"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome your wonderful host, Sarah!"
From behind the velvet curtain, a beautiful woman stepped onto the stage, her blonde hair tied neatly into a bun. Her brown eyes shimmered under the crystal lights, her hips swaying with practiced grace as she approached the podium. The guests before her were already buzzing, their eyes hungry, eager to hear the sound of her sweet, honeyed voice.
"My esteemed guests,"
Sarah began, her smile captivating, "as you've no doubt already heard, today the prestigious Silver Moon Auction House has the honor of unveiling something extraordinary.
For the first time ever, we are proud to present Mr. Smith's latest creation—a product that will, without a doubt, change the slaving industry forever."
Gasp!
"Is it true?"
"He finally made something new?"
Murmurs rippled through the hall, excitement building like a tide.
"Yes, you heard correctly, ladies and gentlemen. The one and only Mr. Smith has created something revolutionary." Sarah's grin deepened. "But we'll get to that soon enough. For now, shall we begin the auction?"
The crowd cheered, eager to get started.
"Our first item today is a one-of-a-kind emerald necklace, crafted by the prestigious William Hill.
This necklace isn't just jewelry—it can send distress signals to anyone you choose, no matter the distance."
She presented the necklace, its golden chain gleaming, the embedded emerald glowing with a faint magical pulse.
"We'll start the bidding at twenty-five silver."
"Thirty!" someone called.
"Thirty-five!"
"Forty!"
"Sixty!"
The crowd roared, the numbers climbing quickly.
"Sixty silver going once… going twice…"
"Seventy!" another bidder shouted.
"Seventy solid, to number sixty-nine! Moving on! Bring out the next item!"
Behind the Stage"Give him a healing potion and put him in chains with the rest," Miss V ordered sharply, her cold gaze flicking to the two men who had just dragged Azrael in.
"And stop giving him the drugs. He's already hooked. Get him cleaned up—she's about to call the slaves out. Make them look presentable."
"Yes, Miss," they echoed in unison, quickly getting to work.
Back on Stage"Next up… slaves! I know you all appreciate quality, and let me tell you—our stock is the finest you'll find anywhere."
The crowd leaned forward, eager.
"First up, number one!"
A man stepped out, his body covered in scars from head to toe. He wore only a rough cloth around his waist. His short silver hair framed an otherwise average face, but it was his eyes—deep, black, and hollow—that drew the most attention. Eyes that had seen the battlefield. Eyes that had survived war.
"Number one might not look like much, but don't be fooled. He's a captured soldier from the Velmire Empire, a captain of the third rank in their long-range artillery division. He's already trained with the bow—perfect for hunting or adventuring parties. He's at lock one."
"Bidding starts at five silver."
"Ten!" called number eighty-two.
"Fifteen!" from number fifty-four.
"Fifteen silver going once… going twice… sold to number fifty-four!"
"Next, number two!"
A young woman was led out onto the stage, dressed in the same pitiful rags as the others. Her shoulder-length dark blue hair partially concealed her face, but not the faint redness around her brown eyes—she had been crying. Her abs were firm, her hips wide, her thick thighs visible beneath the tattered cloth.
"Number two is also a captured Velmire soldier. A blade dancer, around sixteen or seventeen years of age. She's well-trained and has potential for battlefield support. Our inspections confirm she is pure. Like number one, she is at lock one."
"We'll start the bidding at twenty silver."
"Thirty!" from number sixty-nine.
"Forty!" from number forty-eight.
"Fifty-five!" back to sixty-nine.
As the numbers climbed, tears began to streak down the girl's face. The sight only seemed to fuel the bidders.
"Eighty!" from number fifty-four.
"Eighty-five!" from seventy-eight.
"One hundred silver!" from sixty-nine.
"One hundred silver going once… going twice… sold to number sixty-nine!"
The auction continued.
"Next, number thirty-six."
A frail young woman emerged, little more than skin and bone, her chocolate-brown skin stretched thin over her skeletal frame. Long, creamy white hair trailed down her back. Her dull pink eyes glimmered with barely concealed contempt as she surveyed the audience. She looked malnourished—her chest barely there, her legs thin, her body fragile.
"Number thirty-six was taken from the edge of Elderwood City on the continent of Alfihim. Believed to be a dark elf. Classified as lock zero. That's all we know about her."
"We'll start at twenty silver due to her origin from the Central Eleven."
"Twenty!" from number thirty-two.
"Twenty silver going once… twice… sold to number thirty-two."
"Is he crazy? Look at her."
"They don't even have proper information on her."
"Some people really do have strange tastes."
The murmurs didn't stop the auction from moving forward.
"Next, number forty-one!"
From behind the curtain, a tall young man strode onto the stage, his deep black hair falling to his upper back. His amber eyes gleamed with a hatred so intense, so raw, that it seemed to pull the very air toward him. It was a hatred someone could drown in—someone would drown in it.
Atop his head sat two black, furry wolf ears. Behind him, just above his waist, swayed a fluffy black tail tipped with white.
"Number forty-one is one of the beastborn. A wolfkin," Sarah said, her tone laced with disgust, as if she were describing rotting trash.
But the boy didn't hear her. His focus was elsewhere.
In his mind, a message echoed.
[Happy birthday, Azrael. Descendant of ######.]
"Sold to number thirty-two."
"And now, the grand finale!" Sarah's voice rose with excitement.
"Mr. Smith's revolutionary creation—the ultimate slave collar! With this, you can control your slaves indefinitely. No more running, no more disobedience! One command, and they will obey. They can't flee, they can't hide, they can't resist."
A man was brought onto the stage. Sarah fastened a gleaming silver collar around his neck.
"Sit."
The man sat.
"Stand."
He stood.
"And to demonstrate the extent of its control…" Sarah's voice became sharp. "Pluck out your eyeball."
The man's scream tore through the hall as his fingers dug into his eye socket.
"Ahhh!"
"Shut up."
His mouth snapped shut, the scream dying in his throat as his bloody eye fell to the floor.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is real control. Currently, we only have one available, but you may sign up now to pre-order as many as you wish. Delivery will begin in three months when we receive our bulk supply."
The crowd erupted, papers shuffling as people rushed to place their orders.
And so, the auction continued.