As the last item was brought into auction, everyone instinctively looked at it as last eleven items were best than last one.
The mont the dark crystal box was placed on the pedestal, the energy within the hall shifted.
It was subtle at first—just a flicker of unease, like soone walking over a forgotten grave—but then it grew heavier. Thick. The air pressed down like an invisible fog, and even seasoned cultivators felt their breath catch.
The auctioneer gave a rare pause, visibly bracing himself before speaking.
"This… is not an item to be taken lightly."
He gestured, and the protective seals on the box unlocked with a chi. The lid lifted, revealing an ancient scroll suspended within a barrier of soul-forged crystal.
The parchnt shimred—not with light, but with ti itself. It looked as though it had existed long before any of the guests had ever drawn breath. Its surface was inscribed with an elegant script that shimred with primordial soul energy.
It didn't pulse with power like other techniques. No, this one breathed. It whispered.
And those with deep soul senses could hear its call.
Appraiser's Analysis
Na: Eternal Soul Rebirth Scripture
Type: Soul Cultivation Technique
Effects:
Allows one to rebuild the soul after death once, assuming the body can be reford.
Strengthens soul essence with each ditation cycle.
Unlocks latent soul-based abilities, including Soul Echo, Thought Transmission, and Karmic Resistance.
Defect:
Requires a stable soul core to begin.
Failure to synchronize properly may lead to spiritual dissociation or permanent mory loss.
A heavy silence fell over the crowd.
This wasn't just a rare technique. It was a myth.
Most sects didn't even believe soul rebirth was real.
And yet, here it was.
The starting bid was quiet. Almost reverent.
"Starting bid: 1,000,000 High-Quality Astral Stones."
"1.2 million."
"1.6."
"2 million."
The bids climbed faster than the auctioneer could count. Sect elders, alchemists, and soul cultivators—everyone wanted it. Even a few who had sat silent the entire evening began to stir.
And still, Asher remained quiet.
Valeris raised an eyebrow. "You're not seriously going to let this one go too, are you?"
Asher leaned forward, just a little, fingers steepled under his chin. "No," he said quietly. "This one... is mine."
And then, as another bidder shouted—
"3.4 million!"
Asher spoke.
"10 million."
The room froze.
Again.
He had done it before. But this was different. The weight in his voice was deeper. A declaration. Not just of wealth—of intent.
One of the elders from the Jade Pavilion Sect stood up, flustered. "T-Ten million? Preposterous! This is madness—!"
But even as he ranted, he was already sitting down again. No one dared to match it.
Asher's words were final.
The auctioneer, still composed despite the awe in his eyes, raised his hand. "10 million going once… twice… SOLD—to the honored guest."
A round of thunderous silence greeted the declaration.
And with that, the Eternal Soul Rebirth Scripture vanished into Asher's storage ring.
The hall remained eerily quiet as the auctioneer gave his final address.
"Tonight has been… historic," he said, voice steady. "Our deepest gratitude to all participants. As per the protocols of the Black Iron Auction House, guests will now be escorted out in scheduled waves to ensure privacy and safety."
Only three guests were allowed to leave at a ti, in three-minute intervals, each group led by elite guards.
It was an age-old policy of the auction house—ant to avoid ambushes, assassinations, and theft after major purchases. The larger the bids, the earlier your slot.
Naturally, the first departure was granted to the highest spender.
A quiet bell rang.
"All honor to our esteed highest buyer—please proceed to the private exit."
Asher rose from his seat.
He said nothing.
Valeris followed, hands casually behind her back, but her eyes swept the room like blades.
Everyone watched them.
So with envy.
So with fear.
So with the bitter taste of defeat on their tongues.
Asher gave none of them so much as a glance. He had already gained what he wanted.
The guards escorted them to a shadowed corridor that led to a high-security teleportation gate—one that would deliver them safely beyond the city's walls.
The mont he stepped into the circle, Asher glanced down at his palm.
The scripture had settled quietly into Asher's soul space, anchoring itself like a whisper within eternity. It pulsed faintly, harmonizing with the vast and mysterious energies within him—energy so ancient and boundless that even the Eternal Soul Rebirth Scripture seed humbled by it.
