Chapter 223: Chapter : 223 : Bidding!

The hall had grown quiet.

Not silent.

But tense.

The kind of quiet that wasn’t peaceful—it was anticipatory, heavy with desire and cruelty wrapped in silk and shadows.

Aiden sat still, posture relaxed, gaze steady behind his matte black mask.

Around him, masked nobles leaned forward in their seats. Drinks were forgotten. Conversations faded. Even laughter felt distant, fragile, as if the room itself were holding its breath.

The Host stepped forward once more.

His cane tapped lightly against the marble floor—once, twice—commanding absolute attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said smoothly, spreading his arms slightly, “tonight will not follow tradition.”

A ripple of murmurs spread through the hall—excited, hungry.

“Usually,” the Host continued, voice calm and deliberate, “we present only one rare item per auction.”

He paused.

Then smiled—slow, predatory.

“But tonight…”

His voice lowered to a velvet whisper that somehow carried to every corner.

“…we present multiples.”

For a moment, the hall forgot how to breathe.

Shock rippled through the masked audience.

Veteran bidders stiffened.

Newcomers leaned forward.

Whispers exploded like sparks.

“Multiple items.”

“In one night.”

“That has never happened.”

The Host raised a gloved hand—silencing them instantly.

“Let us begin properly.”

The velvet curtain behind the stage shifted.

Chains clinked softly—delicate, almost musical.

Then—

She was brought out.

She was small.

Too small for this place.

A demon girl, no older than seven or eight, stood trembling at the center of the stage. Her wrists were bound by thin silver chains that glowed faintly with suppression runes. She was completely naked—her pale gray skin exposed to the cold air and cruel eyes of the crowd.

Faint ash-like patterns swirled across her thin arms, narrow shoulders, and coltish legs—natural markings of her rare bloodline, shimmering like dying embers under the stage lights.

Two small black horns curved upward from her forehead—delicate, almost fragile.

Her pointed ears twitched faintly with every harsh breath.

Her large eyes—storm-gray and glassy—were half-lidded, pupils dilated from whatever drug they’d forced into her small body.

She swayed slightly—barely able to stand—small chest rising and falling too fast, tiny nipples dark against pale skin, narrow hips quivering with exhaustion and fear.

A low, appreciative murmur rolled through the hall.

The Host smiled—warm, professional, utterly soulless.

“Our first offering,” he announced, walking a slow circle around her without ever touching, “is known as the Ash-Horn Demon.”

He gestured toward her like she was a sculpture on display.

“A pure demon lineage. A bloodline so rare it should not have survived into this age.”

The girl’s knees buckled slightly—chains rattling as she caught herself.

“She is naturally disobedient,” the Host continued calmly, “until properly trained.”

His smile deepened.

“Perfect for collectors who enjoy… shaping loyalty.”

Some nobles laughed softly—low, cruel sounds.

Others watched with open hunger.

Luna’s fingers tightened around Aiden’s sleeve until her knuckles whitened beneath her crimson gloves.

“…Master,” she whispered, voice trembling.

Aiden did not answer.

Selvara, seated across from him, had gone completely still.

Her hands slowly clenched into fists on her lap—black silk gown shifting as her chest rose sharply.

“How… how are they alive?” she breathed, voice barely audible.

Aethoniel lowered her gaze—shoulders trembling faintly beneath her pale green gown.

“…She’s like me,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Before you saved me.”

Aiden turned his head slightly.

“Selva.”

She did not look at him.

“They’re selling a child,” she said quietly.

“Look at her.”

“I know,” Aiden replied—voice calm, but edged with steel.

The Host raised his hand—casual, practiced.

“Bidding begins at fifty thousand gold coins.”

The hall stirred.

A masked noble in the front row raised his paddle lazily.

“Sixty thousand.”

Another voice followed—older, amused.

“Seventy.”

“Eighty.”

The numbers climbed steadily—clinical, detached.

Selvara stood.

The sudden movement drew eyes.

Her voice cut through the hall—sharp, cold, unmistakable.

“One hundred and fifty thousand.”

The hall paused.

