Slave Auction (2)
Inside the Thieves' Citadel, fortified with towering earthen walls and razor-sharp weaponry, a massive slave auction was underway.
"50 million gold!"
"52 million!"
"60 million!"
Bids flew hot and heavy from every corner. Fallen noble ladies from ruined houses, captured warriors from defeated foreign tribes, abandoned children, mercenaries crushed by debt—all manner of humanity stood chained at the neck and wrists upon the stage. Some wept, some laughed, others stared blankly in despair.
"Damn it! This can't be happening!"
A muscled man strained against the shackle around his neck.
"How much gold have I earned you bastards so far? And now you're selling me as a slave!? Damn it! I have my emergency stash—I can buy myself! Let me do that instead! I saved that money planning to live like a dog and spend like a prime minister!"
The slave trader chuckled and shook his head.
"Live like a dog and spend like a prime minister?"
"……."
"Wrong. You'll live like a dog and have it snatched away by the prime minister. That's how money works."
The trader sneered, then signed the bill of sale.
"A slave's assets all belong to the master. Go on, take it all."
He handed the signed document to the buyer with one last word.
"Come here!"
A portly merchant grinned sleazily as he yanked the chain around the muscled man's neck. His fingers slowly traced the man's jaw, nape, and collarbone as the slave trembled.
"Heh heh heh. From now on, you're my bedroom attendant. Let's see that back of yours."
"W-what are you talking about? I'm a former mercenary! Give me a combat job at least!"
The merchant's smile deepened.
"Combat, huh? Heh. Offense or defense?"
"……?"
The muscled man tilted his head, confused. Combat had offense and defense?
"If I had to pick... offense."
"And your main weapon?"
"Spear. Spear."
The merchant nodded in satisfaction.
"Heh heh heh. Then from today, you'll be my personal spearman(?)."
"Ah, aaah……."
The muscled man sighed at the dark, twisted future awaiting him.
Such scenes of despair—cries and groans—erupted everywhere. A typical slave market tableau.
And then.
"Ooooh!"
A roar of cheers swept the auction hall. A new slave had taken the stage.
Short golden blond hair, golden eyes. Porcelain skin. Androgynous, neither fully man nor woman. But undeniably striking—a pretty face that turned heads. Humiliation flushed her cheeks, tears welling in her eyes.
"Krr, look at that defiant glare. Makes me wanna buy her and break her right now."
"What a cute little slave. Heh heh heh. This one's got torture potential."
Noblewomen's eyes gleamed with predatory resolve. They would have that slave, no matter what.
Meanwhile, on stage, Georges bit her lip.
Why am I in this mess...?
But.
"……."
Across the stage, Cliche watched her impassively, arms crossed, utterly nonchalant.
Before infiltrating the auction, Cliche had proposed the plan.
"From now on, I'm your master."
"……."
The strategy was simple: Cliche registers Georges as his slave for the auction. They slip inside naturally, reclaim the dragon sword and their gold. To pull it off, Georges had to wear the neck shackle, dragged in by Cliche like property. She'd changed into ragged, hole-ridden clothes. After slave registration and inspection, she'd ended up here on stage.
The plan was to sell cheap for quick entry, but public interest in Georges was skyrocketing against expectations.
"Heh heh! That rebellious glare is killer! Hey, auctioneer! 100 million gold!"
"Grr! Can't let that slide! 120 million!"
"150 million from me!"
Bids soared.
Georges didn't know whether to feel flattered or horrified. This was more gold than she'd earn in a lifetime of honest knight work—now slapped on her as a slave price. Her highest valuation came on a slave stage debut. Not that the money was hers, but the irony stung oddly.
"200 million!"
"210 million!"
"230 million!"
"270 million!"
"300 million!"
"350 million!"
Bids climbed relentlessly. Georges shot desperate eyes at Cliche in the corner, but.
"……."
He just shook his head slowly.
With their measly 250 gold, they couldn't buy her—or even a chocolate here.
Still, bids kept rising.
In the end, Georges fell to a short, fat man. Final price: 500 million gold.
"Heh heh heh. Hey, change into this."
He approached, drooling, and pulled stockings, a miniskirt, garter belt, floral crown from his bag, grinning creepily.
"Come on~ my pretty princess! Try these on. Heh heh heh heh, that defiant face in this outfit... ahh, just imagining it..."
He panted heavily, steam rising from his overheated, sweat-vaporizing body.
Grind—
Georges gnashed her teeth.
I've never worn anything like this in my life.
She'd lived as a knight, not a woman. This blatant damsel treatment was new. Her academy classmates would faint.
"……I shall obey your command."
Georges bowed stiffly, teeth grinding.
But?
