Strongest Among the Heavens-Chapter 533: Infiltration

The Auctioneer’s Guildhall did not care for glamour. It was function over all else. The chimneys, for example, were explained to him as mana radiation that led into a furnace. Instant death. Dasha did not wish to try his head through that entry point, nor the front entrance. So as they agreed, they were going for the magic vent at the leftside.

A curved wall of stained stone and corroded pipes running alongside an alley that smelled like rotting sulfur. The wall genuinely didn’t look like much and was contained in a tight alleyway. What neighboured the Auctioneer’s Guildhall, pressing down on them, was a storage facility owned by the Chinese Sect. It was why infiltration was not wise. It was stuck between a rock and a hard place, so to speak.

The moment Dasha stepped into the alley, he felt it.

Subtle resistance.

A spatial spell. Something that caused light and sound to behave strangely, enough to confuse an untrained infiltrator. They were vents here, oh yes, but there was one that was hidden. He suspected most of the Chinese Cultivators and guards that patrolled their storage facility didn’t see it.

Not Dasha.

"I see it," Dasha told his enslaved thief. "Now go."

The thief was back in fresh gear and looking the part of a courier. He had led the way with hunched shoulders and a trembling hand carrying the "offering": an obsidian sculpture shaped like a scarab beetle and cited as a relic of a forgotten god. Dasha had sculpted it the night before, lacing the core with enough magical essence to pass for genuine.

As for Dasha himself, he slowed his heart to a complete stop. From what the thief told him, the golems could not see. Their judgements were based on sound and Qi. Hiding his Qi was simple enough. Hiding his heartbeat was not. To compensate, he had his healing at full throttle.

’I estimate I only have five minutes. Five minutes to go inside and investigate what I can.’

Three life-threatening, well-worth minutes. The vent was circular, steel-rimmed, wide enough for a crouched adult. The thief-courier tapped the vent with his tethered ring.

The vent glowed. The other vents joined in on the glowing and the wall split apart. Dasha kept looking around. He suspected that anyone looking from the inside in couldn’t see the hole.

"Such fascinating magic," Dasha complimented. "I would really like to meet your leader on how he managed this trick."

The disgruntled courier grunted and headed in. It wasn’t a short walk, maybe two minutes. It was completely dark too. They turned left twice, with the second followed up with a sharp right turn. Dasha was impressed by the security. ’Even in the event of this vent entrance being discovered, the Dwarf created pathways of complete darkness. Only one of their own could manage through this darkness.’

Indeed, even Dasha had to admit, he wouldn’t have been able to get through this dark pathway. There was no sound, as all sound was absorbed. There was no use for Qi Sense, for all Qi was being absorbed.

Then there was the poison entering his system. Unlike the courier, he did not have the natural bodily functions to fight against it. He would need Internal Healing, which unfortunately, was currently preoccupied with keeping him alive while his heart was stopped. So he tapped into his other skillset and brewed a potion to fight it off. The courier wasn’t too sure of the exact composition. Dasha had to make a widely-affecting brew.

It worked ninety-percent. It wasn’t just the darkness that was completely shutting out Dasha’s sight, it was some of the poison too. His eyes felt like they were burning.

Dasha was right to have a guide. Only then would he have gotten to the light at the end of the tunnel.

’Well, well, well, so this is it. The Receiving Chamber.’

The Receiving Chamber was massive and black with blue-tints. Glowing lines of magic circles etched across the floor and pulsed in rhythmic sequences. It resembled a prison or a cathedral of containment. It resembled something that was mildly futuristic and completely fantastical.

Cells were to his left and right, as well as in the walls and stacked three levels high. Some held people, eyes wide, gagged or muzzled, limbs shackled to mana-resistant restraints. Other cells held items: glowing weapons, ancient scrolls, petrified beasts, and black chests.

Left and right, he looked. He saw. ’What an impressive collection,’ he thought to himself.

Walking throughout this fancy jail with unnatural, grinding grace were the golems. Fifty of them if Dasha counted correctly. They were huge, easily nine feet tall, plated in metal and unknown grey-blue stone. Their eyes burned with steady red light, scanning everything.

