CHAPTER 436: THE AUCTION (2)

"So," Elira muttered beneath her breath, her voice low enough that only Serah could hear. "This is the bastard we’ve been chasing for the past six, nearly seven weeks. Tch. But you know... seeing him now, standing here, makes me wonder if this is truly the real Drosmir."

Serah arched a brow behind her mask. "What do you mean by that?"

"Look at him carefully," Elira murmured, her eyes narrowing as she studied the man on the stage. "His movements, the way he carries himself, even the build of his body. Truth be told, having seen him numerous times in Heyh and now comparing him to this one here... there are differences. Subtle, yes, but they’re there. The man in Heyh—he was similar, but this one... this one feels more genuine. Which makes me think the one back in Heyh was a..."

"A double," Serah finished the thought for her.

"Yes, a double." Elira side-glanced at her companion, her eyes sharp. "So, you see it too?"

"No," Serah replied evenly, her tone calm and measured. "I’m not nearly as skilled at reading gestures or subtle tells as you are. But I’ve had the suspicion for a while now that the Drosmir we’ve seen in Heyh wasn’t the original. A hunch, nothing more. Seeing this man here... it confirms it." Her gaze returned to the masked figure on stage.

"I see," Elira muttered, settling her attention back on the stage as well. "Also, take note—there are two guards flanking him directly, standing like statues. And at the corners of the chamber, I count four more. The way they’re positioned, they’re likely his most trusted men."

"Yeah, I’ve noticed," Serah replied without shifting her eyes. "And that’s exactly why making a move now would be reckless. Even if we got through those guards, I’d wager at least a handful of these buyers are not just nobles but elite fighters. If we try to strike at this moment, with only the two of us, we won’t just fail—we’ll lose Drosmir altogether."

"So the plan stands," Elira said quietly. "We wait until Kael and the others bring in the men stationed at the perimeter."

"Exactly," Serah confirmed, her tone calm yet edged with quiet resolve. "Until then, we endure. No matter what horror we’re about to witness here, no matter what filth they trade on that stage—we wait. We wait for Jorin and the rest to fulfill their part of the plan."

At that, both women fell into silence, masks hiding their simmering anger, their gazes locked firmly on the stage. From this point forward, their sole focus was what was about to unfold, the commerce of chains and flesh that would test their patience until the moment to strike arrived.

Vaelen Drosmir raised his gloved hand ever so slightly, his presence filling the chamber like smoke in a sealed room. His voice, calm yet commanding, rolled out with the charm of a man who reveled in the theater of his cruelty.

"Esteemed patrons," he began, his tone rich with smug delight, "you honor me with your presence tonight. As always, it is my privilege to bring before you the finest stock gathered from across the regions—rare treasures for those who appreciate value, rarity, and above all... obedience."

The chamber answered him with a ripple of approving murmurs and the shuffle of masked faces leaning forward in anticipation. With a single flick of his wrist, the guards at his side pulled the long curtain behind him aside, unveiling a conveyor system hidden in the shadows. The metallic groan of the machinery filled the room as a cage was slowly rolled forward, the chains clinking until it stopped just inches from the edge of the stage.

Within the cage stood a woman, her hair tangled and falling wildly across her pale face, her clothing torn and soiled from neglect. Her eyes darted wildly across the sea of masked buyers, fear saturating every line of her being.

Drosmir spread his hands as though presenting a masterpiece. "Behold," he said with a broad grin, "a fine maiden from the western reaches of Halstir. Strong in body, yet delicate in form. Her spirit has not yet been broken, which makes her all the more malleable to the will of her future master. She will resist... but I assure you, resistance always makes eventual submission all the sweeter."

A hush fell for a moment, then bids erupted almost instantly. Numbers and gold amounts were called out in sharp tones, buyers competing with raised hands and firm declarations.

"Three hundred!"

"Four hundred!"

"Five hundred and fifty!"

The excitement surged, the masked nobles leaning forward in their seats like wolves circling prey. Elira, seated beside Serah, clenched her jaw so tightly behind her mask it nearly ached. She forced herself to raise a hand at one point, her voice disguised in Judith Kondell’s smooth, cold tone. "Six hundred."

The auctioneer’s gaze flicked to her, the golden-black mask of Drosmir shining in the stage light as he bowed his head in acknowledgment. "Ah, Lady Kondell, ever one for fine taste. Truly, such a gem would suit one such as yourself."

Elira let her hand fall back to her lap, every muscle stiff with barely contained revulsion. She dared not go further—her bid was merely to keep the illusion alive. Moments later, another bidder cried out a higher sum, and the hammer of words came down with Drosmir’s booming voice.

"SOLD! To the gentleman in crimson, for eight hundred!"

The room erupted in applause as the cage was slowly drawn back into the shadows of the conveyor, the woman’s terrified face the last thing visible before vanishing into darkness. Serah’s fingers twitched in her lap, her composure a mask every bit as rigid as the one upon her face.

And then, with a subtle nod, Drosmir gestured again. Another cage rolled forward, this one containing a boy no older than sixteen, his arms thin but his eyes burning with a defiance that had yet to be beaten out of him.

"Now here," Drosmir declared with the flair of a showman, "we have something truly rare. Youth! A boy untouched by labor, full of vigor, with years ahead to serve as you shape him. Such fire, such will—you can see it even now in those eyes. But with time, he too will learn the sweet joy of obedience. Imagine the years of service you could command."

The crowd roared, their voices a chorus of hunger as bids soared almost instantly. The numbers flew higher, faster this time, until one wealthy lord silenced the chamber with a final, staggering sum.

Again, Elira forced herself to raise her hand mid-bidding, the act cutting into her soul like a knife. She knew she had to maintain Judith’s persona, but each word she spoke felt like poison on her tongue. Beside her, Serah remained still, though her eyes betrayed the storm within. Every passing second tested the iron grip on her temper.

Slave after slave was paraded forward—young women trembling with silent tears, strong men broken into silence, children clutching their rags with wide, terrified eyes. Each one was dressed down by Drosmir’s silver tongue, their suffering polished into allure, their humanity stripped away with words meant to entice cruelty.

And the buyers—they loved it. Their laughter, their enthusiasm, the sharp, eager cadence of their bids—it was a theater of depravity, and they relished every act.

Serah and Elira sat amidst it all, their disgust mounting with every passing sale. Behind their masks, their faces were set like stone, the only thing keeping them in place being the plan, the waiting, the knowledge that their companions outside worked even now to tear this empire of chains apart.

As minutes stretched and more lives were sold into darkness, their anger boiled just beneath the surface, threatening to spill over. Yet still they endured, their patience stretched thin as they silently prayed the signal to strike would come soon, before the fury in their hearts betrayed them.