Her voice halted the man mid-stride, arms full of frilly clothes.
"What? You're... a woman?"
"……?"
Georges tilted her head. The man pouted.
"Damn, that ruins it."
He sulkily repacked the clothes.
...What?
An inexplicable disgust surged in Georges. But she had no urge to ask.
Then.
"Next up isn't a slave—it's a weapon!"
Georges's eyes flashed.
At the same moment.
"Smells like dragon."
Cliche nodded.
Next on stage: the dragon sword, Zenkaeno.
Crowds tilted heads at its unremarkable sheath. But the auctioneer's pitch—"enchanted with magic!"—ignited the room. Enchanted items were rare treasures, especially weapons.
"Th-this magic sword hails from deep mountain wilds, procured by our excavation—er, discovery team..."
Georges snorted at the brazen lie.
"Hey, why didn't you say you were a girl? I'm not into women in this line of work..."
The fat merchant's red-faced protests fell on deaf ears. Georges ground her teeth and edged toward the stage.
The auctioneer droned on.
"Introducing the technician who brought us this dragon sword! The nation's top thief—er, wealth redistributor, the Phantom Thief Kid!"
A mustachioed middle-aged man strode on with a hearty laugh and bowed. Phantom Thief Kid—the one who'd once targeted Roin for assassination. He'd escaped Rok's prison recently.
Behind him: an old man, middle-aged guy, little girl, all lined up smugly.
"Infinite thanks to my team and sponsors who made this possible..."
Kid teared up, launching into a speech that could've dragged hours.
If Georges hadn't stormed the stage.
"Give me back my sword!"
No hesitation. She snapped her chains with raw strength and leaped onstage.
"Hey! Can't you see the auction's on?"
"Heh heh heh, didn't wanna bully a pretty boy, but now I do."
Burly thugs blocked her. But in this trade, bulkier foes fared worse against the lithe.
Thwack! Pow!
Georges's fists sent them flying without a peep.
She cleaved thick ropes with hand strikes. Four years topping knight academy honed her mana control and taekwondo beyond peers.
"You bitch! Slave gone mad!"
The ashen auctioneer charged. Backstage bruisers rushed in, swords and axes drawn.
"Security's a joke. Slave breakout? Who'd bid here now."
"You lot, help out."
Even nobles sent guards forward.
Georges was surrounded by hundreds of blades in seconds.
But.
Flash!
She swept ropes aside and drew Zenkaeno.
Shing— The red blade gleamed ominously.
"Hey hey, master! Why'd you take so long? Thought I'd suffocate from these dudes' stink!"
Ignore the sword's chatter. Georges exhaled deeply, channeling aura into the blade.
Whoom—
Golden aura blade erupted over the red edge.
Eyes bulged everywhere.
"S-Sword Master!?"
Sword Masters were palace rarities—myths to common fighters. Georges wasn't full Sword Master, but top advanced: elite guard material anywhere. Dragon sword boosted her to Master tier. No wonder the shock.
"I am Georges St. Pierre of the Pink Dragon Knights. You're under arrest for illegal slave trading. Drop weapons, hands up."
Clangs echoed. Three in ten actually obeyed. The title carried weight.
But.
"Just a beginner Sword Master, so cocky."
A man strode forward coolly: Phantom Thief Kid.
"……."
Georges narrowed eyes. The culprit who'd stolen their sword and gold, now grinning with his smug crew.
Their nonchalance fueled her rage. She warned coldly.
"Surrender now, and I'll recommend leniency."
"Hahaha. Good joke."
Kid drew a long rapier.
Whoosh!
Liquid-like aura blade formed at the tip. Mid Sword Master—fit for a kingdom's top knight captain.
Georges sensed it: Even with dragon sword, beating him was a long shot.
Meanwhile, victory-assured Kid slithered his gaze over her like a snake, chuckling.
"Slave with beginner Sword Master skills. Pretty face too—lots of uses. Too bad you're a girl; price could've been higher. Shame."
"Pervert. You saying guys are better?"
"In certain industries(?), they fetch premiums."
Georges shuddered under his icy leer.
"Well then. Shall we?"
Kid poised elegantly—and lunged like lightning.
......Or tried.
"……!"
His eyes widened in terror. Legs locked rigid.
Then sweat poured from his face like mad.
"……? What's wrong, Phantom Thief Kid? Hurry and grab her."
The auctioneer prodded, but.
"Ah, aaah……."
Kid ignored him, collapsing and trembling like a leaf.
"What?"
"What's with him?"
All eyes followed his gaze.
"……."
A pink-haired boy climbed the stage stairs, bored as ever.
Cliche.
He addressed the hall curtly.
"Pay up."