Months later…

He passed through the crowd like a hot knife through butter. As if there was some kind of invisible yet powerful force field around him, diverting the stream of people around him, silencing their voices to hushed whispers.

Leonidas Mayhew, the youngest elder, king of the Inner Court, had emerged from a reputed six-month-long seclusion. Some speculated that he was perfecting some killer technique. Others decided he was raising his cultivation. Maybe he was even in the King realm-- though he’d be the youngest in four hundred years to achieve it.

He’d done nothing of the sort, of course. The only things he’d accomplished were burning through half the stack of books and spending some quality time with his servant.

The clan tournament was about to begin. Mayhew members from all side branches and the main branch gathered for this twice-per-year event, often which decided the fates of each branch in the near future.

It was also how some ambitious side branches wished to ascend to the main branch. Through defeating the main branch’s representative, they’d gain both prestige and valuable resources, sometimes enough to catapult them over the top.

Dan could feel the eyes, some in admiration, some in hunger, roaming his body. He smiled casually and shrugged them off. The tournament was held in a desolate campground, with sixteen raised platforms for the participants. They would be whittled from 32 to 16 to 8 and so on until the victor emerged.

“Platform one. Leonidas Mayhew, first seed. Against: Jonathan Mayhew, thirty-second seed.”

And so it began.

His opponent was thin and timid-looking. Unsurprising.

Even so, he had a weird sort of determination on his face-- almost as though he believed he could win.

“I, Jonathan Mayhew, have prepared 6 months to take you down!” he screamed shrilly. “Prepare yourself!”

“I’ve never heard of you,” said Dan.

“Begin!” the referee cried.

Mana came to his fingertips like another limb, and he loosed a bolt of sheer force directly at his opponent. Jonathan screamed, pulling up a weak, translucent shield. Dan’s bolt punched through it, ramming straight into the boy’s body. With a sickening crunch, Jonathan was blasted off the stage.

Dan yawned.

He didn’t know how to fight with any technique, but brute force was easy to grasp.

Nobody seemed particularly astonished by the result, except his opponent. Jonathan stared at the ground, eyes dull, coughing up blood as his side branch’s attendants healed his injuries.

The round of 16 and 4 went almost as easy as the first. His mana blast was so pure and so powerful that nobody managed to block or even dodge it. Every fight ended instantly. No skill was required with overwhelming brute strength.

His first issue came during the semifinals.

Immediately after the fight began, his opponent, a defensive specialist from a side branch, constructed a mana shield. Surprisingly, it not only blocked his attack, but imbibed it into the shield itself. Dan watched the growing white barrier with mild amusement.

He supposed now was a good time to attempt that move he’d given up on. Although months had passed, his memory of it was as pristine.

Fist curl. Mana gathers. A lash like a viper’s strike tearing through in a wide arc.

Blood spurted into the air and stained the ground crimson.

***

“Final battle. Leonidas Mayhew against Ivory Mayhew. Begin.”

His opponent was the red-haired girl that had come to his windowsill a week ago. She looked determined, her jaw set and eyes flashing.

The platform they would fight on was only around 30 feet by 30 feet, and he didn’t fancy having to flee if close combat occurred.

He would just blast her straight off the stage, he decided.

“Well?” she suddenly said, her cheeks red with anger. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“What is there to say?” he shrugged, smiling. “I guess-- goodbye?”

A bolt of high-powered mana, faster than any he’d shot before, whipped at the girl.

Surprisingly, she managed to dodge it through a quick leap to the left. She didn’t manage to avoid it completely, though -- bits of hair descended slowly to the ground, sliced off cleanly by the attack.

She advanced on him with blinding speed. His eyes, much sharper than any normal cultivator’s, however, tracked her every movement.

Another three mana bolts filled the air, but she dodged all of them, allowing them to strike ineffectually against the ground below.

He gritted his teeth. Perhaps he shouldn’t have gotten her so angry. Her quick reflexes rendered his one-hit-kill shots useless, and his crude attacks drained mana fast.

He switched tactics and stopped firing. All he needed to do was to land one clean hit.

Focusing his energy on his palms, he prepared to execute the same strike he’d used to win the semifinals-- that whiplike, lightning punch.

She raced in just before the apex of his preparation and threw a ball of qi straight at his face.

Nobody had attacked him the whole tournament. Hell, nobody had hit him since that crazy Martial Uncle.

