The First Boss (3)
“Seventy bolts—!”
Every time someone raised their hand, Jenia’s price shot through the roof. There was only one reason for their obsession: the sheer rarity of her red hair.
What if Jenia had been ordinary? Obviously, not a single gold bolt would’ve come out. Slaves to work in this world? They were a dime a dozen. Hell, there were even lunatics begging to be enslaved since it came with food and a bed.
Still, fine by me. Up to this point, I could chalk it up to some WWE-level entertainment. So let’s wrap it up now. I’m seriously getting cold feet here.
“Heh heh, this competition’s fierce.”
Whether he knew my inner turmoil or not, my pal Gardnil just chuckled good-naturedly. What could I say? To this dopamine junkie, I was probably just another nutjob pumping out thrills up close. But he shared his wine, so I’d let it slide. Without that, he wouldn’t even qualify as a bro, let alone big bro.
“Alright—anyone for eighty bolts?!”
Thank goodness for small mercies. Once it crossed eighty gold bolts, even the big spenders started backing off. Fair enough—it was way too steep for a little kid like her.
And the one who’d bid that sky-high price? “The bidder at the far right end bids eighty bolts—!”
Who else? Me, obviously. Thanks to these morons jacking up the price, I was over the moon—tears in my eyes. As a reward, I hoped they’d wake up bald tomorrow. Erectile dysfunction as a bonus.
‘Eh, honestly, this is a solid deal anyway…’
I had 114 gold bolts, plus some silver and coppers. In this insane auction house where everything was in gold, we could just call it 114. If she went for the current 80, I’d pocket a whopping 34 gold bolts—a fortune.
For someone who’d planned to blow it all, this was like free money rolling in. I could snag a modest but proper house, seed some startup funds for future ventures…
My hopeful fantasies were spinning when— “Eighty-five bolts—!”
With the announcer’s call, my dreams shattered like glass. I whipped my head around to spot the bastard, but our eyes met, and instinct snapped it right back.
‘That guy’s a real psycho…’
You know those people with killer instincts? The ones who sense a chill a mile away? Sadly, not me. I was the oblivious type who got clocked from behind.
Even I could tell this dude was off. Beyond chilly—straight-up freezing.
Now rational suspicion kicked in. ‘What if he’s one of those crazy black mages?’
The hermits in the woods pulling all sorts of stunts. In the original story, they snatched Jenia for heinous experiments, birthing the plague monster. Yeah, that explained the vibe—my body screaming avoid.
Sorry, body. No escape for me either.
“Ninety bolts—!”
If Jenia fell to that guy, this world was on a timer—and so was I. We traded bids twice more after that. Her price? A cool 110 gold bolts now. Matching a decent noble’s estate for one kid.
Pathetic, but that was my limit. One more from him would hit 115—beyond what I had.
‘Please, please, please…’
I squeezed my eyes shut, hands clasped. Never believed in gods my whole life. But just this once, I’d make an exception. Fix this, please.
“One hundred fifteen bolts—!”
Fuck…. No gods after all. Knew it since the casino. But big bro Gardnil existed.
“Bid. I’ll cover any shortfall.”
“Wouldn’t wanna be a burden…”
Talk was cheap—my paddle shot up without hesitation.
“Finding a kindred spirit isn’t easy, and you’ve provided splendid entertainment right next door. Consider this payback.”
“Then I’ll shamelessly accept your help.”
Not coincidence—destiny. First-time auction users always get approached by Gardnil. Pick the friendly option, and he covers up to 20% of your gold. Game knowledge questionable in reality, but his chat sealed it.
Why else call him big bro? Reasons.
Now I had ~23 extra bolts (20% of 114). One more bid from the creep? No sweat.
Yo, Gardnil—auction savior.
“One hundred twenty-five bolts? No takers? Three… two… one—if none, she’s sold—!”
Counting down felt eternal—my heart shrinking by the second. Actually shrank a bit, I swear.
Thud, thud, thud. The gavel’s courtroom echo sealed it. Winner of this brutal brawl? Yours truly.
A broke commoner who crashed the money fight—and won, the idiot. Blew my savings plus a one-time bro buff. No regrets. Losing meant dying with the world anyway.
Oh, right…
“Thanks for the help. I’ll call you big bro for life.”
“Having a little bro like you might make life more fun.”
“Speaking of—could bro help one more time…?”
His masked eyes flashed negativity—disappointment, surprise. Hey, I didn’t wanna beg either. Survival shit.
Anyway, help me out, Gardnil-dream.
“Already over?”
“Man, time flies when I’m with big bro—didn’t notice.”
“Same here. Hope we get another day like this.”
Sipping wine and cackling with Gardnil, the auction wrapped. My earlier beg nearly soured things, but my silver tongue saved it. He loved it.
‘Eh, keeping good relations can’t hurt.’
In the game, no need—he was a one-and-done NPC. But reality? Broader thinking required. Who knew? More bro-ing might yield extras.
“Alright, big bro, I’m off. Safe travels.”
“You too. Till next time.”
We parted. I headed backstage for my prize.
Amid the bustle, a lone girl stood, shackled at the wrists. Jenia Lü Drvan. Or Plague Jenia. One of the final bosses who’d wrecked me hundreds of times—right there.
Her downcast gaze lifted slowly, meeting mine. Her eyes gleamed blood-red, fresh as spilled crimson.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. Help’s coming right up.”
“Ah, yes.”
A staffer appeared at the voice. He scanned his papers, then smiled.
“Two items total. 130 gold bolts, please.”
Obvious why he grinned—cash incoming.
And me, paying? “Mind letting go of my pouch…?”
“You sure you’re legit staff? Or…”
“No need for suspicion. Even if scammed here, we compensate fully.”
His face screamed trust. Insurance salesman material—five policies easy.
Shrrk. I relaxed my grip; he snatched the pouch like he’d been waiting.
Damn, already miss it. That weight, that jingle.
“130 confirmed. No hired contractor? We can assist.”
“How much…?”
“Free service.”
“Then please.”
Phew—pocket truly empty. Tense times.
Watching him leave with my pouch, it hit me… ‘Duh?’
Buy an appliance, free install. Buy a slave, auction handles contract. Overthought it.
Soon, the contractor arrived, sealing the deal with Jenia via magic.
“Any special imprints desired?”
“What’s usual?”
“Hmm. Full name triggers heat, say…”
“Nah, skip that. Standard’s fine.”
Knew most buyers here wanted that, but imprinting for it? Insane. It was law carved into her—binding force.
“Slave crest location?”
“Usual spot… no, wait. Somewhere hidden.”
“Got it. Most pick discreet spots.”
He’d handle it. Didn’t check. Perverts’ spots were obvious anyway.
Contract done, grabbed the other item—auction business over.
Exiting with Jenia, waiting Luton greeted us. His gaze dropped to her, lingering.
“Young master, this woman…”
“Bought her.”
“Even so, she’s too young. Better a brothel—”
“Hey—watch it!”
Finish that, and I’d be socially ruined. Kid’s listening, man.
I sighed long, turning to Jenia. “Ignore the old geezer. Let’s head home.”
She nodded.
“Answer me.”
“Yes…”
“I don’t mind, but…”
Others might. Just friendly advice—no shade.