Sold to the Lich
“Ladies and gentlemen! Thank you so much for gracing this humble establishment today! And now! Colorado's star attraction! Let the slave auction begin!”
Clap! Clap! Clap!
Two days after being dragged off by Libert's gang following Ian's death, forcibly scrubbed in the icy stream, and sold to the merchant guild—I was now crammed inside an iron cage, shackled at the wrists and ankles, watching the auction unfold.
This was a den of filthy greed, a seedy auction house. As a port city, Colorado teemed with transient crowds, making all sorts of auctions thrive. And one of those was this slave auction I was trapped in.
The bidders here were no doubt wealthy merchants or nobles. But these repulsive scum, pretending to be refined, hid their faces behind masquerade masks straight out of some movie ball from my past life, draped in excessively gaudy attire.
Filthy bastards... Treating people like slaves? Oh right, this is a medieval fantasy world...
It hit me anew: this was the worst cesspool in a world without human rights, a true sewer among sewers.
Six years since reincarnating. A six-year-old forced to taste life's bitter dregs... It couldn't get any worse.
They'd scrubbed me as clean as possible, but as a slave doomed to be sold, crammed into this cage like sardines in the sweltering humidity, the stench of sweat was overpowering. A literal shithole.
Maybe suicide would be better?
Lost in lamenting my fate, my group's turn finally came.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Next up, the children's auction! As you can see, all under eight years old, with decently pretty faces! Perfect to raise as servants, or... heh heh heh... use however you desire! And for those worried about diseases or disabilities—no need to fret! They've all been checked by the priests. All clear! Hahaha!”
Sigh... Please, just let me get a kind master, at least...
The auction kicked off. Their eyes appraised our faces and bodies with blatant ownership and lust—ugly desires plain as day. Driven by those urges, they raised paddles, bidding up the prices one by one.
Ten kids including me went up. From what I recalled from my past life, slaves fetched top dollar for young adults. Yet bizarrely, we kids were outbidding regular slaves.
Sturdy adult males for farm labor or drudgery: 15 to 20 gold max. Gladiator material for the coliseum: 20 gold and up. Pretty women: 30 gold minimum.
But these kids under ten were surpassing 30 gold. Considering young women cost more as sex slaves for nighttime duties, it had to be...
Goddamn pedos! Lolicon and shotacon scum! Burn in hell!
“30 gold!”
“35 gold!”
“Ooooh! 35 gold! Anyone higher?! We've surpassed sex slave prices! Going once?!”
...
“Sold at—”
“50 gold.”
!!!
“Yes! 50 gold from that gentleman! Higher bids?!”
...
“One! Two! Three!”
Thud! Thud! Thud!
“Sold for 50 gold! The gentleman in black will receive the goods after processing!”
And just like that, me and the other kids were sold to the man in the black robe for a whopping 50 gold.
His golden butterfly mask hid his expression, but his eyes gleamed with the same greedy hunger I'd seen in Ian during my beggar days.
For reference, 50 gold was enough for a commoner to live lavishly for a year without working.
After the remaining auctions, we were hauled out by the slavers and handed over to our black-clad buyer.
True to his lavish spending, the wrinkled hands peeking from his simple black robe marked him as an old man. But that robe was no ordinary garment—exquisitely embroidered with golden thread depicting a majestic eagle with wings spread wide. Each of his ten fingers bore rings embedded with masterfully cut diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and more, each stone around three carats. On his skeletal fingers, barely more than bone and skin, the gems looked comically oversized.
The kids, seeing jewels for the first time, stared in awe. Even the slaver's eyes flashed greedily at those ring-laden hands but he swallowed hard and quietly handed over the slave contracts from his pouch.
“Here you go, sir! How shall we handle transport? Shall we prepare a carriage to your destination?”
“No need. I'll take them myself.”
“Pardon? Do you have your own carriage?”
“No.”
Whoosh!
The old man curtly denied it and pulled a scroll from his robes. Recognizing it, the slaver nodded.
“Ah! A Warp magic scroll. Understood. We'll gather the slaves in one spot.”
Warp? Like teleportation? Seeing game magic in real life...
“Mm. If you get more quality kids, let me know.”
Whoosh!
The old man finished, apparently a regular buyer here. The slaver bowed at 90 degrees, groveling obsequiously before this big-spending VIP. Makes sense—even with my past-life salesman memories, you'd want to keep a whale like this happy.