As foretold, the courier did not go one step beyond a certain blue line on the floor. He waited.

One golem stopped in front of the courier and extended a long, blocky arm. The golem’s hand opened into a scanning magic circle that illuminated the artifact.

"ACCEPTED. ROW FOURTEEN. CELL 120 IN SECTION NORTH. PROCEED."

’Fascinating. They remind me of Hephaestus’ Kourai Khryseai. These seem less advanced in terms of motor function but logic-wise, they are on the same level. The dwarf Alþjófr, colour me impressed.’

The courier did not raise suspicion as he walked. Dasha followed silently, hands folded behind his back. He was not invisible or anything. Afterall, the courier promised him while begging on his knees that the golems possessed no sight. Convenient since Sigurd’s Cloak was not working and Dasha recently learned to push the limits of his body and control his heart. Nothing for the golems to detect.

The Receiving Chamber was a strangely sounding place. The clicks of golem limbs. The faint humming of the spells below. Muffled coughing. Someone weeping in a far-off cell.

Every step he took, Dasha noted the feel of the floor and how much give it had. How his courier’s footsteps sounded; too loud here or muffled there.

Remember, this was the Receiving Chamber. Ahead, there was a three-way split. There were more of these cells and jails. More people, more items. He smelled burning metal in the east. Oil in the west.

They were heading north. He watched how the mana flowed through the lines on the ground. He watched golems go past them. Couriers were to only walk in the middle. The golems dictated the sides. They watched the people and the items, constantly scanning and double-checking.

It was a rigorous system with a massive blindspot.

They reached Cell 120. It was already open, courtesy of another golem. The courier went inside and placed the artifact carefully. There was a plaque and with a technique similar to Fire Finger, he wrote down what it was. The golem waited for the courier to walk out before going inside to double-check it.

Dasha noted the vent on the ceiling. It was larger and likely what controlled the temperature.

The golem confirmed: "ACCEPTED KHEPRI CULT ARTIFACT. ROW FOURTEEN. CELL 120 IN SECTION NORTH. COMPLETE."

The courier was supposed to do one of two things at this point: leave and keep searching or rest by going into a residential-esque section further up north. The quality of one’s room was dependent on their skills and the quality of their findings.

Dasha gave him a nod. The courier was to do what he usually did. He was to not drop an ink of suspicion. So he started walking back out. He was one of the types that did not go back to his room until his legs demanded it.

Dasha’s eyes promptly scanned the vaulted ceiling. He noted a draft. Cold air coming from, well, everywhere. A theory was beginning to brew in his head. He walked behind the courier while he followed the draft with his senses: the direction it blew, the faint shift in dust on the ground nearby. He couldn’t use Qi, only himself.

’Ah, I see it now. The vents on the ceiling of every cage controls the temperature, that much is obvious. That alone must mean there is a third floor. And that, in turn, means there must be a fourth floor.’

There were three floors and a total of four sections, north, south, east and wets, of the Receiving Chamber. It was a massive operation and had an inventory of tens of thousands. But, as the name suggested, it was only the Receiving Chamber. It was not where the Auctioneers permanently kept their items.

Then there was where the Auctioneer’s people lived and rested. That too was equally as large as this Receiving Chamber.

Which did not make sense with what he saw outside. Not unless the building was bigger on the inside than the out. Not unless there was more to it than what one could see with their eyes.

’I suspect there are two floors above this. One floor for controlling everything in the Receiving Chamber and maybe even the real storage area, and an additional floor for their leader’s leisure. This leader, whoever he is, clearly has intelligence and an ego. He keeps his people and his items nearby. He has little morality and cares solely for profit or for the pride in his collection. Regardless of which, he is likely those I have encountered in the past: those that believe that they sit on a throne from high above.’

They were at the halfway-point, the split. They kept walking. Dasha kept his head tilted up and focused. There was no visible tell or gap.

’I am certain if I infiltrate next time, I will find something up top.’

As much as he wanted to act here and now, he couldn’t. His heart was begging to beat again. The five minutes were almost up. Next time.