The Legendary Method Actor

”Lords and ladies, masters and scholars! Welcome to the Store of Many Things! Welcome... to the SMT Quarterly Elite Auction!”

Chapman’s magically amplified voice boomed with charismatic flair.

The distinguished man on the stage offered another sweeping bow. He was dressed impeccably in a tailored, silver-threaded suit that caught the concentrated light of the stage.

”I am Chapman, your humble guide through tonight’s collection of wonders. We have artifacts pulled from the deepest ruins, reagents harvested from the highest peaks, and treasures that defy the very laws of nature. Let us not waste another moment!”

Up in VIP Room VII, Ray leaned back into his plush leather recliner, enjoying a half-filled glass of cold iced tea. He watched the grand spectacle below with calm, calculating eyes. To his right, Rina was practically glued to the enchanted one-way glass, her eyes wide with awe at the sheer opulence of the crowd on the auction floor. To his left, Svane stood comfortably with his arms crossed, silently analyzing the room’s arcane security measures like the veteran vanguard he was.

Chapman began the evening with a series of introductory lots. The items were flashy and impressive to the common man, but clearly meant to serve as a warm-up for the wealthy elite in attendance. A set of self-writing, enchanted silver quills went for eight hundred Academy Marks. A pure-bred, wind-aspected swift-mount foal sold for three thousand.

Ray merely observed, learning the rhythm of the room, the cadence of Chapman’s voice, and the subtle tells of the bidders on the main floor.

”Moving on to lot number seven!”

Chapman announced, gesturing to a velvet-draped pedestal rolled out by two heavily armored SMT guards. He pulled the drape away.

Resting on a silk pillow was an ancient, slightly tarnished drinking horn. It was carved from a pale, porous bone of unknown origin and rimmed with a band of dull, unpolished silver.

”We present to you the ’Magic Vessel’!” A marvel of alchemical convenience! Speak the designated command word, and this vessel will magically fill to the brim with your choice of fine ale, premium olive oil, a standard Potion of Healing, and many more! Once used, its properties reset at the next dawn. A veritable tavern and apothecary in the palm of your hand!”

Chapman pitched, his voice radiating enthusiasm.

Silence descended upon the grand hall.

The crowd was thoroughly underwhelmed. To a common mercenary, a daily potion dispenser would be a godsend. But to the ultra-wealthy merchants and high-tier nobles sitting in the room, it was little more than an oversized parlor trick. They had dedicated alchemists on their payrolls; they didn’t need a dirty bone cup that dispensed a single potion a day.

”We shall open the bidding at a very modest one hundred Academy Marks!”

Chapman offered with a hopeful smile.

The silence dragged on. No paddles were raised. A few aristocrats near the front row actually yawned.

Ray took a sip of his iced tea, equally uninterested in the artifact, right until his consciousness was violently jerked into the Ambient Presence of his mind.

Weaver: ”Absolute Fools! Uncultured peasants! The SMT appraisers are blind! They have only identified the outermost, severely degraded layer of its enchantment matrix!”

The Crimson Weaver roared within Ray’s mental council chamber. The Crimson Weaver’s phantom form practically vibrated with an intense, greedy hunger, his eyes locked onto the image of the tarnished horn.

What is it?

Ray projected calmly.

Weaver: ”It is not a mere parlor trick, boy! That bone is not ivory or wyvern cartilage, it is actual, ancient Dragon Bone, I can feel the dormant, suppressed magic from here. It doesn’t just ’create’ cheap liquids. If properly cleansed and reignited, a vessel of that caliber could have been designed to refine, purify, and massively amplify high-tier alchemical reagents! Its true economic value is astronomical! Buy it immediately!”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

The Crimson Weaver explained rapidly, pacing back and forth.

Ray kept himself calm, holding off on making a decision just yet.

System,display the Crimson Weaver’s skill set.

He commanded silently.

A translucent blue interface materialized instantly within the Ambient Presence.

[THE CRIMSON WEAVER]

[Base Skills:]

[Mana Weaving: The fundamental skill of drawing external Mana and shaping it into a structured spell.]

[Arcane Improvisation: Allows for the on-the-fly modification and combination of magical principles.]

[Thaumaturgical Economics: Grants an intuitive sense for the value of magical artifacts and reagents.]

[Neural Gastronomy: Passively converts high-caloric intake into energy that restores mental stamina and alleviates cognitive strain.]

[Unlocked Skills:]

[Weaver’s Eye: Host can actively detect and identify the specific elemental or affinity-based signature of active spells and concealed mana constructs.]

Ray’s mental gaze narrowed immediately on the third base skill.

Thaumaturgical Economics: Grants an intuitive sense for the value of magical artifacts and reagents.

