Haraj-e Elysi
The grandeur of the Grand Arena enveloped the roaring crowd, every seat filled with eager spectators awaiting the spectacle about to unfold, but I still had the best seat in the house. In the center of the arena, the mighty champion Go Gin, a giant by might and stature, undefeated, clad in ugly bronze-colored full plate armor that had him covered from head to toe and wielding a formidable and crude giant club, stood with an air of invincibility. Opposite him, a lesser-known challenger, a nameless warrior in light leather armor that would offer almost no protection against the obscenely sized metal club, nervously gripped a spear, his eyes darting around the imposing amphitheater.
As the tension mounted, the announcer's voice boomed across the arena, amplified by the acoustics of the ancient structure:
"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the grandest stage in all of Arwintar, nay, the grandest stage in the entire Empire! Today, we witness a clash of titans! Or rather, a clash of man against a titan! In this corner, the undefeated champion, the scourge of many foes, the master of the battlefield - Go Gin!"
The crowd erupted in thunderous applause and cheers, acknowledging the renowned warrior who had bested countless opponents in the past.
"And in this corner, a brave soul who dares to challenge the unbeatable! A man of courage and determination, ready to face the ultimate test in the sands of the Imperial Arena!"
The announcer's words were met with a mix of supportive murmurs and curious whispers from the audience, unsure of what to expect from the underdog who had stepped into the lion's den.
"Will Go Gin continue his reign of dominance, or will destiny favor the bold and the brave? Let the combat commence!"
With a dramatic flourish of his arm, the announcer signaled the start of the duel. The crowd's anticipation reached a crescendo as the combatants squared off, the roar of men expecting blood shed echoing through the ancient stone walls.
Personally, I felt that these people treated life like a game, and in every game, you eventually lose.
All the same…
The smaller combatant, who could simply be referred to as 'The man' muttered something, his lips moving barely seen beneath his half-helm, that could not be heard by man or woman in the Arena, for so loud was the noise of the crowd. However, when his body glowed, it was obvious what he had done. He had invoked a Martial Art, that magic of the warriors of old, meant to help him in this battle. To those experienced in combat, they would estimate that the warrior enhanced his speed, so that he might dart to and fro from his foe.
The spearman shot off quickly, his sandals kicking up dust in the air behind him. The giant Go Gin was eagerly awaiting his foe, who was rushing him. The spearman was trying to end the fight quickly, perhaps via a critical hit.
But it was unlikely. Against a heavily armored foe, blunt force is best, or wrestling your foe to the ground and then using something very sharp and pointy to stab at the weak points in the armor from close range, usually this would be a rondel dagger. This is the opinion of every knight in Baharuth, who were members of the single greatest heavy infantry corps across all human lands.
The giant Go Gin seemed to know this as well, as when the spearman closed rank and thrust his spear into Go Gin's kneecap, it simply 'clanged' and did no visible damage. The giant tried retaliating by kicking the man, but with a flip, the man jumped over the giant's kick.
The end result was that the giant was with his back turned while the man was trying to get up. Seeing an opportunity, the man tensed up, readying himself to pounce. However, the man hesitated at the last moment.
This was a wise move, as Go Gin had followed up the kick by spinning counterclockwise, completing a full rotation, with his face turned toward his opponent while his giant arm was aiming that club of his right at his opponent, or rather where his opponent would have been had he taken the bait.
The man jumped back, and took a moment to compose himself. There was a brief pause in the fighting. The calm before the storm, if you will, but it was clear to all this was still the probing stage, the warm-up. The man had to play it perfectly, to wear out his opponent and poke and prod him, and he could afford no mistake, whereas a single errant blow would do devastating damage, perhaps killing him outright if it struck true.
What compelled this man to come to this place and risk his life before strangers that would praise him today and forget him tomorrow?
In the early morning light, the Grand Arena was glistening like a gem from the sunlight. But the match never took place early in the morning. It took time for people to travel to the Arena, to buy tickets, to buy food, to have a pre-match conversation with their friends and acquaintances, to bet on the winners and losers and if a soul would leave their mortal coil that day. The citizens of Arwintar would do all this, then they would take their seats and prepare for the spectacle.
