The appearance of the slave boy on stage silenced the room for a moment.
Cheeks that hadn't yet shed their milk, but a chiseled jawline nonetheless.
A prominent nose, full, crimson lips, straight dark eyebrows and long lashes.
And those precious black hairs and red eyes.
Vara's whole body was tanned to a healthy brown color, but there were white underwear marks here and there, suggesting that her skin was originally flawless and white.
The boy's good looks shone through, even with the basic makeup applied to the slaves on stage.
Vikir. Vikir van Baskerville.
He was on the stage.
The emcee said.
"Now, what do you think, this is the last item up for auction, and with the quality of the goods, we can expect a great bidding war!"
Alas, there is still silence downstage.
Even the barbarian girl in the cage, who had been rampaging on the far side of the stage after winning the auction, had become mesmerized and quiet since Bikir's appearance.
Then.
Someone raised a bidding sign.
"Six hundred million!"
The lady in the butterfly mask gasps.
"Six hundred million, no, sixty-five million!"
Then the middle-aged man on the other side of the table jumps to his feet, as if he can't lose.
"Eight hundred million!"
"What the hell! Aren't you a man!?"
"What's a man got to do with 800 million!"
"That's not it! A man would take her and use her for what!!!"
"He's going to use her as a gladiator, for crying out loud!"
"What the hell, do you think she can even hold a sword properly!"
"Come on, you two. If you want to fight, go home and fight, and I'll call it a night."
"I call a billion!"
"One and a half billion!"
"1.3 billion!"
"1.5 billion!"
A bloody price war has begun. Numerical prices now began to jump by the billion.
Just as the moderator was getting ecstatic, calculating the fees.
"Six billion."
The amount dropped like a bomb.
Out of the corner of everyone's eye, I see a fat man munching on his food.
"..., the author."
"Baron Gambino of the Granary, a rare find."
"Crazy, that's one big barrel."
"I've heard he's been raking in the dough lately, absorbing underground funds."
The people around you turn their heads with bitter expressions.
Some of the noblewomen, gritting their teeth, tried to scrape together enough money to make a stand, but it was a long shot against Baron Gambino, who was now making a name for himself as the newest rebel in the underworld.
Then.
"... Baron. Wouldn't that be too much to spend?"
The secretary at Baron Gambino's side spoke up.
Dressed in a greenish-blond short skirt and one-eyed glasses, she looked quite cold and domineering.
Baron Gambino frowned slightly at the secretary's point, then coughed.
"Well, a slave that off-white can fetch a much higher price in the Imperial Capital. It's worth it to buy them and sell them later."
"Even though he's an off-white boy, six billion seems a bit excessive. Besides, isn't it the story of the baron who bought him and then left him to fend for himself that makes reselling him questionable?"
"Hmmm. Hmmm!"
Baron Gambino glanced up, seemingly conscious of the stares around him, and then burst out.
"Shut up, you wench, I gave you something you had no right to have, and now you have the audacity to stand on your master's head!"
"...."
"I like her, I bought her with my own money...!"
Baron Gambino shouted, and the secretary sighed and shook her head.
Then.
Baron Gambino, who had paid a hefty sum for the item, smirked and brought Vikir to him.
He raised his thick hand and began to cupping Bikir's ass.
"...."
Bikir stared in disbelief, alternating between Baron Gambino and the hand cupping his ass.
Baron Gambino chuckled in satisfaction at the look on Vikir's face, a look that said he'd never seen anything like this before.
"Why, it's new to you. Get used to it, for it will happen often from now on."
"...."
"Hehehe- don't worry. To be fair, I'll let you touch my ass too, later tonight...."
Baron Gambino said, scanning Bikir's body with a lecherous expression.
The moment.
Bikir raised his hands.
Not realizing he was asking for his handcuffs to be removed, Baron Gambino smirked and reached for the keys.
…Snap, snap, snap!
The handcuffs in front of you are ripped off in the blink of an eye.
Steel cuffs tearing like paper. And the chains.
With the force of his grip, Vikir shatters the restraints on his wrists.
Then, at a loss for words, he held out his palms to the dazed Baron Gambino.
"On your ass."
There was no time to protest, no time to say anything.
Vikir rolled over the Gambino baron's fat body with such ease that he soon had his hands on his fleshy ass.
Tsk, tsk, tsk!
There was a terrifying sound, and Baron Gambino began to squeal like a pig.
"Off!"
A gurgling fountain of blood drenched the surroundings.
A chorus of screams erupts from the bystanders as they see a man being torn alive.
Soon, the mercenaries who had been acting as guards begin to rush over.
But.
Thud, thud, thud!
The necks and torsos of the lunging guards separated at once and rolled separately across the floor.
Before he knew it, Vikir had drawn a long, sharp blade that protruded from his wrist.
