LittleVixen
patreon
[SEC] [Arc 1] Chapter 28 — The Auction Pt. 1
🕑 Added 2025-04-26 09:34:01 +0000 UTC[Author Note: ~6,2k words. 1/4 Auction House Chapters. For CW: Slavery, sexual objectification, and abuse of power. I gonna go sleep now. Ne
[Author Note: ~6,2k words. 1/4 Auction House Chapters.
For CW: Slavery, sexual objectification, and abuse of power.
I gonna go sleep now. Next chapter asap.
Also... have fun with... well... you'll see~]
'Be careful,' I said to Asche as she slipped out of the loge, draped around Deidre’s neck.
'Naw, are you worried about me?' she teased.
'Worried you’ll destroy the merchandise, maybe,' I replied dryly.
She laughed, and the door closed behind them.
My attention shifted back to the auctioneer, who had finally finished his overlong introduction.
A troupe from the desert queendom had taken the stage, performing a blade-dance—an artful display, clearly brought in for the occasion. It reminded me of nouveau cirque.
"Soo, Master. What are we doing with all this money? Honestly, I'm kinda scared you'll just toss it all out the window..." Tulsi said, leaning on the railing, eyes fixed on the show.
"Pah, no faith in me? I know I'm not the epitome of common sense, but even I can handle this much. Probably. You're just afraid I'll waste it all before you get your shopping spree, aren't you?" I teased back.
"T-That's not what I meant! But, never mind. You're lucky my family kept some economics books in our library. I'll do my best to support you!" she declared with an earnestness that made me huff a laugh.
"Urg, economics. The dread of my existence. But also—what do you mean by that?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.
Tulsi turned, and for a flash, something shifted—an impish grin, a flicker of something sly before she smoothed it over. I raised a brow, studying her.
What a silly girl.
I truly couldn’t fathom why her family had treated her like a disposable product. She was... extraordinary, in her way. Sharp, quick, adorable even. With how fast she was learning, I couldn't help but wonder—was there a deeper ploy at work, or had prejudice simply rotted too deep into the bones of their culture?
She cleared her throat, “M-Master, did you even listen to what I just said?”
Oops. “Sorry. Could you repeat that?”
A tiny twitch passed over Tulsi’s face, gone almost before I could catch it. “O-Of course. I noticed this back when we first arrived at the inn... and again when you experimented on the ingots. Please correct me if I’m wrong, but—could it be you have no idea how pricing In the empires actually works? Because to me—and others—it looks like you haven't the faintest clue what anything is worth.”
"Of course I do!" I argued immediately.
She shot back without hesitation: "What's the cost of a normal loaf of bread?"
...
...
"Okay, fine. I have no clue. Was it really that obvious?"
Tulsi sighed—playfully, this time, her soul twinkling with amusement. “With how you wasted those ingots and threw them away instead of being careful? Duh—of course it was obvious. You tossed away enough gold to feed the entire eastern district for months. And the girls told me how you got them in the first place. You freaking traded a pure Soul’s Tear. Like... just—"
Her voice pitched into something desperate, caught somewhere between disbelief and surrender. I almost felt bad for her. Almost.
"So, uh, Tulsi... what are the normal prices for basic necessities?" I asked, easing back into the couch.
The spark behind her eyes shifted again, gleaming with delight at the chance to finally teach me something for a change.
"I'll keep it simple," she said, wearing a smug little smile she tried and failed to hide. Tulsi seemed unusually expressive today.
“Before I fled, I uh, ‘borrowed’ some coins from the treasury. After a long journey and a few bribes along the way, I finally made it into the city. By the time I arrived, I still had about ten gold coins left. That was two months ago. I’ve managed to stretch it, and I still have around five left.”
Behind her, the audience roared at a performer balancing a flaming sword on his nose while leaping through a ring of magical fire. Tulsi didn’t even blink—her attention stayed pinned on me.
“For starters, let’s talk about coinage. One gold coin equals fifty silver coins. One silver coin equals one hundred copper coins. For each, there’s a 'large' version worth ten times the base unit.
