The presence of the slave kid in front of an audience hushed the space briefly.
Cheeks that hadn't yet shed their milk, yet an etched facial structure in any case.
An unmistakable nose, full, blood red lips, straight dull eyebrows and long lashes.
Furthermore, those valuable dark hairs and red eyes.
Vara's entire body was tanned to a solid earthy colored tone, however there were white clothing marks to a great extent, it was initially immaculate and white to propose that her skin.
The kid's attractive features radiated through, even with the essential cosmetics applied to the slaves in front of an audience.
Vikir. Vikir van Baskerville.
He was on the stage.
The emcee said.
"Presently, what is your take, this is the last thing available to be purchased, and with the nature of the merchandise, we can expect an incredible offering war!"
Unfortunately, there is still quietness downstage.
Indeed, even the brute young lady in the enclosure, who had been rampaging on the most distant side of the stage in the wake of winning the sale, had become entranced and calm since Bikir's appearance.
Then.
Somebody raised an offering sign.
"600,000,000!"
The woman in the butterfly veil wheezes.
"600,000,000, no, 65 million!"
Then, at that point, the moderately aged man on the opposite side of the table leaps to his feet, as though he can't lose.
"800,000,000!"
"What on God's green earth! Might it be said that you are a man!?"
"What's a man have to do with 800 million!"
"That is not it! A man would take her and utilize her for what!!!"
"He will involve her as a fighter, for the love of God!"
"What in the world, how about she even hold a blade appropriately!"
"Come on, both of you. To battle, return home and battle, and I'll tap out."
"I call a billion!"
"One and a half billion!"
"1.3 billion!"
"1.5 billion!"
A ridiculous cost war has started. Mathematical costs currently started to bounce in large numbers.
Similarly as the mediator was getting elated, computing the expenses.
"Six billion."
The sum dropped like a bomb.
Somewhere off to the side, I see a hefty man chomping on his food.
"… … , the creator."
"Noble Gambino of the Silo, an uncommon find."
"Insane, that is one major barrel."
"I've heard he's been rounding up the batter of late, engrossing underground assets."
Individuals around you blow some people's minds with unpleasant articulations.
A portion of the aristocrats, gritting their teeth, attempted to figure out sufficient cash to hold fast, however it was a remote chance against Noble Gambino, who was presently becoming famous as the most up to date rebel in the hidden world.
Then.
"... Baron. Couldn't that be an excessive amount to spend?"
The secretary at Noble Gambino's side made some noise.
Wearing a greenish-fair short skirt and one-peered toward glasses, she looked very cold and oppressive.
Aristocrat Gambino scowled somewhat at the secretary's point, then, at that point, hacked.
"Indeed, a slave that grayish can bring a lot greater cost in the Royal Capital. It's worth the effort to get them and sell them later."
"Despite the fact that he's a grayish kid, six billion appears to be a piece over the top. Additionally, isn't it the account of the noble who got him and afterward passed on him to fight for himself that makes exchanging him problematic?"
"Hmmm. Hmmm!"
Nobleman Gambino looked up, apparently aware of the gazes around him, and afterward burst out.
"Quiet down, you vixen, I gave you something you reserved no privilege to have, and presently you have the boldness to remain on your lord's head!"
"...."
"I like her, I got her with my own cash… … !"
Aristocrat Gambino yelled, and the secretary moaned and shook her head.
Then.
Nobleman Gambino, who had paid a powerful total for the thing, grinned and carried Vikir to him.
He lifted his thick hand and started to measuring Bikir's butt.
"...."
Bikir gazed in dismay, shifting back and forth between Noble Gambino and the hand measuring his butt.
Nobleman Gambino laughed in fulfillment at the expression all over, a look that said he'd never seen anything like this.
"Why, it's unfamiliar to you. Become accustomed to it, for it will happen frequently from here on out."
"...."
"Hehehe-you can definitely relax. All things considered, I'll allow you to contact my butt as well, sometime in the evening… … ."
Nobleman Gambino said, examining Bikir's body with a prurient articulation.
The occasion.
Bikir lifted his hands.
Not understanding he was requesting his cuffs to be taken out, Aristocrat Gambino grinned and went after the keys.
…Snap, snap, snap!
The binds before you are ripped off in a matter of seconds.
Steel sleeves tearing like paper. What's more, the chains.
With the power of his hold, Vikir breaks the restrictions on his wrists.
Then, at that point, speechless, he held out his palms to the shocked Noble Gambino.
"On your butt."
There was no chance to dissent, no opportunity to say anything.
Vikir turned over the Gambino aristocrat's fat body no sweat that he before long had his hands on his beefy ass.
Tsk, tsk, tsk!
There was an unnerving sound, and Nobleman Gambino started to screech like a pig.
"Off!"
A sputtering wellspring of blood doused the environmental elements.
A chorale of shouts ejects from the onlookers as they see a man being torn alive.
Before long, the soldiers of fortune who had been going about as watchmen rush over.
But.
Crash, crash, crash!
The necks and middles of the lurching monitors isolated immediately and moved independently across the floor.
In a flash, Vikir had drawn a long, sharp edge that jutted from his wrist.
