Chapter 3.

Selatapura is Gunther state's biggest city and the de facto state capital, it used to be nicknamed the Kingdom's second capital, but after years of mismanagement, corruption and rampant crime, the city has fallen into sharp decline, much like the rest of the region. Anchorhead Bay now holds the nickname as the Kingdom's Second Capital.

The tall office builds lay empty, rotting away, new residential blocks the late Earl built in an attempt to boost growth became slums instead. Still, signs of wealth could be still be seen. Especially in the downtown area where the banks and the Selatapura stock exchange are located.

In the government district, the wealth gap was even clearer.

The white marble buildings lined the large boulevard, each building the housing of the myriads of government departments responsible for the continued governed of the region.

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"A bunch of useless wankers that's what they are." I huffed, kicking a loose pebble in frustration. "I am a citizen of the Kingdom too. I am entitled to such information."

"You could have just said you are the new lord and have them show you the papers," Lionel replied, flashing a charming grin at a passing group of women, whom collectively squealed in admiration.

"Like they would believe that a sixteen-year-old is the new lord, besides we are here incognito. Revealing my position is the last thing I want to do. And stop trying to flirt with every single female we come across." I retorted

"Right. I forgot."

"I guess this is where all the state's funds went to." Mike sighed, his eyes concentrating on a fenced-off carpark filled up entirely with imported Osean and Belkan luxury sedans and sports cars, guarded by several policemen, batons and spears in hand.

"Just typical. The first time we see the police, and it's them protecting the rich's cars." Ian sighed.

"Your anarchist sympathies are showing again Ian." Will chuckled, lighting his second cigarette for the day.

"So are your disgusting smoking habits." I retorted in a sing-song voice, snatching the pack of cigarettes.

"Oh, come on, why you got to be like that. It's not like it will kill me, or you for that manner."

"Oh, it will kill you, once I pull a bullet through your brain."

"Oof. Touche." Ian laughed.

This went on for some time until we reached one of the city's bigger slums. The unofficial district of Pacifica, named for the failed Pacifica project that promised economic revival until the great crash of 1850 revealed the widespread corruption in the project and investors pulled out.

Here, everyone was on their guard, on a lookout for any approaching danger. The clothes we wore did not help in avoiding attention, our clean-cut, neatly ironed attire, to the poverty-stricken population it meant we are well off. Able to afford the expense to wash our clothes.

There was no better beacon for 'we have money!'

We were in the busy district market square, where we faced the consequences of wearing such attire.

A small crowd already gathered around us, begging for money. People, young and old stretching their hands out, wailing at us, begging for relief, one of them, a kid was even clutching onto Mike, who looked more and more uncomfortable by the second.

*Boom!

The sound of the shot rattling everyone, even me, but at least I had earplugs on that prevents my ears from being blown out by the sound.

"All of you scram! Unless you want a bullet up your arse!" Will barked, pointing his sawed-off shotgun at the crowd, still clutching onto their ringing ears.

They dispersed quickly, scurrying out of sight, disappearing into the many dark corners and alleyways.

"Was that a shotgun in your pants or were you just happy to be here?" I asked, keeping as straight a face as possible without bursting into laughter.

Will did not reply, only answering with a face that just said, "really? You got to go there?" while the rest joined in on the joke.

"Okay, Okay, in all seriousness, I thought you said sidearms only, where did the shotgun come from?"

Will shrugged, "Have a special holster in my jacket for a super shorty. Loaded it with beanbag rounds. Figured you would do something dangerous that would need a bit of crowd control. This was not what I had in mind, but close enough."

We continued walking, reaching what looked like a market, It was quite the scene, it looked like any other market, or bazaar, with people selling fruits, vegetables, dubious-looking meat and other foodstuffs, but mixed in are stalls selling the latest weapons ranging from swords and shields to the new muskets and even cannons.

There were also potions being sold, I say potions, but we all know it's just narcotics in liquid form, same thing just different state of matter.

Worst of all were the slave's auctions, people, men and women, humans, beastmen and half beasts, stripped naked, standing on improvised stages made of wooden crates. They all looked the same, no matter their build, dejected, depressed and hopeless.