That's the human empire's system. Dwarves, though? Their gold is purer—one dwarven coin's worth fourteen human gold coins. Payment doesn’t always need to be in coins either; jewelry and raw materials, like the Soul's Tear, often work.”
I nodded sagely, trying not to look completely ignorant. “Well, I do know that a hundred gold coins equal one platinum coin.”
Tulsi deadpanned. "Of course THAT'S the only rate you know. Explains so much."
I cringed inwardly. That... had backfired.
Shaking her head, Tulsi’s lips twitched into a teasing grin. "Guess we'll have to explain everything to you from scratch~"
Her voice took on a sudden, flirtatious lilt—low, playful, with a faintly dangerous undertone. No, not just her voice—everything about her seemed to shift.
I glanced at her soul again but only saw that same subtle flickering as before. Curious.
"Did you know," Tulsi said as she sauntered over to the food table, "that your gaze drifts off whenever you start thinking about random things?"
She plucked a single grape and popped it into her mouth with a wink.
I stared, increasingly unsettled by how different she was acting, wondering how she had even survived in this city so far. Until now, she had seemed utterly naive, oblivious to the nuances of urban survival. She hadn’t even bothered to verify whether I had truly hidden my soul illusion. Was it a shift in demon culture? Some new instinct to respect strength above all? Or was something else at work?
"Again..." she murmured, plopping another grape into her mouth—this time with clear, deliberate showmanship—and winked again.
Did she just— Seriously, what was up with her today? Had she only pretended to be shy and naive this whole time, lulling me into underestimating her?
Goddess help me. First the students, now this? Just how rusty had I gotten that no one seemed to fear me anymore?
"Either way," she continued, ignoring the glance I gave her, "most citizens earn around three silver and fifty copper a day. A loaf of white bread costs seventy copper, a roll just fifteen. Food is fairly affordable for most.
“Ah, not counting meat, fish, or anything fancy. Those are pricier, but technically, you could still manage some every day if you're lucky with food stalls or stores. But cloth, kitchenware, soap, shoes—that's where it hurts. Basic soap starts at five silver, and even then, the quality is garbage. That’s why most people visit bathhouses instead: one visit, one silver coin. Kids don’t count until they’re old enough to earn. A simple new dress? Twenty to thirty silver coins. A new pot for cooking? Seventy silver—and that's for the lowest quality."
Another round of applause rippled through the hall. The troupe had just performed a breathtaking feat: building a living tower of bodies, ten acrobats stacked atop one another, the foundation balancing them all on his spread palms. No magic involved.
Even Tulsi glanced toward the spectacle, a small, genuine smile sparkling across her face—before she turned back without a word, trusting I'd follow without needing another glance.
"The Dancing Tails has its own private bathhouse. Most rooms have wooden tubs too. It's considered a luxury inn, even though it's outside the Royal District.”
She slipped back into her explanation, voice steady but carrying a practiced bluntness,"The real cost is lodging. A cramped room at a low-class inn runs two silver coins a day—sixty a month. No food included. Before we moved into Dancing Tails, I stayed at a standard inn: three gold a month, food included. Room had just a bed, a closet, a candle, a crude wooden toilet, and a tiny wooden tub.
I absolutely refused to lower my standards any further. That's when I started... luring idiots into alleys, killing them, and taking their belongings to survive."
She turned back to me then, grinning shamelessly, utterly unbothered. "And to claim that territory as my own. My long-term plan was to gain enough levels to mask my demonic presence, sneak into the Royal District, and build power—enough to challenge my sister and my family. In the end, I'm aiming to take over the family as its head."
I nodded carefully as she finished her surprisingly detailed explanation. I had thoroughly underestimated her. Back then, newborns weren’t this cunning—or this strong.
The System really had shifted the world's balance if even a young Vetala could be this advanced already. Still... something gnawed at the back of my mind.
"Um... say, Tulsi... am I, like... really, really rich?" I asked slowly, the weight of my own idiocy sinking in at last.
Tulsi stared at me. She visibly struggled to keep her expression neutral. Then, very deliberately, she tipped her head back, folded her hands in mock prayer, and intoned dramatically, "Goddess, please help me hammer some common sense into this one, for I am your will and must guide this lost sheep, lest she squander her divine fortune and end up homeless."
