The Auction House loomed at the heart of the desert city like a monolith, its dark stone exterior carefully designed to serve as a gathering sanctuary for the rich.
Inside, the grandeur was mesmerizing. Electric torches lined the walls, their glow complementing the soft light of chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceilings, all reflecting off the gleaming marble floors.
Deeper into the main hall, rows of velvet-covered chairs stretched across the expansive space, each seat occupied by cloaked figures whose faces were hidden behind masks of varying styles and designs.
After all, the Auction House wasn't merely a place for treasure seekers—it was a haven for the rich and ruthless, where coin and influence dictated the value of everything, even human lives.
The atmosphere was calm, with only a few murmurs and whispers breaking the silence. Yet, the feeling of anticipation filled the hall as all eyes fixated on the raised platform at the center, adorned with crimson silk. That platform served as the stage for the night's prizes.
Suddenly, the hall fell silent as the sound of footsteps echoed. A man in a black suit and a silver mask walked in from the opposite side of the platform. He was the auctioneer, and with a commanding yet smooth voice, he addressed the guests.
"Welcome, honored guests, to the Auction of the Obsidian House. Tonight, we offer treasures and curiosities beyond mortal comprehension."
He paused and lifted his head from his bowing posture. With a grin, he continued.
"Ready your purses, for you are about to glimpse heaven. Without delay, shall we begin?"
Snapping his fingers twice, he signaled two workers to push a cart covered with a red cloth onto the platform. The workers exuded an aura of Imperium-stage Rankers.
The auctioneer gestured for the cloth to be removed, and as it was unveiled, the contents of the cart came into view.
The first items were rare jewels, enchanted weapons, and special grade artifacts. Each piece was introduced with flair, and the bidding followed a practiced rhythm.
"2,000 crowns for the Sapphire Blade!"
"3,500!"
"4,000 crowns to the lady in blue!"
The crowd's energy surged with every new bid, the thrill of competition driving the prices ever higher.
Then, the auctioneer unveiled the evening's first rare highlight.
A gloved hand pulled back a velvet cloth, revealing a shimmering vial of liquid.
"Behold! A legacy-grade, tier-eight potion: the Elixir of Eternity! Crafted by the Herbalist of Myrthos and blessed by the Erythrian gods, it grants unparalleled vitality and slows aging to a crawl. Let the bidding begin at 50,000 crowns!"
The room gasped.
"60,000!"
A stout man in the front row barked.
"70,000!"
Came a sharp voice from the back.
The competition grew fierce. A woman with emerald eyes raised her paddle.
"100,000 crowns."
The stout man growled, unwilling to back down.
"150,000!"
The auctioneer grinned.
"Do we have 200,000?"
"200,000."
The woman calmly replied, sending a ripple of whispers through the crowd.
Finally, the stout man sighed in defeat, lowering his paddle. The woman smirked behind her mask as the gavel fell.
The auctioneer announced that all buyers should credit their payments to the accountant and collect their purchases at the end of the auction.
During a brief intermission, murmurs of disappointment filled the room.
"Damn, it seems I won't be getting anything today with these rich nobles constantly flaunting their wealth."
one participant in a red mask muttered in frustration.
"I agree. At this rate, they're going to snatch up all the good treasures and artifacts."
Another replied in frustration.
After the break, the auctioneer returned with a more refreshed demeanor.
With a snap of his fingers, larger carts covered with cloth were pushed onto the platform.
"And now, we present our most exclusive wares for tonight's prizes."
The auctioneer announced.
The crowd fell silent as slaves were paraded onto the stage, one by one. They were all in shackles, many bearing injuries and bruises as most of them had bowed their heads in shame.
The hall burst into cruel excitement. The sight of humiliation on the slaves' faces never grew old to the audience, no matter how many times they watched such displays.
The auctioneer raised his hand toward one of the slaves and began.
"Lot 47: a sturdy worker from the southern isles. Starting bid: 2,000 crowns!"
The bidding commenced, moving quickly as the slaves were sold one by one with little thought for their lives.
Most of the slaves had given up, accepting their fate without resistance. But not all of them.
After nearly all the slaves were sold, the last three were brought forward: Abaddon, Orlan, and Eleanor.
Abaddon's mere presence stunned many of the ladies in the audience. His alien beauty—an unearthly, handsome visage—was captivating. Eleanor complemented him with her own striking beauty, while Orlan, an old man, stood resolutely, silently vowing to stay with them no matter what.
The auctioneer gestured dramatically toward the trio.
"And here, esteemed guests, we present the rarest stock of the night: three specimens from the House of Drakon!"
The bold proclamation sent a wave of murmurs through the audience. Selling a Drakon so openly was dangerous.
