[Null POV] Year 0, Day 4 (Evening - The guild house auction)

  The guild house interior was exactly what Null expected from an adventurer's guild.

  The main hall was large, designed for gatherings and business. Along the back wall stood several service booths—currently closed, their shutters down for the evening event. One entire side of the building was dedicated to a bar area, but tonight it too was closed, the furniture moved aside to create more standing room.

  A temporary stage had been erected at the far end—simple wooden platform, raised perhaps a meter off the ground. Behind it, curtained areas probably held the auction items. An ornate podium stood center stage, waiting for the auctioneer.

  People filled the available space. Standing room only. Adventurers, merchants, local wealthy residents. Maybe two hundred attendees, all pressed together, all focused on the stage.

  As they entered, a guild attendant handed Void a numbered wooden stick. "For bidding, young master. Just raise it when you want to make an offer."

  "Thank you." Void accepted it, the number "47" carved into the wood.

  Null scanned the room with her Life Sense, cataloging the power levels present. Most were decent—competent adventurers, experienced hunters. A few stood out as genuinely strong. The Guild Master's signature was one of the brightest, steady and controlled.

  But something else caught her attention immediately.

  Another battlemaid.

  Standing near the right side of the room, following a tall tiger beastwoman who was part of a larger group—all beast-people, various species, heavily armed and clearly experienced.

  The battlemaid was a bunny beastgirl. Small, delicate-looking features. Large ears, fluffy tail. Wearing a uniform that was more ornate than Null's, covered in ribbons and frills.

  And radiating absolute madness.

  The aura around her was chaotic, unstable, barely contained violence that made the air feel electric. People near her maintained careful distance, keeping at least two meters of space. Several adventurers who appeared to be acting as event guards kept close watch on her position.

  This was what people had expected Null to be.

  "Mistress," Void said quietly through their bond, "do you see—"

  "I see her. The other battlemaid."

  Null studied the girl more carefully. Through her Life Sense, she could perceive the life force, the soul structure beneath the physical appearance.

  And something was wrong. Deeply wrong.

  The soul was... damaged. Warped. Like something inhuman had been forced into it, or something human had been ripped out. Scars and fractures in the essence itself that should have killed anyone normal.

  Forbidden magic. Dark rituals. Modifications that went beyond simple training.

  "Dark magic," Void confirmed. "Probably used to enhance her during the conditioning process. Blood rituals, soul manipulation, forced power infusions. It makes battlemaids stronger but also more unstable. Drives them further into madness."

  "She's insane."

  "Completely. Look at her eyes. No focus. No awareness beyond her immediate surroundings. She's barely holding herself together. One wrong stimulus and she'll explode into violence."

  The bunny battlemaid's eyes darted constantly, tracking movement, assessing threats that probably didn't exist. Her hand rested on a dagger at her belt, fingers twitching. Ready to draw and kill at the slightest provocation.

  "She's also quite strong," Null observed. "One of the strongest people in this room. Below the Guild Master, but not by much."

  "Which is why the guards are watching her so carefully. If she loses control, this could turn into a massacre."

  Null and Void moved further into the room, finding a position with good sight-lines to the stage. Several villagers who'd grown familiar with them over the past two days nodded respectfully. The baker gave Void a small wave. The serpent-meat vendor grinned.

  Null, playing her role, gave small acknowledging bows to the merchants who'd fed her. The gesture seemed to surprise and please them.

  Nobody seemed particularly wary of them anymore. The wealthy elf and his food-loving maid. Strange but harmless. Rich and generous.

  Compared to the genuinely unstable battlemaid across the room, Null was practically a model citizen.

  The room continued to fill. More adventurers arriving, taking positions, preparing for the auction.

  And then the door opened again.

  Seven figures entered.

  All elves.

  Through the soul bond, Void's terror spiked immediately. Not just fear—primal, overwhelming panic.

  "Blood Cult," his mental voice was barely coherent. "That's... that's the Blood Cult. Mistress, those are Blood Cult operatives."

  Null noticed them immediately—their life signatures were different from the crowd. Stronger. More refined. And carrying something dark that made her instincts sharpen.

  The elves wore dark robes covered in demonic tattoos. Red ink, black ink, patterns that seemed to move in the corner of vision. Their equipment was sinister—blades that looked like they thirsted for blood, staves carved from bone, jewelry made from things that shouldn't be jewelry.

  And the leader. The one at the front.

