Chapter 56: Auction war2

Chapter 56: Auction war2 The crowd roared with a primal, greedy energy as the bids for the small vampire girl continued their relentless climb. Gold, a river of it, flowed through the air as paddles were raised and fortunes were wagered, each bid a new chain being forged around the child on the stage. "Nine hundred!" "Nine hundred and fifty!" "One thousand!" a man in the front row, his face flushed with wine and avarice, bellowed. "Bidder 14, one thousand gold!" the auctioneer called, his voice soaring with a practiced, theatrical excitement. The girl, Yumi, stood still at the center of the stage, a tiny, fragile figure in a sea of monsters. Her rose-pink eyes, wide and luminous, scanned the crowd, yet there was no fear in them—just a profound, heartbreaking confusion, as if she were a doll that didn’t understand the game being played with her. Her tiny hands curled around the hem of her soft blue dress, the fabric trembling with every shouted bid. So small. So fragile. And surrounded by predators. The way her pastel pink ribbons bobbed with her gentle breathing, the way her eyes tried to meet those in the crowd—not in fear, but with an innocent curiosity—it was too much. I want to hug her. I want to burn this entire place to the ground. I could see it in the way they looked at her, their eyes gleaming with a possessive hunger. They didn’t see a child. They didn’t see a person. They saw a tool. A living weapon with untapped potential. A rare, beautiful collectible. A pet. My jaw clenched so tightly a sharp, aching pain shot through my teeth. If I didn’t do something now—someone would bind her with a slave contract. And then it would be too late. A sudden, unwelcome memory surfaced from the depths of the original Ashen’s mind—one I didn’t want, but couldn’t ignore. In this world, slavery was enforced not just by physical shackles, but by a cruel and twisted magic. A slave contract: a bond that didn’t just ensure loyalty—it punished disobedience with an agony so profound it could shatter the soul. Worse still... if the owner died, the slave died. If the owner suffered, so did the slave. It was a curse, a parasitic bond sealed with blood and mana. That delicate, jeweled collar on her neck wasn’t just a symbolic accessory—it was a life-draining artifact, shortening her lifespan with every second that passed. I wanted to scream. Instead, I whispered her name, my voice a low, urgent rasp. "Layla." She turned, startled by the raw, desperate tone in my voice. "I need money," I said, my gaze fixed on the stage. "All of it. I’ll pay you back. I swear on my life, I’ll pay you back." Her violet eyes narrowed, a flicker of understanding—and something that looked dangerously like pity—in their depths. "I knew this would happen." Without another word, she waved a hand at her stoic, ever-present butler. The man stepped forward, his face an unreadable mask, and opened a dimensional pouch. He placed a full, leather-bound suitcase of gold coins onto the table before us. It clicked open. The light from the auction hall’s enchanted orb caught the coins, scattering a thousand golden reflections across our private balcony. Layla looked at me, her expression a mixture of exasperation and a strange, unwilling admiration. "That’s three thousand gold coins. All the liquid assets I brought with me. Can you really afford to pay back this much, Ashen?" I gulped, my throat suddenly dry. Hard. "Can I pay in installments?" She leaned forward, a wicked, dangerous grin curling her lips. "I’ll set the terms of your repayment later. For now—focus. If you’re going to be this impulsive, you’d better do it right." I turned back to the floor below. The bidding war hadn’t stopped. It had only escalated. "Two thousand two hundred!" "Two thousand three hundred!" I stood, my own body moving before my mind could catch up, and raised my paddle. "Two thousand four hundred!" The auctioneer’s voice soared again, a note of genuine surprise in his tone. "Bidder 29—from the private tier—bids two thousand four hundred gold!" Layla’s expression tightened. "You’ve got until three thousand, Ashen. After that, I can’t help you." I nodded, my heart pounding a frantic, desperate rhythm against my ribs. "Two thousand six hundred!" "Two thousand eight hundred!" "Two thousand nine hundred!" I shot up from my seat, my voice ringing with a conviction I didn’t know I possessed. "Three thousand!" The entire room turned, a sea of masked and hooded faces looking up toward our balcony. A hushed wave of murmuring, of shocked and curious whispers, rippled through the crowd. Even Erwin, the disgraced noble seated far below, leaned back in his seat, his brow furrowed in thought. The auctioneer laughed nervously, his professional composure cracking for a moment. "A bold bid! Three thousand gold! Going once—" Please. Please let that be it. "Three thousand one hundred!" Damn it. The voice was gruff, coming from a man in a dark, heavy cloak seated in the far left corner of the hall, his aura reeking of dark, forbidden magic. I gritted my teeth, a wave of cold, helpless fury washing over me. "Layla..." I began, my voice a desperate plea. She shook her head, her violet eyes filled with a genuine regret. "We’re tapped, Ashen. That’s