SSS-Rank Pervert: Reincarnated in the World of Summoners-Chapter 77: Slave Night Market [3]

"Sold to Patron Sixty-Nine!"

THWACK.

The gavel struck the podium with finality.

It was over.

The entire hall erupted into murmurs. From somewhere behind me, I caught fragments of someone cursing themselves bitterly.

"If only I had spent more carefully, that child would have been mine..."

But this victory felt different from anything I had experienced before. This wasn’t about conquest or profit. This was something else entirely.

I exhaled deeply, releasing tension I didn’t realize I had been holding.

Then I turned to address the important matter. The mysterious woman beside me.

Patron Sixty-Eight. The one who carried herself with the heavy elegance of nobility and the cold authority of someone who commanded empires.

"I..." My voice came out rougher than intended. I cleared my throat and tried again. "I can’t pay you back right now. But if you give me time, I will return every single coin. All of it. With interest."

My mind was already racing through possibilities. How could I possibly gather that sum?

"And how much time will that require?" she asked.

I didn’t know how to answer. So I chose honesty. This woman had helped me tremendously, whether she understood the weight of her actions or not. Whether she saw me as a pervert or a savior, she had given me the means to save that child.

"I don’t know," I admitted. "But I promise I will find a way. Soon."

"Can you manage it within a week?"

A week? That was impossible.

To earn money, you needed money. That was the fundamental rule in every single world. And to earn twenty thousand gold coins, I would need a significant investment to begin with.

Sure, other options existed. Trickery and exploits using my system. My particular methods of income generation. But I couldn’t milk opportunities like before. Any deception would be incredibly risky and might expose my identity for this much money.

My main source of income had been the tournament, which would have concluded this very afternoon with Freya’s victory. That window was closed.

I currently possessed only five hundred gold coins. Using that pittance to somehow generate twenty thousand more seemed like a fantasy.

Still, I forced the words out. "I will manage—"

They left my mouth cracked and hollow. Even I didn’t believe them.

She looked at me, and though I couldn’t see her eyes behind that mask, I felt her gaze pierce through my false confidence.

"I don’t see conviction in those words."

Her voice carried no mockery. No judgment. In fact, it carried nothing at all. Cold as winter stone.

I was about to argue, to open my mouth and defend myself with more empty promises, but she spoke first.

"But forget it. I don’t need any money from you."

I blinked in confusion. "What?"

She rose from her seat with practiced grace, adjusted her ornate mask, and began walking away. Her parting words drifted back to me like smoke.

"Think of it as an investment."

She signaled someone I couldn’t see from my position and added one final phrase.

"On you."

I was about to stand and demand clarification, to ask what she possibly meant by such cryptic words, but the announcer’s voice cut through my thoughts.

"Patron Sixty-Nine, please make your way to the stage for inspection of your purchase and completion of the transaction. We shall then proceed with the slave binding ceremony."

I stood and walked toward the stage.

Many glares followed my path. Most dripped with jealousy, burning holes into my back as I passed. Wealthy patrons who had been outbid by someone they considered a small boy.

I didn’t care.

My mind remained fixed on that mysterious woman. Who in their right mind throws away twenty thousand gold as a freebie?

There had to be ulterior motives lurking beneath that generous surface. Perhaps she was plotting to make me her slave instead.

Ironic, considering I had been planning the exact same thing for her.

Today had been a brutal reality check. I had been humbled again and again.

A woman I had dismissed as broke and planned to proposition with a demeaning deal turned out to possess resources and schemes far beyond my comprehension.

Pushing those thoughts aside, I approached the stage. My eyes met the announcer’s smug expression, and beside him stood the little girl with glowing features.

I gave him a deadly glare before producing the two platinum coins and adding ten thousand gold from my purse.

The transaction was complete.

Then I moved toward the child.

She stood flanked by two staff members positioned behind her like prison walls. Ready to prevent any escape attempt from merchandise that had just been sold.

Her tiny hands were clasped together against her chest, fingers intertwined so tightly her knuckles had turned white.

