The Slave Who Hides Her Power (3)
The bidding, which had opened at one million shillings, had already climbed to seventeen million.
Five times what the fallen noble young lady had gone for earlier. Even if it wasn't in the city center, it was enough to buy a mansion on the outskirts.
Who the hell is it?
Shiron clicked his tongue, yet his finger never stopped stabbing the bid button. Was it because the auctioneer had worked the crowd into such a frenzy? Or did someone out there actually know what that staff really was?
Seventeen million five hundred thousand. Nineteen million. Twenty million…
Whether Shiron fretted or not, the price kept rising. Honestly, it was an absurd sum to attach to a mere staff.
A magic staff only ever played a supporting role in casting. At best it made mana calculations a little smoother and allowed for finer control—that was the lore. That was why mages who had reached a certain level, like the one-horned Yuma or Roseline, refused to use one in life-or-death combat, claiming the thing only got in the way.
But that staff was different. The auctioneer could babble all he liked about transcendent stones and whatever else; its true value lay in the fact that it had once belonged to Seira.
The Forgotten Mage Seira. Shiron needed that staff if only for the day he would meet her.
—Twenty-seven million five hundred thousand shillings! Sold!
At last the bidding war was his.
"Oppa. You must have really fallen for that staff."
Siriel looked back and forth between the panel flashing that astronomical figure and Shiron himself. Even for a girl who had lived in luxury her whole life, twenty-seven million five hundred thousand was a unit of money that strained the imagination.
Wasn't Oppa unable to handle mana?
She tilted her head, curiosity flickering, but she kept the thought behind her teeth. Around Shiron she had long made a point of avoiding any talk of training or cultivation.
It wasn't that she feared his envy or jealousy.
She simply hoped he would never have to dwell on the fact that he could not use mana.
"Well."
Having caught his breath, Shiron answered without looking at her.
"It's not that I fell for it… more that I think it'll come in handy later."
"…So you're dropping that kind of fortune on something you don't even need right now?"
"Yeah."
He nodded.
"No harm in preparing ahead of time. You never know. Years from now I might be kicking myself thinking, 'I should have bought that staff back then…'"
"…I see."
Siriel nodded for form's sake, but she did not entirely share his reasoning.
I'll have to ask Mother how one deals with a man who has a serious spending problem.
She let out a small sigh and filed the feedback she would request from Eldrina carefully away in her mind.
Once Seira's staff had been hammered down, the lots that followed lacked anything with the same impact.
—A fairy horn flute steeped in moonlight.
—Albert's Piano Sonata No. 14.
—Emanuel's self-portrait.
Mostly luxuries and collectibles for the noble set.
—A necklace once favored by the emperor's consort two hundred years ago. It carries the power of ice, so that even in summer the wearer never feels the heat.
A Unique-grade holy relic, then…
Whenever something that looked even halfway useful appeared, Shiron quietly pressed the bid button. But nothing sparked a contest like Seira's staff.
—One million five hundred thousand shillings! Sold!
Boring.
He stretched out a yawn and glanced sideways.
"…Siriel, nothing catching your eye?"
"…Hm? What did you say?"
The hour had grown late; Siriel was dozing a little.
"Never mind. If you're sleepy, just keep sleeping."
"Mm, okay."
With that she closed her eyes. Soft, even breathing soon followed. Given how she had been running around since before dawn, the exhaustion was only natural.
Shiron settled into a more comfortable posture and watched the stage. The fever of the auction house was cooling by degrees, and the remaining lots were growing tiresome.
—And now, our final item of the evening!
Sensing the fading atmosphere, the auctioneer began speaking with even more exaggerated gestures.
A woman loaded with restraints climbed onto the stage.
Clank—
Clank—
Her footsteps themselves made no sound, yet the chains on her ankles produced an irritating rattle. Unlike the young lady who had opened the auction, she was not locked inside an iron cage; she walked up under her own power—that alone was unusual.
"Oh…"
Shiron let out a soft sound of admiration and narrowed his eyes.
It was her looks. They were striking enough to draw the breath.
