Kegen's Lavish Slave Auction
html, body { margin:0; padding:0; } Actor: Derek Walker 5
Slave Market
Just hearing those words is enough to make any man's heart race and his pulse quicken—something every guy can relate to. Slave markets are a staple in sexual fantasies, after all.
In isekai stories, they're also prime spots for recruiting companions.
Come to think of it, that's exactly where I met Luna. Solari World really checks all the isekai boxes. And with a munchkin protagonist like me charging ahead, it's shaping up perfectly.
Kegen's slave market was a hidden gem on the inside. The outer general slave trading area felt downright modest compared to Telivai's—simple and unpretentious, no frills.
The slaves up for sale didn't seem top-tier either. Well, it was the general area, so low quality was to be expected.
But after shelling out a full gold coin for the deposit and stepping into the high-class slave trading section, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. Walls clad in pristine white marble were adorned with beautiful watercolor paintings and sculptures. Every now and then, you'd spot a full suit of knight's armor, the kind you'd see in a noble's corridor.
A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling—big enough that if it ever crashed down, it'd flatten someone into a pancake. The ceiling was about five meters high; installing that thing must've been a nightmare.
Scattered around were small tables holding glasses of liquor and simple snacks: buttery pastries, nuts, cheese, fruit, that sort of thing.
Fill the belly, soften the heart—and loosen the purse strings. They'd stocked up plenty to encourage exactly that. It hardly even looked like a slave market.
The upscale vibe extended to the patrons milling about. Most of the men wore sharp black suits with gleaming polished shoes, topped off with silk hats or fedoras. Not a tie out of place—they radiated pure gentlemanly class.
Gentlemen at a slave market? Odd pairing.
Truth be told, I fit right in with my eye-searing, shiny silk robes. I looked less like a gentleman and more like a nouveau riche parvenu.
"This is my first time at a slave market. It's way different from what I imagined," Isabel Benellia whispered, glancing around.
Her plain commoner clothes clashed hard with the surroundings. But sticking close to me, she passed as a rich man's maid—barely blending in. Plenty of gentlemen had brought maids along, after all.
"This isn't your typical slave market. Usually, they've got iron-barred cages with slaves locked inside, and buyers haggle right there on the spot with the sellers. This place is unique."
"Have you been to many slave markets, Mr. Walker?"
"As a merchant, I have my connections."
I used to be a slave trader, after all.
Isabel Benellia looked like a puffed-up toad—not in appearance, but in how she bristled with wariness, eyes darting everywhere. Probably searching for signs of her siblings.
Yet in this auction house that resembled a high noble's salon, not a single slave was on display for sale.
The buyers sipped drinks or chatted among themselves, killing time.
Had we stumbled into the wrong social gathering?
No, that couldn't be. The burly guy at the entrance had explicitly said the inner area was for high-class slaves after taking our deposit.
I finally approached a middle-aged man in a suit, sipping wine alone. His composed demeanor screamed regular.
"Excuse me, mind if I ask you something?"
He lowered his glass, glanced at my face. I took in his too: a sharp black mustache like a crow's wing, perfectly suited to him.
"What is it?"
"This is a slave market, right? But I don't see any merchandise anywhere."
He scanned me up and down. Not suspicious, just curious—like, who's this guy?
"First time here?"
"Yes. I'm from out of town."
He nodded, slowly set down his glass, and dabbed wine from his mustache with a handkerchief.
"Everything here goes by auction only. Starts at 6 p.m. See that?"
He pointed under the massive chandelier. Now that I looked, it was slightly elevated—a small stage.
"At six, the auction kicks off there. No assigned seats. You wander around, bid on whatever catches your eye when it's up."
Pretty freewheeling setup. He picked up a glass of white wine and continued.
Sure, dropping a gold coin didn't guarantee upper crust, but it proved you had cash to burn. A decent spot for networking, really.
He took a sip of white wine and went on. Strict-looking exterior, but a real talker.
