Such an astonishing declaration exploded into existence, like a forceful intrusion during a lover's embrace, normally capable of kicking up a massive storm. Yet, bizarrely, everyone else seemed not to have heard the speaker, proceeding instead to shout out their bids.

"Seventeen Aphrodite Star virgins, each with three... territories leading to H4, where there are seventy thousand people and one hundred and twenty shops! Plus three bars and six casinos."

"A North Ocean-class cargo freighter, flown for only 2.8 light-years, ten-pronged independent suspension, eight-link + air suspension, with three extra hardpoints installed, and equipped with twelve plasma cannons!"

"Eight hundred million Imperial Credit promissory notes, bearing platinum markings, redeemable at any bank..." Suddenly, the previously orderly auction hall devolved into chaos. Fang Senyan, however, leaned in to inquire of Old Charlie with clear interest:

"Who was that first fellow to speak?"

Logically, anyone daring to utter such words in this place must have considerable backing to speak so boldly. If Mongol had made that proclamation, the venue’s proprietor would likely be sweating profusely in subservience. But strangely, after this person spoke, not only did the auctioneers ignore him, but the other bidders treated him as if he were air.

By rights, in this setting, issuing such demands without commensurate power should earn one a severe beating—stripped naked, thrashed, and fingers chopped off! For this individual to be merely ignored was itself a deeply peculiar sign.

The speaker was hidden within a private box, only his tall, thin silhouette vaguely visible. Old Charlie respectfully informed Fang Senyan:

"This man’s identity is special. The existence of this black market here doesn't rely on Admiral Mongol’s influence. It is said to be backed by the power behind an Imperial Fleet Admiral. When Mongol was still a Rear Admiral, this Admiral was already operating the black market here. And this individual, Glang, is that Imperial Admiral's permanently stationed representative, mainly responsible for supervising transactions within the black market to prevent any loss of the due commission. Of course, the Admiral likely has dozens of similar ventures; he is just one of many agents."

"Glang’s relationship with the black market master is deliberately strained... If it weren't strained, they would easily be suspected of collusion by higher-ups, cooking the books together. Because of this, he frequently engages in provocative, sarcastic behavior just to cause trouble; the regulars are long used to it."

After everyone had placed their bids, the auctioneer managing the event began to laugh:

"It seems everyone has failed to grasp the true value of the item we are auctioning."

With a wave of his hand, two men in miniature cargo mechs marched over with loud metallic clicks, lifting the micro-infantry mech between them. They first used weapons fire to test its durability, and then pressed a button.

Instantly! The module on the back of the micro-mech, which resembled a backpack, rapidly folded and transformed, covering the infantry unit. Originally standing about 2.3 meters tall, upon transformation, it entered siege mode, becoming a large exoskeleton mech nearly three meters high! Even without a pilot, an overwhelming aura of lethality radiated from it.

Even more astonishingly, there were two sections on its surface untouched by wear. Scrawled there, in stark paint, was the image of a clenched fist!

That was the symbol of the Alliance of Stars, labeled the 'Rebels' by the Empire! Furthermore, this tactical infantry gear had never been witnessed on any battlefield. This meant that this device was a powerful hidden weapon belonging to the enemies of the Empire, yet it was appearing in an auction house deep within Imperial territory.

The auctioneer looked around with proprietary glee before announcing his expected price bracket:

"This is a new weapon recently developed by the Alliance. Its cost is currently too high for mass production, so it’s only equipped on select elite special forces. However, two warriors from that unit have recently seen the light, regretting their path and returning to the embrace of our great Empire. Since they no longer intend to be soldiers, they have entrusted us to sell this formidable weapon. Frankly, this item is likely unique within Imperial borders, so please, do not offer less than eight billion Federation Credits."

Although the price floor had been raised by at least tenfold, after demonstrating the device’s capabilities, bidders became even more frenzied. This proved Fang Senyan’s earlier theory correct: "The poorer the place, the easier it is for the truly wealthy to emerge."

As the competition escalated to a fever pitch, the curtains of the private boxes were thrown wide open, and a throng of people revealed their faces as if desperate to be recognized, wildly arguing to be shown deference...

Eventually, those lacking the necessary funds or the firm resolve to acquire it quieted down and withdrew from the contest. Three main parties remained, all figures who held sway over both the light and dark sides of operations at Alpine Base Seven. The highest current bid stood at two high-resource planets.

