The Fire Core sold at 760 gold to a rotund man in yellow robes who looked far too proud of himself. The attendants wheeled the pedestal away with practiced grace, and soon, the second item took its place.
"Next," the auctioneer said, his voice rising slightly, "we present a blade forged by the renowned smith Avel Droan of the Sunfire Principality."
That na drew genuine reaction.
Even Arianne raised a brow. "Avel Droan?" she murmured. "Now that’s impressive. His work rarely circulates in the kingdom."
Michael didn’t react outwardly.
"Avel Droan forged this weapon thirty-one years ago," the auctioneer continued, as an attendant removed the silk cover. "The blade has since changed hands six tis... and now, it finds its way to our humble chamber."
Gasps followed as the weapon was revealed.
It wasn’t adorned in jewels or magic inscriptions. No, it was painfully simple—sleek black steel with a gently curved edge and a faint sheen that made it look wet. But its presence... it commanded the room.
"Starting bid: 1,200 gold."
The room didn’t hesitate. Paddles flew up like it was a reflex.
Even Arianne leaned forward slightly. "Now this is a real auction," she whispered.
The bidding reached 2,000 gold before slowing. A scholar with ink-stained fingers and a white-furred mantle clinched the final offer.
Michael didn’t bid. But he did commit the look of the blade to mory.
One silver coin was roughly equivalent to a dollar in Aurora. That ant this trade was worth over 150,000 dollars. A substantial amount, by any standard.
The third item was a scholar’s curiosity: an ancient scroll sealed in glass, supposedly taken from a tomb deep beneath the Sea.
The fourth was a set of beast claws said to retain their poison even after death, mounted on a chain.
The fifth was a palm-sized silver box—locked, and no one knew what was inside. It drew laughter, then curiosity, and finally a massive bid from an older woman in green robes who claid to "feel destiny in her bones."
Michael’s only comnt during that was a deadpan: "Expensive gamble."
Arianne chuckled. "That’s half the fun."
The sixth item was perhaps the most visually stunning—a harp carved from what was said to be the horn of a sky-stag. The strings shimred with threads of light and, according to the auctioneer, could mimic the voice of any singer it heard. It was bought by a young noblewoman with tear-streaked makeup and an entourage of maids.
Michael watched her briefly, wondering if she’d bought it for nostalgia... or heartbreak.
Item after item passed. Each one more extravagant or mysterious than the last.
And though none of it interested Michael personally, he had to admit—it was entertaining.
Not just the auction, but the quiet space he shared with Arianne.
There was sothing about the soft lighting, the distance from the crowd, the occasional brush of their shoulders when they leaned forward to whisper remarks. It wasn’t romantic.
At least, not to Michael.
But it was comfortable.
At one point, Arianne had smiled at him, wine glass in hand, and said, "If you ever find yourself bored at the capital, you can visit . My father’s estate is large enough. Just send word in advance."
Michael had only nodded with a small smile. He hadn’t promised anything. But he didn’t dismiss it either.
Then ca the seventh item.
The seventh item was rolled in under a thick, grey cloth. Unlike the earlier displays, it wasn’t set on a pedestal. This one ca on wheels—and its shape was unmistakable.
A cage.
Arianne’s lips thinned into a frown the mont she saw it.
"Oh," she said softly, the mirth gone from her voice. "It seems the trade has shifted—from what to who."
Michael didn’t need her to explain. He understood imdiately, and a faint crease ford between his brows.
Slave trade.
He hadn’t seen it since coming to this world—hadn’t even heard of it, at least not in Aurora. But here, in the heart of a noble gathering, behind velvet curtains and gold-tipped wine glasses, it had apparently reared its head.
His gaze sharpened.
The auctioneer’s voice carried again, but this ti with a touch more caution, almost as if he knew this would provoke mixed reactions.
"Our next offering," he said, "is exceedingly rare."
Michael’s eyes narrowed.
The cloth was pulled back.
And what was revealed silenced the room.
Inside the cage stood a figure—tall, lithe, and completely still.
A girl.
No chains bound her limbs. She wasn’t hunched, nor did she cower like a beaten servant. She stood upright, proud even, her back straight and chin raised. Her clothing was minimal and foreign, clearly not of local make. Her skin was dark with a faint shiny glow, her hair long and silver-blonde, cascading down her back like liquid moonlight.
But it wasn’t her beauty that stole Michael’s attention.
It was her ears.
They were long. Unnaturally so—elegant, sweeping back at a sharp angle and twitched faintly.
Michael’s breath caught.
"An elf?" he muttered.
Michael’s mind reeled.
He was well aware that there were myriad races in the universe.
But even after two months since his awakening, he hadn’t t one yet.
Not until now.
This was the first ti since his transmigration that he was faced with another intelligent race.
A real, living, breathing elf.
And she was in a cage.
The room had gone utterly still. Even the soft murmurs and clinks of glasses had died away, replaced by a thick, collective silence.
The auctioneer took a slow breath, letting the tension steep before he continued.
"Yes," he said, his voice deliberate. "You are correct to guess. This is a pure-blooded dark elf."
Gasps, then sharp whispers, spread like wildfire through the room.
"Now, before anyone grows too unsettled, allow to clarify her... presence here. This one was not captured on a hunt, nor bought from a slaver ship. She was found after a failed assassination attempt on a noble lord."
******
A/N: Thank you for the magic castle Shannon_Walker_6245. I really appreciate it! Bonus Chapters coming soon!
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