This occurred every three to four days during the 'season of blood' which lasted for roughly three months before the annual declaration of war by the Emperor on Re-Estize. After the war was done, there would be a roughly three month long break in Arena festivities, before the schedule shifted to one day of spectacle every week. This would continue until the snows came,where there was a break again of one month, then the spectacle would begin again, once a week, and would continue until summer.
A full schedule, week for week, month for month, year for year, of blood and sand, all for the entertainment of the plebs, and the enrichment of the patricians.
Granted, not every day in the Arena was a simple one vs one fight. Sometimes one man, an established champion, would face many, sometimes it would be two massive teams brawling against each other in a giant melee. Other times there were series of duels, in a knock-out format, like a tournament, and there were also free-for-alls in which the last-man-standing took the grand prize.
But more than that, there were even days when in the Arena ancient battles were recreated, with the historical winners vs the historical losers, divided into teams. Sometimes these fights would be man vs man, sometimes man vs beast, sometimes man vs monsters. Beasts and monsters would be captured from the fringes of the Empire and brought to Arwintar for the express purpose of dying for man's amusement.
But it was not all blood. Sometimes there were theatrical plays and chariot races, which tended to have far less blood. Not no blood, simply far less.
The Grand Arena was like a stomach constantly devouring, so never-ending was its greed and gluttony. Men, beasts, gold, steel, paper, it didn't discriminate.
To many citizens it was the highlight of their day, yet to many it was also something egal. They had better worries. Yet the population of Arwintar was so massive that the Arena was almost always packed.
Earlier this morning, all throughout the streets of the city, numerous criers were promoting the match in the Arena. They cited it as a 'great spectacle' and that every red-blooded citizen should endeavor to watch the mighty Go Gin at least once in their lives, but if they watch him once they will want to watch him again. This giant, this undefeated warrior, this freak of nature who was likely not human. This giant, who may be some alchemical freak of nature, or an overgrown beastman, or a troll, had the far greater odds of victory. If an observer mused that he could lift a grown horse with one hand, they would not be mistaken. They lavished heaps of praise on him, and many warriors and young boys idolized him.
And against him, stood a man. Who had no glory, no acclaim, no name. Just a spear.
The man started the fight, moving quickly, casting his net with precision, aiming to ensnare the giant and gain an advantage. Perhaps he hoped his mobility might be an advantage, or that he could trip the giant and pierce him with his spear while the giant was immobilized.
The net billowed through the air, but Go Gin sidestepped with surprising agility for his size, avoiding the entanglement.
So much for that tactic.
Nonetheless, the man was not discouraged. He rushed forward and began to strike yet again, knowing that he couldn't afford another mistake. He danced around Go Gin, probing for weaknesses, looking for any opening he could exploit. Each strike he made with his spear was a risk, as he opened himself up to a counterattack.
Seeing that his spear lacked penetrating power, he invoked another Martial Art, which caused his spear to glow with faint blue light.
Go Gin at one point let out a giant roar that made the very pillars of the Arena tremble, and made the man paralyzed with fear. The giant used the fact that the man finally stopped leaping from place to place to swing his club in a giant downward arc, but at the last moment, the man rolled to the side toward his net, and in a fluid motion, picked it up and threw it at the giant's face, obscuring his vision. Then, he attacked.
The next time he tried to pierce Go Gin, he succeeded, and managed to lodge his spear behind the giant's knee, but the man's victory was short lived. Neither scream nor shout could be heard from the giant, and it seemed based on the giant's lack of reaction, it would take a thousand more of these thrusts to his limbs to end the beast.
In the brief second the man spent to dislodge the spear from Go Gin's body, he made a miscalculation about how fast the giant was. That move to retrieve his weapon simply opened himself up to being smacked by the armored giant's mailed fist, which sent him flying several feet backwards.
Worst of all, the spear had remained lodged in the giant's body.
The crowd reacted to both spear and fist with loud approval.
After a few seconds passed, the man came to his senses yet again, and quickly stood up. His legs were shaking, his eyesight was dizzy, his ears were ringing, his hands were sweaty and he had difficulty breathing, likely due to broken ribs. Go Gin's blow had taken a lot out of him, yet he was still alive.
The man used another Martial Art, evident by his body glowing in a leafy green color for a few seconds, and afterwards he could stand more confidently.