"Erm... Mr. Auctioneer..."
One man spoke up, raising his concern.
"Don't you think boldly selling one of the Drakons might draw the attention of the Avalon Empire? If this boy is Kaedryn's son, then anyone who buys him is essentially courting death."
An older man with a long white beard nodded.
"After the loss of his wife, I heard Kaedryn has become violent, tearing through the lands in search of the attackers. Buying this brat might just bring future disaster."
"Yes."
Another agreed.
"It's not as though you can miss a Drakon. Their golden eyes, dreadlocks, and burning brown skin always give them away. They're unmistakable—warriors born to slay dragons. Purchasing one would be like painting a target on your back. It's far too risky."
A woman seated near the front agreed with the men, and murmurs of concern began spreading through the room like wildfire. One by one, the attendees hesitated, their initial interest in Abaddon replaced by fear of retaliation from the House of Drakons.
Sensing the crowd's hesitation, the auctioneer raised his hand to calm them. His voice took on a confident tone as he addressed their fears.
"Your concerns are valid, but allow me to ease your worries. It has been three days since the attack in the Avalon Empire. During the first two days, Kaedryn did indeed send out search parties to find his son."
He paused, turning slightly toward Abaddon, whose golden eyes gleamed with suppressed rage. The boy's teeth clenched in fury, and though he stood in the shadows, the intensity of his gaze was impossible to miss.
The auctioneer smirked, unfazed by the taunting killing intent emanating from the young Drakon. With a slight wave of his hand, he continued smoothly.
"Naturally, I shared similar concerns when these captives were first brought to me. So, I dispatched my men to gather information on the situation. What they uncovered may surprise you."
He let the silence linger for dramatic effect before delivering the news.
"It seems Kaedryn has called off the search entirely. As of yesterday, the boy is no longer a concern to him. Rumors suggest the reason is simple: the boy was born powerless. Kaedryn has chosen to use this opportunity to discard him."
The auctioneer's words sent a ripple through the room as murmurs shifted from disbelief to curiosity.
Abaddon, hearing this, felt as if a dagger had pierced his very soul.The rage that had burned in his eyes moments ago disappeared within seconds upon hearing the news. He lowered his head, reflecting on himself.
'It hasn't even been a week, and that man has already stopped looking for me. Strength has always been the only thing the Drakons respected, and without it…well, you're no different from an outsider. Yet, it still hurts to think my own father would wish me dead.'
Orlan, seeing the young master's demeanor, placed a comforting hand on his shoulder to reassure him.
Eleanor, as gullible as ever, forced herself to smile at Abaddon despite the fear and panic they were enduring.
Seeing this, the coldness that had gripped him moments ago began to wither, replaced by warmth from his two companions. He thought to himself.
'Yes...if they would throw me away just because I lack power, perhaps it's best I sever my ties to the Drakon. From now on, I am just Abaddon.'
He raised his head, his golden eyes scanning the corrupt nobles before him—men and women who indulged in inhuman practices and greed.
The crowd, upon learning the boy was now an outcast, regained their composure, their greedy eyes locking onto Abaddon once more.
His physique was remarkable—tall, with lightly tanned skin. His hair was deep black, its ends in dreadlocks. His golden eyes radiated like the sun, and the tattoo on his back bore the legacy of the Drakon lineage.
The auctioneer, noticing the renewed spark in the crowd, fanned the flames further.
"I believe most of you have had a change of heart. To sweeten the deal, it is said the body of a Drakon—whether human or ranker—is special. They possess extreme heat resistance, and refining their essence into weapons can instantly enhance them. Those golden eyes also grant rare sight abilities. Let's begin the bidding again, shall we?"
The crowd grew restless, eager to begin. The auctioneer, fully in control of the situation, smirked.
"Starting bid: 10,000 crowns!"
He declared.
"20,000!"
Shouted a man in a violet mask.
"30,000!"
Came another voice.
With every passing second, the price soared. Abaddon's body and eyes represented a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Amid the commotion, a young woman stepped forward. She was followed by two early-stage Imperium Rankers—a clear indication of her noble background.
With a mocking tone, she declared she needed something to feed her pets and would buy Abaddon as food for them. These words stung Abaddon, but there was nothing he could do.
The woman raised her paddle and, without hesitation, declared.
"50,000 crowns. I'll take him to feed my pets."
The hall erupted in laughter at the remark, murmurs spreading like wildfire.
Abaddon stared at the woman, who appeared close to his age—though he suspected he might be older. As he scrutinized her, something caught his eye.
He recognized the sapphire-studded ring on her finger. It was the very band he had once given to his future betrothed. A realization struck him like a bolt of lightning: the House of Sky Cloud Hall was involved in his downfall.
