Silas Theoden Briss, second in line to the throne, opened his mouth, but no sound came. He could only watch as the gavel fell, sealing his defeat with a decisive thud.

“Sold!” the auctioneer said, her voice steady, but the flicker of emotion in her eyes betrayed her relief that the dangerous duel of wealth was finally over. “To Booth 3 for two Billion Berries!”

Silas flinched at the amount, two billion Berries. That was the annual net worth of the entire Briss Kingdom. And the Briss Kingdom was not a small, weak kingdom like so many others. It controlled various resource-rich islands and vital trade routes across the South Blue. Who was that man from Booth 3? He needed to know.

The crowd erupted into applause, and Silas merely stood there, a statue amidst the chaos. He’d had plans for that bullet, plans that had just gone up in smoke.

“Ronan,” Silas turned to his personal spymaster, brushing a stand of golden-blond hair from his eyes, “find me who that man is.”

Ronan, a man who had served his mother’s family, the Theoden’s, for decades, bowed low and slipped out of the private chamber. Leaving Silas alone with his guards and his personal assistant, Lady Selene. He refocused his attention on the auction that had not yet ended. Though, Silas knew that the bidding on the next items was unlikely to rise as high as it had for the Seastone Bullet. It was incredibly rare for any one item to rise above the billion Berry mark.

“This next item we present to you,” began the auctioneer, “is a gryphon's egg, bound to hatch a year from now.” The silence seemed even quieter now. The bidders stared intently at the large egg sitting on the sky blue pillow before the auctioneer. “Bidding starts at eighty million Berries.”

Silas sat up from his seat, bringing his full attention to the stage. A gryphon's egg. Only four kingdoms in the entirety of the South Blue had gryphons. After the Void Century, the Briss Kingdom had lost their own. This was a chance—if he could get the egg, he could gift it to his father, King Alden. It might even get him closer to the throne, leapfrogging his older brother, Prince Caius, who was favored to succeed their father.

“Selene,” he turned to his assistant, handing her the den den mushi, “get me that gryphon egg.”

He had grown tired of the auction, and all Silas wanted to do now was think. Leaving Selene to bid on his behalf, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes—a small habit he had fallen into that helped him get his thoughts in order. The mysterious bidder in Booth 3 was a problem if he was in his brother’s faction. Who could it be? The list of nobles and merchants that had such deep pockets could be counted on one hand, so it wouldn’t be hard to infer who it was.

Silas mentally sifted through the list of the wealthiest individuals in the South Blue. He knew most of them personally, having navigated countless royal balls, diplomatic meetings, and clandestine gatherings. Yet, this stranger was an enigma. This was the first appearance of the man, he had not been here for last weeks auction, nor any auction before that. So, it was safe to say that he likely wasn’t from the capital. That crossed out about a quarter of the potential candidates, especially those native to the Capital.

He considered the possibility that the bidder was a powerful or incredibly successful pirate with money to burn. But no, a pirate would have drawn too much attention, especially with the marines getting into a tizzy just before the arrival of the World Noble, they had nearly closed the Capital down, even forcing the docks to be closed off during the night. Silas expected security to get more tight as the World Noble’s arrival drew ever closer.

Then it clicked—the ball, the ball that was happening in a week’s time, a ball that had been prepared in the World Noble’s honour. Every successful figure in the Briss Kingdom and beyond had been asked to come to the ball. The mysterious man from Booth 3 was most likely here for it.

Opening his eyes, Silas leaned forward and gestured for one of his personal guards, a large bald man with a neatly trimmed beard named Torin. A man he knew to be competent.

“Torin,” he said, “fetch me the guest list for the royal ball, and a list on all recent arrivals to the capital. Especially anyone who has arrived for the first time.”

The guard gave him a brisk salute and left Silas to his thoughts. Just as he was about to reach the door, an idea occurred to him.

“Torin,” he called, “on top of that, try to get me a list of today’s attendants.”

The man nodded and left the booth, his steps fading down the stairway.

It was obvious in hindsight. There was a small chance that the man from Booth 3 had entered via the main entrance and if so, the fool would have made a public appearance. With any luck, he would be famous. No man with such deep pockets could have remained anonymous for long.

The bidding continued, Selene still held her ground but the competition was fierce. Silas was happy to note that Booth 3 had not joined the bidding, yet Booth 4, 5 and 8 had been competing against them for the egg. It seemed Booth 3’s act had emboldened them. He made a note of finding out who was in those Booths for later.

“One hundred fifty million Berries from Booth 8! Do I hear two hundred? Yes! Two hundred million from Booth 5! Two-fifty? Do I hear two-fifty?”

Whenever the silence stretched, Selene would press the den den mushi.

“Yes! Two hundred and fifty million from Booth 1!”

A knock came from the closed door of his Booth and one of his guards went to open it. Silas pulled his attention away from the ongoing auction and to his returning Spymaster. The man was as stoic as ever, as he stepped forward and bowed.

“Well?” asked Silas, his voice betraying his impatience.

