Eric resisted the splitting agony pricking his brain to look out at the people outside his cage. His arms dangled over the bars as his gaze lingered on his potential buyers.

Unsurprisingly, there were plenty of people in fine silken suits eyeing the slaves to be auctioned in the underground black market. Although slavery was allowed in this savage world, they had the least bit of etiquette not to do it out in the open. The irony.

The more ironical fact was that this was the world Eric had fought for...had bled for...for five years—closer to six if counted in the Earth calendar—Eric had been summoned to this savage world of magic and sorcery. He could not count how many times he had come close to certain death and survived. Yet the problem ahead of him made him feel completely ill-equipped to solve it.

All his experience would matter less than a greyhound's piss if he were to live as a slave. On top of that, his energy centre was destroyed--all the strength he had accumulated through sheer grit and putting himself in danger was for nought, for he could only feel the primal energy in the air, even take it within him for a split second, but he was unable to keep it inside.

So far he had fallen...from a respectable knight to a crippled slave to be sold off. Perhaps a worse position than when he was summoned to this world.

'Nah, nothing can be worse than that,' Eric thought, sounding more wistful than practical. Inhaling deeply, he shot his potential buyers a wolfish look. 'No, I won't die just from slavery...I have survived worse...'

'I won't die...not until I have my vengeance.'

The slave auction had been going on at full speed for a while, the auctioneer slowly teasing his way to the main item to be sold off. Yeah, to these people he wasn't a human like themselves...but merely an item of possession.

Eric found a man in his early thirties sold off for only two crowns, the buyers looking to be some minor noble with a round form; his stomach protruded as he did not even bat an eye at the man he had just bought.

"Next is someone special," the auctioneer carried on. "The subject had a rudimentary grasp in manipulating the essence power. He even fought two enforcers to a standstill for a time until falling prey. I'm sure the lords and ladies present can guess it is no small achievement to contend with an enforcer, much less two."

It was not until the auctioneer finished his phrase that Eric found he was actually talking about him.

"Stop spilling his life story and begin the bidding," someone from the crowd shouted.

"Yeah, yeah," another one agreed. "I can smell the reek of his mother's teat, and you say this punk fought two enforcers to a standstill? Hah, how laughable!"

Pure fury rose within his core as Eric glared at the crowd that wanted to enslave him. It was laughable indeed. Whatever story the auctioneer cooked up was completely rubbish. What were two enforcers but failed ascenders who could only strengthen their bodies? No, Eric had fought their best knights, who had trained and honed their skills all their lives. And he had won. Comparing a couple of enforcers to the likes of Mariam Janik or April Ainsworth...it was completely foolish.

Unfortunately, Eric had no say in this matter. He would have to go along with whatever story they played in his name.

"The opening bid is two crowns, with an increased bid of four shillings every time," the auctioneer said, not seeming even a bit affronted at all. He was experienced in the game after all.

So the bidding game began. Eric studied the faces of the nobles who were bidding on him when a foreign energy brushed into him. His mind rang in alarm immediately, feeling the cold sensation of a foreign energy brushing against his shattered energy centre.

His eyes darted wildly to look for the source of this foreign energy. Although most of his power was gone, Eric had not lost the knack for sensing the sensation of energy. Soon he found the one responsible for such blatant inspection. Their eyes met for a split second and then she looked away.

It was a young noblewoman, or rather girl, perhaps half a decade younger than him. She certainly did not appreciate the slave auction with the ugly scowl that cracked up on her pretty face, but that did not stop her from singling out promising candidates for her father to buy. Well, it was all conjecture, but looking at their exterior, they were closely blood-related, and most likely father and daughter. It was the same man who had bought the slave before and was now bidding for him after getting confirmation from his daughter.

Primal fury and the splitting migraine warred inside as he glared at them. The young woman did not meet his gaze again, wiping away the sweat from her forehead. It was not warm here, but perhaps the enclosed space made her feel claustrophobic. Her father did not seem to be that interested in what he was buying either, as if it were beneath him. However, Eric found another person in their group who met his glare.

It was another young woman, probably the same age as the noble girl, but from the way she dressed, she could only be a maid or servant girl for the nobles. Her lips curled up in a sardonic grin when she found him glaring at them.

Eric did not like that look in her eyes.