Just then, a voice broke the silence.
"The items you've bid on are here," said a guard in heavy black armor, his tone respectful, almost cautious.
Behind him, several auction house attendants approached, each carrying artifacts wrapped in protective arrays—items from across the auction: venom, bloodline slaves, constructs, and more. Among them stood nine individuals in finely enchanted shackles—slaves, yes, but each one pulsing with rare bloodline potential.
A smaller attendant stepped forward, holding out a crystal ledger. "Please confirm the final paynt."
Without hesitation, Asher raised a hand. A soft glow gathered in his palm as perfect-grade Astral Stones materialized from thin air—pure, radiant, and dense with essence far beyond the norm.
The guard's eyes widened slightly at the quality, but he quickly bowed. "Confird. Your paynt is accepted."
He gestured to a teleportation circle behind him. "You may leave through here. As per protocol, your party will be the first to exit."
Asher gave a simple nod and stepped forward, his presence like a shadow that pulled gravity with it. Valeris moved just behind him, ever relaxed, ever sharp-eyed.
The nine bloodline slaves followed. The enchantnts around them flickered gently—obedience runes and soul-binding marks still active. But even in their worn clothes and bruised states, the power that slumbered in their blood was unmistakable.
There were five girls and four boys, each from different parts of the continent, bearing marks of rare and exotic lineages—so celestial, so draconic, one even abyssal. Their expressions were a mix of fear, awe, and confusion as they looked upon the man who now owned them.
After two days, Asher and Valeris, along with their nine new companions, had settled into one of Asher's private estates—a serene but heavily warded manor nestled deep within a hidden pocket realm. The sky above shimred with eternal twilight, and the air was thick with spiritual energy. A perfect place to begin anew. He Created it using his abilities, to have an safe place where they can stay and cultivate until they are powerful enough to leave this place.
Inside the grand hall of the estate, Asher sat upon a stone throne at the head of the chamber, Valeris lounging beside him in her usual effortless grace. Before them stood the nine forr slaves, lined up in silence. Their wounds had been treated, and each wore clean robes gifted by the estate's spirit attendants. Still, uncertainty flickered in their eyes.
Then, Asher stood.
"Now," he said, his voice low, steady, and resonant, "let's start with sothing simple."
He stepped forward, his presence calm yet undeniably dominant. "My na is Asher Magnus," he continued. "And this—" he gestured to the woman beside him, "—is Valeris Magnus, my wife."
Valeris offered a slight smirk, one leg crossed over the other, her gaze sharp but unreadable.
Asher looked each of them in the eye, one by one.
"We only need one thing from you: loyalty," he said. "You were bought not to be used… but to be given a choice."
The nine looked up, startled.
"You will not be treated as slaves in this house," Asher stated. "You may serve as attendants, maids, aides—but only if you choose to. Work with us, grow stronger, earn your place. Or walk away, and I'll send you sowhere safe, far from the reach of those who would exploit your bloodlines."
The words hung in the air like a spellbreaking wind.
"You are free to decide."
Then he stepped back, giving them space. No threats. No ultimatums.
And that was what shook them the most.
Each of the nine looked at one another, eyes wide with disbelief. So were trembling. Others held back tears. They had spent their entire lives being hunted, captured, or sold. This kind of offer... it didn't feel real.
Then, slowly, one of the girls—a silver-haired elf with starlight eyes—stepped forward.
"I…" she began, her voice wavering, "I wish to stay. I want to grow stronger… and protect myself."
One by one, the others followed. A boy with scaled arms bowed deeply. A girl with crimson irises knelt and whispered thanks. A silent child, perhaps no older than eight, simply nodded and walked to Asher's side.
All nine.
All of them chose to stay.
Asher looked at them with a small, almost imperceptible smile.
"Then rise," he said. "Your lives no longer belong to fate. From this mont on… you forge them yourselves."
Valeris gave a light chuckle. "You're such a soft tyrant sotis."
Asher shrugged. "They'll be useful. And if not… they'll be free. Either way, it's better than chains."
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