Chapter 133: The Chain Market and a Dragon’s Wound

The Ruby Auction House buzzed with activity, its entrance teeming with carriages. A routine auction was about to commence.

Guests attending the auction moved directly through the grand hall towards various auction rooms. Occasionally, a member of the auction house would approach the VIP passage, merely showing their face to the row of guards at the door.

Then, they would toss a coin. Immediately, someone would swiftly catch it, relieve the guest of their money box or cane, and escort them into the passage.

Ordinary guests were utterly unaware that these “members” would never appear in any of the visible auction rooms above ground. Their true destination was a clandestine, unsavory secret auction held somewhere in the depths below.

Furthermore, the coins they offered were not mere tips, but rather entrance tickets. Upon entering the VIP passage, these tickets would immediately undergo rigorous inspection.

Within this subterranean auction, one could discover a myriad of rare commodities never seen in legitimate auctions. These included stolen collectibles from private collectors or museums, burial artifacts plundered from ancient tombs, and materials harvested from illegally hunted magical beasts.

Live magical beasts, ancient texts and artifacts linked to heretical powers, witches’ secret elixirs, illicit drugs, and smuggled goods were all on offer. Yet, the most thrilling—and most forbidden—item was the auction of living people, a practice commonly known as human trafficking.

Slaves, brought to the auction floor in shackles, were the primary draw of this underground market. Consequently, this hidden auction was known among insiders as the Chain Market.

****

In a private room beneath the auction house, Duke Bedford, the venerable noble and true power behind the Chain Market, sat quietly on a lounge chair.

He listened intently as a younger noble delivered his report.

“Your plan is truly brilliant, Duke Bedford,” Count Gina, who used the alias Mr. Dis in public, reported excitedly to the Duke, recounting the intelligence he had gathered. “According to our sources, the Privy Council has convened an emergency meeting. It appears they are already considering abandoning the Saintess.”

“That old dog of the Alençon family must have received the news by now. It’s truly a pity I couldn’t witness the expression on his face!”

“An expected outcome,” Duke Bedford remarked, a composed smile gracing his lips.

“Only the process was surprisingly simple,” Count Gina said, grinning from ear to ear. “I never imagined such a minor trick would accomplish so much.”

“The timing was simply perfect. For Duke Alençon’s adopted daughter, on whom he placed such high hopes, to encounter trouble at such a moment, it can only be described as a godsend,” Duke Bedford stated, his demeanor remarkably calm.

“You are too modest, Your Grace. How could a brute who only knows how to lead troops possibly compare to you?” Count Gina bowed deeply.

“They are indeed not adept at politics,” Duke Bedford slowly conceded. “However, one must not underestimate the Alençon family’s standing. They are a mighty dragon, not one that can be slain with a single stab.”

“A dragon guarding the border, you say?” Count Gina scoffed. “It’s a shame that in this era of prolonged peace, the Empire no longer requires such watchdogs.”

“My point is that the Northern Duke’s status, built upon military achievements, is not easily overthrown. To slay a dragon, one must stab it again and again, gradually stripping away its scales and widening its wounds.”

“Now that we have finally struck it, we cannot simply end the struggle after drawing a few drops of blood,” the Duke explained slowly. “Currently, that Saintess is the Alençon family’s wound. That is where we must plunge our knives!”

“What do you intend to do?” Count Gina inquired cautiously.

“We must seize this opportunity to amplify its impact. I will soon visit several old friends and encourage them to use this chance to jointly impeach Duke Alençon.”

“You must effectively utilize our channels to spread the news that Duke Alençon’s adopted daughter has colluded with heretics. Let everyone in the Imperial City know that the Alençon family has squandered its resources cultivating a witch!”

“We must ensure the Alençon family cannot distance themselves from that Saintess, and that the Church cannot downplay this significant matter.”

“Ah!” Count Gina exclaimed, nodding with a look of sudden realization. “Excellent! I shall handle this!”

“It just so happens that the Royal Family has recently been seeking opportunities to curb the power of the Church and the border military. And Duke Alençon has been so close to the Church, even allowing his adopted daughter to rise through ecclesiastical channels.”

Duke Bedford slowly rose from his rocking chair, taking his cane. “Heh heh… Someone will surely be willing to use this as an excuse to force the Church to humble itself. As long as we cause enough uproar and the Church faces sufficient pressure, they will have no choice but to cut off their own tail to survive, shifting all blame onto the Saintess and the Alençon family. After all, losing face is better than losing power.”

“I see. A valuable lesson,” the young Count Gina said, nodding humbly at his senior.

“To truly undermine the Northern Duke’s position, that Saintess cannot simply be imprisoned in the Temple Iron Prison for a few years and then released.”

Duke Bedford smiled, looking at Count Gina. “Remember, she is a sacrifice. The harsher her punishment, the more tragic her fate, the greater the blow to the Alençon family.”

“Once the Northern Duke’s power is curtailed, more slaves will be able to cross the border from the North, and our business will become even smoother.”

Count Gina began to envision the future. “Orders for slaves from our old clients are piling up like mountains.”

“Survival of the fittest. This invincible nation no longer requires warriors for battlefield slaughter; it needs political strategists. The future belongs to us.”

Duke Bedford walked to the mirror, adjusted his collar, and then donned the mask he wore for the underground auction. “Alright, let’s go. The banquet is about to begin.”

****

At the Gold River Club, Pierre Alençon emerged from the Masked Brotherhood’s private meeting room. His steps were unsteady as he made his way towards a guest room, a sense of euphoria swelling within him.

Today was a good day. He had personally sent that detestable country bumpkin to hell, making her pay for her past transgressions.

He would not be returning home tonight. His father, upon learning of his false testimony at the trial, would undoubtedly be furious.

However, the matter was now settled. At this stage, a guilty verdict from the third trial was inevitable; even with their family’s influence, it could not be overturned. His father would have no choice but to actively disassociate himself from Jeanne Decker to prevent the family from being implicated in the witch’s crime she had committed.

No matter how much his father blamed him, it would not change the fact that he was the Alençon family’s sole heir. Eventually, his father would accept this reality.

Until then, he would do his best to avoid his father’s wrath.

“Ugh…” He burped, fumbling for his guest room key as he rounded the final corridor. His reserved room was just ahead.

As he turned the corner, he froze, his hand trembling involuntarily. The guest room key slipped from his grasp, clattering to the floor.

Duke Alençon, radiating a palpable killing intent, stood directly in front of his door.

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