Grey's heart started beating faster when he noticed the guard approaching.
The cruel smirk on Gracchus's face promised nothing good. He lowered his head, desperately praying not to be noticed.
"Did Lily already report everything?" he thought in panic, trying to make himself invisible, "No, that makes no sense. She wouldn't gain anything from it. Besides, I know her secret. Maybe Quintilian decided to punish me again? Please, just walk past... Pretend you didn't see me... I'm just a bug, someone like you has no reason to bother with me..."
But Grey's silent pleas went unheard. Gracchus loomed over him like a storm cloud.
"You little brat, didn't you forget something?!" the overseer thundered right into the boy's ear.
Grey flinched, his voice trembling. "G-good morning, Mister Gracchus. I finished my work at the pottery, the seniors let me go..."
"Shut up!" Gracchus cut him off. "You're getting on my nerves, you little bastard. If not for my kind heart, I'd drag you to Quintilian for another whipping right now. Why the hell do I have to personally remind you about the exhibition?"
Grey went pale, the realization striking him like lightning. "T-the exhibition? I thought... I thought it was two days ago."
"You don't think, you're just stupid!" Gracchus roared. The boy's face was covered in a generous spray of spit. "The whole city is celebrating today. When else do you think clients are supposed to buy slaves? If I were you, I'd hurry up and make yourself presentable. Maybe someone will fall for that pretty little face of yours, and I won't have to deal with you anymore."
"Y-yes, sir. I'll be ready in a minute," Grey muttered, feeling both relief and dread at the same time.
"Like hell you will, you son of a bitch. Time's up!" Gracchus grabbed the boy by the scruff. "You're coming with me to the main hall right now!"
Grey felt the ground slip out from under his feet.
Soon, he found himself in a spacious hall that, despite its grim purpose, looked surprisingly tidy. The walls were painted in neutral tones, and the floor was covered with clean carpets. Comfortable furniture stood everywhere, creating an illusion of coziness for potential buyers.
Yet this display of elegance only made the true nature of the place stand out even more.
Rows of cramped cages lined the walls and filled the center of the hall, forming a labyrinth of human fates.
Grey's cage stood in one of the corridors on the first floor, the place reserved for the cheapest "goods."
Grey understood his place well.
To Harmon, he was nothing more than a pretty cripple with no real skills or strength. His cage stood among others like him, "useless lives" — old men with lifeless eyes, worn-out women, and even a few orcs who, strangely enough, were worth more than he was.
From what Sheryl and Lily had told him, he knew the third floor was the most luxurious.
That was where they displayed the strongest men, the most attractive women, and various craftsmen. In other words, "valuable acquisitions" in the eyes of buyers.
The second floor was reserved for ordinary soldiers, those bought for wars or hard labor.
And the first was for trash no one wanted.
Grey clenched his fists, feeling anger boil inside him, mixed with despair.
He hated this place where he was displayed like an animal for everyone to see. He hated the system that had reduced him to an object. But most of all, he hated the old monster who had ended up here, trapped in the role of a helpless and powerless slave.
"You're a damn Sky-dweller, even if weakened! How the hell were you so useless that my body got sold into slavery?! I was gone for just a minute!" Grey grumbled.
And now he was forced to make plans, trying to preserve what little dignity he had left. He knew his role was to attract the attention of some noble lady looking for a toy boy.
"At least for one silver," flashed through his mind. He knew Harmon hoped to get that much for him.
How disgusting, how revolting.
"Is he humiliating me on purpose? Even orcs go for five silver!"
"To hell with it, I'll just sit quietly like before. It's unlikely anything will change today. As long as Sheryl and Lily aren't bought. I won't be able to escape without their help," he thought, trying to pass the time.
The day dragged on endlessly.
Grey sat in his cramped cage, watching the few buyers wandering through the hall.
Most of them were men whose gazes slid past him without stopping. They were interested in sturdier slaves who could handle hard labor, or lustful women displayed on the upper floors.
Occasionally, female buyers appeared, and some of them paused, drawn to his pretty face.
One lady in an ornate noble dress stepped closer.
Her eyes greedily studied Grey, as if measuring the potential of his appearance.
"What a lovely boy," she cooed, leaning toward the bars. "What's your name, dear?"
Grey didn't move, staring at her with an empty, uninterested gaze. His silence seemed to only excite the woman further.
"Oh, how shy you are," she giggled. "Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you. Perhaps you could become my little helper? I have a large house, you'd like it there."
But Grey continued to ignore her, clenching his teeth and turning toward the wall. The woman finally took the hint and walked away, muttering something about "ill-mannered children."