  His life signature burned bright. Very bright. Stronger than the Guild Master. Stronger than anyone else in this room except Null herself.

  Power that came from something wrong. Something dark. Built on foundations of suffering.

  Through the soul bond, Null felt Void's reaction.

  Terror. Pure, primal, overwhelming terror.

  Not the analytical wariness of recognizing danger. Not the calculated caution of facing a strong opponent.

  Raw fear. The kind that came from trauma. From experience. From knowing exactly what these people were capable of.

  Null's body moved before conscious thought.

  One moment she was standing behind Void in proper battlemaid position. The next she was in front of him, between him and the newcomers, hand dropping to her rapier hilt, eyes locking onto the leader.

  Her aura leaked. Darkness radiating outward, no longer suppressed, filling the immediate area with menace.

  The Guild Master's hand moved to his weapon. The guards tensed. The other battlemaid's head snapped toward Null, assessing this new threat.

  The room went very quiet.

  The Blood Cult leader's eyes swept the room with practiced assessment. Scanning for threats, for opportunities, for anything of interest.

  His gaze passed over Null without pause. Just another battlemaid. Irrelevant.

  But he paused briefly on Void.

  An elf. Unusual in these parts. Black hair, black eyes. And that fear. That obvious, overwhelming fear radiating from him.

  The leader had seen that expression countless times. On slaves. On the broken. On those who knew what his organization did and dreaded it.

  He saw the way Void stood. The subtle submission in his bearing. The wariness of someone who'd learned to make themselves small around powerful people.

  One word. Quiet but clear enough to carry.

  "Earless."

  A ripple of surprise went through the crowd. Former slave? But the elf was clearly wealthy—expensive clothing, generous spending, powerful battlemaid. Ex-slaves who'd made something of themselves weren't uncommon in the Republic, but to see one dismissed so casually by someone of obvious power...

  The contempt in the Blood Cult leader's voice was absolute. He looked away immediately, complete disinterest, and moved toward the seating area with his group.

  Dismissed. Beneath notice. Worthless.

  Through the bond, Null felt Void's fear shift. Relief? Shame? Something complicated.

  "It's... fine, Mistress. They're not interested. We're safe."

  And something in Null just... broke.

  Rage. Pure, overwhelming, irrational rage that came from nowhere and everywhere simultaneously.

  Her aura exploded outward. Not a leak. A flood. Darkness radiating from her in waves that made the temperature drop, made the air feel heavy, made everyone in the immediate area take involuntary steps back.

  Her hand closed fully on her rapier hilt. Drew it halfway from the sheath.

  Eyes locked on the Blood Cult leader's back. Target acquired. Kill command loading.

  Every instinct screaming: THREAT. DESTROY. ELIMINATE. PROTECT WHAT'S MINE.

  "MISTRESS!" Void's mental voice was pure panic. "STOP! PLEASE!"

  He grabbed her arm—physical contact, desperate, trying to ground her.

  "I'm safe! I'm fine! They dismissed us! That's GOOD! We don't want their attention! Please, please calm down!"

  "HOST!" Spy's voice cut through the rage. "Stand DOWN! You're about to blow the cover! Everyone's watching! The Guild Master has his hand on his weapon! The other battlemaid is ready to fight! You attack now and this becomes a bloodbath!"

  But the rage wouldn't stop. Wouldn't recede. Just kept building, hot and furious and completely unlike anything Null had experienced since the transformation.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  Why am I angry? I don't get angry. I don't FEEL anger. What is this? He insulted Void. Dismissed him. Called him 'earless' like it's shameful. So what? Why does that matter? Why do I want to kill them? I don't kill randomly. I'm controlled. Strategic. But I want to tear that leader apart. Make him regret speaking. Make him regret dismissing what's MINE—

  Mine?

  Since when do I think of Void as 'mine'? He's my servant. My tool. My translator. Why does an insult to him feel like an insult to ME?

  The confusion helped. Slightly. Enough to let Void's desperate reassurance through the bond start penetrating.

  "Mistress, I'm begging you. I'm your servant. Your possession. An insult to me is meaningless. Please. Please don't do this. We can't afford to fight them here."

  "Host, THINK! You're confused by your own reaction! That means you're not thinking clearly! Force yourself to analyze! Why are you angry?"

  Null tried. Forced her mind to work analytically instead of emotionally.

  Void's fear → soul bond → protective response? That made sense. The bond connected them. His terror had triggered her defensive instincts.

