A murmur ran through the crowd. A man wearing a masquerade mask sitting just a few tables away from Alastor was the first to move.

As Alastor watched, the man reached out and tapped a small manastone on his table three times with soft, melodic clicks. The stone hummed with magical energy, amplifying the man's voice so that it boomed through the dome with an otherworldly clarity.

"Four gold coins," the masked man declared, his voice magnified due to the manastone. But even while magnified, Alastor could make out the callous and cool nature of his tone.

The translucent giant screens held up at either side of the wooden platform, used before to display the fight within the cage, flickered to life once more. The numeral '4' glowed a brilliant, icy blue on them, looking rather chic and cool. The crowd whispered amongst themselves, no one else seeming interested in bidding for the woman.

Alastor licked his lower lip. It was obvious bidding for the woman was the best choice – not only would not doing so destroy the image he’d formed, he’d also be wasting the chance to gain more points. If not from the woman herself in the future, at least a point or two from Raven, Severine or her disciples. And besides… who doesn’t like spending money?

Alastor tapped the manastone on his table three times and declared, “Five gold coins.”

The bidder who had begun the bidding turned around and looked around, before finally ascertaining the person who’d dared to bid against him. He locked eyes with Alastor, a spark of challenge igniting within his eyes. The man tapped his manastone again, the crystalline object glowing faintly on his table. "Six gold coins," he said, sounding both determined and smug.

Alastor did not hesitate. "Seven," he countered, his voice unwavering.

The auctioneer gestured grandly towards the two men. "Seven gold coins, going once," he bellowed, his eyes alight with enthusiasm. "Going twice…"

The original bidder stared down Alastor, his jaw clenched in frustration. He glanced at the man standing on the platform, then back at Alastor, his hand hovering over the manastone as he did so. However, he eventually reluctantly lowered his hand. It was clear he would not challenge the bid further.

"Going thrice!" the auctioneer called, a note of finality in his voice. "Sold! The first of our fine slaves belongs to the esteemed patron at table forty five for a sum of seven gold coins!"

Well, that was easy. Alastor couldn’t help but smile smugly. Heh, the arrogant types are always the poorest, aren’t they?

But then he remembered how all those orphans only cost 3.5 gold coins, and his heart couldn’t help but ache in pain. But then, when he remembered he was doing this for a noble cause – cough – when he remembered the money wasn’t his, the pain subsided rather quickly. And besides, being a nouveau riche was a very healing experience. It seemed it was worth improving his cooperation skills with people rather than slicing through them all indiscriminately – how else would he be a nouveau riche, if he killed all the rich?

Well, he could just steal from them. Now that he’d discovered the luxury of money, he naturally had infinite ways of gaining it.

Man, I’ve been way too focused on speedrunning things. I’ve not tried to enjoy the finer things in life till now at all. A big mistake, if I say so myself.

A smattering of applause rippled through the crowd, accompanied by murmurs. The applause was rather unenthusiastic, if Alastor thought so himself. But that doesn’t matter. What does matter, though, is I’m drowning in money.

He leaned towards Severine and muttered, “Ready yet?”

She shook her head slowly. Alastor could imagine her stoic expression, even though her face was covered by the mask, as she spoke, “Two minutes,” she whispered and then switched into mana speech. Give me two more minutes.

Alastor nodded, his focus shifting to the waiter walking towards them, the woman who’d been sold being dragged by him. The man had a rather steady gait, and Alastor could make out that he wasn’t the same person as the man they’d met before, despite the plain masquerade mask and dark tuxedo covering him, the same one that covered all the other waiters’.

The waiter bowed almost reverently towards the group.

"Dearest patrons," the man murmured, his voice low and silken. "Allow me to present your new slave."

He gestured toward the woman, whose wrists were shackled in chains that glittered like ice in the dim light. The man deftly secured her to the table with a series of intricate knots, his fingers moving swiftly. She held her head low, her expression impassive despite her predicament.

