealing the object under the cage.

In an instant, raging hostility permeates the atmosphere, impacting everyone present. Though Bologue has long been accustomed to fear, he’s slightly shaken for a moment, while Aimou’s situation is worse, nearly losing herself under the ritual’s fierce strike, dark ripples flickering across Bologue’s body.

Pained wails arise from beneath the cage. Bologue focuses all his attention forward, his blurry vision gradually clearing. He sees the object under the cage.

It’s a mass of flesh, layers of crimson blood tissue covering it. The surface of the flesh ball bears numerous overlapping arms clinging tightly to it, with gaps revealing open eyeballs, open mouths, breathing noses, and faintly visible white bones beneath the membrane...

Silence envelops the scene, everyone’s breathing suppressed, while some struggle with bouts of nausea at the sight.

"Are you okay, Aimou?"

Bologue murmurs softly. Such an image is indeed a bit excessive for Aimou. She doesn’t speak, merely utters a soft "Hm."

The nearby woman’s gaze grows serious, while some emit slightly excited breaths.

"This is a creation from the Order of Truth, entrusted to us,"

The host announces loudly.

"Blood and Flesh Derivation."