There was a brief moment of respite from the combat that the man used to take off his helmet. He wiped his brow, and when he looked at his hand, he saw blood upon it. Blood pouring from a wound on his head, and blood from the beast he had just now pierced.
The blood and sand mixed together. The land was fertile with the smell of death.
"That was well-struck." The giant said as he took the spear out of his body, the blood spewing forth like a river but slowing more and more each second until it ceased to flow in a matter of a dozen heartbeats.
"I didn't think you talked." The man replied.
"We warriors talk with our weapons, do we not?" The giant rebutted.
The man chuckled. "True enough."
Go gin threw the spear toward the man's feet, and it clanged harmlessly off the dirt. The man picked it up, but was nonetheless confused. A warrior's attempt at honor, a rule of the arena, or perhaps mercy to a dying man?
"Alas, you are not the one I seek."
"The one you seek? Who do you seek?" The man asked, confused.
"A worthy challenger. You are not the one who can defeat. Now, it is time to finish this. Do you wish to surrender, or die with your weapon in hand? I am fine with either." The giant spoke, his voice echoing through the openings in his bronze-colored horned helmet.
The man seemed put off by the question, and took his time to answer.
At that moment of silence, the roaring of the crowd also quieted down, awaiting the inevitable choice of the man. Eternal life through glory, or temporary life through flesh?
They could not hear his words, this conversation between competitors.
But I could. I was but a mere 30 feet above them, looking down on their fight, unseen by everyone in the arena, concealed by [Greater Invisibility], and I could hear everything. I was an unknown third party in their conversation, an impartial observer, a chronicler of a man's potential final moments.
The man did not answer with words.
He gritted his teeth against the pain, focusing on the task at hand. He knew he couldn't match Go Gin's strength, but he could be faster, more agile. At least, that was what he was hoping.
The man began to rush toward the giant and let out a loud cry that reached the very heavens. With a desperate gamble, the man feinted left and then lunged right, thrusting his spear at the gaps in Go Gin's armor. Go Gin dodged the first two piercing strikes, but it seemed that he would not dodged the third.
Yet again however, the giant displayed surprising quickness. The spear was accurate in that it was aiming right at the gap in Go Gin's visor and would have likely pierced through his eye, but it did not find its target. In the last moment, Go Gin had ducked, and the spear went right in the gap between the horns on his helmet.
At that moment, realization set in. The man's effort was in vain.
With a furious bellow, Go Gin swung his club horizontally one final time, a blow that landed with devastating force against the man's rib cage. A sickening crunch could be heard from the man, and roars of cheer from the crowd as the man flew off more than two dozen feet to the side.
Thus ended the life of this unknown combatant. A man that tried to fight a giant for some reason only he knew. Gold, glory, it matters not.
His body was dragged off unceremoniously out of the arena.
"Ladies and gentlemen! What a spectacle we have just witnessed! Another victory for our incredible giant Go Gin! Another challenger vanquished, yet also one who obtained eternal glory in the Arena! It was a hard-fought battle, yet in the end, the contest was never in doubt!" The crowd roared ever more loudly.
"Now, we will take a quick break, and in half an hour, the Twins, those brothers of sword and board, shall be facing off against two beastmen brought here from the far beyond the borders of the Empire, from those savage Abelion Hills that contain all manner of monstrosities!"
Half an hour break between this fight and the next. The man's body will still be warm.
A few hours later…
The fight in the Arena had left a bad taste in my mouth. I consider it a bad mark against this city's purity. Yes, the man chose to die instead of surrender, but I do wonder what made him decide to even fight in the first place. What made him face death head on like that? Perhaps I should ask him sometime.
Or perhaps not.
As for the moment, I'll continue on my walk through the city. I had taken a moment to acquire Baharuth currency through the private vaults of whichever nameless fool ran the Grand Arena. It was some bald man with a silly mustache and small beady eyes that made him look like a confused gerbil. It was quite easy. Just walked into the office, cast a [Sleep] spell on him, and took what I needed.
Do I feel bad about it? About taking gold earned by blood? No. The man's belly was so round he could do with a bit of poverty. And besides, I need new clothes. The ones I bought in E-Rantel are too raggedy for my tastes, and the ones I own in my own right are too resplendent. The clothes I was wearing for now would serve for now, but I wanted a new set before I went to check out the Magic Academy.