Whirring, whirring, whirring.
Beelzebub the Magic Sword began to weep as it drew blood.
"Strike, strike! Kill him!"
The nobles called for their personal escorts.
Swords drawn, mercenaries and knights charged, their auras rising.
…Tsutsutsutsuts
Vikir unleashed his aura as well.
The swordsmanship that followed was Baskerville's Fifth Form.
Five of the lurking ambushers flew out at once, biting into the nape of their foes' necks.
Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud.
A shower of blood.
Headless torsos crumble to their knees.
Behind them, the knifemen, who had barely escaped death, could only stare in horror.
An aura as red and sticky as blood. Gradient!
The ultimate weapon representing a nation's national power, a killing machine for the sole purpose of killing.
For every step Vikir took, he made sure to cut the throat of another.
Every step he takes, he kills.
Bikir had only traveled a short distance, only a few dozen paces, but already a shower of blood was falling around him.
There was only one thought on everyone's minds.
"We don't stand a chance against the Graduates!
As soon as the swordsmen saw Bikir's aura dripping like liquid, they gave up the fight and began to withdraw.
But.
"You fools, there's no business in Daguri, even if you're a grader!"
"If you run away now, you're all going to slavery!"
"Yay, so you're not going to make any money!"
"Think of your families!"
Here and there, the shouts of nobles and signers turned a few swordsmen on their heels.
By now, the chaos in the auction house had subsided somewhat.
Heavily armed mercenaries, now numbering in the hundreds, surrounded Vikir.
"What the hell is that kid?"
"How is he a grader at his age?"
"Are you human! What are you!"
Everyone is confused, but the enemy is clear.
Countless swords, spears, arrows, and magic surrounded Vikir in layers.
No matter how strong the Gradient was, there was no way it could survive this onslaught.
Even.
"You bastard, drop your sword and surrender this instant, or none of your men will live!"
The clown on the stage was threatening Bikir with a hostage.
The clown was holding a knife and about to stab him in the neck.
The Chihuahua, with its long goatee, was shaking and looking at Bikir.
"...."
Bikir paused and stood.
As he does, the mercenaries around him draw their swords and slowly close in on him.
Just then.
"Your Excellency, I'm fine, please take care of yourself!"
The Chihuahua exclaimed with a determined look.
Soon, he grabbed the clown's arm and began pulling him toward him.
The clown was more surprised by the Chihuahua's behavior than by the fact that he was trying to kill himself by stabbing himself in the neck with someone else's knife.
"You're crazy, what are you doing!"
"Let go! There is no compromise with injustice in my dictionary! Besides, I'd rather die than get in the way of my superiors!"
"What kind of a line is that for a face like yours! Get off me!"
The clown and the Chihuahua began to tussle, killing each other.
Bikir smiled wryly at the sight.
And then.
…Bam!
With a drop of aura that pierced the clown's brow, Vikir picked up the falling Chihuahua and dropped all the way down to the stage.
All around him, the air is alive with life.
Countless mercenaries and knights of the local Sedoga armed with swords, spears, arrows, and magic glared at Vikir and the Chihuahua.
"Zee, my lord. No matter how good a fighter you are, this number of people is a bit... overwhelming, especially with all the baggage I'm carrying."
Chihuahua's concern was justified.
But Bikir remained nonchalant.
"Don't worry. When we leave the Baskervilles' mansion."
He tore a small slit in the flesh of his thigh and pulled out what he had hidden within.
It was a small whistle shaped like a red tooth.
"I have a hidden card from the Lord, ...."
And then.
Vikir brought the blood-red whistle to his mouth and blew.
Beep-.
A tearing sound echoed high in the air.
Those gathered around were tense, unsure of what Vikir was doing, their eyes fixed on the center of the encirclement.
But.
The real action began on the ceiling of the barracks, where no one was looking.
…Tsk tsk!
Shadows were tearing through the curtain that had been stretched out like the night sky and entering through the cracks.
Countless black blood winds fell from the sky.
And then.
Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding!
Wherever they fell, there was always a shower of blood, and people's heads were torn off.
"Aaahhh! What are these!"
"There must be over a hundred of them!"
"And they're powered by graders!"
All one hundred of them are Graduators. Killing machines, their blades coated in a blood-red aura.
They annihilated everyone in front of them in an instant, then went behind Bikir and lined up politely.
Only then did those who were spared by their position in the rear realize the nature of Vikir's group of one hundred Graders.
"Seriously, they can't be..."
"No? No. Please, please!"
"Ah, yes, they're the only ones using that symbol!"
It was the red, tooth-like badge on his chest patch.
A 'knightage Pit Bull' of the Baskerville family.
It was the rise of the most ferocious knighthood in not only House Baskerville, but the entire Empire.
To these black-cloaked, silent fighting dogs, Vikir gave a brief order.