  But this wasn't just protection. This was rage. Offense. Like someone had challenged her position, her authority, her—

  Alpha status.

  The realization cut through the fury like cold water.

  Void was hers. Her servant. Her subordinate. In the pack hierarchy that some part of her monster nature understood, he was under her protection. Under her dominion.

  The Blood Cult leader had dismissed him. Had called him worthless. Had implied Void—and by extension, Null who owned him—was beneath notice.

  Challenge to hierarchy. Challenge to position. Challenge to HER.

  Monster instinct demanding response.

  That's what this is. Territorial rage. I'm defending my position in a dominance structure I didn't even know I was part of.

  Understanding helped. Gave her something to grasp. A framework to contain the emotion.

  Territorial rage. Monster instinct demanding she defend what was hers. Protect her position in a dominance structure she hadn't known existed.

  That's what this was.

  Null forced herself to breathe. To close the aura leak. To pull the darkness back inside where it belonged.

  Her hand relaxed on the rapier hilt. Not releasing it, but no longer actively drawing.

  The rage receded. Slowly. Painfully. But it receded.

  "I'm... I'm calm. I'm controlled."

  "Thank the gods," Void whispered. "Mistress, what was that? You've never reacted like that before."

  "I don't know. The bond. Your fear. Something about the dismissal. It triggered something I didn't know I had."

  "Territorial instinct," Spy said quietly. "He's yours. Someone disrespected what's yours. Your nature responded. Even without emotions, the base instincts are still there."

  "Apparently."

  Around them, the room was still tense. People had felt that surge of killing intent. Had seen the battlemaid nearly draw her weapon. Had watched the barely-averted violence.

  The Guild Master's hand remained on his sword, his eyes fixed on Null with new assessment. Dangerous. Very dangerous. But controlled—she'd pulled herself back. That suggested discipline. Intelligence. Not just mindless rage.

  The Blood Cult leader glanced back once, mild interest in his expression. An ex-slave and his emotional battlemaid. Typical. Not particularly concerning.

  He found a seat with his group, already dismissing the incident.

  The other battlemaid had moved into a combat-ready stance, her mistress holding her back with a hand on her shoulder and whispered commands.

  The entire room balanced on a knife's edge.

  And then the auctioneer strode onto the stage.

  "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!"

  His voice boomed across the guild hall, cutting through the tension like a blade. A weathered human man, perhaps two hundred years old if his experience showed in his eyes, standing at the stage with the confidence of someone who'd survived countless dangerous situations.

  Everyone's attention snapped to him.

  "Welcome to tonight's auction! I see we have some... spirited attendees this evening."

  A slight smile, acknowledging the near-incident without dwelling on it.

  "As always, our house rules: fight with your MONEY, not your swords! Save the bloodshed for the monster hunting—much more profitable that way!"

  Scattered laughter rippled through the crowd. The tension broke slightly. People remembering why they were here. Commerce, not combat.

  "I've been running auctions for over a century now, and I've seen enough brawls start over auction lots to know—if we don't get started immediately, someone's going to do something stupid. So! Let's begin before anyone bleeds on my nice clean floor!"

  More laughter. The mood shifted. From dangerous standoff to competitive anticipation.

  The auctioneer knew exactly what he was doing. Diffuse, redirect, get everyone focused on the stage before the killers in the room decided to kill each other.

  Professional survival instinct honed over a hundred years of dealing with dangerous people in confined spaces.

  "Now then!" He clapped his hands together. "Our first item of the evening!"

  An assistant wheeled out a cart covered in a cloth. The auctioneer pulled it away with practiced showmanship, revealing what looked like a massive crystalline scale.

  "Desert Drake scale! Harvested just last week from a confirmed A-rank specimen. Perfect condition, no damage. Excellent for armor crafting, magical focus creation, or alchemical components!"

  He held it up, letting the light catch the iridescent surface.

  "Starting bid: ten gold!"

  Numbered sticks shot up immediately. The bidding was fast, competitive. Adventurers and merchants calling out numbers, the price climbing rapidly.

  "Fifteen! Twenty! Twenty-five!"

  "Sold! To number thirty-two for twenty-eight gold!"

  The winner—a dwarf armorer—collected his prize with obvious satisfaction. The cart was wheeled away, replaced by another.

  "Next item: Moonsilver blade! Enchanted for frost damage! Lightweight, perfectly balanced, ideal for speed-focused combatants!"