Lowering her hands with an exaggerated sigh, she leveled her gaze at me. "You are probably at the same level as a duke right now in terms of gold coins. So yes—you are obviously super-rich. How the hell did you not end up bankrupt with how little you know about money?!"
She leaned in slightly, her voice low, insistent, "The artifacts you crafted... they're worth nations. And yet you traded them like baubles. You really confuse me, Mistress. What are you really? A Jaeger Matriarch raised by witches? An Ancient Blood? Something entirely different? Everyone we've met so far sees you as something different. No one calls you the same thing. So what’s the truth?"
Mistress. I blinked, focusing sharply now. Without hesitation, I activated full soul vision. Something about Tulsi was different—not just her behavior, not just her words. Something deeper.
There—a shimmer. A small star stirring to life deep within her soul. Just what was this?
Tulsi seemed to notice the change in my expression. For the first time, her playful confidence faltered—wary tension creeping into her frame. She realized, belatedly, that she'd pushed too far. Dug too deep. Spoken too freely.
I opened my mouth to press further—
But before I could ask anything, the crowd below fell silent.
The auctioneer had returned, voice booming across the hall, calling the audience’s attention back to the main event.
"And this concludes our entry act. We hope you enjoyed the performance of Hijra al-Néan. We will now proceed with the first item of the evening."
The auctioneer's voice carried easily through the suddenly sharpened air. A low mechanical hum followed as a hidden trapdoor opened onstage, revealing a pedestal slowly rising from the depths.
"Some call it Ithi’s Mishap; others call it the Stone of Life. No matter the name—it is known to prolong the wearer’s life by hundreds, if not thousands, of years!"
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Masks shifted, fans snapped open, a few nobles leaned forward with sudden, barely contained hunger. It didn’t take long before the artifact was fully revealed: a heavy necklace of gold and darkwood, set with a blood-red stone that seemed to drag at the chain."
We have embedded the stone into another artifact—one that protects against high-level mind spells and illusions. Isn’t the necklace beautiful? Perfect for pairing with a dress... or high-class armor.
“Everyone will envy you! And the starting bid? Only one hundred thousand gold!"
The number pulsed into life above the stage, hovering clearly for all to see. The bidding began immediately—one number after another flashing faster and faster.
Within minutes, it sold for two hundred two thousand forty gold.
"That's a lot of gold," I noted.
Tulsi waved a hand, unbothered. "Expected at an auction like this. For most nobles, an artifact like that changes everything. It's probably their entire fortune gone in one night."
She was right. For humans, the promise of cheating death was everything. The necklace was locked into a gilded chest and escorted from the stage, two guards in lacquered armor flanking it with rigid, ceremonial precision.
The trapdoor whirred again, resetting, as the auctioneer stepped forward with renewed energy.
"Our next item," he declared, voice dropping for drama, "is something many thought extinct—even most beast-kin have forgotten her kind exists!"
A beat of silence. A breath held for effect.
The platform rose once more, slower this time.
"A Duskbloom Lynx—female, first bloom. Untouched."
The hall shifted. The tenor of the room changed. Whispers crept like human mold—thin, toxic, and impossible to scrub out once they took hold. Fans fluttered, hiding sudden sharpened gazes. A few jeweled masks tilted subtly toward the stage, unable to mask the rancid thirst behind them.
Tulsi gave a low whistle beside me. "That is one beautiful beast-kin."
I leaned back in my seat, one finger lazily tracing the stem of my glass. I'd already poured my medicine in—close enough to pass for wine, assuming no one bothered to check. If Asche were here, she would find the theatrics amusing.
The young woman was led forward without chains, just a delicate gilded collar at her throat. Gilded, like the Guild’s namesake. A prettier word for what it really was—a maw dressed up in gold.
But Tulsi was right, she was beautiful... in a way that had nothing to do with softness.
The beast-kin moved like twilight given flesh—each step slow, deliberate, unbroken. Dusklight fur shifted across her bare arms and thighs, catching the harsh glare of the stage and turning it thin and spectral. Twin tails unfurled behind her like banners of silk, thin strands of ghost-light trailing from her shoulders—catching the light, bending it, refracting it into something too breathtaking to belong here.