"Lord Patridge seems to be in a mood today," said a nameless minor noble looking at the visage of the round man. "At least leave something for us."

"I heard rumours that the lordship is being bankrupted," said another. "But looking at how his Grace is burning his wealth, I can only deem the rumours as untrustworthy."

Oh shit, a Lord Patridge, Eric thought, that's not a minor noble.

"Hahah, my fellow noblemen," the fat Lord Patridge addressed the crowd. "The name Patridge still bears enough prestige to carry for six generations more without anything more. You don't have to rack your hair worrying about the state of our lordship."

Ultimately, it was Lord Patridge who bought Eric for the sum of eight crowns and four shillings. A high price for a slave, but if they had believed the tale of him fighting two enforcers, the price was only a little high. Well, whatever it was, Eric was not an expert in slavery, in knowing the prices of slaves in the empire.

The auctioning went on without a hitch, and Lord Patridge bought a couple of other slaves at a higher price than him. One of them was actually a condemned knight who went for twenty crowns.

"Lastly, the main prospect of today's auction; I'm sure many of you are here for that only and saved up your purse for it," the auctioneer announced in a loud tone. He gestured with his hands as a couple of helpers brought a young woman onto the stage. "An unspoiled elven maiden."

A few cheers and gasps broke down among the crowds, as elves were still quite a rare sight in the empire. Contrary to what Eric believed, this elf was fully clothed in a fine evening dress nonetheless, with some part of glistening cleavage showing to add allure to her magnificent visage. She had been done up with make-up to look more appealing as well, not that elves needed such things.

Eric had travelled with a group of elves before. Back then, even though none of them had the privilege to take care of their health, much less bathe, all of the elves persisted in looking like supermodels.

"She's more than just a bedmate. Although most of you may prefer that, Kaiya here is also a healer," the slaver highlighted another quality of the elf girl soon to be auctioned off. "And need I mention how much of a greater advantage an elven healer has over any human healer?"

The crowd buzzed with excitement. She looked up once at the people with a terrified expression and bowed her head to only stare at her feet. Eric closed his eyes from his cage. Many emotions and the migraine raged within him.

"The opening bid for Kaiya is 20 crowns with an increase of at least 2 crowns per bid."

Four or five people bid before the auctioneer could even finish, but they were merely minor players as the bid continued to rise, easily surpassing 50 crowns. But ultimately, Lord Patridge swooped in, bidding the staggering amount of a hundred crowns.

The servant girl glared up at Lord Patridge, but finding her mistake, she turned to the young lady, who only stared at the elven maiden on the stage.

Unfortunately, a hundred crowns--which was enough to buy land and build a house in a lower town--was not enough to purchase the elf.

"A hundred and ten," said a middle-aged man who had been bidding persistently. "Forgive this baron, Lord Patridge. My son just awakened to his power last year—"

"Old dog, stop blaming your son...we all know your intention. A hundred and twenty crowns."

"A hundred and twenty-five."

"One hundred and—"

"Two hundred," Lord Patridge struck again with his wealth. He seemed to have lost some of his colours, exchanging a look with his daughter.

Only silence and low curses followed, as Lord Patridge secured the final prize.

The slave collar itched on Eric's neck, but it was better than an indissoluble slave sigil, which enslaved one's mind and body. Well, the empire had banned the usage of such dark spells, but Eric wouldn't be surprised if he found some noble snob still practising such heinous acts.

This slave collar was nothing to be scoffed at either. It was a cruel tool that trained obedience even against one's will. Eric had the privilege to see what attacking your new owner at first notice could do.

The maid was just trying to converse with the former knight and pointing out his new duty when the man jumped at her, pinning her down and was about to attack.

He couldn't even bring his palms to her neck before a guttural shriek escaped his mouth. He squirmed on the ground persistently as the maid stood back up. She stared at him with a frown, watching him squirm... There was no pleasure or guilt in her eyes... No fear either. She simply stared at him, her eyes deadpan.

Eric sucked in a breath and stopped fidgeting with the slave collar lest he made his new masters wary...No, he needed to keep up the pretence here. Let them believe the story of the auctioneer that he was a docile slave.

Eric did not mind playing the sheep until he could grow back his fangs to devour them all.

None would survive his wrath.