I hadn't really planned things out yet… I was sort of making things up as I went along, but I was certain over time I would get the hang of things. And besides, isn't all exploring 'making it up as you went along'?
The people of Arwintar were generally cheerful and seemed to have optimism for the future. Mothers were walking around with their daughters, sons were learning from their fathers, goods were transported by carriage regularly. The city felt alive, to put it simply.
I saw what appeared to be a married couple, a man with salt-and-pepper hair and a brown-haired young woman walking with their tiny yet adorable daughter. The girl was walking between the two of them while holding both her mother and her father's arms. I approached them.
"Hello. Do you have a minute?"
They turned to the side toward me and the girl looked up at me with curiosity, her hazel-colored eyes glowing because of the sunlight's refraction. It was quite a pretty sight.
"Yes?" The man answered in one word.
"I'm new to this city. I was looking for directions."
"Oh? Oh, are you from E-Rantel? We get plenty of visitors from there." The woman asked me.
"In a sense."
"What do you need?" Said the man while patting his daughter's head.
"I'm looking for some place to buy clothes. I don't want low-quality fabrics."
"Well, we can't have that now, can we!" The woman lit up with a smile on her face. I had noticed that both her husband and child were wearing nice clothes, which was one of the reasons I decided to approach them in particular, the other being they looked approachable. Granted, that could be said for everyone in Arwintar, as not only had I seen no beggars so far or any ruined districts unlike in E-Rantel, but I also saw that the general level of affluence was higher here.
"What kind of clothes do you need? Clothes for work, for travel, for formal events? There's quite a selection, you know." She spoke again.
"Something for everyday usage that is comfortable and still looks respectable." I replied.
"There's Royal Regalia, over on Mark Hamildan Street." The man offered, and the girl, no more than a toddler, nodded cutely, as if to affirm her father's words.
"They're no good dearie."
"No? Why? My cousin buys from them."
"Well, the store owner committed adultery on his wife with a slave girl."
I blanked. I blinked. Adultery? Slave girl?
The man was confused. "How is that relevant? The man has good wares."
"I won't let our money go to support someone like that. It's ungodly."
"Right…" The man scratched the back of his head.
"Mommy? What's adatai?" The girl asked. We all turned toward her with confusion on all our faces, myself most of all. They keep slaves here?
"Damn you woman, now look what we gotta deal with." The man whispered/shouted at his wife. It was a silent shout, the type people do in public when they don't want to attract attention.
"You people have slaves?" I blurted out.
The woman looked toward me stupidly. "We don't. They're too expensive." She replied, then her husband took both her and their child by their hands and hastily excused himself. "Sorry, but we have to go. Good luck finding clothes." He said, and scurried off.
I was left standing in the middle of the street for what felt like minutes.
It was only the shouts of a carriage driver that eventually struck me out of my thoughts.
Meanwhile, in the Imperial Magic Academy…
Fluder Paradyne walked through the hallowed halls of the Imperial Magic Academy, his soft, loose white robe flowing gracefully around him. The necklace of crystal orbs clinked softly with each step, while his numerous magical rings glimmered in the dim light. Despite his short stature, he carried himself with the dignity of a master, his magnificent white beard and snow-white hair giving him an air of timeless wisdom. His eyes, full of light and knowledge, scanned the familiar surroundings with a mixture of nostalgia and purpose. But there was more than wisdom there. There was hunger. There was ambition. And there was also hatred.
"Everything handed to them on a platter, and yet all they do is fail," Fluder thought bitterly. "Or perhaps that is why they fail? Because they have teachers, because they live in safety, because they've never really known struggle."
Born in Belmous Village, which at the time of Fluder's birth was home to some 300-ish houses, yet is now home to no more than bones in the dirt and the grass growing above them, Fluder was old. Over 200 years old, Fluder was nothing more than a young lad fresh out of puberty, a boy really, a man only in name, when the Demon God of Insects swept through the plains of his home and consumed everything until there was nothing left living there. Fluder, a young lad, lost and alone, picked up some skills in magic quickly from various teachers, but was too weak at the time to properly get revenge himself or to gaze into the abyss of the arcane properly. He was at that time, a worm blessed to be able to walk on two feet, yet his quick growth caused him to become overconfident. He thought he could walk into the Floating City and learn its mysteries, but he was denied.