Realization washed over him. He understood now exactly where the archetype was basing its valuation. The Crimson Weaver wasn’t just being arrogant, making a wild guess, or relying on visual appraisal. The archetype was literally hardwired to intuitively sense the astronomical worth of the dormant artifact hiding beneath the tarnished silver and bone. It was an absolute certainty.

Ray’s eyes snapped open, returning to the physical world. He looked down at the lonely, unwanted horn on the stage.

”Do I have one hundred Marks?”

Chapman asked, a bead of sweat forming on his brow as he faced the prospect of an unsold lot.

”Going once?”

Ray casually reached over to the left armrest of his chair and pressed the translucent communication crystal.

”Aila, Bid two hundred.”

Ray spoke softly.

Outside on the balcony, Aila nearly dropped the paddle. She tapped her earpiece, surely thinking she had misheard him.

“Two hundred? But my lord, there are no other bidders. You could bid at one hundred!”

”Two hundred, Aila.”

Ray repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

A moment later, the paddle bearing the golden ’VII’ shot up into the air from the VIP balcony.

”Ah! A bid from VIP Room VII! Two hundred Academy Marks!”

Chapman called out, pointing his gavel upward.

A ripple of polite, incredibly confused laughter echoed through the grand hall. Several merchants craned their necks to look up at the tinted glass of Room VII. To the crowd, it looked exactly like an arrogant, inexperienced noble with too much money had just foolishly doubled the opening price against himself for absolutely no reason.

”Why did you do that, Young Master? You just spent two thousand Gold Crowns on a dirty cup that no one even wanted.”

Rina whispered, completely bewildered.

Ray just offered a faint, mysterious smirk, taking another sip of his wine.

”Sometimes, Rina, the value of an item is obscured by its appearance.”

Chapman, feeling a bit awkward but immensely relieved that the lot was selling, immediately spun the narrative.

”An aggressive opening bid from Room VII! A patron of impeccable taste and decisive action, clearly seeing the historic novelty of the piece! Do I hear two-fifty? Two twenty-five? No? Sold! To VIP Room VII for two hundred Marks!”

The gavel struck the block. Ray had secured a priceless dragon-bone artifact for pennies.

The auction progressed. Over the next hour, weapons, rare spell-scrolls, and exotic materials were fiercely contested. Then, Chapman signaled for the stage lights to dim slightly.

”For our next lot, an item of profound personal utility.”

Chapman announced softly. An attendant brought forth a velvet bust. Resting against the black fabric was a tastefully crafted, delicate silver necklace adorned with a perfectly clear, teardrop-shaped gemstone.

”The Amulet of Health, when attuned to the wearer, the gemstone turns a vibrant, emerald green. It possesses a continuous, passive enchantment that deeply fortifies the wearer’s constitution, vastly improves their physical vitality, and bolsters their immune defenses against all manner of toxins and fatigue.”

Chapman declared.

Ray sat up straight in his recliner, his calm demeanor instantly vanishing.

He didn’t need the Crimson Weaver to tell him the value of this item. He thought of his mother, Lady Eileen. She had miraculously survived the insidious Night Whisper poison, but her body had been put through absolute hell. As a son, he wanted nothing more than to guarantee her complete recovery and long-term vitality.

He decided in that very second that he was leaving this building with the amulet, regardless of the final cost.

”Bidding begins at five thousand Marks!”

The floor erupted. Unlike the horn, this was an item of intense practical value, particularly to older nobles seeking longevity.

”Six thousand!”

”Eight thousand!”

”Ten thousand from the gentleman in the third row!”

The price climbed viciously. Within two minutes, the casual bidders dropped out, leaving only a stubborn, wealthy merchant on the main floor fiercely contesting the item.

”Fourteen thousand Marks!”

A merchant shouted, wiping his brow, determined to win.

Ray leaned forward and pressed his thumb against the comm-crystal. He didn’t want a prolonged bidding war. He wanted to shatter the merchant’s resolve in a single, crushing blow.

”Seventeen thousand, five hundred.”

Ray commanded coldly.

Outside, Aila’s paddle shot up instantly.

”Seventeen thousand, five hundred Marks from VIP Room VII!”

Chapman roared, his eyes wide at the massive, sudden jump in price.

The main floor went dead silent. The merchant who had bid fourteen thousand stared up at the balcony, his jaw tight. He slowly lowered his paddle, unwilling to throw away that much liquid capital on a single piece of jewelry.

”Seventeen thousand, five hundred going once! Going twice!

Chapman called.

Crack!

“Sold! To VIP Room VII!”

The gavel hit the block. Ray exhaled a quiet breath, deeply satisfied.