Her terrified eyes, those impossible blue-violet gradients, shifted from scanning the predatory gazes of the crowd to meeting mine.

I stopped in front of her, desperately searching for the right words. How do you comfort a child who has just been sold like livestock? This was completely foreign territory for me.

Before I could fumble through some inadequate attempt, a woman approached carrying a silver tray. Two droppers filled with blood rested upon it.

"Sir, if you would proceed with the binding—"

"Get that shit away from me." My voice came out cold and commanding. Harder than I intended.

The staff member flinched visibly. "S-sir, the binding ritual is mandatory for all purchases. It ensures your safety and guarantees the slave’s obedience—"

I stepped toward her. Even with my face hidden behind a mask, she could clearly sense the expression I wore beneath it.

"Did I stutter?" Each word dropped like a stone into still water. "Take your little blood bottles and get the fuck away from here. Away from her. Before I shove them somewhere your ancestors will feel it."

A male staff member stepped forward, attempting to salvage the situation. "I understand your enthusiasm, sir, but the binding is for your own protection. Without it, there’s no guarantee that—"

"I paid for her." My voice cut through his explanation like a blade. "That means she belongs to me. And what I choose to do with what’s mine is none of your goddamn business."

I swept my gaze across all three of them.

"Now clear the stage. All of you."

They exchanged uncertain glances, silently debating whether to push further or comply. After a moment of hesitation, they nodded to each other and retreated, leaving me alone with the child.

I took a step toward her.

She took a step back.

I reached out a hand, attempting to appear gentle and reassuring.

But the sight of my own hand made me pause. Blood still dripped from where the glass had embedded itself earlier. The wounds had reopened, crimson trails running down my fingers.

I cursed myself internally.

I was failing at every single aspect of this interaction. First, I had screamed profanities and threats at the staff right in front of her. Now I was extending a blood-soaked hand toward a traumatized child.

She looked even more terrified than before, and this time the source of her fear was unmistakably me.

I sighed heavily and lowered myself to my knees, bringing my eyes level with hers. I forced a smile onto my face, putting genuine effort into making it appear warm rather than threatening.

"Hey."

She didn’t respond. Her small lips pressed together tightly, forming a thin line of silent resistance.

I kept my voice low and gentle. "I’m not going to hurt you. No one is going to hurt you anymore. I’ll protect you as long as you stay with me."

No response.

"What’s your name?"

Silence.

I felt frustration bubbling beneath my surface, each unanswered question testing my patience. But I reminded myself that she was just a frightened child who had endured horrors I couldn’t imagine.

"It’s fine if you don’t want to talk," I said softly. "And it’s fine if you don’t trust me. In fact, I would consider you a fool if you trusted a stranger that easily."

I paused, gathering my thoughts.

"But know this. I spent every last coin I had on you. Not to make you my slave. Not to own you. But to free you."

My voice carried conviction I didn’t know I possessed.

"Because you’re a child. And children shouldn’t be standing in places like this. They shouldn’t be merchandise on display for monsters to bid on."

Without realizing it, I extended my wounded hand toward her again.

"If my words feel even slightly real to you, grab my hand. In return, I’ll help you find your parents, or whatever else you want. As long as it doesn’t cost me more money."

I attempted a small smile at my own joke.

"And if you don’t reach out, that’s fine too. I’ve already freed you. I’ll tell the authorities here to send you to an orphanage outside these walls."

I hesitated before adding the harsh truth.

"Though I don’t think the outside world will be particularly kind to someone like you."

I rose back to my feet, hand still extended but hope fading rapidly. How could I expect a traumatized child to trust a masked stranger with a bleeding hand who had just screamed threats at adults moments ago?

I was about to withdraw my arm and accept defeat.

Then I felt it.

Tiny fingers wrapped around my index finger.

Her small hand trembled as it held onto mine. Those impossible eyes scanned the wounds across my palm, tracing the paths of dried and fresh blood with something that looked almost like concern.

When she spoke, her voice came out broken and barely above a whisper.

"Does it hurt?"