  The auction continued. Item after item. Monster parts, weapons, armor pieces, potions and elixirs. The crowd bid enthusiastically, prices climbing.

  "These people have a lot of money," Null observed.

  "Successful monster hunting is extremely profitable, Mistress. A single A-rank monster can yield materials worth hundreds of gold. These adventurers spend freely because they earn freely."

  "And probably die freely too. High risk, high reward economy."

  An hour passed. Then two. The items kept coming.

  Rare spices from distant lands—sold for thirty gold to a merchant who planned to resell in the capital.

  Magical trinkets and charms—minor enchantments, useful but not game-changing.

  A collection of exotic alcohols in ornate bottles—bought by the dwarf contingent for reasons that seemed obvious.

  The Blood Cult showed no interest in any of it. They stood in their section, watching with bored detachment. Whatever they'd come for, these weren't it.

  The other battlemaid's party bid on several items. Won a few. The bunny girl stood perfectly still throughout, only her darting eyes betraying her instability.

  "Mistress," Void said quietly, "there's an item coming up. Number forty-three on the manifest board. 'Magical Signature Analysis Device.' I think we should bid on it."

  "What does it do?"

  "Tests magical signatures. Every creature in this world has one—unique, like fingerprints or DNA from your old world. Many organizations use them for identification. Banks, guilds, governments. Even adventurer cards are linked to your signature."

  "And you're worried I don't have one."

  "Or that yours is strange. Blank. Obviously wrong. You're not from this world naturally—you were reconstructed by a broken divine system. I don't know if you even register as a normal living being to magical analysis."

  "If we try to register with the guild and you show up as 'no signature detected,' that's going to raise every alarm they have," Spy added.

  "So we test it privately first. If there's a problem, we know before we expose ourselves publicly."

  "And if there's no problem?"

  "Then we have a valuable device we can resell. These things hold their value extremely well—around eight hundred gold standard price. Useful for our finances."

  "Makes sense. We bid on it."

  The auction continued. More items. More frenzied bidding.

  And then: "Item forty-three! Magical Signature Analysis Device! Certified authentic, perfect working condition! Standard identification tool used by guilds and banks across the continent!"

  The auctioneer held up a small crystalline device, about the size of a fist, with intricate runes carved into its surface.

  "Extremely useful for verification purposes! Starting bid: six hundred gold!"

  Several hands went up immediately. Void raised his numbered stick.

  The bidding climbed quickly. Seven hundred. Seven-fifty. Eight hundred.

  Void kept raising his stick, calm and methodical.

  Eight-twenty. Eight-forty. Eight-sixty.

  Other bidders started dropping out. Too expensive for something they didn't desperately need.

  "Eight hundred and seventeen gold! Going once! Going twice!"

  One last stick went up. Eight-thirty.

  Void countered immediately. Eight-fifty.

  Silence.

  "Eight hundred and fifty gold! Going once! Going twice! SOLD to number forty-seven!"

  Void lowered his stick. Through the bond: "We have it, Mistress."

  "That was expensive."

  "Worth it for the peace of mind. And we can resell it later if needed."

  The auction continued into its third hour. The energy in the room remained high despite the length. These people were used to long events, used to waiting for the items they wanted.

  Then the tone shifted.

  "And now," the auctioneer said, his voice taking on a different quality, "we move to our specialized lots. Guild business. Adventurer contracts."

  Assistants wheeled out a different kind of platform—one with shackles, clearly designed for people rather than objects.

  "These are what I mentioned," Void said through the bond. "The adventurer slaves."

  "Yes, Mistress. Watch carefully. This is how the Republic handles debt and failure among its adventurer population."

  The first adventurer was brought out. A human man, maybe thirty years old by appearance. Looked healthy, capable. Wearing simple clothing, iron collar around his neck.

  "Gareth Stone! C-rank adventurer, specialized in tracking and scouting! Contracted for debt repayment—five hundred gold gambling debt! Service term: three years! Skills include wilderness survival, monster tracking, basic combat proficiency!"

  The auctioneer listed his capabilities like merchandise.

  "Starting bid: one hundred gold!"

  Several hands went up. Adventurer parties looking for scouts, merchants needing guards, someone wanting skilled labor.

  The bidding was less frenzied than for the items. More calculating. People assessing value versus cost.

  "Sold! To number eighteen for two hundred and forty gold! Three-year contract, standard protections apply!"