Her face was perfect, in a way that mocked perfection itself. High, fine bones framed by petal-tufted ears; violet eyes slanted in silent disdain. Her mouth was carved into a line so precise it seemed to dismiss the very notion of speech.
"Capable of high-level illusion, dusk affinity, and memory manipulation through breath alone," the auctioneer droned, voice thick with anticipation. "Suitable for courtly exhibitions, private companionship... or espionage."
A handkerchief fluttered somewhere in the second row—someone had fainted, or pretended to. Soft, predatory laughter followed, too eager to fully mask their lust.
My mood soured instantly. "Fucking lowlifes," I muttered under my breath.
Still, I watched.
The Duskbloom Lynx stood proud. She refused to lower her gaze, refused to perform the degradation these fools craved. No begging. No tears. Only a quiet, burning self-worth no amount of gold could buy.
"Bidding begins at twenty thousand gold," the auctioneer cried. "Do I hear more?"
The numbers shot up instantly. Voices rose, greedy hands lifted crystals, desperate to mark the first claim.
I stared down at them, a black hum rising faintly in my veins. Should I just burn it all? Strip this hall to cinders, erase them until even their ashes forgot they existed.
I closed my eyes briefly. No. Not yet.
Instead, I reached out through the soul-link.
'Asche, can you ask Deidre if the goods being auctioned stay here until the event ends, or can people leave with their purchases immediately?'
A beat of silence, then Asche’s voice returned, sharp and dry, 'As far as Deidre knows, they can leave immediately if they pay. But no one dares to leave early at these events. Why?'
'The first slave is already being sold.'
A snarl cut through the link. 'Shit. They weren’t supposed to be sold yet. Maybe... maybe this one’s special?' offered Aska, trying to make sense of it.
I considered. 'You’re probably right. How’s it going on your end?'
'We’re making... progress.'
I nodded slightly to myself. 'Good. Find where the others are being held. Sabotage the magivators, the entrances—quietly. Make it look like a malfunction. I want everyone forced through the same way we used.'
A short pause. 'Deidre’s not thrilled about the change of plans, but she’s cooperating. We’ll probably have to split up to cover it all in time.'
Another beat. 'Understood.'
The auctioneer’s voice dragged my attention back to the stage, "Sold for seventy thousand gold! What a wonderful price for such a rare good!"
The Duskbloom Lynx was led from the stage, escorted by the same ceremonial guards. I watched her go, the pride in her soul untainted despite the weight of a hundred filthy gazes.
As far as I could tell, none of the other loges had bothered to make a final bid. As expected, the real wolves, it seemed, were still lying in wait.
"Let’s continue where we left off!" the auctioneer announced, voice bright and oily. "Next, something the high elves had a lot of trouble bringing in—and that killed many of them along the way. A special gift from Lord Elmaris for tonight’s festivities: a rare male Mirrorwolf beast-kin!"
The trapdoor opened once more, mechanical whirring underlining the drama. The platform rose slowly, carrying a lean figure into the spotlight.
"A species known for their special ability to step through mirrors and water reflections at will. It is said their silver blood can be used for powerful divination!"
The reaction wasn’t as visceral as it had been for the Duskbloom Lynx, but plenty among the guests leaned in, a ghastly appetite thinly masked behind their masks and fans.
The Mirrorwolf was... haunting, even for me. His fur looked like stretched silver—too smooth, too perfect to be natural. Long, lean limbs built for speed, paws leaving faint mirrored smudges with every careful step. As far as I remembered, their claws could slash the air and leave mirrors behind—fractures they could step through like doorways. His eyes were worse: flat and glassy, like shards torn from a shattered window, reflecting nothing but emptiness.
Like the Duskbloom, he was displayed without clothing—though his fur, thicker around the hips and thighs, preserved enough modesty to keep the scene ‘decorous’ in the eyes of the crowd.
"We recommend him for assassination work," the auctioneer said with a knowing chuckle, "given the natural talents of his kind. Nimble, deadly—and with... other talents in bed as beastly as they are in battle!"
Laughter rippled across the hall, soft and ugly. A few masks tilted to whisper behind fans, trading knowing glances.