Realizing that the waiter was observing him silently once he’d finished the knots, Alastor studied the woman closely. What do these slave buyers say in times like these? I need to say something believable for the waiter to not get doubtful.

He doubted the waiter would dare express doubt even if Alastor were to remain completely silent, but it never went wrong to be paranoid. Alastor narrowed his eyes and commented, “Good. She’ll do, at least for a few days.”

The woman remained silent, her turquoise gaze fixed on a point beyond his shoulder, her eyes still clouded and dim. Severine and the others seemed to understand this was a mere act on his part, for they didn’t seem particularly bothered by his words.

The waiter seemed satiated by his statement, for he bowed once more and said, “We hope you’re satisfied by Savva’s services.” Getting a nod from Alastor, he left the table, finally going back towards the platform near the center of the dome.

The auctioneer's voice boomed through the hall once more. "Ladies and gentlemen, lords and lordesses! Our next offering is something quite extraordinary, just as usual. A warrior in the intermediate realm! He has been completely brainwashed to obey your orders, and has not a single shred of free will! Not even the most capable of mental mages will be able to break this brainwashing!"

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Alastor couldn’t help but scoff in his mind at that statement. The Head Mage, hell, even Severine, and a certain set of the advanced mages could most certainly break the brainwashing. But then again, most people did not have advanced and arch mages as enemies, or even have any contact with them at all. He was a bit special in that regard. He was a bit special in every regard, honestly.

The murmurs in the hall grew louder as a second slave appeared onto the platform. This one’s cage was a fiery red, despite the fact that his hair and eyes were black. Perhaps the red was to emphasize his status as a powerful warrior? His powerful build was evident even beneath the plain garments that covered him, and his eyes were just as blank and clouded as the previous woman. Based on the eyes alone, not a single patron would doubt that this warrior might become rebellious. After all, only the living dared to rebel. Not the dead.

Alastor leaned forward, his fingers drumming against the table as he listened to the auctioneer's spiel.

"The starting price for this extraordinary specimen is a mere six gold coins, my dear patrons. A bargain for one with such formidable skills, I daresay. Intermediate warriors may not seem like much, but even an intermediate warrior who is ready to fight to the death will be able to defeat an unprepared advanced warrior. Let alone this one, one who is not even affected by pain!"

A ripple of whispers spread through the crowd, probably agreeing with the announcer’s sentiment and deciding on how much they’d bid for the slave. It was only after a few seconds that the bidding commenced in earnest.

"Seven gold coins!" a man, just two tables away from the cage, announced, his eyes locked on the warrior-slave. The bidding escalated quickly, a feverish exchange of numbers that drove the price higher and higher. First by gold, then by silver, the pace of increase slowing down incredibly once it crossed ten gold coins.

Right when it reached eleven gold coins and seemed like it would rise no higher, Alastor decided to put his bid in.

"Twelve gold coins.” Alastor declared after pressing on the manastone three times. None of the other patrons seemed interested in bidding any higher – after all, an intermediate warrior was just that, an intermediate warrior. Even a half step advanced warrior would only sell for thirteen or fourteen or maybe at maximum fifteen gold coins. Eleven was already exceptionally high, let alone twelve, which was just stupid. At least from an investment perspective.

Naturally, Alastor was not thinking from an investment perspective. So, he couldn’t care less about the price. It could be a hundred, and he would still bid. Because it isn’t my money!

Severine nudged at him with her mana speech. I’m ready.

I see. Alastor replied. Wait till the slave comes here. They had to be pretty accurate in timing with this – Severine had to attack before another slave was brought up from the teleportation hole, or that slave would be burnt to a crisp, and after the slave they bought reached close enough to their table, or that slave would be burnt to a crisp. Of course, he was sure Severine could handle it – she was somewhat of a pro, after all.

And the slave did come. The same waiter dropped this slave off too, before walking back to the center of the dome once more. This time, the waiter didn’t even wait for Alastor to make some typical slave buyer type dialogue – which was mildly upsetting, Alastor had to admit. He had a pretty nice dialogue prepared and everything.

