FFF Class Auto Hero: The Weakest Class Turned Out To Be The Strongest? Chapter 23: A Deal In Blood And Gold Part Two

The man in black tilted his head slightly. "I have my reasons."

Oswald frowned. "And those reasons would be...?"

There was a long pause before the stranger responded.

"So are ant for study. Others... will serve different purposes."

A slow smile crept onto Marven's lips. "Heh. I like the sound of that. You a researcher? Maybe a summoner? Heard stories of folks using slaves for all kinds of crazy things—rituals, catalysts, blood magic."

The man in black gave no confirmation, only a slight chuckle. "Your curiosity is admirable, but unnecessary."

Jarvin folded his arms. "Far as I'm concerned, as long as the gold keeps flowing, I don't care why you need them."

The stranger nodded. "Then we have no further concerns. My n will take the stock."

At his signal, hooded figures erged from the shadows. They moved with grace, dragging chained prisoners from the adjacent chamber. So slaves whimpered, others remained silent, eyes vacant as if they had given up completely.

The dealers watched with satisfaction as the transaction concluded, their coffers heavy with gold.

And as the last of the prisoners was loaded onto carriages bound for an unknown fate, the man in black turned to them once more.

"You have done well. Continue your work." His violet eyes glead. "The next phase begins soon."

With that, he turned and vanished into the night.

The deal was done. Gold in hand, the slave traders stood, stretching and ready to leave behind the stench of damp stone and misery.

Jarvin Krull rolled his shoulders with a grunt. "Well, boys, another good night's work. Let's get the fuck outta here before the rats start thinking we belong here."

Oswald smirked, tossing his pouch of gold in the air and catching it. "For once, I agree. A warm bed, won, and so fine wine sound a hell of a lot better than this shithole."

Marven cracked his knuckles, glancing at Viado, who had already started walking toward the exit. "Let's move, then. No need to linger."

The slave dealers strode through the ruined corridors of the fortress, their footsteps echoing softly.

Outside, the night was thick with fog, clinging to the twisted remains of trees. The air was damp, carrying the scent of old stone and decay—but also sothing... off. Sothing coppery, tallic.

Oswald was the first to slow his pace, his sharp eyes narrowing as he sniffed the air.

"The fuck is that sll?"

Marven snorted, chewing lazily on his bloodroot bark. "What, afraid of a little rot, Greaves? We're in a godsdamned ruin."

But then Jarvin—who had survived too many ambushes to ignore a gut feeling—stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes swept over the mist-laden road ahead. The fortress gates stood open, the path beyond barely visible under the moon's pale light.

And then, he saw them.

A dozen figures erged from the fog, cloaked in dark blue silken robes embroidered with lunar sigils. Their hoods were down, revealing a variety of won—so human, so not. At the forefront stood one unlike the others.

Scarlet hair cascaded over her shoulders, vibrant as fresh blood under the moonlight. Small white horns jutted from her head, gleaming in the dim light, and her piercing red eyes burned with sothing far worse than hatred—purpose.

She smiled.

"Gentlen," she purred. "Out so late?"

Viado scoffed, brushing imaginary dust from his fine coat. "Who the fuck are you?"

The red-haired demoness tilted her head, her crimson eyes gleaming with sothing unreadable. "Strange," she murmured, tapping a finger against her lips. "n like you usually have a good nose for danger. And yet... here you stand. Clueless."

Jarvin's patience snapped. "Outta the way, bitch. We're done with our business for the night."

A look of amusent flashed in her crimson eyes.

"Oh, I know." She took a slow step forward. "That's why we're here."

A sharp cry rang out from behind them.

Oswald whirled around, his stomach lurching at what he saw.

The guards they had brought—their most trusted enforcers—were dead. Mangled. Their bodies were twisted at unnatural angles, their throats slit so deeply that their heads barely clung to their shoulders.

One man still twitched, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly as his life drained into the dirt.

"The fuck—?!" Viado stumbled backward, his lips parting in horror.

Marven took an uneasy step, eyes darting wildly. "Where—where were the screams? We didn't hear a fucking thing—"

A shadow flickered in the corner of their vision.

Then, the won moved.

They surged forward—too fast, too coordinated.

Jarvin barely had ti to reach for his dagger before cold, slender fingers locked around his wrists, twisting them back with bone-snapping force.

Oswald cried out as two won pinned him against the crumbling stone wall, their grips impossibly tight for re won. Marven struggled, but a sharp knee to his gut sent him crumpling, his breath leaving him in a wheezing gasp.

Viado only had ti to take one step before a hand gripped his chin, forcing his head up. He found himself staring directly into the red-haired demoness's eyes.

She smiled wider.

"You asked who we are," she murmured, tilting her head. "Well, since you're so curious..."

Her grip tightened, nails digging into his skin as she whispered, "My na is Selene."

She let go abruptly, letting him fall to his knees. His breath ca in ragged gasps, his body trembling.

Jarvin spat blood onto the ground, his pulse pounding in his skull. "You fucking whores have no idea who you're ssing with. Do you know who we are? You're cultists, aren't you? Blood mages, right? You won't get away with this!"

Selene's expression remained calm. "Oh, we know exactly who you are."

She leaned down, her lips inches from his ear. "You're sacrifices."

A cold wave of dread washed over the n.

Viado swallowed hard. "If this is about money, we can—"

Laughter.

Dark, mischievous laughter erupted from the gathered won, a sound that sent icy tendrils of fear down the n's spines.

One of them, a pale woman with sharp features, wiped a tear from her eye. "Money? Oh, darling. There isn't a sum in existence that could compare to this."

Selene's eyes glead. "You're not worth gold."

A silver dagger slid from her sleeve.

"You're worth blood."

Then, they struck.

Blades plunged into flesh, piercing deep, twisting.

Screams echoed through the ruins—shrieks of agony, of disbelief. The n struggled, kicked, begged. Blood sprayed across the dirt, staining robes, painting pale hands red.

The won chanted as they carved into their bodies, their voices rising in a fevered hymn.

"Fear not the night, for it is the veil of the eternal."

Again.

"Fear not the night, for it is the veil of the eternal!"

Again.

"FEAR NOT THE NIGHT—"

By the ti the last syllable left their lips, the n had stopped moving. Their bodies slumped, lifeless. The tallic scent of blood thickened the air, clinging to their skin, their hair.

Selene let out a slow breath, crouching beside the corpses.

Reaching into her robes, she withdrew a small glass bottle—a deep blue vial, swirling with an eerie glow. With practiced ease, she uncorked it and held it over the bodies.

A faint, ghostly mist rose from the dead, drawn into the vial like water down a drain. Their very souls, torn from the flesh.

Once the last wisp vanished, she sealed the bottle with a soft click.

She rose to her feet, flicking blood from her dagger.

"It's done." Her voice was quiet, reverent.

She turned to the others, her crimson eyes gleaming. "We must hurry. The High Priestess awaits."