Aiden closed his eyes briefly—once—then opened them again.

Selvara stood rigid—masked face unreadable, but her hands shook faintly at her sides.

“Selva,” Aiden said quietly.

She did not move.

“They don’t deserve her,” she said.

“I know,” Aiden replied.

His voice was calm.

But firm.

“You can’t save everyone here by force.”

Her jaw tightened—breasts rising sharply beneath her black gown as she drew a furious breath.

Aiden stood slowly and stepped closer—placing one hand lightly on her shoulder.

His voice dropped so only she could hear.

“Believe in me.”

Selvara’s breath trembled.

For a long moment, she did not move.

Then—

Slowly—

She sat down.

Her hands remained clenched in her lap.

The bidding continued.

The numbers climbed higher—greedy, relentless.

Eventually, a masked man in the upper balcony won the auction—his voice cold and final.

The girl was led away—small bare feet dragging slightly, chains clinking, ash-gray skin glowing faintly under the lights.

Her eyes never fully focused.

Aiden watched until she disappeared behind the curtain.

The hall exhaled.

But the tension did not fade.

The Host raised his hand again—smiling wider.

“Next.”

No chains this time.

A pedestal was rolled onto the stage.

Upon it rested a black crystal orb—large as a man’s head.

Inside it, shadows moved.

Not reflections.

Not smoke.

Living shadows—coiling, writhing, pressing against the glass like trapped smoke.

The Host spoke briefly.

“An ancient demon artifact. Uses? Unknown. Power? Undeniable.”

The hall reacted immediately.

Gasps.

Whispers.

“Two rare items already?”

“This isn’t normal…”

Selvara’s eyes widened in disbelief, but she kept quiet—fists still clenched.

Aiden watched silently.

A woman in the front row won the item—her voice calm, practiced.

The lights dimmed further.

A sealed coffin-like box was brought forward.

Its surface was engraved with ancient runes—glowing faintly red.

The Host opened it slowly—dramatic, deliberate.

Inside lay a golden mask.

It radiated ancient magic—power so thick the air itself felt heavier.

“An artifact from the Demon War era,” the Host said calmly.

The hall erupted.

Shock.

Disbelief.

Even veteran bidders stiffened.

The auction continued—faster now.

A magical contract scroll—sold at an insane price.

A forged blade that whispered when touched.

A bottle containing demon blood essence—thick, black, swirling.

A living magical creature locked in a cage—small, glowing, terrified.

Each item sold quickly.

Each drew excitement.

But none drew emotion like the demons had.

Thristle muttered quietly, voice low beneath her emerald mask:

“They treat everything alive like merchandise.”

Luna’s grip tightened on Aiden’s arm—fingers digging in.

Aiden remained silent.

Watching.

Waiting.

Chains clinked again—louder this time.

The curtain opened.

This time, the figure that stepped forward was tall.

Her skin was deep crimson—rich, blood-red, gleaming under the stage lights like polished ruby.

Long black horns curved elegantly from her temples—sharp, proud, catching every flicker of candlelight.

Her pointed ears were refined, almost elven in shape.

Across her shoulders, collarbones, and powerful thighs, ancient black demon tattoos formed intricate, swirling patterns—glowing faintly purple when she moved.

She was naked—completely, shamelessly—every inch of her tall, athletic body exposed to the leering crowd.

Her breasts were full and high—dark crimson nipples stiff in the cold air, swaying gently with each defiant breath.

Her waist was narrow—flaring dramatically into wide, strong hips and thick, muscular thighs that spoke of both power and sensuality.

She stood straight.

Even with chains binding her wrists and ankles.

Her golden eyes swept across the hall.

Not fear.

Hatred.

Pure, burning hatred.

The Host smiled wider—almost reverent.

“Our third special offering,” he announced.

“Another pure-blood demon.”

He tapped his cane lightly against the floor.

“She was captured during a border conflict—where she was hiding.”

Some nobles laughed—low, cruel.

Others leaned forward eagerly—masks hiding greedy expressions.

“She has not bowed,” the Host continued calmly.

“Which makes her extremely valuable.”