"Starting bid: ten thousand gold!"
As the bids began to climb, I leaned closer to Tulsi, voice low.
"Tulsi... purely for my information... how much would the Soul’s Tear I traded have been worth?"
She gave me that look. That smug, inevitable look that said she'd been waiting for this question all along. Gah. I hated when they earned the right to look that smug.
"I saw the ingots they kept delivering to the backrooms of the Dancing Tails," she said, savoring the moment. "If you'd auctioned off the Tear here... you probably could have gotten three hundred thousand gold coins. Three hundred platinum coins. Or a hundred large ones."
She said it slowly, deliberately, letting the sheer weight of it settle onto my brain.
"H-huh..." I said eloquently.
"Sold for fifty-five thousand gold to the lovely lady with the rose-petal mask!" bellowed the auctioneer, pulling my focus back to the stage.
Tulsi scoffed. "Of course the male beast-kin would come off so easily."
I blinked, turning to her. "Why are you saying that?"
Tulsi hesitated, a sigh slipping out as she searched for the words. “Oh, that’s simple, Master. He’ll end up as some lady’s pet—a bit of a bed-warmer, maybe a butler-guard when she’s feeling fancy. You see the men… they… they always seemed so… expressionless. And the next morning, they’d be walking about as if nothing had happened. S-so they can’t mind it much, can they? Th-they must have it better… mustn’t they?”
A flicker; something shifted in her soul, as if one voice stirred and another fell silent. “No. No. They clearly do. What am I even saying. There’s no question about it. "
I stared at her.
Slowly, deliberately, I said, "Tulsi. Come here."
She obeyed without hesitation, stepping closer, head tilting slightly as if expecting me to whisper a private comment.
Instead, I slapped her. Backhanded her across the face hard enough that she stumbled and crashed to the ground.
Blood welled at the corner of her lip. She looked up at me in shock, unable to comprehend what had just happened.
I stood up. Without hurry, I picked up a handkerchief from the nearby table, cleaning my hand with precise disdain before glancing down at her again—cold, detached, all goodwill erased in a breath.
"Your view disgusts me, Vetala," I said, voice a blade wrapped in velvet. "I had hoped demons had evolved further than the lowly humans, but I stand corrected."
I stepped towards her, slow and merciless.
"Wh-what did I do wrong?" she stammered, confusion breaking through the growing fear in her voice.
I smiled. Wrongly. Too wide, too still—like a cracked porcelain doll dressed. The kind of smile that should never grace a living face, humanoid or otherwise.
"Do you truly not know, demon?" I purred. "No... perhaps you do not. Perhaps your household was even worse than I imagined. Perhaps the rot of your parents ran so deep you forgot what truly matters—that it isn’t bodies or roles that define worth.”
For a heartbeat, I considered ending her right there. Ending the little glimmer she had begun to awaken. But no. She still had the benefit of doubt.
For now.
I turned back to the stage, the last threads of patience burning quietly away. I stared at Tulsi coldly for a moment longer, then spoke, voice low and without mercy.
"Let me explain this to you," I began. "And why that kind of thinking has no place around me."
She flinched under my gaze but remained rooted to the spot.
"First of all," I said, taking a step closer, "sex is an act of consent. Always. If someone enjoys submission, domination—whatever—it must still be their choice. Fetishes, fantasies, kinks—I care nothing for their nature, only that they are freely chosen, and that any scars, any marks left behind, are borne by mutual will, not forced upon the unwilling.”
My voice sharpened. "But this?" I gestured towards the Mirrorwolf. "This is not choice. This is rape, bought and sold under chandeliers and velvet, cloaked in gold and applause."
Tulsi's throat bobbed in a dry swallow, her bruised lip trembling faintly.
"These beast-kin do not wish for this. They were forced into it from the moment they were captured—stripped of their agency, their dignity, their futures. There is no 'enjoyment' in something they were never given the chance to refuse."
I pressed on, voice cutting cleaner, colder.
"Secondly," I continued, voice cutting clean and cold, "the belief that 'some of them might enjoy it anyway' is one of the most toxic lies a society can breed."
