Sunlight pierced the tall windows of the Serpent's Coil suite like unwelcome blades, casting harsh shadows across the rumpled crimson sheets. Alex stirred slowly, the warmth of Mara's body draped over his a temporary balm against the growing knot in his gut. She woke almost instantly, her auburn hair a tangled mess against his chest, and that manic, ecstatic smile bloomed across her face as soon as her eyes met his.
"Hero," she purred, voice still rough from the night's excesses. She pressed soft, insistent kisses to his chest, trailing lower with eager devotion. "Good morning. Ready to claim more rewards today? I can't wait to see you pick someone new… to kneel with her while you make us both scream your name."
The words stirred heat in him, but it felt muted this morning, dulled by the weight of the pouch at his bedside. Alex caught her braid, tugging her upward until her lips hovered over his. He kissed her hard, possessive, but his mind was already drifting. One hundred and forty gold. It had felt like a fortune yesterday. Now it felt like a chain, holding him back from what he truly craved.
They didn't linger in bed long. Alex rolled her beneath him for a quick, rough grind, her whimpers and crazy smiles pulling him back to the moment briefly, but he pulled away before finishing, frustration simmering under his skin. "Later," he muttered, more to himself than her. "We've got business first."
They bathed in silence, dressed, and headed downstairs for breakfast: fresh bread slathered in butter, sharp cheese, boiled eggs dusted with herbs, and steaming black tea. Mara sat pressed against his side, her thigh warm against his under the table, fingers tracing teasing circles high on his leg. Every glance from her carried that delirious grin, as if the promise of the market alone was enough to set her aflame. But Alex ate mechanically, his fork stabbing at the eggs with more force than necessary.
One hundred and forty gold. Enough for a few weeks of luxury, maybe a decent weapon or armor upgrade. But for the kind of slave he envisioned, exotic, eager, adding to his growing harem? Pathetic. He had come to this world with power in his veins, fire in his hands, and now he was scraping by like some common adventurer. The thought burned hotter with every bite.
By mid-morning they reached the Lower Ward Slave Market.
The square bustled under the bright sun: wooden platforms gleaming with fresh polish, iron chains clinking in the breeze. Auctioneers in vivid vests barked lots with rhythmic flair. The crowd swelled: scarred mercenary captains haggling fiercely, silk-draped procurers from pleasure houses whispering bids, minor nobles lounging on shaded benches with disdainful smirks, adventurers scanning for cheap muscle or pretty distractions.
Alex and Mara claimed a spot near the central platform. The current offering was a cluster of five humans: three rugged men, two women, from a recent border skirmish. The auctioneer extolled their merits: "Strong laborers, broken-in fighters, and look at this one, curves to warm any cold night!"
Bids flew: thirty gold opening, climbing sharp and fast. The farmhand type sold for fifty-five. One woman, dark-haired, full-figured, eyes meekly downcast, sparked a frenzy and went for one hundred and eighty to a pleasure-house buyer who clipped a silk leash to her collar with a satisfied nod.
Alex's fists clenched at his sides. That could be his. Should be his. He leaned toward Mara. "How much for the good ones? Elves, beastkin, like you described."
Her smile faltered just a fraction, sensing the edge in his voice. "The trained beauties start higher, hero. One-fifty minimum for a basic pleasure slave. Elves at two-fifty, three hundred if they're magical or look pure. Beastkin with exotic markings, three-fifty, easy. Pairs or specialties? Even more."
He opened the pouch discreetly, fingers brushing the cool metal coins. One hundred and forty. After last night's indulgences, maybe one-thirty. His jaw tightened until it ached. Not enough. Not even close.
Another lot ascended: a lone elf girl, silver hair cropped short, pointed ears glinting with tiny rings, her lithe form graceful even in chains. The auctioneer crowed: "Elven agility, delicate features, perfect for intimate service or elegant display!" Opening bid: two hundred.
The numbers soared: two-twenty. Two-forty. Two-seventy. A veiled procurer in the front snagged her at three hundred and ten, leading her away with a proprietary hand on her waist.
Alex's blood boiled. He turned away from the platform, pacing a tight circle, mind racing. This was bullshit. He had the strength to cleave through raiders, summon fire from nothing. Why the hell was he broke? Back in Willowbrook he had saved a whole damn village and walked away with scraps. In this world power should mean wealth. Harems. Empires. Not scraping for coins like a beggar.
Ways to earn money flashed through his thoughts, each one sharper and more urgent than the last. Fight in the pits: he had seen signs for gladiatorial arenas on the way in. Crush some fools for big prizes, maybe even title belts or sponsor gold. Or delve into those labyrinths the tavern whispers kept mentioning: floors of monsters dropping loot, rare gear, piles of gold. Risky, sure, but with his unnatural strength and fire at his fingertips? He could clear floors others died on and walk out richer every time.
Gambling crossed his mind next: cards, dice, whatever dens Eldoria hid in the back streets. Charm his way in with Mara as bait, then clean house with a mix of luck and intimidation. Or raid himself: find weak bandit camps on the outskirts, slaughter them, take their haul, sell the survivors off just like Eldric did. Quick, dirty, effective.
Hiring out as a mercenary was another path: short jobs, bodyguard work, monster hunts. The city teemed with adventurers posting contracts on boards. With his proven combat skill he could demand premium rates. Anything. Everything. He refused to let this world tease him with power only to slap him down with poverty. He would stack gold fast, no matter the method.
"Hero?" Mara's voice cut through his haze, soft and concerned. She slipped her hand into his, squeezing. That manic smile returned, but her eyes searched his face with worry.
"I don't have enough," he snarled, voice low and bitter. "Not for shit. One-forty left, and these prices? It's a fucking joke. I could burn this whole square down, but what good would that do? I need more gold, now. Real money. Not scraps."
Mara's smile softened, turning conspiratorial. She leaned in close, lips brushing his ear. "Then skip the auction today. There's another way. A shop. Not far from here, in Shadow Alley by the docks. They call it the Velvet Cage."
He paused, frustration pausing mid-boil. "A shop?"
She nodded eagerly, eyes sparkling with that wild devotion. "Private dealings. No crowds jacking up bids. The owner handles specialty stock: girls who skipped the main block. Runaways, debtors, village beauties promised better lives. Prices are lower, hero. You can inspect them personally, haggle, even test if the owner's in a good mood. And the quality… some are diamonds in the rough, just waiting for a man like you to polish them."
Alex's mind shifted gears. Lower prices. Privacy. Negotiation. It wasn't the grand spectacle of the auction, but it was a start, a way to scratch the itch without waiting. And once he had one more under his thumb, he could focus on earning real wealth: labyrinth dives, pit fights, whatever it took to build a proper stack.
"Show me," he said, grip tightening on her hand.
Mara's crazy smile widened to feral delight. She tugged him toward the square's edge, weaving through the throng with excited steps.
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