Skin so white it seemed to catch the light, eyes of a depthless black, and vivid crimson hair that looked as though it had stepped straight out of a fantasy painting—all of it made her unforgettable.
—Those of you who visit us often will know this already, but our auction's signature attraction has arrived.
Signature attraction?
The auctioneer continued as if answering Shiron's thought.
—The slave who closes every one of our auctions. A woman of peerless beauty, yet infamous for the fact that she is never truly sold.
Infamous?
—Of course, there have been gentlemen in the past who bid on her. And yet, for reasons unknown, every last one of them later requested a refund. Amusing, is it not? Thanks to her, our house turns a profit every single time without lifting a finger. If there is such a thing as a goose that lays golden eggs, this woman is surely it.
—Hahaha.
Whether it was the auctioneer's clownish delivery or not, laughter erupted from the seats.
"…What's so funny about that?"
But the corner of Shiron's mouth did not so much as twitch.
If anything, his brow only furrowed deeper.
There was more than one thing that smelled wrong. The way she had walked onto the stage under her own power, the previous owners who had all begged for refunds…
Why not just press a fat purse into her hands and turn her loose on the street? Who buys defective inventory like that?
Then—
"…"
Even across the considerable distance, Shiron's eyes met the woman's.
He had the distinct impression that her black irises flashed with light.
"…Well now."
A crackling sound rang in his ears and vanished. He could guess what she had tried to do to him. No—he was certain she had attempted something.
It simply hadn't worked, because Latera's Blessings currently rested on his body. Silently thanking the angel, Shiron looked down at the touch panel.
That bitch… what the hell was she trying to pull on me?
The bid window began to climb in earnest.
Had they already forgotten the auctioneer's little speech? Anyone who bid could see the refund request waiting just around the corner. It made no sense.
The opening bid was one million shillings—hardly pocket change even for idle curiosity—yet the numbers kept rising without pause.
These bastards are pure trash.
Shiron watched the price climb with a thin smile. It felt exactly like spotting the trick halfway through a magic show. His interest died. He was just about to tidy the touch panel and swear never to come back when—
Drip—drip-drip—
Something hot began to run over his upper lip.
"Blood…?"
"Young Master, are you all right?"
The woman who had been massaging his feet looked up in alarm and started to approach, only to be stopped at once by the knight standing guard.
"We'll handle this."
The knight eyed the woman warily as he drew a handkerchief from his coat.
Once he was sure she had backed away, Shiron took the plain white cloth and pressed it to his nose.
"Must have pushed myself too hard today. Why is this happening?"
Even the most brutal training had never drawn a nosebleed from him before.
Frowning at the inexplicable bodily revolt, he glanced at the touch panel again.
He had half expected the blood to accidentally mash the bid button, but mercifully it had not reached the screen.
However—
—Four million seven hundred thousand shillings. Sold!
On the panel in Siriel's hands, right beside him, a spectacular effect bloomed.
Don't tell me…
"Hey, Siriel?"
"Hm? What is it?"
"Did you just place that bid?"
"Yep."
Siriel answered with a bright, sunny smile.
"I'll take that woman as my present."
"…I thought you hated the idea of slaves? You just scolded me for looking at a noble young lady."
"Come on, this is completely different. A girl that pretty, and no one ever chooses her—doesn't it just break your heart? And if it isn't me, she'll just keep ending up back here, right? It's too sad."
"Uh… well…"
"I'll show her some love, teach her everything she needs to stand on her own in society… and then set her free! But Oppa, what are you doing right now?"
Siriel spoke to the hand that was waving back and forth in front of her face.
"Just checking whether you've been hit with some kind of spell."
"Oh, honestly. It's nothing like that."
A faint flush colored her cheeks. Being fretted over by the older brother she liked left her secretly pleased.
She turned her back and pointed to the blue ribbon tied in her hair.
"This? It's a magic tool made so that nothing can interfere with the mind. Mother used to wear it; she passed it down to me. So… thank you for worrying about me, Oppa."
Most men like a girl who says thank you first.
Recalling Eldrina's advice from the night before, Siriel beamed.