There would be no shortcut for him. No grand tome revealing hidden spells known only to him, no teacher bestowing ancient wisdom, no magic item that would instantly give him knowledge. It was grueling, annoying, thankless, and slow. To grow in wisdom and knowledge, to build this Academy, to search for the truth. And he had to do it alone. Yet, these kids had it all handed to them, and were still too slow. Sophie, one of his brightest, was only of the 4th tier, and was admittedly a bit of a pervert. Arche, also a genius, dropped out due to family issues that he offered to solve but she stubbornly refused. Karl also had incredible potential to match or even surpass him, yet the lad ended up getting killed in a stupid experiment where he blew himself up. Fluder had 30 Chosen disciples, and not one of them was fit to inherit. It was disappointing.
As he wandered deeper into the academy, the sound of bubbling and soft murmuring caught his attention. Curious, Fluder followed the noise to one of the lesser-used research rooms. Peering inside, he saw Sophie, one of his most promising students, surrounded by an assortment of jars and flasks containing various types of slimes. Her brow was furrowed in concentration as she scribbled notes and observed the creatures with meticulous care.
Sophie was a striking figure, a woman with heterochromia eyes—her left eye a vivid blood red, while her right eye was a soft pink. Her fair complexion contrasted sharply with her dark purple hair, which fell in waves around her face. A scar over her left eye, partially concealed by a gold-rimmed monocle, added an air of mystery and danger to her appearance. She wore a white jacket with a hood and an open chest top that revealed her bosom, while a belt at her waist carried various items, including test tubes and other instruments. She exuded confidence, with a hint of a crazed and perverted edge, believing that humanity could advance through her research on monsters.
"Sophie," Fluder called softly, stepping into the room. His voice, though gentle, carried the weight of authority and wisdom.
Startled, Sophie looked up, her eyes widening in surprise. "Master Fluder! I didn't expect to see you here."
Fluder offered her a kind smile, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. "I could say the same, my dear. What brings you to this secluded corner of the academy?"
Sophie quickly composed herself, her initial surprise giving way to enthusiasm. "I've been researching slimes, Master. Their regenerative properties and potential uses in alchemy are fascinating. I believe there's much we can learn from them."
Fluder approached the table, examining the various specimens with interest. "Slimes, you say? An intriguing choice of study. What have you discovered so far?"
Sophie launched into an explanation, detailing her experiments and findings. As she spoke, Fluder listened intently, nodding occasionally and asking insightful questions. Despite his vast knowledge, he found himself genuinely impressed by her dedication and the progress she had made.
"You've done remarkable work, Sophie," Fluder said when she finished. "Your findings could indeed open new avenues in both alchemy and healing magic."
Sophie's face lit up with pride and gratitude. "Thank you, Master. Your encouragement means a great deal to me."
Fluder placed a hand on her shoulder, his touch light but reassuring. "Remember, the pursuit of knowledge is a noble endeavor, but it must always be tempered with wisdom and caution. Continue your research, but do not lose sight of the greater picture."
The greater picture of course was a useful term that he often used when dealing with the lesser-minded ones. It was a term he taught his favored pupil, the young Jircniv, how to use as well. It was a term used by both teachers and emperors.
"Devote yourself to the greater good." These words would often be spoken, but would two people agree that the same thing is the greater good? To Fluder, the greater good was simple. Knowledge of magic. Everything that had to be sacrificed for that knowledge was a worthy sacrifice.
Sophie nodded earnestly. "I understand, Master. I will heed your advice."
Fluder gave her a final, approving nod before turning to leave. As he walked away, he couldn't help but feel a pang of envy. Sophie and her peers had so much potential, so many years ahead of them to explore the depths of magic that he longed to see. Yet, he also felt a flicker of hope. Perhaps through their discoveries, he too might glimpse the abyss of magic he so desperately sought.
With renewed determination, Fluder continued his walk through the academy, the light of wisdom still shining brightly in his eyes. He took a moment to glance out the window toward the center of Arwintar, and activated the special ability he had that he could use through his eyes.