“Your highness, the bidder is under the protection of the Imperial faction,” Ronan said, his tone grave. “I returned to let you know, how should we proceed?”

The Imperial faction. A powerful bloc with significant sway in the kingdom’s politics. But this was not necessarily a bad thing, as long as the bidder was not on his brother’s side. He was no enemy, and the Imperial faction was known for being decidedly neutral.

“Stay close,” Silas instructed. “I may need you again before the night’s end”

The spymaster nodded and with a bow joined the guards, his posture shifting to mirror them.

“Three hundred and fifty million from Booth 4! Four hundred? Yes! Four hundred from Booth 8! Four-fifty? Four-fifty from Booth 1!”

The auction continued and Silas sat back and just listened, the auctioneer’s fast paced yet pleasant voice acting as a back-drop as he rested his eyes.

“Your Highness,” Selene called, and Silas opened his eyes. “The gryphon egg is yours,” she said with a curtsy.

Silas nodded. “Thank you,” he said, and stood up to stretch his legs.

He walked up to the edge of the Booth and looked down at the stage, watching how the people below streamed out of the main gate. The auctioneer must have called an end to the auction, the gryphon egg being the ‘final’ item. After all, the items that had been listed on the catalogue had all been sold. Little did they know that the true treasures of the Auction only came after. They were meant to be surprises, and they were for most people, but Silas was not most people, for nearly every Auction, he’d come knowing what would be auctioned off as the true final item. It was the rare auction where he did not know beforehand, Auctions like today. He had no clue what item would be sold. The Auction hall had kept a tight lid on all rumours on what it was, the only information he had been able to discern was that the Auction hall had only had the item for barely a week. So this time, it was a true surprise.

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“Ladies and Gentlemen, what you have all been waiting for.” The auctioneer began, the hall now noticeably emptier, she gestured towards a glass case that was placed on the central table. Within it, there was a simple unassuming scroll. “Before you is a treasure map to an island, an island housing a devil fruit.”

The sparse crowd murmured in excitement, but Silas barely noticed them. His sea-gray eyes were locked on the scroll. This was another opportunity, that single scroll would open many doors. He could use it as payment for favours, favours that would get him ever closer to the throne.

The auctioneer gestured to one of the assistants who placed a den den mushi atop the glass case. The assistant then activated it and retreated as an image was projected on the wall behind the podium.

“Behind me,” she started, “are images of the island itself. Proof of its existence.”

The image on the wall depicted a lush verdant island, and a gigantic tree, with a snake coiled around the base of said tree.

“The devil fruit, I’m afraid to say, is guarded by a powerful beast.” She walked up to the image and pointed at the serpent. Then she clicked her tongue and the image switched, this one depicting a devil fruit hanging from the branches of the large tree. “We were unable to identify the devil fruit, so the starting bid for this information will only be eighty million.”

Silas’ gaze flicked to the devil fruit, it was a golden colour, with swirls of vibrant green that contrasted beautifully. Unidentified. That was rare, especially for the Royal Briss Auction Hall. The most renowned and respected Auction Hall in the whole of the Briss kingdom, and the Kingdoms beyond. Their appraisers were known to be well-connected and knowledgeable. If they couldn’t name it, it meant one of three things: it was either so obscure that its history was lost, so powerful that no one dared speak of it, and was thus ‘forgotten’; or it was new—an entirely new devil fruit. The least likely of all three options. Nobody knew how devil fruits formed; the mainstream theory was that they simply just appeared. Silas scoffed at the thought, nothing was, or would ever be, so simple.

Bidding erupted like cannon fire, voices clamoring to outbid one another. Numbers soared, doubling, then tripling in moments. Silas didn’t move. He was calculating, his mind racing as fast as his heartbeat. If–no, when he got the scroll, he could give it to ‘the devourer’ as payment for a favour. Silas had been planning to use the man–the pirate lord–for months now, and had kept in contact with him, waiting for an item precious enough to pique his interest. Now he had one, and when he accepted, he could make use of him to get rid of influential members of his brothers’ faction.

A new figure entered the booth, Torin, Silas noted that he carried with him two sealed scrolls.

“Well?” He turned to face the man.

“Your Highness,” Torin said, handing over the documents. “The lists you requested. One contains the attendees of the royal ball next week; the other details recent arrivals to the capital. Also, there are rumors that the richest man in the kingdom was spotted entering the auction hall earlier today. Karl Brooks, the second son of House Brooks.”’

“I know the man,” Silas mused as he unfurled the scroll, only to pause halfway. A knot in his stomach.

“The Brooks?”

“Yes, my prince, the family that has sworn fealty to the Aurelian’s.”

Silas worked to keep himself from scrunching the paper in his hands. “Dear brother,” he muttered under his breath, “always one step ahead aren’t you?”