all I have." I sat back in my chair, my mind spiraling. No. Not like this. Not after all this. She would be sold. I would lose her. And she’d never even know that for a fleeting moment, someone had tried to set her free. No. Not today. I reached into my own dimensional pouch, my fingers scraping the bottom. My emergency funds. A pathetic two hundred gold coins. It was everything I had. I stood again, my hand trembling slightly as I raised the paddle one last time. "Three thousand two hundred!" The crowd gasped. The air in the chamber grew tense, heavy, suffocating. Silence. Even the auctioneer paused, his eyes wide with disbelief. "...Going once." On the stage, Yumi’s rose-pink eyes flicked toward our balcony, a flicker of innocent curiosity in their depths. "...Going twice..." My heart slammed against my ribs, a wild, frantic bird trapped in a cage of bone. Please. Please, gods. Just this once. "...Sold!" The gavel hit the stand with a sharp, final crack that echoed through the silent hall. I exhaled sharply, the air leaving my lungs in a ragged, shuddering gasp as I sank back into the plush velvet of the chair, my legs suddenly too weak to support me. I had won. I had saved her. But the cost... The sword... I didn’t come here for her. I came for the item that was supposed to change my fate, to secure my future. And now, I had nothing left. No coin. No chance. Layla turned toward me, a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised. "Well, well," she said, her voice laced with a mocking amusement as she crossed her arms. "So, this is your type?" I blinked, my mind still reeling. "What?" "Tiny, pink-eyed vampire girls?" she said, her lips curling into a teasing smirk. "I didn’t expect you to be that kind of man, Ashen." "Shut up," I muttered, my face flushing with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. "It’s not like that." "Mm-hmm." "I didn’t come here for her," I growled, my voice a low, frustrated rasp. "I came for something else. Something important. But now it’s gone." "Oh?" Layla said sweetly. "You wanted something more than an adorable, and no doubt incredibly expensive, child that you’ll now be responsible for for the rest of your life?" I closed my eyes, the full weight of my impulsive, reckless decision crashing down on me. I couldn’t explain it to her. I couldn’t tell her about the timeline, about the crucial role the sword was meant to play in my future. I couldn’t tell her how it would have balanced the scales between me and Rin, how it would have given me the power I so desperately needed. How that blade—the cursed, forgotten relic—was forged in the fires of the Demon King’s war, a weapon of pure, unadulterated shadow. It would have been perfect. It would have made me unstoppable. But I chose a child instead. A soft knock on our booth door signaled the arrival of a handler. "Sir," the attendant said with a polite bow. "We will prepare your... item... for retrieval and transport. You may stay seated for now." I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. Layla was still smirking beside me, but her eyes had softened, the mockery replaced by a quiet, grudging respect. "...You did something stupid," she whispered. "I know." "Stupid," she repeated. "But noble." I didn’t respond. I just stared at the stage below, a hollow ache in my chest. Because, as expected, the dark elf auctioneer stepped forward again. "And now, for our final item of the evening," he announced, his voice once again ringing with a theatrical flair, "one of the rarest and most powerful blades ever recovered from the ruined continent of Vexgorn." He gestured dramatically. The heavy, velvet curtains behind him drew back. And there it was. Encased in a column of dark, smoky crystal, was the sword. Its blade was forged from a metal that seemed to drink the light, a sliver of pure, polished obsidian curved like a predator’s fang. Ancient, infernal runes, glowing with a faint, malevolent red light, were carved along its length. Its hilt was made of a strange, twisted onyx, and a faint, red mist seemed to rise from its edge like a living, breathing thing. "The Black Fang," the announcer said, his voice a reverent whisper. "Forged in the dying fires of the Demon King’s final war. A sword that thirsts for power—and chooses its own wielder." Layla leaned forward, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and fear. "That’s..." I said nothing. I couldn’t. It was supposed to be mine. "And the starting bid—six hundred gold!" A hand shot up from the second row. Erwin. "Seven hundred!" Then another. "Eight hundred!" "One thousand!" Erwin, his face a mask of desperate, feverish determination, raised his hand again. "One thousand two hundred!" I watched, silent, as the price climbed, each new bid a fresh stab of regret in my heart. Layla gave me a sideways glance. "You wanted that, didn’t you?" I nodded, my gaze fixed on the beautiful, terrible blade. "But now..." "Now," I said, my voice a hollow whisper, "it’s out of my reach." Erwin raised his hand one final time, his voice ringing with a triumphant desperation. "One thousand four hundred!" The hammer fell. "Sold!" I closed my eyes. The sword was gone. My path had shifted. And everything had changed again.