His eyes were blessed with a Talent, but not by birth. They belonged to another who no longer had need of them and could not use them. With those eyes that Fluder had personally and gently extracted before planting them within his own skull, Fluder could see the innate magical capacity of items and people. He could see just how much mana someone or something contained. This allowed him to check at a glance who had potential to be his student, who was growing and who was stagnating.
It developed into a bit of a skill. At a glance he could tell at what level of Tier Magic someone was. The higher the tier, the brighter the glow they emitted. Most people were like a candle, his students were like a torch, and the most gifted people he saw were like a bonfire.
He continued to stare, completely struck speechless.
His wrinkled fingers rubbed at his eyes again and again, all to ensure he was not mistaken.
Why was there a forest fire reaching up to the very heavens in his very own city? What was going on? Who was this, who contained such magical power, that he almost felt blinded by it? Was there an attack on the city? No, surely not, he would have heard by now.
Fluder felt fear, excitement, and hope, for the first time in a long time.
I had spent quite the pretty penny at a place called 'Royal Regalia' which fit the name quite properly. A long, flowing white cloak that draped over my shoulders and fell to the ground, with intricate designs and patterns on it that added a touch of elegance and mystique to the cloak, which also had a hood, was an instant hit for me.
Beneath it, somewhat hidden, I wore a purple tunic with subtle yet intricate patterns, of a very high quality, adorned with gold at the collar and cuffs, and also black pants that were somewhat bare-bones compared to the tunic and cloak, yet of still high quality. I completed the set with black leather gloves that went up to my forearms, a brown leather belt tied around my waist and a pair of practical and sturdy yet comfortable black boots.
All in all, I was satisfied by the shopping experience, and the shop owner, a distinguished older gentleman, made no unsavory comment at all about my appearance, considering my pointy ears and glowing eyes made it obvious I wasn't a human at first glance. Whether or not he thought I was a human or an elf, it didn't matter at the end of the day, as the man conducted himself properly and even earned himself a nice bonus at the end.
I gazed around myself at the splendor of the city. Daylight burned, and I used my time to explore around the city. I had already visited the Grand Arena earlier this morning, which left a few locations on my list that I wanted to visit before I went to the Imperial Palace. To be more specific, I wanted to visit the Temple to the Four, I wanted to visit the Imperial Magic Academy, the Adventurer's Guild, and the market.
However, while walking through the city, my ears picked up a tune. It came from what appeared to be a tavern. It was the middle of the day, yet it seemed particularly loud.
I was indecisive about whether or not to go in. The last time I went to a tavern, a man lost his eyes.
Eh, what's the worst that could happen.
I walked through the door, expecting to find another lusty song about barmaids with oversized breasts. Instead, I saw something far more… mundane.
In this lively tavern of Arwintar, whose name I do not know nor care to know for there are so many of these taverns in this city, where laughter and conversation blended with the clink of tankards, I saw and heard a troubadour holding court, with his courtiers around him waiting on his every move. It was a relatively young man, wielding his lute like a swordsman would wield a deadly weapon.
His voice, rich and resonant, wove a tale of ancient lands and a sovereign's valor—a melody that spoke of Emperor Escevell's triumph over the Wyvern Riding Tribes.
"In ancient desert lands where shadows roamed,
Mighty Escevell, on the Emperor's throne.
He rode 'gainst Wyverns' savage flight,
In southwest realms where sunsets bright."
The troubadour's fingers danced skillfully over the strings of his lute, each note carrying the weight of history and heroism.
"With sword and shield,
He led the fray,
His valor fierce,
The enemy would pay!
Through valleys deep and mountains tall,
He answered fate's relentless call!"
I leaned closer, curious by the tale unfolding in verse—a tribute to leadership and courage in the face of adversity. But how much of it was true. Did this man actually kill Wyverns? Were there actual Wyvern Riders?
"Against the Wyvern Riding Tribes he stood,
Their strength and fury, broken like cheap wood.
Yet Escevell, with steadfast might,
Brought dawn amidst the darkest night."
The tavern patrons, enthralled by the troubadour's storytelling, nodded or raised their tankards in silent homage to the Emperor's memory.
"Their arrows fell like autumn rain,
But Wyverns' pride could not sustain.