Money was power, and only now did he truly realise how much money the Brooks family had. Too much. He scanned the names on the scroll in his hand, a scroll depicting the arrivals of notable figures to the capital. There it was, Karl Brooks arrived just this morning. He unfurled the second scroll and once more began to scan the names listed, until he reached the name he had expected to be there. Karl Brooks. There he was. He would be there for the ball. Which meant he would stay in the Capital for the next week or so. Could he have him disappear? No, there was a chance it could be traced back to him, and the man was also protected by the Imperialists. It would do more harm than good for his cause.

Silas looked back at the stage, an idea sprouting. The scroll. The pirate lord Agirni the Devourer. Yes, that was the way. Silas smiled, a plan coming together. Karl Brooks would never make it back home.

Silas handed the scrolls back to Torin and turned to Lady Selene, “get me that scroll. No matter what.”

“By your will,” she said as Silas leaned back on his chair and fixed his gaze on the stage below.

"One hundred million!" a gruff voice boomed from Booth 9, the curtains were then brusquelly pulled aside to reveal a giant of a man draped in a crimson coat with gold epaulettes, and a face obscured by a wide-brimmed hat.

That’s when Silas saw it—the faint twitch of the man’s gloved hand as he lowered it. A signal. Subtle, but unmistakable. Silas’s eyes darted to a few of the men down on the stands below, catching the glint of steel as they shifted. They were pirates, no doubt. The coated man was perhaps even a captain. Silas was surprised the pirates had been able to make it to the auction. Maybe the pirates had been on the island before the tightened security? And if he attacked, how did he expect to get off the island?

“Do I hear one-ten?” the auctioneer called.

One hundred and twenty million," another voice countered. This one belonged to a wiry, bespectacled man down below. He seemed nervous, too nervous. His clothes were also much too plain, so he was most likely acting as someone else’s proxy.

As the bidding continued, Silas simply listened, Selene occasionally bidding on his behalf. Though all she did was press the den den mushi, instead of shout out like the other bidders.

“Six hundred million!” shouted the man in the crimson coat, his voice gruff.

“Six hundred million from Booth 9! Do I hear six point five?”

“Seven hundred million.” The bespectacled man adjusted his glasses, and glanced nervously at the crimson-coated man.

The man stiffened, jaw tightening as his hand drifted to something under his coat. The whole room watched as he grabbed something and stretched his lips into a smile that showed plenty of teeth.

“One billion,” he said, his hand still out of sight.

The wiry man he had been competing against gulped, glanced at the scroll, then at the man standing above him on Booth 9 and sat down.

A tense silence followed. Nobody spoke, and the auctioneer was quiet. That is, until a group of guards barged into Booth 9, they charged towards the robed man. He turned, and in the same smooth motion pulled his hand back, revealing a two-barreled pistol. The Auction guards spread out, the crimson-coated man stepping back to keep them all in his sights. Until he stopped, bumping against the railings of the Booth, back to the audience. That would have been a mistake, had his men on the stands below not charged for the scroll on the stage. The guards that had been aiming at the captains back met them halfway. The audience screaming as they threw themselves out of the way or pressed themselves against the walls.

It was pandemonium, and Silas, perched high above all the chaos observed it unfold with a detached fascination.

“Your Highness, this is becoming dangerous. Should we intervene?” asked the captain of his guards, an older man with a hawk-like nose.

Silas waved his hand dismissively, “Not yet. Let us see where this goes.”

“Your highness, what if the scroll is damaged?” Selene brought up a good point.

Silas hummed in thought, “No, that won’t do. Ronan,” he called for his spymaster.

“Yes your highness?” The man stepped from among the guards.

“Get me that scroll.”

“Of course,” he bowed, then rushed out of the room.

Silas refocused on the fight unfolding below them. Blades sang and the screams that filled the air were punctuated by loud gunshots. It was a wild melee and sheltered as he was, Silas had never seen anything like it.

“Your highness,” the guard captain stepped in front of him, blocking his view. “I’m afraid we cannot adequately protect you here.”

Silas let out a tired sigh, it was true. But all he wanted to do was watch the unfolding fight. He swallowed and nodded back to his captain. Safety was paramount. It wouldn’t do to die before he realised his dream. Before he became King.

His guard captain barked a set of orders and the guards formed a tight phalanx around him and Selene, leading them out of the Booth. As Silas took the first step down the stairs and out of the Booth, he glanced back. The fight was still ongoing, but the scroll now lay on the ground, surrounded by shards of glass from the shattered case it had been in.

No, it wouldn’t do to worry. He shook his head and continued down the stairs. Ronan would follow through, and before the days end, the scroll would be his. Of course, then he’d have to pay the auction hall the amount they were due. He’d pay them their seven hundred million; there was little chance the pirate captain had a billion on him. Berries did not grow on trees, and he had to keep his reputation intact.

They emerged from the stairway into a long hallway, one of the auction halls attendants waiting for them there.

She curtsied as they approached. “Your highness, we apologize for the inconvenience,” she said, her voice imperceptibly strained.

“It was interesting, but of no consequence.”

The attendant gave him a relieved smile, “Then please follow me, the emergency exit it this way.”