He reacted on instinct and, instead of attacking Ivory, he smacked the attack away. It was akin to killing a mosquito with a gun. He regretted it instantly. He’d run out of bullets.

“You’re low on mana, aren’t you?” Ivory whispered. “Stupid mistake, falling for a feint. You’re out of practice.”

She advanced on him, fists blazing with red mana.

“But then again, how could you have time to practice? You were too busy spending the last four months cheating on me with that servant slut!”

He was right, unfortunately for him: She was his previous body’s girlfriend. Oh, shit. He couldn’t even attempt to dodge as she threw a blazing fast hook at him, catching him squarely on the jaw. Thrown several feet into the air, he struggled to maintain his balance, but she was upon him in an instant, raining down more blows. It was like being run over by a freight train, if the freight train backed up repeatedly only to crush him over and over and over again.

He blacked out.

***

He came to in a dark and slimy room. The floor was crusted over with a tar-like substance which crept up to the walls and into the ceiling. Everything smelled like shit.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

He scrambled to his feet and tried to move, but his limbs would not budge. There was a loud clanking sound as he lifted his foot, and he looked down. Two large iron manacles chained both his ankles and his wrists to a wall.

His head felt as though it were on fire, as though some vindictive blacksmith had taken it, submerged it in a forge, and was now pounding the living shit out of it.

“Finally awake, are you?” a voice grumbled.

He jumped up and looked around. A dark-haired, blue-eyed, muscular man, strikingly handsome, lay with his back against the opposite wall.

“Wh-where am I? I was at the tournament and then blacked out… what’s happening?” he

murmured.

“You’ve been sold.”

“What do you mean, sold? Is this some cellar in the Mayhew compound? Where’s the Martial Uncle?”

“You got a screw loose, boy? Your Martial Uncle sold you for resources to slavers. Now you’re a slave. Like me.”

“Wait. I lost one fucking tournament and he sells me?! And why the hell--”

“You do know who he sold you to, don’t you?” the man continued. “The Black Circus.”

“... what the hell does that mean?”

“You live under a rock or something? The Black Circus is the largest underground slaving ring in the country. They sell to the middle class, but they make most of their money from the elites. Like us. Say some middle-aged aristocrat wants some action, or a young deviant princess wants a fucktoy. Or beyond that, if they want to practice dual cultivation with a partner of… higher stock and mana purity. They go to the Circus. First time I was here, they sold me an obese, middle-aged county governess.”

He shuddered. “You’re in for some pain if that happens, kid. They’re the ones with the money, usually, too.”

A section of the wall pulled back, and a severe-looking man with a cane stepped into the room. Three more men followed him with lashes and black masks. They gagged both of them and hauled them roughly to their feet.

“Alright, boys,” the man said. “Show starts in five. Out you go. Muscles--” he nodded to the slave across from Dan-- “you know the drill.”

Two hard, beady eyes fixed onto Dan’s lithe body. “You there. Pretty boy. You struggle, you try to escape, I hit you with this.”

He held up a small, black device pulsating with electricity. Little angry sparks flew out unbidden, fizzling black marks into the concrete floor.

“Out you go, you two! Move!”

Stumbling, head aching, Dan forced himself to his feet and out of the cell. He trembled at the harsh cold air. How did this happen? How did he lose? Was this real? One moment, he was relaxing in the highest luxury this world could afford. The next, he was being sold for resources as a sex slave.

A sharp crack stung him in the back and he yelped, collapsing. A boot pressed his face to the ground.

“When we say move, we mean move!” one of the guards barked.

“Careful!” the severe man cautioned. “Don’t damage the front or the face.”

Tears welled up in Dan’s eyes, but he blinked them away. The boot came off, and he was hauled unceremoniously to his feet again. “Move.”

They were led down a dark hallway, a bright light shining at the end. The three guards followed behind him and the other other slave, ready to act should they try to escape.

Murmers of feminine voices grew louder as they approached, which only intensified as they stepped into the light.

They stood in the center of a lavish building reminiscent of an opera hall. Two bright lights were fixed to them, all but blinding them. Dimly, Dan could make out a throng of people on two balconies, though he couldn’t see their faces. By smell alone, though, he could tell this place catered to the rich. Even the ambient air smelled of citrus and other perfumes.

“Ladies!” a deep voice boomed.

