Kaelen's icy voice rendered the entire hall into a vacuum of silence. Every gaze fixed upon him, half-mocking, half-bewildered. The auctioneer narrowed his eyes, a scowl forming on his face.
"Listen closely, stranger... what could you possibly possess that outweighs the value of solid gold in this hall?"
Kaelen offered a thin, enigmatic smile as he withdrew a small but exquisitely crafted crystal vial from his inner pocket. Inside, a swirling essence of shifting cerulean and violet light pulsed with a life of its own.
"This is the 'Dragon's Heart Essence.' The pinnacle of alchemy fused with advanced engineering. Infuse this into a single engine, and it will power your entire industrial metropolis for a hundred years. Your piles of gold are but dross compared to this."
The hall fell so silent that the ticking of the clock felt like thunder. The auctioneer's hands began to tremble. The sheer radiance and the humming energy radiating from the vial were undeniable; it was no lie. This was something beyond currency—it was the power to redefine an empire.
"Is... is this genuine?" the auctioneer stammered, his voice hushed with awe.
"If you harbor doubt, summon your scholars to verify it. But know this—if you desire this essence, that girl must be handed to me this instant," Kaelen declared with absolute finality.
Driven by a hunger that bypassed the protests of the other tycoons, the auctioneer brought his gavel down with a deafening crack.
"Sold! The girl is handed over to the owner of the blue essence!"
When the girl was led off the stage, she came to a halt, kneeling before Kaelen. He reached out, tilting her chin upward to meet his piercing gaze.
"The ink upon your back betrays your bloodline... 'The Last Descendant of the Ancient Empire.'"
The girl's eyes fractured with terror as she stared back at him. She had never imagined that in this broken world, someone would still recognize the secret etched into her skin.
Upon returning to the manor, the air was thick with a suffocating tension. The girl rescued from the auction looked at them not with the frailty of a victim, but with the fierce, unyielding gaze of a trapped tigress—injured, yet ready to strike at a moment's notice.
The second they entered the parlor, she recoiled, her fists trembling with repressed fury.
"Don't you dare touch me!" she hissed, her voice quivering but her eyes blazing with a suicidal resolve. "If you try to defile me, I will trade my life for your blood. I'll kill you all!"
Gideon and Julian stood paralyzed by her intensity, but Kaelen remained unmoved. He took a seat with clinical grace and offered a slow, dismissive shake of his head.
"Be at peace... I have no intention of harming you. I didn't expend a fortune just to stain your dignity."
At Kaelen's signal, Julian brought forward a clean, sturdy tunic suited for a mechanic. "Put this on," Kaelen instructed. "It will be far more comfortable than those rags."
The girl changed with lingering suspicion, later joining them at the dining table. Though clearly famished, she sat rigid, eyeing the food as if it were laced with venom. It was then that Kaelen drew a gleaming Golden Revolver from his holster. He checked the cylinder with a metallic click and slid the weapon across the table toward her.
"Take it. If any of us attempts to harm you, use this to end them."
Gideon and Julian gasped in unison. Handing a lethal weapon to a former captive seemed like pure madness. Yet, the girl froze, staring at the gold-plated steel in disbelief.
"Why...?" she whispered.
Kaelen gazed into the hearth, his eyes reflecting a distant, melancholy past. "I recognize the ink on your back. Years ago, when I was but a boy of ten, I was sold into slavery on the high seas. The person who snatched me from the jaws of death bore a tattoo exactly like yours."
He paused, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. "At twenty, I saved the life of another who wore that mark. Now, at thirty, our paths cross. This is no coincidence... it is the weave of fate."
The sheer sincerity in his voice began to erode her hostility. She reached out, her fingers brushing the cool metal of the revolver. "Do you... truly trust me?"
Kaelen simply smiled. But the shadows of a lifetime of cruelty were not so easily dispelled.
"I don't believe a word you say!" she suddenly erupted, her voice cracking. "Why save me? For a tattoo? Or do you want something else? You men are all the same!"
Kaelen didn't flinch. He merely took a calm sip of his wine. "Belief is your prerogative, not mine. I have done what I set out to do. Next week, we leave this manor for a new territory. You may follow us if you wish. I will not bar your way."
He turned his gaze toward the blackened cityscape outside the window. "But heed this warning: if you walk out that door now, the auctioneers or the city guard will have you in irons by dawn. In that case, this golden revolver will only be useful for your final breath."
The girl locked eyes with Kaelen for one final, searching moment before grabbing the gun and bolting through the front door into the night.
"Master!" Julian cried out in dismay. "That revolver was priceless! Not only is the gun gone, but she's fled. All our 'Dragon Essence' and our time... was it all for nothing?"
Gideon nodded urgently. "Will she even come back? If she's caught, she might reveal our location!"
Kaelen remained a pillar of serenity, the firelight dancing in his eyes. He let out a faint, knowing chuckle.
"Do not worry."
Inside the manor, Gideon sat on the sofa, his hands and feet turning ice-cold. Despite his role as the formidable Kaelen Voss, the mechanical clicks of rifles being readied outside stripped away his remaining courage.
"Master... they're here!" Julian whispered urgently from his vantage point by the window.
Kaelen calmly closed his book, the sound echoing in the silent room, and gave a slight nod. "Our guests have arrived... it's time to put the 'laborers' of this house to work."
The main doors of the manor burst open with a deafening crash. Five mercenaries charged in, their weapons raised and fingers twitching on the triggers. But before they could even take three steps, the lead soldier froze mid-stride as if hitting an invisible wall.
"What... what is this!" he shrieked, but his voice was choked off. An invisible, freezing force had coiled tightly around his throat.
In the dim light, the faintest glint revealed the truth: the room was a labyrinth of Razor-Thin Monofilament Wires, nearly invisible to the naked eye. Each wire was strategically positioned to snap taut at the slightest movement.
The scarlet-clad tailor, who had been "casually whistling" earlier, had spent the evening weaving a web of death. From the shadows of the ceiling, the tailor looked down with a cold smile, his gloved fingers manipulating the tension of the wires like a puppeteer.
"Do not move," Kaelen's voice rang out from the sofa, smooth and terrifyingly calm. "In this house, every step you take is a choice between life and a very messy end."