Tulsi's face flickered—pain, shame, confusion warring in her.
"Cultures build cages around their own. Teach them that pride means silence. That survival means endurance. Take the Mirrorwolves: their males are taught never to show weakness. Never to cry, never to speak of pain, or risk being branded as lesser."
I stepped even closer, my words like scalpel strokes now, "And the tragedy is... even their females enforce it. Those who suffer turn into the ones who demand others suffer after them. The spiral feeds itself. Pain births pain until no one even remembers what freedom felt like."
Tulsi sank to her knees again, trembling, eyes wide.
"And just because pain isn't worn on the outside doesn't mean it isn't there," I said. "Just because someone smiles doesn't mean they aren't breaking inside. And sex—male, female, anything between—does not determine the depth of that pain."
"You do not measure suffering against suffering. You do not rank trauma by the face it wears."
Silence fell between us, heavy and raw.
Finally, Tulsi whispered, brokenly, "H-How are you doing this..."
I turned my gaze back fully onto her, pitiless.
"I don't care," I said simply. "Not about their identities, their bloodlines, or their flags. I judge by actions and character alone."
Tulsi struggled shakily to her feet, blood drying on her mouth.
"I care about the truth beneath the pretty words and the excuses. I will not pity those who refuse to see beyond their own cruelty. Hate humans, beast-kin, high elves, males—however you want. I don't care. But do not take pain lightly. Do not dismiss suffering unfairly. Judge the humans and the high elves for the greedy, destructive monsters they are—" my voice dropped into something cold and final—" but do not ever mistake endurance for consent again."
Tulsi bowed her head low, her voice tiny.
"Y-Yes, Master."
I breathed out once, slowly, and turned my attention back to the stage. The auctioneer’s voice rang out again, bright and booming as if nothing had ever happened.
"I hope those two delightful slaves were to your satisfaction!" he crowed. "Later, in the second part of our auction, we will unveil the rest of our special stock! But for now—let us return to the countless artifacts, relics, and treasures we have yet to offer!"
The crowd murmured and shifted, the hunger not sated, only sharpened.
And I watched it all with ice behind my eyes.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The auction dragged on, one item after another. Most of the so-called ‘exotic products’ were honestly boring. At least to me.
Yet the guests threw coin after coin at them like starving beggars at a feast, bidding feverishly for, well… junk.
So yeah, nothing so far had piqued my interest. Tulsi, on the other hand, was on fire.
After regaining her composure, she launched into a buying spree: a ring, a dress, a set of daggers, fancy jewelry, a magical shape-shifting armor, gauntlets, a cloak—anything that caught her wandering eyes.
I almost pitied the other bidders. Almost.
Every time she wanted something, she announced a ridiculous bid without hesitation, ignoring the costs like a gambler convinced the house owed her a favor.
My newfound wealth was vanishing faster than expected. Already, we were down to four hundred thousand gold coins. I mean, I had said she could bid if she really wanted something... But still—it was my money!
I kind of felt like a mother taking a child to a candy store. Or worse: like someone stupid enough to hand over their purse and say, ‘Have fun’, at the gates of a luxury bazaar.
Each item was delivered to our loge almost immediately after the auctioneer’s gleeful cry of ‘Sold!’. The room had grown cramped with her spoils stacked along the walls, but honestly, the expressions of the servants forced to carry it all were worth the mess.
Then the auctioneer’s voice shifted—brighter, smugger, baiting the crowd towards the next prize.
"Now, my dear guests, allow me to introduce an item that arrived not even an hour ago! Our master appraiser has confirmed its authenticity—every claim you are about to hear is true. I present to you: the magic sword known as 'Dawnbringer'! And don’t faint—our starting bid is one million gold coins!"
Murmurs spread like wildfire through the hall. Shock. Disbelief. Some even chuckled, thinking it must be a joke. The magical orb shimmered to life above the stage, flashing the appraisal for everyone to choke on.
And the hall went silent.
Completely, utterly silent.
I slouched further into my seat, suppressing a groan. Geez. It was just that sword—the botched project I had slapped together in a fit of boredom. It was the one I had originally planned to use as bait—before I ended up throwing the other one into the cave instead.
