SVMS 08

~Chapter 08~

The place they were taken to was, strangely enough, a temporary prison located behind a massive stage setup.

It wasn’t hard for Floria to realize this.

While being dragged along, she managed to sneak a few glances—there was definitely a stage out in front of the prison, and she even spotted rows of seated people beyond that.

The floor of the new prison even had wheels attached, so it could be moved easily.

But as for what this place actually was…

“Now presenting: Slave Number Five.”

A booming voice rang out, so loud it made Floria’s eardrums shake. She quickly turned her head in surprise.

She couldn’t see anything, but the echo suggested that a magical sound amplification device was being used up on the stage.

“Wait… slave number five?”

“A slave auction?” she whispered.

“Yup,” Caspal replied calmly.

She had feared it. Doubted it. But now it was confirmed: it really was a slave auction!

And the duke sitting beside her? He was no help at all. He just nodded along and continued slumping like nothing was happening.

‘He knew… and he’s still acting like this?!’

Floria’s eyes shook with disbelief. He was her only ally right now, and he was completely useless. She didn’t even have the energy to glare at him anymore.

Her gaze fell on the iron bars.

CLANG!

She shoved her face between the bars—even though her face barely fit—and started shouting at the top of her lungs.

“Help! I’m Floria, priestess of the Alldante Temple! If you try to sell me, who knows what the temple will do to retaliate! You better let me go while you can!”

If she had known this would happen, she would’ve taken that newspaper photo without her veil!

Not that she even knew when the photo was taken…

And sure, there was a slim chance anyone would actually listen to her cries—but still, she had to try something. There was no way she could just be sold like this.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she shouted, but that’s when Caspal—who had been relaxed this entire time—suddenly widened his eyes.

And then burst out laughing.

He laughed so hard he had to cover his mouth with his bare hand—this time without the black gloves he usually wore. His knuckles were covered in small, thick scars.

“Floria. You really want to live, huh?”

“Of course I do!!”

She huffed in anger while he kept laughing like it was the funniest thing he’d seen in ages.

She didn’t know what was so funny. Was this really the time to laugh?!

If she had known this would happen, she wouldn’t have come to the festival.

Forget the week off. Forget the triple pay. What was the point if she ended up like this?

“Well, don’t worry. Even if you’re sold as a slave here, you won’t die. The only problem is whose hands you end up in.”

No! She didn’t care who bought her—she didn’t want to be a slave at all!

Why was he talking like he knew everything?

Why was he so calm?

Unable to take it anymore, Floria just collapsed onto the floor.

No matter how much she shook the bars, no one came. The only sound she heard from the front of the stage was:

“Sold!”

The voice of despair.

There was no more hope.

Until—someone from the next cell spoke softly.

“Um… Are you really Floria, the priestess?”

“…Yes? Yes, that’s me.”

“Wait… The Floria? From the newspaper? Really?!”

The voice got excited. The person even shook their bars like they were trying to see her. But the bars between them were thick, and all they could see were each other’s fingertips.

“Yes, that’s me… Why are you asking?”

Floria was confused. But saying yes turned out to be a big mistake.

Suddenly, cheers erupted from all over the prison.

“Oh, thank the heavens!”

“The Saintess is here! We’re saved!!”

Wait, what?!

Floria felt like she had just been smacked on the head. She was stunned.

“The miracle-working saintess who grants wishes if you pray hard enough! Please save us from this place, oh holy one!”

“Amen! Amen!”

The people in the prison began to sob and pray.

Seriously? Even here, I’m being treated like this?

“I’m just a priestess! A low-ranking one! Very low-ranking!” Floria cried out in near despair.

But no one believed her.

All she heard in return were voices praising her humility, like they were ready to faint in awe.

If that wasn’t frustrating enough, Caspal, standing beside her, added fuel to the fire with a serious voice:

“Priestess Floria—no, should I say Saintess? I believe in you, too.”

“…What?!”

Wait. You believe that, too?

Is that why you’ve been so calm this whole time?

He wasn’t joking—his eyes were filled with genuine trust and admiration as he gazed at her.

Floria was already on the verge of losing it, but then slave traders marched in and began dragging people out of the adjacent cells.

‘Hang in there, Saintess!’

The prisoners about to go on stage raised their cuffed hands and clenched their fists in a show of hope.

Some even sent her encouraging looks.

No—listen. I can’t do anything. I’m serious!

She thumped her chest in frustration.

All she could hear from the stage was:

“Slave Number ___!”

Time kept ticking.

Eventually, one of the traders came into their cell and grabbed Floria by the arm.

“…Duke! Duke Caspal!”

Even as she was being dragged away, Floria twisted her body to call out to him.

He didn’t seem reliable, but he was a duke. Maybe there was still a tiny sliver of hope?

But Caspal just waved at her lazily.

“You son of a—!”

She finally snapped, shouting vulgar words without thinking.

She should’ve forced him to bring his knight earlier. Now look what’s happened!

Seeing Caspal clearly wasn’t going to help, so she changed her approach and turned to the slaver, dragging her away.

“Hey! That guy over there—he’s Duke Fonhas! You’ll be dead if you touch him. Got it?!”

“Hah. Really?”

Her wrist trembled, and her voice shook like a baby goat. Not very threatening.

The trader scoffed and even pointed rudely at her.

“That’s nonsense. The Duke’s eyes are yellow. Everyone in the empire knows that—not even a dog would miss it!”

“They’re real! He used a potion!”

“Oh, sure. And you’re Floria the red-haired priestess, huh?”

“…I am.”

“What a load of garbage!”

It was true! But the trader didn’t believe her at all.

People pretending to be nobles wasn’t uncommon. She was dismissed as yet another delusional faker.

And so, Floria was thrown onto the stage with a loud yell.

“Now presenting, Slave Number Twelve!”

The once-dark stage exploded with light.

She instinctively tried to shield her face, but her hands were cuffed—it barely worked.

She squinted hard, her whole face scrunching up in pain from the brightness.

“……”

But in the audience below, the people holding auction paddles… froze.

This hidden slave auction, secretly held during grand festivals like this one, often attracted people looking for companions—or worse, playthings.

But Floria…

Wavy red hair, emerald-green eyes—an exact match for the now-famous “Floria the Saintess” in all the newspapers.

Even with no jewelry and only a plain dress, she was the most beautiful person to appear on that stage yet.

“Let the auction begin!”

“10 million shillings!”

“20 million!”

The crowd gasped as the numbers jumped up in huge amounts right away.

Many buyers raised their signs, but most gave up quickly and lowered them again.

Only two stayed in the race:

“50 million shillings!”

One was a merchant who had gotten rich recently and wanted to become a noble.

“60 million shillings.”

The other was a disgusting noble known for his love of women—Baron Bralz, a fat, greedy man.

The two kept trying to outbid each other in a kind of battle of pride.

Then finally—

“100 million shillings!”

Baron Bralz made the final call.

“100 million from the gentleman over there! Any more bids? No? Then sold!”

100 million shillings.

A record-breaking amount. No one in that auction had ever seen a bid that high.

I’m doomed.

All those promises she made to herself—how she’d do anything to survive—gone in an instant.

As she saw the baron licking his lips and rubbing his round belly while staring at her with disgusting eyes, she decided she’d rather die.

Meanwhile, behind the stage, even the traders began whispering.

“Hey, isn’t that Baron Bralz?”

And the moment someone recognized him—

Caspal, who had been casually whistling behind the stage, narrowed his eyes sharply.

When the traders finally approached him for his turn, he changed his face instantly, trembling with fake fear.

“P-please… spare me…”