Chapter 638: Here it start

"The current owner of such piece is none other than the Viscount of Glenda, dubbed the Devil of Glenda for single-handedly fighting off an army of seven thousand. As was his uncle, the nephew has turned the heads of many in the world with hero-like exploits. The reason I bring the heritage in question is to prove a point, anyone who bears the Haggard name is destined for greatness." Without further ado, the piece arrived on stage on a red cushion. The atmosphere tensed, the words sucked out their lips. Close-ups of the object on the screen had the rich visibly salivating. Collectors, big spenders, nobility, lineage didn't matter, the item was worth the wait. 

"Lady Sophie," gestured Igna, "-I see you're perplexed as to why the auction didn't go as predicted. Look at their faces," he pointed through parted curtains, "-they are being safe. The main piece of tonight belongs to us," he smirked, "-the starting bid is 20 million, I'm expecting the price to fetch twice the price. Currently, the most expensive jewelry sold was the signet ring from the Emperor of Svinda in the 40 million range."

"About our fee."

"2 million," he replied nonchalantly, "-I've transferred 2 million. Should cover the expenses for tonight," giving a side-glance, "-must be worth its fair share."

"You're indeed very shrewd," she watched attentively, "-paying 2 million without the bidding, how confident."

"Tis the way the people feel," the lens slyly displayed details of the resident watchers. Net worth and spending power were lit in five grades, C, B, A, and S. From lowest tier, 100,000 to 1,000,000. Next up, 1,000,000 to 10,000,000. Afterward, 10,000,000 to 50,000,000, and lastly, 50,000,000 to 100,000,000. The vast majority were in the C to B grade. Three A grade and two S grade. The starting bid priced out the two-bottom tier. The information showed the A graders to be nobles and the S graders as collectors. "-They'll pay, I can bet my life on it," he focused on suited man bearing one of the five conglomerates crest, the last of the five; Stiol. Their focus is dealing in arts and culture, they buy, sell, collect, and make a lot of money via connections to hidden millionaires spread across the globe. In layman's terms, one can say, their trade is to spend money for others.

'The heritage and magical property are too big a fish to pass.' Moments from the auctioneer's grand slam, "-over here," hailed Igna. The pressured onlookers snapped at the interruption; a crack glazed across the frozen landscape.

"What's the meaning of this," elbowed Sophie, "-please."

"No, no," he ignored her plea, "-I have business with the auctioneer."

"Please ladies and gentlemen, the owner has requested a pause. We'll have a short break." Exasperation perturbed the tranquility, the announcement relieved many, *clop, clop, clop,* sharp steps against the wooden stage pulled the reins. The elated man viciously snatched the microphone and glared the onlookers.

"Igna Haggard," said he, "-I apologize for the interruption for you see," he placed a letter into the baffled man's hand, "-I forgot a crucial part of the piece. The legitimacy of my uncle's belonging is bound to be questioned. Therefore, in said envelop rests a handwritten letter, signed and stamped by the Ardanian Crest, from the late king. I'll say it bluntly, the price of 20 million is far too little for what I possess, the evaluation was only for the gem itself, not the heritage. As Candice said, the auction will resume after a break," he shrewdly pulled the mic closer, "-who knows, the item might not be for sale by the time it restarts." *Snap,* the stage blackened. 

"What was that about?" interjected Candice, "-the clients will be annoyed by the insolence."

"I'm of noble birth," he said, "-there's no worth in me to care for others. I only but need to fulfill my agenda," off the stage and to the back, "-Lady Sophie," they crossed shoulders, "-watch the drama unfold." 

Emptied street save a few dubious characters, "-Lord Asmodeus," said Éclair, "-is the straightforward approach necessary?" The blacked-out jeep roamed to a stop. The neighborhood dubbed Alice's Nightmare. Backpedal a few hours ago, Kul impatiently asked for a ride to the gang's hangout spot. The sheer drive swept Esvalo off his feet. 

"Very much so," firmed the prince, "-don't dillydally, driver, take us to their hangout."

"Yes sire," said an unknown face. Frequent amber-lit lamps passed their stead, the roads were ragged. Walls coated in spray paint of various gangs. Hurdled groups of four and five gave stern once over. The main road narrowed into rock and excrement littered alleys. The buildings took on an ugly appearance. Metal roofs, uncemented walls, broken cars, and rusted metal spikes and bats, residents would often glance through their opened doors. Curtains to the latter swayed unknowingly – on closer inspection, the audible scenery didn't amount to much. A life of underhanded tricks had the common perpetrators, narcotics, violence, and lust. The last of the three was very apparent deeper into the prison-like layout of the buildings. Ladies in skimpy outfits puffed smoke. Stray members of gangs continually pestered and threw disgusting glances. They would but reply the same, "-money or drugs, I ain't doing this for free, you ugly motherfucker." 

They crossed the 'tamed' side to the 'animalistic' realm. Here, visitors were shunned. A poorly lit junkyard hosted unknown vehicles. Belt against flesh, distant gunfire, guttural screams, and lastly, a gang of fifteen white-hooded men.

"Ay, ay," said one confidently stepping in the street, "-stop down there," he yelled.

"Sire, what should I do?" sweated the driver.

"Do as he says," replied Asmo, and so, the jeep pulled to the curb.

*Knock, knock,* the tainted window rolled to show a melancholically faced Kul and the ever-playful Asmodeus. 

"Damn, you guys are dressed nicely, too nice for this part of the town. What brings you here," inquired the 'talker' of the group. 

"We're looking for the 50 blood brothers," said Asmo, "-we heard about the story of the suicide at the red-light district."