For Escevell, with strategy grand,
United empire, with steady hand."
As the song reached its peak, a wave of emotion swept through the room—pride, awe, and a deep respect for the past echoing in every line.
"Oh, how the banners waved in pride,
As savages scattered, fled to hide.
In history's annals, bold and true,
Escevell's name, forever true."
The people began to cheer loudly, clinking their tankards together in the honor of both the musician and the warrior.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you, my humble patrons!" The troubadour bowed, took off his hat and extended it in a graceful pose and proceeded to lavish praises on his customers.
Clever.
I had to say, it was not a bad song. I took out a silver coin from my pouch and threw it in an arc until it landed right in the man's hat, safely nestled there. The others soon began to do much the same. Satisfied, I left the tavern and continued on my journey through Arwintar.
My steps led me to an opulent building, its façade adorned with sculptures of mythical creatures and celestial beings. A sign above the grand entrance bore the words "Elysian Exchange and Auction House," and curiosity drew me in. Two guards wearing black armor and cruel half-helms and wielding halberds guarded the entrance.
I stood in front of them, waiting. They did not speak.
"May I enter?" I asked.
"No funny business." Growled one of them.
"No refunds." Growled the other.
Right…
I decided to walk through. The heavy wooden doors swung open to reveal an interior even more magnificent than the outside. Crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting a warm glow over the crowd gathered within. There were people talking, all clad resplendently, most likely nobles, discussing this and that. Politics most likely.
I tried to make myself unseen and occupy a corner and just observe. I didn't get much time. A bell rang from further inside the building, and soon enough like rats all the nobles scurried off. I tried following them, but two guards crossed their spears and blocked my way.
"You need a ticket to enter."
"Need a number to buy."
These two weren't any more identifiable from the two guarding the entrance to the building proper. I turned my head to the left and the right, until I found what appeared to be a receptionist's desk. It was staffed by a young woman with a bob cut, and she was protected by what appeared to be glass.
"Here to enter the Auction?" She asked cheerfully.
"...yes." I responded.
"Alrighty then, you're just in time. It's beginning soon, but I can fix you right up. I'll just need your name and a deposit."
"Deposit?"
"Coin deposit. We return it if you don't buy anything."
"What do you sell?"
She smiled. "Oh, goods and services. Livestock sometimes." The guards chuckled.
Is there a joke here? What am I missing here?
Silent and unable to formulate a response, I deposited the necessary gold, gave her my name, and took a small sign with a number on it.
Rows of plush chairs filled the room, each occupied by finely dressed individuals, their wealth evident in their attire. At the center of the hall was a raised platform, draped in crimson and gold, bearing the emblem of an elegant tree, its branches intertwined with runes. The air was thick with anticipation, the atmosphere almost festive, yet there was an undercurrent of something darker. I felt unnerved in this place, as if something horrible would happen, or if I had failed to see what was plainly obvious.
I found an open seat toward the back, far away from the vermin gathering closer to the stage. The vermin continued to speak, and as they did, a deep unease continued to make itself known in my soul.
An auctioneer, dressed in lavish robes and dripping with jewels, took the stage. He twirled his hand around him, and the curtains parted, revealing flesh.
On the stage stood a line of elves, their otherworldly beauty striking even to a seasoned warrior like myself. They were bound in chains, their faces a mix of resignation and defiance. Dark elves, no less, their noble features marred by the indignity of their situation.
"Behold," the announcer declared, his voice booming as he extolled the virtues of each elf. Gesturing to the first elf, a tall, graceful figure with silver hair and piercing blue eyes. "Eldarin, a master healer, proficient in both alchemy and healing magics, trained in the ancient arts of Elven medicine. His hands can mend wounds that no human doctor could dream of healing. Who will start the bidding?"
The crowd responded with fervent bids, hands shooting up as wealthy patrons vied for the healer. I watched, a mixture of fascination and revulsion churning within me. This was no ordinary auction; this was the cold commercialization of sentient beings, a stark contrast to the ideas and virtues written into my being at the time of my creation in Nazarick.
