As soon as the priest’s booming voice faded, the air around of the temple shifted instantly.
The aristocratic boy who had passed the test strutted over to me. Previously, during the long wait, he hadn’t even glanced in my direction, his nose turned up at my supposed ’bastard’ status. Now, he offered a stiff, formal bow.
"A remarkable resonance, Lady Elvit," he said, his tone dripping with newfound respect. "I am Julian of House Vane. It seems your family’s domain will soon expand with another Knight-Mage in its ranks. I look forward to our future cooperation."
I gave him a measured nod, my mind processing the sudden change. I remember one of the many lessons of the old magister in Oakheven. In the Dilemd Empire, nobility wasn’t just about old blood or fancy titles. It was measured in raw military might. The number of Knight-Mages a family commanded dictated the size of the cities and territories they ruled. By simply making that crystal glow, I hadn’t just proven my worth; I had elevated Miklas’s entire lineage.
The stark reality of this rule was playing out just a few feet away. Valerius and Livia, the Commander’s former protégés, stood frozen near the altar. Only an hour ago, they were the untouchable elite. Now, the other nobles were stepping away from them, leaving them isolated in a circle of unspoken disdain. Without the Ember, they were nothing. Defective weapons. Their only hope was to either become magister or find another way to make themself useful; if not, either the frontline or the lower district awaited them.
But the true horror of the Empire’s meritocracy was about to unfold.
The parents of the two frail low-born girls were ushered to the front of the altar by the temple guards. They were dressed in rags, their faces gaunt from years of hunger, but their eyes were wild with desperate hope. They weren’t here to celebrate their daughters’ success; they were here to sell them.
"My lords! Please!" one of the fathers cried out, falling to his knees before the viewing balcony. "My daughter is a strong vessel! She will serve your House faithfully until her dying breath!"
The minor nobles descended upon them like vultures. A Dormant Bud was an investment that could secure a family’s status for generations.
"I offer fifty silver Fairs!" an older patriarch shouted, stepping forward.
Fifty silver Fairs. That was a lot . Ten silver Fairs could feed and clothe a civilian family of four for an entire year. Fifty was a massive fortune. The girls’ parents gasped, tears streaming down their dirty cheeks.
"Two gold Fairs!" another noble countered smoothly, adjusting his silk collar. "And a comfortable estate in the lower ring."
The crowd murmured in awe. Two gold Fairs was life-changing wealth. The two girls stood near the altar, trembling, watching as their eternal loyalty and their very lives were bartered away like livestock at a meat market.
A wave of deep, nauseating disgust washed over me. I looked up at Miklas, who was walking down the marble steps to join me. I didn’t need to speak; he read the cold fury in my eyes.
He sighed heavily, running a hand through his dark hair, but he didn’t hesitate. He stepped past the minor nobles, his heavy armor clanking against the marble floor.
"Five gold Fairs for both," Miklas announced, his voice carrying the commanding weight of a Captain.
The minor nobles fell silent, glaring at him, but none dared to outbid a wealthy Knight-Mage of the 7th Legion. The parents wept openly, throwing themselves at Miklas’s boots. I felt a brief surge of relief. With Miklas, the girls would be safe. We could train them, pay off their contract, and eventually free them.
"Going to Captain Miklas," the fat priest began, rubbing his ringed hands together. "Do we have any other—"
The heavy, rhythmic sound of metal-heeled boots echoing across the marble cut him off.
Commander Erula Fion Buros descended the steps, her blazing red eyes fixed on the two terrified girls. She completely ignored Valerius and Livia as she walked past them, not even acknowledging their existence. She stopped in front of the priest and reached into her crimson cloak.
With a flick of her pale wrist, she tossed a single coin onto the velvet pedestal next to the Resonance Crystal. It wasn’t silver. It wasn’t gold.
It was a coin made of pure, polished obsidian.
One hundred gold Fairs. An amount of wealth so staggering it could buy an entire village.
"I require new assets," Erula said, her voice devoid of any human warmth. She didn’t look at Miklas, nor did she look at the weeping parents. She just stared at the girls. "They belong to the 7th Legion now."
No one breathed. No one moved. The auction was over in a single, crushing second.
If she was a normal noble, probably people would try to outbid them; an obsidian fair was an astronomical amount, but what is the price of status in a world so barbaric? People were probably willing to sell their very son’s organ to maintain the status of their houses.
But she has declared that the Empire needed them; who was bold enough to take the emperor’s soldiers for them?
I stood frozen, staring at the pitch-black coin. No matter how pragmatic I tried to be, the reality had just hit me with the force of a warhammer. Power wasn’t just about magic. It was about wealth, influence, and the absolute ruthlessness to use them. And Commander Erula had all three.