Either way, he looked at Severine and nodded. It was time.

—

Severine took a deep breath as time itself slowed down around her, preparing herself for what was to come. She never thought she’d use this spell for good, but it seemed fate liked to play around a lot more than she’d expected.

She stood up with her arms outstretched, her sable hair rippling like a raven's wing caught in the wind. She then lifted her hands to the heavens. The air around her seemed to thicken, as if charged with an invisible force that defied mortal comprehension. The patrons of the slave auction could never have anticipated the storm about to descend upon them even in their wildest dreams. She felt satisfied, in a way, despite the dread she felt at using this spell. Knowing these bastards were finally getting redemption made even the backlash this spell would give her worth it.

As the magic circle spiraled into existence around her, a shimmering, translucent barrier began to envelop their table. The shield too was her doing, of course. She couldn’t let any harm befall her disciples and Raven, or god forbid, the Chosen One. That would be beyond disastrous. Then again, she doubted the Chosen One could even be harmed, with how powerful he seemed. He definitely had a few cards up his sleeve, ones for situations like these.

Severine locked her gaze upon the heavens as the magic circle's glow intensified. At last, she brought her hands together, her slender fingers entwined as if in prayer. At that moment, the dome erupted in a spectacle that would have left even the stars envious.

In that instant, the world seemed to come to a shuddering halt. The cheers of those callous enough to buy beings controlled and brainwashed were snuffed out like candles in a tempest, their once-proud mutters and whispers silenced in the blinding brilliance. She could already imagine the pain they’d feel, the pain that’d be as swift as a falcon's dive, the pain that’d be beyond imagining.

Her spell was an inferno from which there would be no salvation.

The light, intense and relentless, consumed all in its path, leaving behind nothing but the ashes of the men and women who had reveled in a sin that was irredeemable. Nothing but the black remnants of sins unrepented.

Only at Severine's table did the barrier of light stand sentinel, shielding her group and the slaves from the maelstrom that tore through the dome. She felt sweat drip down her forehead, her muscles trembling ever so slightly due to her intense and sudden exertion of mana. Her mana reserves barely stood stable, holding together only due to years of practice and stabilization.

As the white light finally began to ebb, the barrier surrounding the table dissolved, exposing them to their surroundings. Severine collapsed back into her chair, her body properly trembling with exhaustion now. Her eyes looked just as clouded as those of the slaves – however, unlike the slaves, she would somewhat recover in a matter of minutes.

As Severine fought to catch her breath, the Chosen One, his gaze usually cold to the point of callousness, flashed a sympathetic smile at her. “You did well,” he said, with no words of excessive and unnecessary sympathy. And that she appreciated.

Without warning, the air around him seemed to darken, as though light itself had fled in terror. Even though Severine couldn't see the Chosen One's expression due to the mask he was wearing, she felt her heart clench at the sight. And then, with a sound like a muffled scream, translucent black tentacles erupted from his body, twisting and writhing as though they were alive. They stretched out, impossibly long and impossibly fast, coiling around the entirety of the dome within seconds.

Even Severine, someone who'd normally confidently say nothing would surprise her, could not help but gape at the sight.

The tentacles shimmered in the manalight, their translucent forms looking like black ice forged in the depths of some frozen hell. They pulsed as if filled with a terrible life of their own, and Severine shuddered as she imagined the tendrils reaching out for her, wrapping around her throat and choking the very soul out of her body.

As swiftly as the tentacles had erupted from the Chosen One's body, they retreated, slipping back into him with a sound like a dying breath.

The Chosen One opened his eyes, eyes which were now filled with a darkness that Severine could not fathom. Or perhaps she only perceived that that darkness existed now. He stared at her blankly, like nothing had happened, and whispered in a voice like everything was perfectly normal. "I assume you carried a teleportation scroll with you."

—