CHAPTER 173: INSIDER AND AN ASSISTANT [2]

"Here. Take this."

Amelia slid a folded document across the table, her gloved fingers lingering on it for only a second before retreating. "It’s the list of items prepared for the auction."

I unfolded the parchment. The ink was fresh, the handwriting elegant but hurried—names of relics, rare elixirs, forbidden grimoires. A catalog of greed dressed up as prestige.

As expected of the Frost family. With their discreet connections to the underworld, they had clearly secured this information ahead of time.

"Let’s see..." My eyes scanned down the neat columns. "A coral branch staff, among other things."

"That one’s mine," Amelia cut in immediately, her voice firm, cold.

I chuckled. "Of course. Would I ever expect a collaborator to work for nothing?"

She didn’t react to my teasing, simply folded her arms and let the silence hang between us. I skimmed further down the list until I spotted what I was after.

The Frostroot.

It had been relegated to the last day of the auction, tucked away like leftover stock.

’Perfect. That works in my favor.’

I could approach things far more calmly now.

"And this." Amelia slid over a rolled-up sheet, sealed with wax. "The interior map of the auction house. Study it before you go in. They’ll blindfold the participants and lead them through, but with this, you’ll have the advantage."

I broke the seal and unrolled it, half-expecting the usual bland layout.

’Not that I really need it. I’ve played this game too many times.’

Doran, sprawled lazily on the sofa beside me, didn’t even pretend to care. He picked at his ear, looking half-asleep.

"...What’s with that reaction?" Amelia’s brows knit together.

I offered a quick smile. "No, no, it’s useful information. Definitely."

But as my eyes swept over the parchment, my dismissiveness evaporated.

This wasn’t just a floor plan.

The scale and disposition of the private soldiers were marked in red ink.

Lists of mercenaries, hired blades, and even the rotation of guard shifts.

Storage rooms and strongboxes, each relic’s resting place noted in careful script.

Every thread of security was laid bare.

"...Impressive." My eyes narrowed as a familiar name caught my attention. "Aden?"

A dangerous man. A mercenary whose legend claimed he had single-handedly survived against a horde of monsters. He had become a crowd favorite in martial contests. And now, he was here.

"Hired muscle," Amelia said coolly, as if reading my thoughts. "The nobles are counting on him to ensure their little treasure trove isn’t disturbed."

I let out a low whistle. With this much detail, I could plan not only the entry but the exit. Even contingencies for accidents. The kind of information people would kill for.

"Thank you," I said, more sincere this time. "This is a big help."

Her lips curved faintly, almost smug. "Quite the change in attitude from earlier. But I’ll take it. A deal is a deal."

She leaned back in her chair, her gaze sharp, unwavering. "And make no mistake—this auction cannot succeed. Not for me. Not for the Frost family."

I studied her in silence for a moment. Unlike others who spoke of honor and propriety, Amelia didn’t pretend. She understood what power was made of: coin, connections, and the will to seize both.

And now, for once, our interests aligned.

I leaned back, tapping the edge of the parchment with my finger as if weighing its worth. In truth, there was no need. The moment I unrolled the map, I knew.

’She gave me too much.’

Not just scraps, not just favors to curry my cooperation—this was the kind of intelligence you hid even from blood relatives. With this, the auction house wasn’t a fortress anymore. It was a stage.

And Amelia Frost had just handed me the script.

I glanced up at her. She sat with perfect posture, her expression calm, aloof. But I had played this game long enough to notice the faintest flicker of tension in her shoulders, the way her hand brushed her sleeve as if to remind herself she was still in control.

’Interesting. You want the auction ruined so badly you’ll gamble everything on me.’

I smiled faintly, the kind that carried no warmth. "You don’t trust me at all, yet here you are, putting your family’s secret blade in my hand. Brave."

Her eyes narrowed. "Call it necessary. I know your type, demon. You’ll only act if the rewards outweigh the risks. So I’m making sure they do."

I chuckled softly. "Practical as always."

In truth, the main sponsor of the auction was none other than a rival family—one that had been tightening its grip on the underground markets, slowly gnawing away at the Frost family’s influence. Their guild was growing bolder by the day, their trade routes expanding like vines in the dark.

Amelia’s lips curved into a delicate smile, her voice honeyed but sharp.

"It would be quite useful, don’t you think? Dealing with competitors using the hands of demons and thieves. A convenient method, and one my family would hardly object to... if it kept the market clean."

Her words fell like silk, perfectly measured, perfectly polite. The dutiful daughter, loyal to her house.

But we both knew better.

"Well," I murmured, leaning back slightly, "that’s the official stance, isn’t it?"

Her eyes flicked toward me, cool as frost. She didn’t ask the question aloud, but I saw it in her gaze: And what of it?

I let my grin widen, refusing to break the silence she carried like armor. "All this talk of duty and family honor... it’s just for show. You’re not being honest."

The pause that followed was delicious.

"...About what, exactly?" she asked, her voice smooth, carefully neutral, but her fingers tightened ever so slightly at her sleeve.

I could have pressed harder. I could have stripped the mask right there. But instead, I tilted my head away, as if bored, dismissing the moment with a lazy smirk.

"Never mind. Forget I said anything."

Her stare lingered on me, cold and sharp enough to cut glass, but I didn’t need her to answer.

I already knew.

’I hit the nail on the head.’