My 'True Calamity'—now that was a real sword. Probably the only weapon that could even scratch me. But it was sadly stuck in that damn tree… inside Eternal…
Dawnbringer, though? DAWNBRINGER WAS A MOTHERFUCKING F.A.I.L.U.R.E.
'Can you stop shouting like this?' Asche complained through the link, sounding irritated. 'I’m trying to focus. If you keep it up, I’ll have to tune you out completely.'
'Sorry,' I said quickly, genuinely meaning it. 'Okay, girl, calm down. Deep breath... Ahh. Way better.'
Asche grunted. 'Entrance One might be down soon,' she added before muting our link again.
She really was making progress. I turned my attention back to the failure sword and the stunned room.
Maybe some idiot would still bid for it? Oh!
Maybe I could ask the butler later if they auction off estates in the Royal District, too. A proper headquarters for my future ‘gardener network’ would be wise. He-he-he. I was starting to feel almost young again.
A sudden loud voice snapped me out of my scheming, "One million five hundred thousand gold coins!"
I blinked and turned towards the source.
In the loge opposite ours sat a grotesque figure. A fat, greasy-haired noble, his mask both hideous and unnecessary given the sheer loudness of his wealth. His clothes strained against his massive frame, threatening to burst at every seam. Two women draped over his arms, scantily dressed, collars gleaming at their throats—slaves, of course.
Nobody else dared to bid. I could see it in their souls—the fear, the reluctance to cross someone with a much higher social standing than themselves.
But I wasn’t 'nobody'.
Before the auctioneer could close the bid, I leaned forward, tapped my crystal, and casually dropped a new number into the system.
The hall gasped audibly as it flashed across the orb.
Even Tulsi froze mid-breath, eyes wide.
I didn’t suppress my grin.
Three million coins.
No, I didn’t have three million coins. But nobody else knew that.
Across the hall, the noble's face turned purple with rage. With bared teeth, he roared, "Four million coins! And whoever bids higher is dead!"
Charming. Such big words for such a pathetic man. Someone had to be compensating for something.
And then I laughed... way too hard.
Heads snapped towards me. Even the slaves in his arms flinched. But even more so, the pig himself—his face twisted into a furious, almost comical snarl.
I snorted louder, banging my fist lightly against the balustrade, trying—and spectacularly failing—to get a grip on myself.
A few moments later, the anxiety I'd kept chained down all evening clawed loose. That inevitable flaw, written into the hull of this form.
I yanked the curtains of our loge shut—thankfully one-way from the inside—and dropped onto the couch, still half-shaking with leftover laughter and sour irritation.
Not subtle, I admitted to myself grimly. Absolutely not subtle.
Still... so worth it.
Through the muffled clamor outside, I heard the auctioneer declare the result. So what if he could afford it? Pride wasn't something you could buy back once it shattered. And me? I'd just made millions on a single bluff.
It took a while before calm even tried to return to the hall.
"M-Master..." Tulsi's voice wobbled behind me.
I giggled softly, still savoring the aftermath of my little public stunt.
"What?" I said, half-turning to her. "You can buy a lot more now if you want."
But even as I said it, my gaze sharpened. I had never once turned off my soul-sight earlier—and now I caught it:
A flicker in her soul. A slight shift of color—subtle, delicate, but unmistakable. Not random. Not an emotional quiver. A structured reaction.
I stood up slowly and walked towards one of the items leaning against the wall near the door, pretending interest.
"Tulsi, come here for a second," I called, voice light, almost innocent.
"Sure, Mistress!" she chirped, practically bouncing over in little, happy hops. Probably overeager to buy more paraphernalia? Or was the right term balderdash? No—knick-knacks was probably closer.
When she reached my side, she beamed at me, oblivious.
"What do you want to know?" she asked, eyes bright.
I smiled wider, cold and without humor.
"You see," I said, voice toneless, "I found something interesting."
She tilted her head eagerly. "Yes? What is it?"
"You."
She barely had time to blink.
My hand snapped out, wrapping around her slender throat, and slammed her into the wall beside us with bone-rattling force. Cracks spiderwebbed through the stone, and debris rained down in dusty clumps.