Although one might think Grey should be desperate to leave the slave camp as soon as possible, the reality was far more complicated.
A new master would almost certainly spend money on magical branding, turning a slave into an obedient puppet. This special mark, known as the "Seal of Obedience," was a true curse for slaves. It not only allowed the owner to sense the slave's approximate location, but also gave them the power to inflict unbearable pain with a single thought.
Grey had heard horrifying stories about slaves who tried to escape with that mark.
Some lost their minds from the constant agony. Others died, unable to endure the suffering. Even those with strong willpower rarely managed to resist the seal's effects for more than a few days.
Despite his extensive knowledge of runic magic, Grey wasn't sure he could free himself from the brand in a short time. He understood it would take months, if not years, of careful study and experimentation to find a way to neutralize it. And time was something he did not have.
Suddenly, familiar voices caught his attention.
Harmon walked past the cage accompanied by a man in dark robes, an adept of the Cult of the Merciful Flame. Their conversation made Grey strain to listen.
"Esteemed Harmon," the adept began in a smooth, almost oily voice, "our cult highly values your services. In the near future, we may require several children for a special ritual."
Harmon nodded with a businesslike air. "I am honored by your trust. When exactly will you need the merchandise? I can ensure the finest specimens are prepared."
"The exact timing is not yet known," the adept replied, lowering his voice, "but I can say the ritual is tied to the approaching solstice. We will require pure, untainted souls."
"I understand." Harmon gave a knowing smile. "I have several suitable candidates. They are young, healthy, and... innocent."
The adept nodded in approval. "Excellent. We will inform you in advance of the exact date. And Harmon... there are rumors that angels have sent representatives to Pratos. I sincerely hope our dealings remain between us."
"Of course, my friend. You can rely on me," Harmon replied.
His voice was soft, yet there was a trace of tension beneath it. They exchanged a few more polite remarks, empty as air. And yet, to Harmon's clear disappointment, the deal was never concluded.
Grey, hiding nearby, felt a chill run down his spine.
The potential deal promised him nothing good, that much he understood at once. But now, after catching fragments of their conversation, he realized one thing clearly: the escape plan had to be accelerated.
The boy's thoughts raced wildly.
A ritual? Pure souls? Those quietly spoken words were far more terrifying than any open threat.
He knew enough about the cults of Pratos to understand there were no metaphors or exaggerations in their speech. This continent thrived on extremes. Some worshipped gods through sacrifice, others demons through torture, and some worshipped themselves through rituals better left unknown.
His imagination filled in the rest: stone tables drenched in blood, predatory figures in hoods, the grinding of chains. For the first time, he felt fear not only for himself, but for Sheryl and Lily.
"Could it be that all those children…" He didn't want to finish the thought.
A sense of urgency settled deep inside him.
It seemed the plan would have to move faster.
However, even in such a barrel of tar, there was a drop of honey. The conversation between the cultist and Harmon gave him several important clues.
First, the danger threatened ALL children. Which meant he now had a chance to sway some of them to his side, or at least stir up panic at the right moment.
Second, he had learned the criteria for selecting victims. During his time in the slave camp, he had already figured out that "virgin" was neither a race nor a plant. And if this requirement truly mattered, he might be able to save himself by exploiting that "loophole."
And third, he confirmed that something out of the ordinary was happening on Pratos. If Lily's presence as a succubus hadn't been enough proof, then the appearance of angels certainly wasn't a coincidence. They never showed up without reason.
What did it mean? A demonic invasion? A shift in power?
The exhibition went on, and its only advantage, in Grey's eyes, was the abundance of free time.
Long ago, he had learned to ignore physical discomfort—the stench of sweat, the filth, the cramped space, the stares of others. Even far harsher conditions had never stopped him from thinking.
Seizing the moment, he went over the details of his plan again and again, trying to foresee problems and eliminate them before they could arise.
How to disable the mana suppression? How to hide his actions from the guards? How to prepare a sleeping draught and slip it into the wine at the right moment? How to start a controlled fire? What to use as bait?
The day slowly drifted toward sunset. The sun sank behind the horizon, painting the sky in blood-red hues.
Fewer and fewer visitors remained, and Grey felt the tension in the air begin to fade.
To his great relief, he remained unsold. But it was only a temporary reprieve.
Soon, Gracchus appeared again. His heavy footsteps echoed through the hall.
"Move it, whelp," he growled, opening the cage. His eyes gleamed with cruel fire.
"Mister Harmon is not pleased that you useless creatures weren't bought again today. Looks like we'll have to speed up your training."
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