Next was a female elf, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders, her eyes a deep, haunting green. "Lythien, an accomplished musician and singer," the auctioneer announced. "Her voice can soothe the fiercest of tempers and bring joy to the darkest of hearts. A rare talent, indeed." She was dressed much like a noble would be, and though clearly beautiful, she was not a 'pleasure' slave, which was the mark of grace for her I supposed.
Again, the bids flew, each higher than the last. The room buzzed with excitement as the auction continued. I observed the bidders closely. There was a wealthy merchant, his girth a testament to his prosperity, who seemed particularly interested in acquiring entertainers for his lavish parties. A stern-faced noblewoman, draped in furs, sought a personal healer for her ailing son. A young nobleman, barely more than a boy, bid eagerly for a tutor, a wise old elf with eyes that seemed to hold centuries of knowledge.
Then came a heartbreaking sight: elven children, their innocence starkly contrasting with the opulence around them. "These young ones are adept in household chores and can be trained to serve in any capacity. Their youth allows them to learn how to read and write quickly, and as a matter of fact many of them already have. They will learn to work and be loyal to you, that much I can guarantee" the auctioneer proclaimed, his tone as businesslike as ever. The bids were quick, the patrons seeing them as long-term investments.
It was obvious to me why. If these people could secure these slaves while young and give them decent enough treatment, eventually they would grow to love their chains. Isolated and afraid and ostracized, they would learn to worship the hand that fed them, and over time would abandon all hope of returning to their native land.
A pair of formidable warriors followed, their muscular forms and stern expressions hinting at their prowess in battle. "Strong and loyal, these elves will serve well in any noble's guard," the auctioneer said, and the bids soared, driven by those seeking to bolster their personal guards.
Finally, a hush fell over the room as the auctioneer introduced a group of elven women, their beauty accentuated by scant, revealing clothing. "These rare beauties are perfect for companionship and more intimate services," he announced with a knowing smile, and the crowd's interest peaked, bids coming in rapid succession.
Should I end every human life here? Destroy this city? Destroy this Empire? Destroy Slane while I'm at it?
I can. I easily can. I don't really think they can stop me. I can easily justify myself to Lord Ainz if push comes to shove.
The wood on my chair creaks and cracks, crumbling into sawdust beneath my fingers. A few people gaze back toward me, but most ignore me, their eyes too drawn to the scantily clad dark elven women.
Restraint. Yes. There's innocent people here, no matter how few. And perhaps these people can be reformed instead of destroyed. I shall hope for that, for now.
The room's energy shifted as the auctioneer signaled for silence. "And now, the grand prize of tonight's auction," he announced, his voice lowering dramatically. "One of the Elven King's daughters, captured by the warriors of the Slane Theocracy and brought to us. Behold, her signature heterochromatic eyes, marking her as one of the Elven King's descendants. I give you, Perska."
A young girl was led onto the stage, her heterochromatic eyes—one blue, one green—wide with a mixture of fear and defiance. Her dirty blonde hair framed a delicate face that still bore the innocence of youth. The crowd's murmur turned to a collective gasp, and the bidding began almost immediately.
All I could see was Aura in her place.
"One hundred gold coins!" called a slimy noble, his beady eyes gleaming with greed. He was draped in rich silks, his fingers heavy with rings.
"Two hundred!" I shouted, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions within me. The money I had taken from that fat fool in the Arena would hopefully serve me well. I didn't expect to spend it like this, but needs must.
"Three hundred!" the noble countered, sneering in my direction. His confidence was unsettling.
"Four hundred!" I retorted, my mind racing. The room was electric with tension, all eyes on the two of us.
"Five hundred!" The noble's voice was calm, assured. I hesitated, my hand trembling. This was all the money I had. I already spent the rest of it. I could outbid him no further.
"One thousand!" the noble declared, his smirk widening as he saw the defeat in my eyes. The auctioneer's proclamation was like a spear against my heart, and the room erupted in applause.
I stood there, helpless, as the princess was led away, and it felt like her eyes had hope for the first time in a long time before it was crushed in a brief, heart-wrenching moment. The guards, heavily armed and vigilant, ensured that the auction proceeded without disruption.
I took a good look at the noble. I took a good look at the man who ran this butcher's market, and at all those who willingly participated. I remembered the face of the girl who sold tickets for this place. I etched their faces into memory. One day soon, their dooms would visit them like a thief in the night.