"I'm not big on slave auctions myself, but today's lots are something else. You're here for that too, I bet?"
I fired back smoothly at his sudden probe.
"Spot on. Heard the rumors and rushed over."
"Haha, those don't come around often. Makes sense. Heir from a traitorous house, auctioned as a slave. Nobles don't end up like that outside of lost wars. Some folks here might even be cheering the rebellion on."
I gleaned key intel from his words. Isabel Benellia flinched too—she'd caught it.
The star lot was apparently Benellia family heirs.
"One thing, though. What exactly did the Benellia family do to get slapped with treason? I'm from abroad; missed the details."
He frowned, glanced around, crunched a few nuts.
"Don't know the full story. Palace handled it fast. Rumor is they sold state secrets abroad."
"State secrets?"
"Yeah. House Benellia, the wise ones, tutored and advised the crown prince. Knew plenty of secrets. No idea why they'd blow it."
I could piece it together. As Isabel had said, her family was tight with the crown prince.
Tight? More like they raised him personally.
No wonder rival princes hated their guts. From their view, Benellia was the prince's rock-solid backer. Any schemer would target them first.
Kelly, who'd been listening, nodded. Having survived cutthroat sibling rivalries in Mailock Kingdom's palace, she'd grasp this better than most.
"Time's approaching," the middle-aged man said, pulling out a fancy pocket watch. Eyes around the room drifted to the chandelier stage.
"Thank you for waiting."
A man in a gray suit stepped up, greeting the crowd. His voice boomed perfectly—must be some magic item. The auctioneer?
Impressive Kaiser mustache, waxed stiff. Fancier than the middle-aged man's.
Red bow tie, matching silk top hat, silver butterfly mask. Pure event host cliché.
"Heartfelt thanks to our esteemed guests for gracing Kegen Slave Market today. Bigger crowd than usual—you've all heard the news."
He scanned the room with a satisfied smile. Merchant's dream: packed house.
Auctions especially thrived on bidders—crowds ignited fast, prices skyrocketing in seconds.
"I'd love to chat as usual, but the mood's too electric. Straight to the lots. First up today..."
Naturally, the main event was last. Drop the big one early, and folks bail quick.
"Fairy Robiu from Anko Village. Top pick for 'woman who'd make a killing in the brothel business.' Suitors from village lads could circle the whole place. Fake news? See for yourself!"
He flung his arms wide dramatically. From the back, a trainer in a black bondage outfit studded with spikes emerged, leash in hand.
At the leash's end crawled a nude beauty on all fours, eyes glistening with tears.
"Ho. High quality."
"Tch. Can't blow gold before the main event..."
"Virgin? If so, tempting."
The trainer and Robiu mounted the stage. Isabel Benellia bit her lip—imagining her siblings in that state, no doubt.
"Age eighteen. No illnesses, obedient slave. Certified by Unicorn Academy's virginity tests: heart-virgin and ki-virgin confirmed."
The heated buzz cooled a bit at the auctioneer's words.
"What? Not body-virgin?"
"No hymen means max five gold, even high-end."
"Damn. Would've splurged if full virgin."
Female sex slaves' prices varied wildly by virginity type.
But heart- and ki-virgin without body-virgin? Virginity's depths were profound—even beyond me.
The auction heated up. High-quality lots started at three gold minimum. Mostly female sex slaves, occasional male ones, knights, mages.
Male sex slaves—bar one—were prettily made up. Without the dangling bits, you'd mistake them for girls.
"Nngh~! Nngh~! Master~! Let's do it~!"
Watching them swing their junk while performing was stomach-turning, guts churning.
Yet they drew crowds rivaling the women—sold exclusively to men. Niche appeal, I guess.
"Woo-hoo! Men rule!"
"Can't stop getting hard!"
Auction hall full of twisted appetites. Suits screamed gentleman; insides pure perverts. No wonder they say the rich are the worst.
For the record, the one hairy male slave went to a man too. Distorted desires...