And despite being the lord of this fief, I cannot do much about it. As the possession and sale of slaves are allowed by Imperial law, state legislation can only regulate the sale and treatment of them.

I could tighten up the health and safety laws for slavery and indentured servants, but enforcement would be an issue, but that's a subject for another day, not a random thought out in the slums district.

However, despite my disapproval of the practice, can't help but be curious about it, it was after all in my nature to learn more about any world I am in. Slavery might be a horrible thing to me, but the thought of participating in one, now that does intrigue me.

While the most straightforward way would be to participate in one of those ad hoc auctions, it just did not feel right. I wanted one that felt more... official, one that encapsulates the atmosphere of an auction.

"Mike?"

"Yes?"

"You read everything there is to know about the city. Do you know where are the best places in the city to get slaves?"

"Sir, you can't actually be thinking off-"

"I am. So, tell me where is the best place for it?"

Mike was silent for a moment, "The Graziano estate downtown is the best place if you have the means-"

"Which I very well do have. Lead the way."

"Very well."

The Graziano estate downtown was a small island, a sand bar on the Selatapura river, A small bridge connected it to a larger one that spanned across the entire river. On the island were a few buildings, with the biggest being the Graziano house, it was one of those neo-classical buildings, with the huge marble pillars.

Mike had explained to me that it used to be a church for the now-banned Verusean Orthodoxy, a religion that originated from the then Yuktobanian empire, now known as the Union of Yuktobanian Republics after the tremulous 1870s.

The parking lot outside the church was chock full of Limousines and luxury sports cars, with a significant police presence at the edges guarding the place.

"Do we need some sort of special pass or invite for this?" I asked.

"Not that I know of, you just have to look good and pay the front desk a 100 ducal fee. At least I think so." (Mike)

"Alright then. Mike, Will, Ian, you come with me. Lionel, you stay and make sure no one touches the cars."

"But-!" (Lionel)

"I don't need you to go out on some sort of righteous killing spree when you see the slaves."

"Yes, sir..."

As we walked up the stairs, into the lobby, I could feel the curious glances cast my way, everyone attending was wearing their finest clothes, their jewellery shimmering in the dusk sun, we, on the other hand, wore much more casual clothing, a simple black suit, no tie or bow and certainly no rings or any other accessories to show off one's wealth other than the carbon fibre tactical watch we all wore on our left hands.

In the slums district we looked like the wealthy, but here? We look middle class with odd fashion at best. Something many of the attendees presumed, judging by their glances.

Gaining access further into the building was an easy task, I paid the 400 ducal entry fees for the four of us and were given a paddle with a number on it, which they quickly stashed in their jackets.

There was no security check or any other hassles, just some guards and attendants at the sides ushering us into a large softly lit hall.

In the front was a stage, with rows of recliners laid out, each with a number on it, the number on our paddle was also our seat number. But before we took our seats, I took the opportunity to look around.

The lady at the front desk did say the auction would not start in another hour, giving us time to peruse the merchandises on sale. It was clear slaves were not the only thing being sold here, like other auction houses back on earth, there were a wide variety of items on sale, not just people.

None that I was particularly interested, however, mostly artworks and jewellery, and the occasional weapon that belonged to some historical figure.

I turned my attention to the slaves that were on sale, they had their own section in the west wing of the hall, it was clear the slaves here were not sold to be workers in the fields, these were to be for pleasure, toys for the rich after work, or maybe during work, who I'm I to judge?

I picked up a glass of champagne from one of the attendants whom offered and begun sipping, slowly drinking in both the sight and the alcohol as I walked down the aisle, watching people in beautiful dresses and expensive suits walked up and down the aisle, with similar drinks in hand degenerating their fellow mortals into numbers and objects just because they were up on a raised platform.

I joined in on the 'fun' examining each slave on display, reading the signs the organisers had so generously placed in front of each slave's platform, that told the slave's name and a summary of his or her background.

Most of the slaves here were, predictably, women most from ruined noble families and merchants, clearly trained in the art of seduction, from the way they moved their bodies, showing off their 'assets' to potential customers.