Soon we were circled around the old man. He tore the scroll with his bony hands, and at that instant, a massive pentagram magic circle glowed blue beneath our feet. Swept into the light, we rocketed away from the slave market like a rollercoaster from hell.
**
...
...
Fwiiiish!
“Urk!”
“Bleeech!”
“Ugh!”
What the fuck... Urp—gonna puke... urp!
My first Warp teleport felt like blasting through a rollercoaster like Blue Dragon in seconds—vertigo and nausea hit hard from the disorientation. I dry-heaved nonstop.
Not just me; the other kids were wrecked too. Some actually puked on the floor.
“Tch! Pathetic. Get up.”
“Urp...”
“Ughhh...”
“If you waste more time, I'll kill you all right here.”
Twitch!
Crazy bastard?! He's dead serious! That killing intent is no joke!
Threatening kids reeling from their first warp? Even in this human-rights-free medieval hell, this was excessive. But my beggar-honed survival instincts screamed: he meant it.
The threat worked. We'd lived next to death in the beggar village, so terror of dying overrode the nausea. We staggered up one by one.
“Good. Follow.”
“Yes...”
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Creepy place... Bad vibes...
Me and the auctioned kids. Normally, no one buys kids under ten—they want labor from at least 15-year-olds. Kids like us? Only if you're a pedo...
Nah, no way... That geezer looks one foot in the grave. Can't be.
Vmmm!
Huh? Light from the room?
“Keh heh heh... Nice quality this time. Not bad. High mana readings!”
Shiver!
Eek! No! That old wizard can't be... for real?!
Entering a room with the old man, a red glow pulsed from the floor's magic circle. He grinned sinisterly.
What if we really drew the pedo short straw?! A dude at that!
No, even getting deflowered by a grandma would suck, but this?!
Six years reincarnated, now rape by a fossil...?
Vmmm!
What? The floor's glowing brighter!
“Kahaha! Perfect! Just as I thought! These pure children's souls! Yes! And top-tier mana affinity! My plan is finally coming together!”
Whoosh!
“Huh?”
“Kyaa! Fire!”
“Save us!”
Whoosh!
“Shut up, you worthless vermin!”
Flames erupted around the wrinkled old wizard, engulfing him entirely.
Shocked, we kids screamed and begged, clinging together. But from the inferno came his raspy voice, now like rusted iron scraping stone. He wasn't burning—he was revealing his true form.
Stepping from the blaze, the black robes gone, he was bare skeleton, a pulsing red orb in his gut like a heartbeat of malice. Crimson flames flickered in his skull sockets.
“Kyaaaa!”
“Silence.”
Vrrrrm!
Gasp gasp
C-can't... speak?
“Finally quiet. Heh heh... You'll make excellent Test Subjects.”
Insane?! Skeleton wizard?! Lich?! And test subjects?!
“Keh heh heh... Pure mana in untainted young souls. Lately, the materials have been subpar. But this auction delivered. Kahahahaha!!”
The wizard was a lich. He bought us not for pedophilia, but as lab rats!
Fuck! Make me a sex slave instead! Why is it worse than my worst-case scenario?!
Was this peak bullshit luck? The world was too cruel, more grotesque than Earth.
That day, our hell began.
**
...
...
Zzzzap!
“Grrrrr!!”
“Kaaaaaaaagh!!!”
“Scream in more agony! Wail in torment, despair, scream! I need that anguish!”
Zzzzzap!
“Kaaaaaaaagh!!!”
Ever felt live electrocution? Beyond the jolt piercing skin—like needle clusters shredding veins from inside. Agony beyond skinned knees. Pain silencing screams.
Our lich buyer—not a wizard—ran twisted human experiments on us ten kids. Iron rods stabbed into our bodies, zapped with lightning to extract... something.
A place of despair, rage, resentment, hatred. Converting those emotions via mana into the inverted pentagram on the floor, etched with our blood.
Not stopping there: drugs or magic to monsterize us. Tanks like incubators, glowing gems implanted, mutations induced.
Five of ten already monstrous. Two exploded mid-transformation.
Kids under ten, turned monsters. The rest, including me, tortured endlessly—zaps, physical hell—spitting hate, rage, despair as living batteries.