'I can't believe this…Selaria Darynthal. This really is happening. Does she hate me so much? She always despised me because she craved a free life, yet she was betrothed to me since childhood. Once, her family came to cancel the engagement, citing her ill health. She even challenged me to a duel, publicly insulting and embarrassing my mother. She gave me eight years to prepare, vowing to humiliate me before the world. But this…this is going too far.'
After Selaria's bid, no one else raised their paddle. The auctioneer began finalizing the sale.
"50,000 crowns, going once, going twi—"
He was interrupted by a deep, powerful voice from one of the upper-floor VIP rooms. The speaker remained unseen.
"I'll offer 100,000 crowns for that boy."
The auctioneer, not missing a beat, declared.
"100,000 crowns, going once…going twice…sold!"
Selaria gritted her teeth in frustration as she glared at the VIP room. She was eager to confront whoever had dared to claim her product, but one of her guards—a seasoned, elderly man—stepped forward and spoke cautiously.
"Miss, even with the combined strength of all your guards, we wouldn't stand a chance against that individual. The mantra energy emanating from them is overwhelming."
Surprised by his words, Selaria reluctantly accepted the advice and stormed off in anger.
After her departure, Abaddon was led away, Eleanor was brought forward. Though she tried to maintain her composure, tears streamed down her face as she looked at Abaddon, her eyes silently screaming for help.
The auctioneer dragged her to the platform with a smirk.
"A delicate flower, my men don't let this opportunity run away from you, she might grow to be a beautiful woman in no time. Starting bid: 5,000 crowns."
"10,000."
Growled a man in the crowd.
The bids escalated rapidly until one man, his lustful gaze fixed on Eleanor, outbid everyone with an offer of 30,000 crowns.
As soon as the gavel fell, the man rushed to the stage, drooling with anticipation. Everyone present knew his intentions, and the women in the audience expressed their disgust, but no one dared intervene. The man was now Eleanor's owner.
The man grabbed her roughly by the hair, dragging her off the stage. Eleanor cried out, struggling against her chains, calling for help.
"Young Master! Help me!"
Abaddon's heart raced as he watched Eleanor being dragged away. Rage surged through him once more. Without hesitation, he leaped off the staircase, landing beside the platform with enough force to startle the guards tasked with escorting him to his new owner.
Wasting no time, he charged into the group, pulling Eleanor back with all his strength. The fat man, blinded by his twisted desires, didn't even notice the chains slipping from his grip until one of his men pointed it out.
Chaos erupted in the room.
Abaddon stood a few paces away, holding Eleanor protectively. The broken chains dangled from his hands as he glared at the buyer.
"How dare a slave defy me!"
The fat man shouted on top of his lungs in anger, he waved to his guards.
"Kill him! Beat him to death!"
Abaddon, seeing the gang rushing toward him, quickly pushed Eleanor behind him. But he couldn't avoid the first strike—a vicious punch that sent him flying past her. The guards didn't stop, the ganged up on his and begun their relentless brutal assault.
Several seconds later, Abaddon found himself in a pool of blood, as he continued to receiving devastating blows.
Amist the chaos, one of the guards raised his boot and stomped on Abaddon's chest with such force that the ground beneath him cracked.
That was the final act that damaged him, breaking bones and ribs as he coughed up blood from his lifeless throat.
Abaddon's vision blurred as darkness crept in. The crowd watched with sadistic delight, while Orlan, in a fit of rage, broke free from his captors and shielded Abaddon with his frail body.
Eleanor stood frozen in horror as tears streamed down her face. For the first time, a devastating sense of loss gripped her—a loss she could not bear. Her voice trembled as she shakily screamed.
"Stop! Please, stop!"
But her cries fell on deaf ears.
Out of nowhere, the fat man reappeared behind her with a twisted smile on his face. He grabbed her by the hair and begun dragging her away once again.
"No! Leave me alone! Don't hurt them!"
Eleanor sobbed, struggling against his
grip.
Her desperate screams were the last sounds Abaddon heard before succumbing to the darkness.
Suddenly, the fat man halted in place as a powerful surge of mantra energy began creeping through the room. The oppressive aura was impossible to ignore; not only did the man feel its chilling presence, but so did every participant in the hall. The air grew heavy, and a tense silence fell over the crowd.
Then, the same voice that had purchased Abaddon earlier resounded from the VIP room, cold and commanding:
"Young people these days think they are above the heavens. You dare damage the goods I've purchased... it's only fair that you pay with your life."
All eyes turned toward the source of the voice.
A powerful silhouette emerged from behind the luxurious velvet drapes on the upper floor, the figure's imposing presence drawing everyone's attention.