Max woke to the sound of rushing water, his body sprawled on soft grass by a riverbank. He sat up, clutching his head as fragments of memory flashed before him. These were fragments of his entire life before he died.
"So… that's how it ends," he murmured.
"But wait… why am I here? How can I move and think? I… I remember dying. Is this transmigration, like in those novels?"
He stumbled to the water's edge, gazing at his reflection. A man in his late 30s stared back at him: dark hair, piercing brown eyes, and a lean, unremarkable physique. He sighed.
"Not bad, but my old body was way better."
Before he could gather his thoughts, a searing pain shot through his skull. Memories that weren't his flooded his mind. He saw the life of Bentos Filvishtern, a minor noble in a cultivation world.
"A world of cultivation? And I'm… Bentos? Damn."
Realization struck. "Wait, they're coming for me… knights, because of my… indiscretions with noblewomen? And moreover my meridians are destroyed. Shit."
Before he could run, a golden-clad knight descended from the sky, lifting him high into the air. Ten more knights surrounded him, their swords gleaming.
"This is the end for you, Bentos," the leader declared.
Max smirked. "Fuck you."
He spat in the knight's face, catching him off guard. The knight lost his grip, and Max plummeted to the ground. The last thing he felt was his neck snapping.
...
Max's consciousness flickered as the pain of his shattered neck and broken body faded into darkness. The next thing he felt was cold metal against his skin and the faint echo of rattling chains.
He opened his eyes to darkness. A faint, damp chill pressed against his skin. The air smelled of mildew and despair. Slowly, he became aware of his body: smaller, weaker, yet unnaturally light. Chains bound his wrists and ankles, the cold metal biting into his skin.
"Where… am I?" he muttered, his voice soft and unfamiliar, carrying a high-pitched, youthful tone.
Alarmed, he raised his hands to his face, touching smooth skin and delicate features. His fingers trembled as they brushed over sharp cheekbones and a narrow jawline.
A faint glimmer of light reflected in a shallow puddle nearby. Crawling towards it, Max stared at his reflection. A pale face framed by silken white hair stared back, its crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. His heart skipped a beat.
"Again... This… this isn't me," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I… I'm a kid? No, something else…"
The rattle of chains drew his attention. Around him were cages—rows upon rows of them, each filled with figures both human and inhuman. Some bore animalistic features: fur-covered ears, tails, or claws. Others radiated faint auras of suppressed power. All were bound, their expressions a mix of anger, resignation, and most prominent fear.
A loud, gruff voice shattered the silence. "Lot 23! Prepare him for the presentation!"
Heavy footsteps approached. Max turned to see a towering figure, a grotesque blend of human and beast, unlocking his cage. The creature's yellowed eyes glinted as it sneered down at him.
"Move it, runt," the guard growled, yanking Max forward. The chains on his wrists clattered as he stumbled out of the cage, his smaller body struggling to keep up with the guard's forceful pull.
They started walking past other prison cells like the one he was in. Now Max could better see the entities of different races. The longer they walked, the louder it got. As they got closer to the curtain, he heard:
"Lot number 22 sold for three thousand gold marks, to the man in the colorful suit."
Then they entered a brighter chamber, the oppressive gloom replaced by harsh, artificial light. Rows of spectators lined the room, their faces a mix of greed, indifference, and hunger. A grand stage loomed ahead, where other slaves were paraded and auctioned off like livestock. Max's heart pounded as he was pushed onto the platform. Whispers rippled through the crowd, their voices cutting through his haze of confusion.
"A vampire child… rare."
"Look at that beauty—worth a fortune."
"Perfect for a high noble's collection."
Max gritted his teeth, crimson eyes narrowing. A vampire? So that's what I am now. Not bad, really not bad. But race aside, that's another damn reincarnation. Great. His gaze flicked across the room, searching for anything—any weakness, any opportunity. But the chains binding him and the guards stationed nearby left little hope.
He stood silently, forcing his mind to focus. First things first… survive.
The auctioneer stepped onto the stage, his voice sharp and commanding as it echoed through the hall. He was a gaunt man with slicked-back hair and a predatory gleam in his eyes.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, spreading his arms theatrically, "today we present to you a truly unique specimen. Lot 23—a pureblooded vampire child! Perfectly preserved, untainted, and… extremely rare."
The crowd's murmur grew louder. Some leaned forward in their seats, their eyes alight with curiosity and greed. Others whispered among themselves, gauging the value of such a prize.
"Let's start the bidding at 500 gold marks!" the auctioneer declared, his voice cutting through the noise.
Hands shot up almost immediately.
"Six hundred!"
"Seven hundred!"
"One thousand!"
Max stood motionless, his crimson eyes scanning the crowd. Each bidder seemed more grotesque than the last: a corpulent merchant with gold rings on every finger, a noblewoman with a cold, calculating and perverted smile, and a cloaked figure whose face was obscured entirely. The cloaked figure's presence made his skin crawl.
The bidding escalated quickly, each shout more fervent than the last. The auctioneer's grin widened as the price soared.
"Three thousand gold marks!"
The crowd quieted as the cloaked figure raised a gloved hand. A raspy voice emerged from beneath the hood.
"Ten thousand gold marks!"
A collective gasp rippled through the hall. Even the auctioneer paused, momentarily stunned. Regaining his composure, he cleared his throat.
"Ten thousand marks! Going once, going twice… sold to the esteemed representative of House Vornic."
Max's stomach sank as the cloaked figure approached the stage. The guards unlocked his chains and handed him over without a second thought. The figure's gloved hand gripped his arm, cold and unyielding.
As they exited the hall, Max couldn't help but glance back at the cages, the faces of other slaves fading into the shadows. He turned his attention to his captor, his mind racing.
"What do you want with me?" he demanded, his voice sharper than he intended.
The cloaked figure chuckled, the sound low and sinister.
A chill ran down Max's spine. He clenched his fists, crimson eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. 'If they think I'll go down without a fight, they've got another thing coming.'
And with that, the heavy doors of the slave market closed behind them, sealing Max's fate… for now.