On the third day, the guards came for me.
Without a word, they shackled my wrists in cold iron chains. The clink of metal echoed in the cell as they tugged me toward the door.
I looked back one last time. "Thank you, Clayton," I said quietly.
He didn't answer right away. But just before I disappeared into the corridor, I caught a glimpse of him, sitting against the wall, arms crossed, with the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He lifted one hand in a lazy wave.
It wasn't much. But in that moment, it meant everything.
We walked in silence through the prison's damp corridors. The guards didn't speak, and I didn't ask questions. Then we reached a strange circle drawn on the stone floor, a glowing magic crest etched in silver.
As soon as I stepped onto it, the air shifted.
A sudden pull jerked at my chest, and in a flash of light, the dungeon vanished.
My feet hit solid ground again, but it was smooth, polished, and bright.
We were on a stage.
A large, circular platform surrounded by shadows. Torches or magic lights illuminated the area around me, but beyond that, the room was dark. I couldn't see the audience, only vague silhouettes shifting in their seats, whispering.
Murmurs filled the air, curious, dismissive, amused. All of it aimed at me.
I squinted against the lights, trying to calm my racing heart.
Then a man in a red coat stepped forward onto the stage, grinning like this was some kind of celebration.
"Welcome, honored guests!" he boomed. "It's time to begin the auction!"
To my right, I noticed others lined up along the stage — all in chains like me. Slaves.
Some looked defeated, staring at the floor. Others glared at the crowd with quiet rage.
And then, near the far end of the platform, I saw him — a man with sharp, pointed ears and a missing hand. He was kneeling as someone adjusted the cuffs on his good wrist.
My stomach turned. They're really going to sell us. Like property.
I clenched my fists, the metal biting into my skin. Whatever came next… I needed to stay sharp.
The auction began with the first slave, a towering beastman with a scar across his chest and shackles that looked like they were struggling to hold him.
The auctioneer stepped forward, his voice slick and theatrical. "We begin with a warrior of the southern beast tribes! Known for their unmatched strength and ferocity in battle. This one bears the Berserker skill, a true asset to any frontline unit. Bidding starts at twenty gold coins!"
Almost immediately, voices rang out across the room.
"Twenty-five!"
"Thirty!"
"Forty-two!"
The price climbed fast, the shouts overlapping until the final bid came: "Fifty-six gold!" shouted someone near the Musana Empire delegation.
"Sold!" the auctioneer cried, slamming a gavel down. The beastman was dragged off the stage without ceremony, his chains clinking behind him.
I swallowed hard.
Each time the auctioneer stepped forward to announce another name, my heart seized in my chest. I could barely breathe. I didn't want to be next. Not yet. Not ever.
Then came the elf.
The auctioneer waved toward a figure being brought out. "From the Elarian Forest, we have an elf with the Archer class and a known aptitude in Elven magic!"
I squinted down the line. It was the one I'd seen earlier, the man with the pointed ears and a missing hand.
What good is an archer with no hand? I thought bitterly, not even sure if I was mocking him or trying to comfort myself.
"Bidding starts at one gold coin!"
"One gold and eight silver!"
"One gold and thirty silver!"
The bids were slow, almost pitiful, until a loud bang echoed through the room.
The heavy doors swung open, and the noise inside died instantly.
A man entered, tall and draped in elegant navy and silver robes, a dark crest pinned to his chest. His voice rang out, calm and smooth.
"Five gold."
The crowd went dead silent. Then the whispers started, hissing through the darkness.
"Who—?"
"That's… the Third Prince of Valoria…"
"Why him? For an elf like that?"
The auctioneer cleared his throat quickly. "Sold! To His Highness, the Third Prince of Valoria!"
The elf was taken off stage, his face unreadable. But my stomach had already started to twist.
Why would he spend that much on someone so broken?
Then the auctioneer stepped up again, and I heard the words I was dreading:
"And now, we present a rare offering, an otherworlder!"
I froze.
"He may only bear the Healer class," the auctioneer continued, "and lacks combat experience, but make no mistake, this is a man summoned from another world. A unique existence! Perhaps even blessed."
My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. I couldn't hide the fear on my face — my body trembled, my hands shook in their chains.
Please… please no.
"Bidding starts at thirty gold coins!"
"Thirty-five," called an old, gravelly voice.
"Forty-seven!" shouted a woman from the front row.
Then, from the back of the room, came a calm, clear voice.
"Eighty-five gold coins."
The entire room went dead quiet.
No counter-offers. No sounds. Just stunned silence until the murmurs returned, more urgent than before.
"It's him again…"
"Eighty-five?! For a healer?"
"The Third Prince is throwing money around like water again…"
The auctioneer, though visibly startled, recovered quickly. "Sold! To His Highness of the Valoria Kingdom!"
I barely heard the rest. My ears rang.
I'm going to another royal family… another cage…