After John's calm voice fell, silence swept through the hall once again for a brief moment.
This was, after all, an incredibly massive transaction—one that had now officially rewritten the auction history of Winterhold.
But what truly stunned the crowd was how composed the mysterious guest in the VIP box remained.
It was as if the mountain of silver coins required for the purchase was nothing more than a splash of water to him.
Once John had confirmed his intent, the elegant auctioneer quickly nodded and followed protocol. According to auction rules, she began gathering all the items from the second half of the auction and had them brought to the stage.
Since it was a buyout, and essentially a clearance of all remaining lots, the number of items was staggering. With the help of many attendants, the goods soon piled up like a small hill on the auction platform.
Everyone present stared with dazzled eyes and barely concealed greed.
"Crimson Flame Flower—I can't believe such a rare material is actually up for auction!"
"And there's an Arcane Crystal too! That's one of the finest materials used in item crafting—practically impossible to find on the market!"
"Mandrake root! And it has five leaves! That means it's at least fifty years old—an extremely rare herb."
Looking at the mountain of goods being presented, the vast majority of awakeners in the audience were utterly envious.
Many of the items they had long dreamed of acquiring were right there before their eyes.
They had come to this auction precisely for these treasures—yet now, all of them were being swept away by one person in a single, outrageous buyout, something that had never happened before.
"Just that Mandrake alone has a starting price of 100 silver coins. At ten times, that's 1000! Add the Arcane Crystal—probably worth 500. Even ignoring the lesser items, just the high-value ones add up to at least 3000 silver coins."
"If we count it all, it comes to around 4000 silver coins. Does that VIP really have that kind of money?"
"Is he playing us for fools? 4000 silver coins?! There's barely any power in Winterhold that could bring out that much money on short notice. Only the Lord's Manor has that kind of financial firepower—and the Lord just spent his fortune bidding on that green bandage!"
As the value of the items became clearer, many awakeners began casting unfriendly glances at the barrier-shrouded VIP box.
These items were simply too valuable. Even if the person inside was clearly of high status, the question remained—could he really pay for it?
If he was bluffing—making grand statements about buying everything out but failing to pay—they wouldn't mind teaching him a painful lesson about the consequences of mocking them.
"Esteemed guest, the total value of the remaining items comes to 4133 silver coins," the auction house's professional manager soon stepped onto the stage. With the utmost respect, he addressed the VIP box. "But since you are one of our distinguished clients, we're happy to offer a slight discount. The final price is just 4000 silver coins."
The audience gasped, even though they had already braced themselves.
Everyone participating in this auction was either rich or noble.
But even if they liquidated every asset they owned, 4000 silver coins was simply out of reach.
"Just pack everything into a storage pouch," John's voice rang out from within the box, still calm and steady.
The manager, maintaining his courteous demeanor, smiled and continued, "And the remaining 1000 silver coins, would you prefer us to deposit it with the auction house, or deliver it directly to you?"
"1000 silver coins?" someone exclaimed. "The auction house is giving him 1000 silver coins?! How does that work?!"
"Wait a minute—4000 silver coins' worth of goods, plus 1000 silver coins in credit… That's exactly the price that green bandage sold for earlier! Could it be… that divine item came from him?"
The manager's polite inquiry sent a shockwave rippling through the audience once again.
The realization dawned quickly, and everyone's expressions changed. They stared at the VIP box, their eyes now filled not with suspicion, but with curiosity and reverence.
They had seen the miraculous powers of that green bandage for themselves. It was a treasure of inestimable value. And the person who could produce such an artifact and casually place it in an auction…
Such a figure was absolutely no ordinary person.
No wonder he'd been so calm from the beginning. The man in that box… was a true powerhouse, one whose status and means they couldn't begin to comprehend.
Soon after, the crowd began dispersing from the auction hall, but the awe and shock remained in their eyes. If anything, it had only grown stronger.
Winterhold had never seen such a mysterious and wealthy individual before. No one knew who he was or where he came from. But everyone agreed on one thing—if they could build a relationship with such a man, even the crumbs that fell from his fingers would be enough to grant them a lifetime of prosperity.
As for John, he had quietly blended into the departing crowd, paying no mind to the whispers and speculations.
All his attention was focused on the storage ring in his hand.
All the auction items from the buyout, along with the 1000 silver coins, had been neatly packed into that one ring.
It was a massive haul. Not only had he acquired every single herb Celia needed for her class advancement, but he had also obtained numerous strange and rare materials.
Not to mention the hefty bonus of 1000 silver coins.
This entire trip to the auction, thanks to the power of his Mummification Wrapping Skill, had turned out to be a staggering windfall.
With excitement swirling in his chest, John kept a low profile as he made his way home.
But halfway there, he unexpectedly ran into members of the Class Association.
The so-called Class Association wasn't an official organization. It was more of a local guild made up entirely of awakeners—essentially Winterhold's underworld enforcers.
They collected protection fees from every district, including from both residents and shopkeepers.
Yet, oddly enough, most people were more than willing to pay those fees.
Why?
Because Winterhold was far from peaceful. Too many factions crisscrossed the city's power landscape. Crossing the wrong person, even unintentionally, could cost you your life or business.
The methods these factions used were ruthless. Once you were targeted, even survival was uncertain.
The Class Association, on the other hand, truly did protect those who paid up. They weren't much different from a gang in theory—but they had rules, and they followed them.
They didn't overcharge. They protected their territory. And they believed in long-term prosperity rather than exploitation.
In fact, many residents saw them as guardians, especially compared to the city's official garrison troops, who had long since been corrupted and colluded with major powers.
Unless you paid exorbitant bribes, the city guards would turn a blind eye to your troubles and leave you to fend for yourself.
John had a strong impression of the Class Association. Spotting one of its members, a skinny young man, he stepped forward and asked:
"Monk, why is the Class Association collecting protection fees early? I thought the due date was a few days from now?"
The man—called Monk—turned around and sighed when he saw John.
"It's not that we want to collect early," he said, glancing around before lowering his voice. "It's an order from the top. I don't know the full details yet, but one thing's for sure—something big is about to go down."