  The buyer—a grizzled dwarf party leader—approached to claim his new scout. Paperwork was signed. The collar was transferred to new ownership.

  Gareth looked resigned but not terrified. This was debt payment, not doom.

  "This is temporary slavery," Void explained. "If any adventurer falls into debt—usually gambling, loans, poor decisions—the guild takes ownership and sells their contract. But there are strict rules. Only other adventurers or licensed individuals can buy them. The service term is limited—months to maximum twenty years depending on the debt. They're protected by law—can't be sacrificed, killed, or used for forbidden magic. They fill dangerous roles, yes, but it's not a death sentence."

  "And if the guild can't sell them?"

  "If they're too low-skilled or the debt is too large, they eventually go to public market. Then the protections disappear. But for capable adventurers, that's rare. Someone always buys."

  More adventurers followed. A mage who'd borrowed too much for equipment—sold for three hundred gold, five-year term. A warrior who'd gambled poorly—sold for one hundred eighty, two years. A healer who'd taken a loan they couldn't repay—sold for four hundred fifty, seven years.

  Each was presented, their skills listed, their terms explained. Each was sold to other adventurers or licensed buyers.

  And then the beast-people's party won their bid.

  "Sold! To number nine for four hundred gold!"

  The moment the sale was confirmed, the tiger beastwoman's party erupted in celebration. They rushed forward as their friend—a wolf beastman—was released from the auction platform, practically tackling him with enthusiasm.

  "You IDIOT, Raze! How did you get yourself into this mess?!"

  "I'm sorry, Kira! I'm so sorry! The card game seemed like a sure thing—she was so beautiful, so charming, I thought—"

  "We TOLD you not to gamble with daemon-kin! Especially not the pretty ones! They cheat! They always cheat!"

  "I know! I know! She just kept smiling and dealing, and I thought I was winning, and then—I'm an idiot! I'm so sorry! Thank you for buying me back!"

  "You're damn right you're an idiot! Do you know how much four hundred gold is?!"

  Laughter and backslapping despite the scolding. Relief and joy. The reunion of people who clearly cared about each other, who'd pooled their resources to save one of their own.

  The bunny battlemaid watched the celebration with those empty, darting eyes. No recognition. No emotion. Just witnessing something she couldn't understand.

  "That's common, then," Null observed. "Friends buying friends."

  "Very common, Mistress. The adventurer slavery system is designed to be recoverable. It's meant to be temporary debt payment, not permanent bondage. Most who are sold are bought by people who know them, who'll treat them decently, who'll help them recover and get back on their feet."

  "Still slavery."

  "Yes. But the Republic considers it pragmatic. Better than execution for debt. Better than destitution. You work off what you owe and then you're free again."

  "With the caveat that if nobody buys you, you go to the public market where there are no protections."

  "True, Honored Spy. The system has teeth. But for skilled adventurers, that rarely happens."

  The adventurer sales continued. One by one. Terms read, bids placed, contracts transferred.

  Null noticed that none sold for particularly high prices. A few hundred gold at most. The highest was around five hundred for a skilled B-rank warrior. Far less than the rare monster materials or high-quality magical items that had sold earlier.

  People were valuable, but only to a point. In a world where adventurers were constantly available, where new fighters emerged regularly, individual worth was measured practically.

  And then the tone shifted again.

  "Our final lots of the evening," the auctioneer announced. "Miscellaneous criminal acquisitions. Bandits captured in guild territory, sold as per Republic law. No restrictions, no protections, no term limits. Standard permanent slavery."

  These were different. Not adventurers who'd made mistakes. Just criminals. People who'd chosen violence against the wrong targets and lost.

  They were brought out in groups. Ragged, beaten, fearful. No skills listed. No terms specified. Just bodies for sale to whoever wanted them.

  The bidding was perfunctory. Low prices. Bulk purchases. People buying labor for mines, for farms, for whatever needed disposable workers.

  The Blood Cult bid on none of them. Still waiting. Still watching.

  Five bandits sold. Then another three. Then a final group of four.

  All gone within twenty minutes.

  "And that concludes our auction!" the auctioneer declared, clearly relieved to be reaching the end. "Thank you all for attending! Our next event will be in one month's time! Please collect your purchases from the side rooms, and safe travels to—"

  "WHERE ARE THE ORPHANS?"

  The Blood Cult leader's voice cut through the closing remarks like a blade.

  The room went silent.