This clearly exceeded the value of a single new-generation mech.

However, the bidder knew through inside sources that the core technology of this mixed-mode assault experimental mech, named "Prometheus," was desperately coveted by the Imperial Grand Clock Research Institute! Earning a noble title was nearly impossible for him under normal circumstances, but connecting with the Grand Clock researchers meant it was a triviality. Thus, he was determined to secure it.

The price continued to rise in a tug-of-war fashion, and the auctioneer’s countdown ticked relentlessly toward the end, striking the hammer down several times only to be interrupted by a new bid.

But just at that moment, an old man, who appeared frail and seemed intent on shrinking entirely into the shadows of his hat and coat, stood up and walked toward the auction stage.

The crowd, unprepared for this dark horse appearance, instantly focused their attention. Many familiar faces immediately broke into jeers and insults:

"Isn't that our esteemed Marquis Charlie? Or rather, former Marquis. I heard you became an android to escape death. What? Don't you have to polish someone's boots today?"

"Hurry up and get off, don't waste our time, or I won't ensure my servants take care of your family's vegetable stall."

"When Marquis Charlie makes an appearance, I tremble with excitement! I eagerly await the surprise he brings us!"

"Your granddaughter is doing quite well in the brothels, already a third-tier prostitute. Since you dare pollute my sight here, I won't hesitate to send my servants to patronize her business."

"Poor bastard, come lick my boots a hundred times, then I’ll toss you a coin and you can scram..." Watching Old Charlie walk away silently, Fang Senyan was genuinely shocked. This old fellow was actually nobility, and once high-ranking nobility in the Empire! This was something he had never suspected.

Old Charlie approached the auctioneer, who looked ready to summon guards at any moment, and pulled out a tattered, filthy cloth bag covered in several patches—well, it looked more like a worn-out, stinking sock—and tossed it casually toward the auctioneer. Then he stated flatly:

"The Master says, pack the mech and place it in a suitcase. The suitcase must be blue; it is his lucky color."

Faced with the filthy bag flying toward him, the auctioneer exhibited surprising agility. The portly man recoiled backward with a swiftness utterly unbefitting his bulk, as if a grenade or a glob of phlegm had been hurled at him...

He was about to unleash a torrent of curses and order the nearby vigilant guards to twist Old Charlie’s head off and stuff it down the toilet for disrupting things, when his gaze swept across the floor, and he instantly froze.

"This... This..."

It turned out the mouth of the bag Old Charlie had produced was open. Because no one caught it, as it landed, its contents naturally scattered a few items onto the ground. Two or three pieces rolled out, making a light, crisp clink sound, possessing a penetrating, resonant charm. Even stranger, although the auction hall was brightly lit, as these two or three pieces appeared, the surrounding area was enveloped in a hazy, soft, grayish glow. The entire interior seemed to take on a layer of faint mist, possessing an unreal brilliance!

Those who had been mocking and cursing Old Charlie were silenced as if their throats had been slit, their faces burning hot with shame. The feeling was as if the impassive Old Charlie had slapped them repeatedly across the face!

A gang leader questioned:

"Hey, hey, what's wrong with you guys? They're just a few worthless gems?"

But by then, the auctioneer was trembling as he whispered:

"This... This is high-concentration Qian element metal particulate?? My deepest apologies, my deepest apologies! Mr. Charlie, Lord Charlie, please forgive me. I have never seen the actual substance. Please wait a moment, I must find an expert to evaluate this."

While rambling incoherently, the auctioneer immediately crouched down to retrieve the bag he had scorned seconds earlier as if it were a plague.

As he tried to pick them up, his hands shook violently, causing him to miss several times. Finally, finding squatting too strenuous due to his size, he simply dropped to his knees, picking up the particles one by one, sweat beading on his forehead.

Upon hearing the words "high-concentration Qian element metal particulate," the gang leader also shut up instantly. His face first turned ashen, then deathly pale, and he swiftly and quietly slipped away. Anyone capable of casually producing such material—even if Old Charlie was merely his dog—that dog’s flatulence alone would be enough to knock him off his feet. If not escaping now, when?

Everything happening on the auction floor was being monitored by the mastermind behind the scenes. Thus, as soon as the auctioneer placed the scattered Qian element metal particulates back into the sock-bag, an expert immediately emerged.

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