Buzzing, humming, buzzing.
Satan the Enchanted Blade started to sob as it drew blood.
"Strike, strike! Kill him!"
The aristocrats required their own escorts.
Swords drawn, hired fighters and knights charged, their qualitys rising.
…Tsutsutsutsuts
Vikir released his atmosphere too.
The swordsmanship that followed was Baskerville's Fifth Structure.
Five of the hiding ambushers flew out on the double, gnawing into the scruff of their enemies' necks.
Crash, crash, crash, crash, crash.
A shower of blood.
Headless middles disintegrate to their knees.
Behind them, the knifemen, who had scarcely gotten away from death, could gaze with dismay.
A quality as red and tacky as blood. Gradient!
A definitive weapon addressing a country's public power, a killing machine for the sole reason for killing.
For each step Vikir took, he tried to slit the jugular of another.
一步一殺. Each step he takes, he kills.
Bikir had just voyaged a brief distance, a couple dozen speeds, however currently a shower of blood was falling around him.
There was just a single idea on everybody's brains.
"We don't have a potential for success against the Alumni!
When the fighters saw Bikir's atmosphere trickling like fluid, they surrendered and started to pull out.
But.
"You tricks, there's no business in Daguri, regardless of whether no doubt about it!"
"Assuming you take off now, you're all going to subjugation!"
"Whoopee, so you won't bring in any cash!"
"Consider your families!"
To a great extent, the yells of aristocrats and endorsers turned a couple of fighters behind them.
At this point, the tumult in the bartering house had died down to some degree.
Vigorously furnished soldiers of fortune, presently numbering in the hundreds, encompassed Vikir.
"What in blazes is that youngster?"
"How could he be a grader at his age?"
"Are you human! What are you!"
Everybody is confounded, yet the foe is clear.
Endless blades, lances, bolts, and sorcery encompassed Vikir in layers.
Regardless of how solid the Inclination was, it was absolutely impossible that it could endure this attack.
Even.
"You knave, drop your sword and give up right now, or your men won't generally live!"
The comedian on the stage was undermining Bikir with a prisoner.
The jokester was holding a blade and going to cut him in the neck.
The Chihuahua, with its long goatee, was shaking and checking Bikir out.
"...."
Bikir stopped and stood.
As he does, the hired fighters around him attract their swords and gradually close on him.
All at once.
"Your Excellency, I'm fine, if it's not too much trouble, deal with yourself!"
The Chihuahua shouted with a decided look.
Before long, he snatched the comedian's arm and started pulling him toward him.
The jokester was more astounded by the Chihuahua's way of behaving than by the way that he was attempting to commit suicide by cutting himself in the neck with another person's blade.
"You're insane, what's happening with you!"
"Let go! There is no split the difference with shamefulness in my word reference! Plus, I'd prefer pass on than hinder my bosses!"
"What sort of a line is that for a face like yours! Get off me!"
The jokester and the Chihuahua started to tussle, killing one another.
Bikir grinned wryly at the sight.
And afterward.
…Bam!
With a drop of quality that punctured the jokester's temple, Vikir got the falling Chihuahua and dropped right down to the stage.
Surrounding him, the air is bursting at the seams with life.
Endless soldiers of fortune and knights of the nearby Sedoga outfitted with swords, lances, bolts, and enchantment scowled at Vikir and the Chihuahua.
"Zee, my ruler. Regardless of how great a contender you are, this number of individuals is a little… … overpowering, particularly with all the stuff I'm conveying."
Chihuahua's anxiety was legitimate.
In any case, Bikir stayed casual.
"Simply sit back and relax. At the point when we leave the Baskervilles' chateau."
He tore a little cut in the tissue of his thigh and took out what he had concealed inside.
It was a little whistle formed like a red tooth.
"I have a concealed card from the Ruler, … … ."
And afterward.
Vikir carried the dark red whistle to his mouth and blew.
Beep-.
A tearing sound repeated up high.
Those accumulated around were tense, uncertain of what Vikir was doing, their eyes fixed on the focal point of the enclosure.
But.
The genuine activity started on the roof of the encampment, where nobody was looking.
…Oh goodness!
Shadows were tearing through the drape that had been loosened up like the night sky and entering through the breaks.
Innumerable dark blood twists tumbled from the sky.
And afterward.
Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding!
Any place they fell, there was generally a shower of blood, and individuals' heads were removed.
"Aaahhh! What are these!"
"There should be north of 100 of them!"
"What's more, they're fueled by graders!"
Each of them 100 are Graduators. Killing machines, their sharp edges covered in a crimson air.
They destroyed everybody before them in a moment, then, at that point, went behind Bikir and arranged cordially.
Really at that time did the people who were saved by their situation in the back understand the idea of Vikir's gathering of 100 Graders.
"Truly, they can't be… … "
"No? No. Kindly, please!"
"Ok, indeed, they're the only ones utilizing that image!"
It was the red, tooth-like identification on his chest fix.
A 'knightage Pit Bull' of the Baskerville family.
It was the ascent of the most fierce knighthood in House Baskerville, however the whole Domain.
To these dark shrouded, quiet battling canines, Vikir provided a concise request.
"Chomp him to death."