The impact drove the air from Tulsi’s lungs—her mouth opened in a silent gasp, her body jerking reflexively. For a moment, she forgot even the fake breathing.
"W-Why?" she choked out, coughing, pain flashing across her face.
I tilted my head slightly, studying her without sympathy.
"Oh, my dear Vetala, that’s an excellent question," I said brightly. "Why don’t you answer it?"
"I-I don't know what you mean!" she gasped, panic creeping into her voice. "I didn't do anything!"
Another pulse of invisible force slammed into her gut, burying her deeper into the wall with a crack of splintering stone. She screamed this time—a short, raw sound—and sagged slightly, trembling.
I kept her pinned easily, my strength carefully measured—enough to hurt, never enough to kill.
"I really don't know what you mean—please stop!" she pleaded, tears starting to prick at the corners of her eyes.
I clicked my tongue in slow, deliberate disapproval "Tsk-tsk-tsk. I'm disappointed, Tulsi." My voice dropped lower, colder. "Fine. Let's make it simple. Who. Are. You."
"W-What? I'm Tulsi, of course!" she stammered, more out of fear than conviction.
I studied her carefully, soul-sight flaring behind my eyes.
"Hmm, I wonder if that's really true," I murmured. "You fooled me at first—I'll give you that.
But over the past few days... tiny shifts. Barely noticeable. A hesitation here, a slip there.
And tonight? That complete turn? That’s what made me start digging deeper."
I tightened my grip just enough to make her eyes widen. "How could someone so naive survive here? In the capital of their sworn enemies?"
I let the question hang in the air, slicing deeper than any blow.
"The story you told me—it’s true enough. From a certain point of view. But did you really think you were the only one who could grasp the nature of a soul that deeply? Even after what I showed you?"
"You should have known better." I shook my head slowly. "But your carelessness... and your arrogance... got the better of you."
Tulsi whimpered, squirming in my grasp.
I smiled.
"To see one of your kind alive is astonishing, truly. But let me rephrase the question."
I dropped my voice into something darker, something ancient: "You’re a Divieria, aren’t you?"
And with that word—
everything shattered.
Her soul rippled, the charm collapsing like melting wax. Colors burst free, refracting into a living kaleidoscope—violent, beautiful, wild. The clumsy girl was gone. In her place stood something carved from magic, survival, and quiet, lethal grace.
Her demeanor changed instantly.
She bit her lip, head tilting playfully, her gaze glinting with something dark and yearning. The look she gave me wasn’t fear anymore—it was adoration. Submission. Worship.
And a reckless, open invitation.
Her body began to shift before my eyes.
And at the same time, the body changed. Her eyes widened—round, perfect gold, like an owl's—but slit-pupiled, glinting with the sharp, restless light of a wildcat. Her hair bleached pale, lengthening until it brushed her hips in heavy, uneven sheets.
The human ears melted away, replaced by a strange, elegant hybrid—feathered, feline, edged in delicate plumes layered with the silent precision of an owl's mantle. Each feather weightless, overlapping seamlessly into the natural curves of her skull.
Feathers rippled out along her throat, her collarbone, her wrists—fine, downy plumage weaving into the shape of her body. Not only there; stray feathers erupted elsewhere too, scattered sporadically across her arms, her back, even along her thighs. H Her feet had now long abandoned any pretense of civility—scaled, claw-hinged talons. The soft boots she wore had been utterly torn apart, their remnants shredded and discarded across the ground
An evolutionary marvel. A living relic of a bloodline I had thought long extinct.
A Divieria.
Rare beyond reason.
Weapons born of soul-art, bred for survival in the days when even Old Ones still walked among mortals. Damn this cursed System for dulling my soul-sight enough that I only noticed it now, when the evidence had been right under my nose.
This girl—no, this living legacy—was already worth more than anything the auction had shown me so far.
More than gold. More than artifacts. A priceless tool... or a catastrophic weapon, depending how carefully I played this.
Still pinned to the wall, the newly-revealed Divieria smiled at me, slow and sultry.
"H-E-L-L-O, Mis-tress~" she purred, drawing the word out like silk sliding across skin. "You can call me... Sophia~."