The demon woman lifted her chin slightly—breasts rising proudly with the motion, nipples tightening further in the chill air.

Valeforia’s fingers tightened around the armrest of her chair—breasts heaving beneath her violet gown.

“She hasn’t given up,” Xylendra whispered—voice trembling.

Valeforia’s voice was quiet—almost reverent.

“But they will break her if someone like us doesn’t take her.”

Aiden looked at Valeforia.

She did not look back—eyes fixed on the stage, chest rising and falling rapidly.

The Host raised his hand—casual, practiced.

“Bidding begins at two hundred thousand gold coins.”

“Two fifty.”

“Three hundred.”

“Three fifty.”

The numbers climbed rapidly—greedy, relentless.

Valeforia raised her hand.

Her voice was steady—cold.

“Five hundred thousand.”

The hall went still.

The Host blinked—once—then smiled wider.

“Ohh hoo… five hundred thousand. Anyone else?”

A deep voice from the upper balcony cut through.

“Ten hundred thousand.”

The hall went still again.

Aiden placed a hand on Valeforia’s shoulder—gentle but firm.

She hesitated.

The demon woman did not lower her head.

Her golden eyes met Aiden’s across the distance—for a single heartbeat.

Recognition.

Defiance.

Hope.

Then she was led away—chains clinking, crimson body gleaming under the lights, hips swaying defiantly with every step.

The curtain closed behind her.

The hall felt heavier.

Darker.

The Host’s smile never faltered.

“And now,” he said, voice dropping to a velvet whisper, “our final offering.”

The lights dimmed completely.

The music slowed to a throbbing heartbeat.

The curtain rose once more.

The hall had grown so quiet that the soft clink of chains sounded like thunder.

Every masked face turned toward the stage.

The velvet curtain parted slowly—inch by agonizing inch—revealing the final offering.

She stepped forward alone.

Her body was bound by chains.

Just her.

A cat girl.

Dressed in a torn outfit that did nothing hide her huge cleavage.

Her skin was flawless porcelain—smooth, pale, glowing faintly under the stage lights like moonlight on fresh snow.

Long, midnight-black hair cascaded down her back in glossy waves—reaching past her waist, brushing the tops of her impossibly round ass cheeks with every subtle shift of her body.

Two large, fluffy black cat ears perched atop her head—twitching once, twice—sensitive tips flicking toward every sound in the hall.

A long, sinuous black tail swayed lazily behind her—thick at the base, tapering to a fine point—curling and uncurling with quiet, predatory grace.

Her eyes were vivid amethyst—slitted like a true feline’s—glowing faintly in the dim light, sharp and intelligent and utterly unafraid.

And her body…

Gods, her body.

Her breasts were obscene—massive, impossibly full, heavy enough that they swayed gently with every breath she took.

They sat high on her chest despite their size—round, firm, pale skin stretched taut over generous curves, dark pink nipples already stiff and erect from the cool air beneath her torn clothes.

The deep valley between them drew every eye—shadowed, inviting, quivering softly each time her chest rose and fell.

Her waist was tiny—almost unreal—flaring dramatically into wide, plush hips that begged to be gripped, to be pulled back against someone’s body while they drove into her from behind.

Her ass was plump, heart-shaped perfection—cheeks full and round, jiggling faintly with each careful step she took across the stage.

She was perfection.

She was rarity incarnate.

The hall forgot how to breathe.

Even the most jaded nobles sat forward—masks hiding expressions, but bodies leaning, hungry.

The Host’s voice—usually so smooth—cracked slightly with excitement.

“Our final, most valued offering of the evening,” he announced, spreading his arms wide.

“The Midnight Cat Girl. A living legend. A bloodline so rare it was thought extinct. Captured only weeks ago in the deepest forests beyond the Veil.”

Aiden’s system panel flashed open in his vision—bright, urgent, impossible to ignore.

—

[TARGET CONFIRMED]

[EXTREME COMPATIBILITY DETECTED]

[BOND POSSIBILITY: HIGH]

[WARNING: THIS BEING IS NOT ORDINARY]

—

END OF Chapter : 223 : BIDDING!

—

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep