The New York Auction House was where the world’s rarest items ended up.

  Naturally, the more valuable the item, the more exclusive the event. Every piece of equipment could change not just a hunter’s career, but their chances of survival. The good news was that Shane’s new pendant qualified for a private auction.

  The bad news was he didn’t have an invitation.

  As Ryan helped him limp out of the dungeon portal, the other hunters went quiet. All eyes were on Shane. People kept stealing glances, their faces a mix of awe, fear, and straight-up greed.

  They were making Shane’s skin crawl. He knew his pendant was safe in his inventory, but his fingers twitched, fighting to open the window and check it’s still safely tucked in there.

  To make matters worse, all the raid leaders started praising him, using him as an example to lecture the surviving rookies on the value of high-grade gear.

  “You all saw that System announcement, right? A top-tier reward!” Marcus clapped a hand on the nearest rookie’s shoulder, but his eyes were fixed on Shane. “That’s what pure grit gets you. You survive a hellscape like that through sheer will, you walk out with loot that ensures you never have to be that desperate again.”

  The voice was booming in the somber mood. He was likely putting on a show, trying to force a celebration, but the rookies were unresponsive. To be honest, the leader was pushing the grit narrative a little too hard when they just saw their comrades get bloody murdered and eaten. The words landed flat, like a boring comedian on stage.

  But the loud voice did make the rookies blink slowly out of their thousand-yard stare, as if they were waking up from a trance.

  Typical, Shane thought, a familiar weariness settling in.

  The party leader was using these kids to pull a power play on him.

  Shane made a mental note of his face. Marcus was clearly hoping to win him over with talk of a deal now so they could buy his dungeon reward for cheap later.

  But Marcus’s smile faltered as the silence stretched on.

  His gaze darted around the unenthusiastic group, frustration flashing behind his eyes. Sensing that he was losing the room, he must’ve interpreted the lack of reaction as a threat to his authority.

  He stepped forward with a grin that was all teeth toward Shane.

  “Hunter Ashwell, was it? Hell of a job back there.”

  His voice was even louder now. Instead of addressing his party vaguely, he seemed to have decided to physically target Shane as the prop. Marcus’s hand clamped down on Shane’s shoulder, his grip hard, as if to “unintentionally” anchor Shane in place so he couldn’t walk away.

  Marcus continued to talk.

  “You look pretty banged up. My guild has connections with the best recovery specialists in the state. We’d be happy to give you an escort, get you patched up right.”

  Shane’s frown deepened in annoyance.

  The rookies’ gaze slid off the leader, too scared to hold him accountable yet, and latched onto Shane instead. Those weak-willed kids couldn’t handle the grief, so they used Shane’s “success” as a focal point to escape it.

  Morbid curiosity had overridden their guilt.

  What could Shane have gotten after their comrades sacrificed their lives? Would it have been worth it all? There was almost an accusatory tone to their looks, probably forgetting for a second that it was Shane that had saved their asses back there.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Seeing the spotlight was successfully creating a distraction to the gloomy atmosphere, another leader shouldered his way in.

  “Give the hero some space, people.” Then, he looked at Shane with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. Feeling alright? Our guild has a direct contract with the Hunter’s Association’s top specialists. We can get you priority access.”

  But Shane’s glare made the leader flinch a step back.

  Shit. Why were they so loud?

  All the noise was giving Shane a headache, and he fought the urge to blink as the edges of his vision turned blurry.

  That was when the B-rank hunter, who had been supporting him, tightened his grip around Shane’s waist firmly but carefully so as not to squeeze the ribs.

  Realizing he’d been dead weight for too long, he jerked himself upright and peeled away. The hunter’s hands remained in the air, like he was terrified Shane would topple over, but respectful of his desire not to be touched.

  Shane was going to [Blink] the hell out of here.

  But he froze when Ryan talked to him in a low voice, ignoring the other team leads that were bickering with each other now.

  “How bad is it? Don’t worry. I’m getting you to the nearest ER. We can have my family’s specialists transfer you once you’re stabilized.”

  The word ‘family’ was what had stopped Shane. There weren't that many old money dynasties in the game.

  ...He couldn't be a Winter, could he?

  “What’s your name?” asked Shane, speaking almost for the first time.

  His low voice caught the attention of the other leaders, and the squabble died down as they stared at the two of them.

  The B-ranker’s spine straightened at his question, as if he was a man in a boardroom, and not covered in dungeon filth and blood in an abandoned platform.

  He looked up at Shane with a faintly puzzled, but honest concern.

  “Apologies. I guess I haven’t introduced myself. Ryan Rowland.” Ryan paused, tilting his head slightly to the side with an expectant, polite look.

  Rowland.

  Shane let out a quiet breath. So he wasn’t Troy Winter’s relative.

  That was a bullet dodged.

  The nation’s number two rookie was an adrenaline junkie who obsessed with battle. Any hunter strong enough to catch his eye was doomed to be stalked, ambushed, and harassed until they accepted a duel. The problem was, if Troy lost, he’d just come back for a rematch.

  There really was no escaping this S-rank pest until his obsession moved onto a new target.

  Sure, as a lowly F-rank, Shane was basically invisible to a monster like that.

  And he intended to keep it that way.

  “Shane,” he finally introduced himself, his voice raspy. Ryan seemed to have picked up his last name from previous dungeons so he didn’t bother telling him his full name.

  Ryan opened his mouth.

  “Hunter Ashwell, if you would just—”

  Shane didn’t wait for him to finish, activating [Blink] to dip out. He needed to go home and wash up before heading to the auction house that night.

  The open auction wouldn’t have anything on the level of his pendant, but it required no invitation. He had to at least see if he could stack a few weaker items to replicate the effect he wanted.

  But a pile of low-rank items failed to stack the way people hoped. The System limited one accessory or gear per slot. If he equipped this pendant first, any other necklace he wore with it was just decoration. Mixing different slots like gloves, boots, rings still helped, but only to a point.

  Eventually, his growth would stall if he didn’t upgrade to high-rank equipment. Regardless, it couldn’t hurt to check.

  ***

  After getting a hearty meal, and [The Family recipe] buff to increase his HP and Stamina regeneration, Shane headed out.

  At night, the open auction was basically a big street market.

  A chalked number marked each spot on the asphalt. Crates were open for display with lot tags clipped to the lids.

  [Lot 27 · E-Rank Ring (Minor Crit Bonus)]

  Even though he just ate, Shane couldn’t help but feel hungry again at the smell of hot vendor food. A broker with a ponytail flagged him down.

  “Hey, handsome, you look like a guy who knows his stuff,” the broker said, holding up a tarnished ring. “[Ring of Minor Fortitude]. E-rank. Perfect for a hunter starting out. For you, special price.”

  Shane checked the item’s status.

  It was a temporary boost that would wear off after a few runs. He didn’t say a word, just kept walking. He scanned the other items as he passed. D-rank rings for a tiny Strength buff. E-rank talismans with a pathetic amount of mana regen.

  Did they only sell junk in this place?

  The farther he went, the louder it got. This was where the main event was held. Runners jogged the lots up to a plywood riser, where an auctioneer called bids into a handheld mic hooked to a cheap speaker. When a C-rank sword came up, three bidders shouted at once and the price jumped.

  Shane crossed his arms and waited, his frustration growing. He knew his requirements were rare, but he didn’t think the market would be completely dry.

  Was he really going to have to use this thing himself?

  Just thinking about it felt like a phantom noose was tightening around his neck.

  He needed new gear to survive.

  “Hunter Ashwell?”

  ...And what the hell was this guy doing here?

  It was Ryan Rowland in a fancy suit, running toward him in his worn-out coat like a golden retriever that found his favorite ball.