Chapter 114: Saint Rosward
At a human auction, a purchased "item" was not handed over immediately.
Ordinary buyers had to wait until the auction ended before collecting their slaves in one batch. Only the Celestial Dragons were exceptions. If one of the World Nobles wanted something, the auction house would deliver it at once, no matter whose turn it was or what rules had been written beforehand.
Rules existed for people beneath them.
After the first woman was sold for 430,000 Berries, Eli leaned slightly toward Axel and whispered, "That price was low. First item of the day, used to warm up the room. Here, take a look."
He pulled out a folded auction list he had taken near the entrance.
Axel could not see it with his eyes closed, but Eli still spread it open for the others. On the list were different races and their base prices, each marked with an upward-pointing symbol, meaning the final price would almost always exceed the amount written.
Humans: starting from 500,000 Berries.
Dwarves: starting from 700,000 Berries.
Fish-Men: starting from 1,000,000 Berries.
Male Giants: starting from 50,000,000 Berries.
Female Giants: starting from 10,000,000 Berries.
Female Merfolk: starting from 70,000,000 Berries.
Male Merfolk: starting from 1,000,000 Berries.
Devil Fruit users had no fixed price.
Eli lowered his voice even further. "These are only the minimums. Almost everything sells above the listed price. If the bids are too low, the auction house either arranges fake bidders to drive up the number or simply withdraws the item."
Issho frowned slightly. "But the woman just now…"
"That was probably to make the atmosphere lively," Axel said.
A difference of less than 100,000 Berries was not much to the people sitting in this hall. But the impression mattered.
The first item had gone below the listed minimum. That made the buyers feel as if there were bargains to be found, as if bidding early might allow them to snatch something valuable for cheap. And once nobles started competing, "cheap" became irrelevant.
To people who cared about face more than sense, backing down was humiliation. Unless the price rose beyond their tolerance, they would keep raising their paddles just to avoid looking weak in front of others.
Using a human being as a tool to stir up greed.
The thought alone made Axel's expression turn colder.
Issho's voice sank. "To sell people as goods is vile enough. To use them as bait to excite a crowd… this place has abandoned even the shape of humanity."
He had seen much darkness after losing his sight.
Casinos, alleys, pirate ports, noble houses—none of them were clean places. A blind man wandering those places was treated as prey more often than as a person. But the darkness gathered here was different.
It did not hide.
It put itself on a stage, polished its shoes, dressed in fine clothes, and invited applause.
"People living in harmony sounds beautiful," Eli said with a bitter smile, "but it's the sort of dream only people with power can afford to say out loud. Expecting nobles not to exploit commoners is already impossible. Expecting them to live peacefully with people they see as beneath their shoes? That would take someone holding a blade to their throats every morning."
He did not dislike Issho's words.
He simply knew Sabaody too well.
In this place, unchecked desire had grown roots deeper than the Yarukiman Mangroves. The strong took. The weak endured. That was the law beneath the law.
"Gain something, lose something else," Axel murmured. "Maybe people like this traded away their conscience and humanity in exchange for wealth and power."
It was not a profound thought born from personal enlightenment. It was merely the kind of conclusion history repeated again and again until even a fool could understand it.
Hawkins looked down at the card between his fingers.
"Fate will destroy people like them in the end."
Axel turned his face slightly. "Is that from your divination?"
"No," Hawkins replied. "My divination has limits. That was intuition."
Limits.
Axel had gradually begun to understand them.
Hawkins could divine the difficulty of a person's fate, but not necessarily every event awaiting them. He could predict outcomes for those within his awareness, but not every unseen variable beyond it. And sometimes, the result could be bent by a strange trigger, like the cookie incident earlier.
Still, even with limits, the man was disturbingly accurate.
Their quiet conversation did not affect the hall. No one nearby paid attention to the exact words. Every eye, every thought, every flicker of anticipation was fixed on the stage.
Then the atmosphere changed.
Not gradually.
It froze.
A staff member in a pointed hat hurried in from the side entrance. Behind him came three figures—one large, two small.
They wore the white garments of the Celestial Dragons. Bubble helmets surrounded their heads, separating them from the same air as the "lower beings" around them. Black stripes decorated the hems of their clothing, and their odd hairstyles, together with the shape of their clothes, gave them a strange, inhuman silhouette.
The hall fell silent.
Even nobles who had been laughing moments ago lowered their heads.
Celestial Dragons.
The descendants of the Twenty Kings who had founded the World Government eight hundred years ago.
The World Nobles.
The Rosward family had arrived.
Saint Rosward entered with his son, Saint Charlos, and his daughter, Saint Shalria.
Charlos waddled beside his father. Though his body was already large and bloated, he was still only around ten years old. His lips curled with childish impatience.
"Father, I want to buy a wife today," Charlos said. "I'm bored of the last one."
In any normal family, such words from a child would have earned horror, anger, or at least correction.
Saint Rosward merely glanced at him through his sunglasses. His beard was groomed neatly, his expression carrying the bored indulgence of a man discussing toys.
"Very well. But train this one properly."
Shalria, who was also around ten, lifted her chin. Her young face still held traces of brightness, but the words that came from her mouth were colder than any pirate's blade.
"I want one too. Like Brother Charlos. But I want a strong, healthy slave this time. The last one died before I finished training it."
Saint Rosward sighed, sounding more troubled than saddened.
"Shalria, you ruined another one of my captain slaves. This time, I'll buy you a sturdier one. Don't take anything from my collection again."
Shalria smiled, pleased like a little girl promised a present.
Only the present was a human being.
Only the purpose was torment.
The staff guided the three Celestial Dragons to the very front of the hall. There, the seats were wider, more ornate, and positioned with the best possible view of the stage.
A special area reserved for gods.
Or rather, for those who believed themselves gods.
Only after the Celestial Dragons sat down did the host dare to continue.
The audience slowly regained its breath, but the lively atmosphere from earlier did not return completely. The nobles in the front rows sat stiffly now, careful not to move too much, speak too loudly, or make the slightest mistake that might draw the wrong attention.
Saint Rosward leaned back and spoke lazily.
"Start the auction again."
The host's forehead glistened with sweat, but his smile did not falter.
"Of course, Saint Rosward!"
No one objected.
Not the nobles.
Not the merchants.
Not the pirates hiding among them.
They simply accepted it.
It was not that they felt no resentment.
It was that resentment had nowhere to go.
Nobles were still nobles before commoners. They could crush lives, seize property, and speak of people as livestock without fear.
But before the World Nobles, even they were nothing more than commoners wearing expensive clothes.
If a Celestial Dragon killed a noble here, there would be no crime.
Only an unfortunate accident.
.....
[If you don't want to wait for the next update, read 50 chapters ahead on P@treon.]
[[email protected]/FanficLord03]