“May we present our final items for the night! Two of the highest quality we’ve ever offered. Both are exquisitely handsome, talented, and-- of course-- exceptionally well-endowed.”

A billowing cheer rose from the crowd.

“To the right… the dashing hero of the northern tribes, Ka Shen! Once a mighty rebel leader, he still retains his martial arts prowess! Literate and a talented magic user, Shen is a powerful bodyguard outside of the bedroom. Inside, he is said to be a voracious, experienced lover, having had sixty-two wives. Let the bidding commence!”

“Four hundred thousand ren!”

“Five hundred!”

“Six hundred!”

Dan’s stomach twisted and he wanted to puke. Ka Shen, meanwhile, appeared to have accepted his fate, his head bowed.

The number finally settled on 1.2 million.

“Very well! Bidder 61, your item shall be delivered to your residence within two days.”

A guard came up and shifted the voltage on the black, taser-like device to maximum. Then, he drove the device straight between Ka Shen’s ribs. Ka Shen convulsed briefly for a second before collapsing, completely limp, clearly unconscious. More men came to load the body onto a coffin-like shipping container and haul it away.

“And now, our final item…

Former king of the Chosen and heir to clan Mayhew, Leonidas Mayhew! An extremely talented chosen, Leonidas became the youngest Dragon level cultivator in this continent’s history! With his current cultivation level, approaching that of the King realm, he has the highest cultivation base of any slave we’ve sold. Not only is he talented, he is also a magnificent physical specimen, as you can clearly see. An excellent choice for dual cultivation!

And don’t worry about any control issues, ladies: we’ve imprinted a custom, double-strength slave seal to ensure nothing untoward happens. Bidding starts at one million ren!”

“One point two million!”

“One point four!”

Dan caught a glimpse of the woman who said that, a large woman with too many chins to count. She grinned lecherously when their eyes met.

He didn’t know if it was the physical pain or the harsh lights or the prospect of having to screw that pig for the rest of his life that did it. He broke. Tears burst from his eyes. He collapsed, chest heaving. What was he doing here, in this weird world, in front of these insane people? He had no one here. He should’ve never made his wish. What did he expect after screwing around for months? To breeze through the rest of his life, one-shotting everyone?

His body was extremely talented, but his soul and mind were his limiters. From day one, he’d staunchly refused anything that threatened his debauchery and procrastination.

No martial arts training. No cultivation. Too hard. He didn’t take seriously the amount of pain and effort it would take until he began doing it.

He’d much rather screw around.

Exactly like his previous life.

Atalhu’s comments were so clear. His prediction that Dan would survive a mere one year seemed generous now.

It was never the world at fault.

With his personality flaws, no matter what world or what body or what circumstances, he’d be fucked. Too bad it took fucking up two lives to realize that.

A cacophony of voices burst into the air.

“Two point five million!”

“Two point eight!”

“Three million!”

His tears seemed to only fuel the bidding.

“Ten million,” a voice cut through.

Silence.

He looked up. An extraordinarily beautiful young lady in a dark dress smiled at him, amused.

“No other bets? Leonidas Mayhew goes to Bidder 16!”

The mana taser struck up upside the head without warning. He fainted instantly.

***

“Wake.”

His eyelids fluttered open and he bolted upright. The first thing he noticed was that the headache that had been hounding him had completely disappeared, and so had the restriction on his mana.

He sat in a small cot in a little wooden hut, crisp morning air stinging his nose. It smelled of pine and oak and mountain forests.

The girl who’d won sat on the only other furniture in the room, a rickety wooden table with a metal ladle and bowl.

“Good morning! Would you like some soup?”

“Er… sure,” he said slowly.

As she ladled broth into a bowl, he studied her face. She really was quite beautiful, with thin dark lashes, large, jewel-like eyes, and rose-red, soft lips. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“I’m not going to have sex with you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she laughed.

He stared.

“What?”

“Tell me your name.”

“Um. Leo- Leonidas.”

“You don’t believe that, do you?”

For the umpteenth time since his arrival to this world, he didn’t know what to say.

So he didn’t say anything.

“You are not Leo. Leo is dead. Your name is Dan, Daniel Walker, and you come from Earth.”

He perked up. “What the--”

“Atalhu can be a jerk, can’t he? Throwing someone like you into the cutthroat world of cultivation. It’s practically setting you up for failure.” she smiled. “I am the minor deity Reiyna. You can call me Rey. I’m here to help.”