There are a few men, most with large and imposing builds, for those who desire these kinds of men or want to use them for fighting, last I heard, slave fighting is quite the lucrative business, even in the capital.

As barbaric as the Erusean Slavery act was, it still prohibited children from becoming slaves. Which is why it was surprising and concerning to see a wolf half-beast, a boy, about ten years old, placed at the corner of the room.

The signboard did not provide much information for me, only that his name was Ken, is indeed ten years old and both his parents are dead. But contrary to an earlier observation he was not a wolf half-beast, but a werewolf, an almost mystical race that can shapeshift between human and animal form and is the only race that still possesses the ability to use magic.

It was clear the organisers took great care in making sure the slaves weren't 'damaged' the cuffs were cushioned, padded to prevent any marks, his gag looks to be leather that protrudes into the boy's mouth, preventing him from biting his tongue.

Still, the entire thing was elegantly packaged in a way that presented the boy's youthful beauty and elegance to anyone looking. It could very well be a work of art, if not the statue being an actual living person.

The boy had been drugged, his large brown eyes glassy and unfocused as he sat there, on the platform. The longer I looked, the more painful the tinge in my heart became, becoming almost unbearable after a few short seconds of standing there.

I made my way back to my assigned seat, and just in time too as only a few minutes later, the auctioneer stepped onto the stage and announced the start of the auction, causing a brief scramble as everyone rushed to their seats.

"Are we still staying here?" Will asked.

"Yep. There is something I need to do."

The auction soon started, and I tuned most of it out, sipping a second glass of complimentary champagne as I waited.

"And for the last Item on our list, we have a very rare product. may I present, Ken, a werewolf.

Ken was carried out, and still uselessly wiggling his way out of his cuffs.

The auctioneer approached Ken, with the help of a burly attendant, he was hauled up, dangling over the man's arms due to his inebriated state and his features shown off forcefully to the people below.

"As you can see, he is a top-quality product, with no visible markings. we made sure there he is undamaged in every way." the auctioneer explained, much like how a salesman would sell a car.

"I will commence the bidding at 500 Ducals."

"Anybody, to bid? Now 500. Who will give me 500? I've got 500 right here." The auctioneer here began his fast-paced talking; it's like no matter which world you go all auctioneers talk the same.

Fast, and almost incoherent but draws you to buy all the same, if not to buy their items then just to see how long the auctioneer could continue talking like this.

"Who will give me 550? Now 550."

I rose my paddle, placing my bid.

"Thank you, sir, anybody to bid?"

Another paddle within the crowd rose,

"600, anybody to bid now 600."

Another hand rose immediately, then followed by another. Then another as the bidding caught up steam.

"I got two. Give me three. Anybody, to bid now?"

"I got three. Thank you, sir. Anybody to bid now? four, who will give me four? it's only money folks."

There was now silence; everyone had reached their limit for how much they were willing to pay. Well, except for me.

"Three thousand going once... thank you to the young master at the back, four thousand."

There was a collective gasp, and I saw heads turn towards me, with curious eyes.

"Eight thousand!" someone to the left of me shouted, now eyes turned towards the man, and so did mine. It was a man in full military dress, complete with shiny medals, he was a general and looked rather old, about in his sixties, with an incredibly smug look. He was staring at me as if daring me to make a bid.

"Ten thousand!" I shouted out.

"Boss!! What are you doing?" Mike hissed.

"Bidding, what else?" I replied calmly.

"Eleven thousand!"

"Boring. Twenty!" I shouted back

Now the entire hall was silent, aside from the hushed whispers, and I do not fault them, they might be rich, but twenty thousand ducals, was enough for an entire family of four to live on for at least five to ten years.

I could hear the hushed conversations around me, expressing their doubts about me, and judging me and my companion's appearance. But my eyes stayed on the general, who was clenching his fist and gritting his teeth while I gave him a smug look. I can see he wanted to put in a bid, but his partner beside him was frantically trying to persuade him not to.

"Twenty thousand. Going once... Twice... and sold! For twenty thousand to the young man at the back!"

The gavel pounded against the wood, the noise echoing through the hall, followed shortly by the customary brief applause and the deal was sealed, I had just bought my first slave. And a very expensive one too.