The parking lot of Drane’s Auction House looked like a Comic-Con.

  I pulled my car into a spot between a Humvee and a horse drawn carriage. I saw men in flowing silk robes with swords strapped to their backs arguing with guys in tactical SWAT gear. I saw women with glowing marks painted onto their faces and bodies. I saw a teenager whose skin was crackling with electricity.

  I felt ridiculously underdressed in my flannel shirt and bamboo armor, but nobody looked twice at me. In this circus, the weirdest thing you could be was normal.

  I grabbed my duffel bag and headed for the side entrance marked Seller Registration.

  The appraiser’s name was Mayumi. She sat behind a glass partition in a small room that smelled of incense.

  I placed half of my stash on the velvet counter: twelve Heavenly Tomatoes, six Heavenly Tubers, and three Heavenly Cucumbers.

  "Just a general appraisal," I said, trying to sound like I did this every Wednesday.

  Mayumi picked up a tomato. Then she placed it into a bronze bowl etched with silver symbols.

  A red light flooded the room.

  Mayumi’s boredom vanished. Her eyes snapped wide.

  "These are..." She looked up at me, then back at the tomato. "This purity is incredibly high. Where did you get these?"

  "Does it matter?" I asked.

  She paused, then shook her head. "No. No, it doesn't." She tapped rapidly on a tablet. "Conservatively? You're looking at a small fortune. 80,000 Spirit Stones."

  I blinked. "I'm sorry, eighty thousand?"

  "Sixty thousand for the tomatoes alone," she said. "Twenty thousand for the rest."

  "Why?" I asked, genuinely confused. "It's just food."

  "It's not just food," Mayumi corrected. "Hunger and thirst are problems, yes. But these tomatoes... a permanent boost to Constitution? That stacks indefinitely? That is unheard of. Wealthy cultivators will pay anything for permanent stats. You're selling power."

  "And the exchange rate?" I asked. "What is a Stone worth?"

  "Roughly one-to-one with the pre-Collapse dollar," she said. "A million stones is a millionaire."

  I stared at the tomatoes. I had grown them in my backyard. I had watered them with a plastic can. And apparently, I was sitting on eighty grand worth of vegetables.

  "Put them up," I said, my voice barely steady.

  The auction hall was a repurposed theater. It was dark, lit by floating orbs of light. I sat in the back row, keeping my head down.

  I watched the crowd. Three people stood out immediately.

  In the front row, center, was Mister O. He looked like a tech billionaire villain—blonde hair, blue eyes, wearing a purple suit that probably cost more than my duplex. He had a smug smile that never wavered.

  To his left was Misty. She wore dark red velvet robes and had long, dark hair. She barely moved.

  And then there was Axehill. He was at least 6'8", with a buzzcut and cold green eyes. He wore black tactical armor that made my bamboo set look like a toy.

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  When Lot #42 came up, the room went quiet.

  "Twelve High Purity Heavenly Tomatoes," the auctioneer announced. "Starting bid: 20,000 Stones."

  "Thirty," Axehill barked immediately.

  "Forty," Misty whispered.

  "Fifty," Mister O said, not even looking up from his phone.

  The price climbed fast. I gripped the armrests of my seat. It passed Mayumi's estimate in two minutes.

  "Ninety thousand," Axehill growled, standing up.

  "One hundred thousand," Mister O said smoothly.

  Silence. Axehill slammed his fist onto the armrest of his chair. The wood splintered.

  "Sold," the auctioneer slammed his gavel. "To Mister O."

  I let out a breath. One hundred thousand. That was tax free. That was freedom.

  I went back to Mayumi. She handed me a duffel bag.

  "One hundred thousand," she said, smiling. "Minus the house cut. Here is your payout."

  I took the bag.

  "I need to buy something," I said. "The store?"

  "Right through there."

  The store was less glamorous, more like a high end pawn shop. I didn't want to wait for an auction to buy my materials. I needed them now.

  "I need three Monster Cores," I told the clerk. "And six Qi Minerals."

  "That'll be 900 Stones," the clerk said.

  I opened my bag. The stones looked like glowing coins—denominations of 1, 5, 10, 25, 50, and 100 etched into the crystal. I pulled out nine of the 100 value stones and slid them across the counter.

  I pocketed the Cores and the Minerals. The minerals were rocks. They weren't "Mortal" yet. I would have to infuse them with my own Qi back at the garden to transform them. But they were the raw material I needed.

  "Pleasure doing business," I said.

  I walked out to the parking lot. I felt good. I felt successful.

  Three men were leaning against my car.

  The leader was a guy with a grey jumpsuit.

  "Can I help you?" I asked, stopping ten feet away.

  "Axehill sends his regards," the man said. "He wants a word with you."

  I sighed. Of course. Axehill had lost the bid, so now he wanted the source. He probably wanted to beat the recipe out of me.

  "No thank you," I said. "Step away from my car."

  The man laughed. "I'm Crash. And that wasn't a request. It's a demand."

  "The guards won't help you here," one of the other goons said. "Auction lot jurisdiction. We handle our own disputes."

  A month ago, I would have handed over the money. I would have begged. I would have run.

  But I remembered the Roach. I remembered the hours of sweating in the garden, swinging my sword at bamboo stalks until my hands bled.

  "I wasn't requesting either," I said.

  Crash’s smile vanished. "Get him."

  They rushed me.

  I dropped the duffel bag. My right hand went to my hip; my left went to my back.

  The Mortal Sword and the Mortal Shield.

  Crash reached me first. He swung a heavy chain.

  Basic Swordsmanship (Level 5) took over. The world seemed to slow down. I saw his weight shift. I saw the opening.

  I sidesteps the chain. I swung the bamboo sword low.

  It cut through the air and struck Crash’s knees.

  There was no resistance. The bamboo was harder than steel and sharper than a razor. It sliced through denim and flesh.

  Crash screamed and collapsed, clutching his legs.

  The second guy tried to tackle me. I braced and slammed the shield forward—Shield Charge.

  The bamboo shield hit him square in the face. He dropped out cold.

  The third guy managed to circle behind me. He jumped on my back, locking his arms around my neck.

  I stumbled. The shield was too bulky; I couldn't reach him.

  "Big mistake," I grunted.

  I dropped the shield. I reached back, grabbed the guy by his collar, and heaved. I ripped him off my back and slammed him into the ground.

  I followed up with a pommel strike to his nose. He went limp.

  I stood there, chest heaving slightly. My armor had a few scratches, but I was untouched.

  I looked at the shield on the ground. "Overkill," I muttered. "Too slow."

  I picked up my sword and shield. I threw my bags into the trunk.

  Crash was still writhing on the ground, blood pooling around his knees. "You're dead!" he screamed. "Axehill will kill you for this!"

  I got in the car and started the engine. I rolled down the window.

  "Maybe," I said. "But right now, I need gas."