The response didn't spring much of anything, aside from the hooded outfits, the skull-designed masks hid the intent. The 'talker,' nodded to whisper into another's ear. They came to an understanding and said the following, "-best turn around. We don't want to cause trouble to unknowing visitors. We go by the name of Liie, our presence here is to stop unfortunate souls from straying too far. Turn the jeep around and don't look back." 

"I'm sorry," cried Asmo disrespectfully, "-did I ask for directions?"

"You don't want to start trouble dude," said the talker.

"Might I intrude," voiced Éclair, "-the business of which we're here pertain nothing to the lies of Liie. As guard-dogs of the ruling gang, do mind thy station and let us pass."

"What if I say no?" he pulled his gun, "-you lot don't get the right to demand shit. Tis an order, turn around or die."

"My, such god-awful pests," sighed Asmo, "-do us a favor," the longing eyes befell the weapon, "-take that toy someplace else." The pistol dissembled by an explosion. 

"Don't get in our way," threatened Kul, her nails sharpened, "-humans haven't the right to interfere in a demon's affair." 

"Let 'em pass," said the leader, "-their funeral, we did our job." 

"Please have my sincerest gratitude, kind sir," nodded Éclair, the tinted windows rolled to shroud the interior. 

"Crazy people…"

"What you say, chap?" said Éclair, "-I heard your petite lips muffle a few words."

"I said, crazy people," gulped the driver.

A few minutes later, the labyrinthesque streets led to a poorly lit playground. Music blasted on through the night, the bass shook the jeep, "-there's the 50 blood-brother's hangout," said the driver, "-they normally meet at night. Hear the song? It's their way of saying, do not disturb. Anyone who steps into the yard will face severe consequences."

"Alright then," the brusque sound of slammed doors had him jump, "-didn't you hear what I said?" cried the driver.

"Loud and clear," smirked Asmo, "-don't worry, chap, Raven shall clean the mess," he lazily stretched, Kul followed with murderous intent. Vague lance-shaped projectiles hovered about her shoulders.

"DON'T COME CLOSER," cried an onlooker, "-I have a gun, one more step and you die," the unassuming accented threat didn't hold weight, the music swapped to one heavy and action pack. Drums pounded the speakers; gunfire weirdly matched the music. 

"Those idiots," snickered Éclair, *Barrier.* Bullets deflected and whistled past the street. A stray nearly took the driver's head, "-someone's complacent."

"God…" he blacked out. The rhythm increased, a blink from Kul fired a projectile of her own. Blood sprayed; the shooter fell from two floors high. The music built to a majestic drop, *SMASH,* the door exploded down the hall, the beat dropped, and chaos ensued. Kul and Asmo fought back-to-back, the startled members struggled for weapons. A glee in her eye and a grin on his face matched the soundtrack's rhythm. He vaulted over tables, dodged incoming bullets, and fired with a weapon of his own. Kul slid to the other side, she but swiped and people died. A horde of six stormed her position with shotguns, *bang,* she leaped, graceful as a gymnast, recoiled against the wall, and landed with a bow. Scarlet fireworks of blood congratulated her performance. "-Nice mobility," said Asmo, bodies fell in her wake.

"Nice shooting," she replied. More stormed from the stairs, they locked eyes, the song peaked. The clouded moon cleared, the track gave the last crash to close the epic adventure, *Crash,* walls to the second floor exploded, lifeless bodies of the leaders ate the pavement, leaving their skull for all to see. A mangled mess of flesh and bones forced a gag. 

"Job well done," congratulated Asmo, "-Sultrians or not, these people are weak."

"Too weak," she dusted off her shoulders, "-the matter of inheritance is resolved."

Affairs in the theater snowballed into an avalanche of desperate dealers. Many participants slyly approached for private deals, '-look at these men,' thought Igna, '-they say one thing and mean another.' He entertained their questions, the legitimacy added to the show's flare. Goes without saying, a few of the regulars weren't keen on his attitude.

"My lord Igna, tis a pleasure to make thy acquaintance. Your children are adorable, might I perhaps know their preference in clothing?" asked one blatant businessman. 

"My, Lord Viscount, I see you have a taste for refined gems, might I perhaps interest you in more exquisite items," she leaned, "-if you catch my drift," offered a typical seducer. Thirty-minute elapsed, '-here he comes, the S-graded spender.' 

"Igna Haggard," said the smartly dressed youngster, "-I admire the display tonight, very entertaining. I've contacted my client; they are very interested. Expect the item to go for more than twice the price," he slipped a handwritten card, "-do contact me if more items of value pass thee." A tip of the head and off the man was on his merry way.

"I see my rival has spoken already," said the other S-ranker, "-do try the world of art, tis profitable and suitable for a man of grandeur. So long, Viscount, I do hope our paths cross," contrary to the other, he made no attempts for introductions. 

The empty seated theater filled. Excitement boiled dangerously on the edge of anarchy. The organizers were impressed. Aceline kept Draconis, Vanesa, and Saniata under the radar. The lute gave ample distraction for the lass. 

A flustered Candice defiantly ignored Igna's gaze and made for the stage.

"You made the boy angry," commented Sophie.

"I did steal the spotlight," he chuckled, "-no matter, he's a talented auctioneer."

"Welcome back," said he, "-the break wasn't too much a hassle, I hope," he cheekily referred to the debauchery of the greed of which the crowd breathed a burst of laughter. "As per the new addition of authentic papers, the price of the ring has moved to a starting bid of 30 million. Without any interruptions, let's proceed."

'And here comes the money.