CHAPTER 64: 64

The auction had ended one hour ago.

But even before the final seal was declared, the promised announcement was made.

Aurevia, ever composed, stepped forward onto the stage. Her voice rang out with professional clarity—clear, resonant, confident.

"As promised, to all esteemed guests, the Emberdrop Pavilion will be releasing exclusive rights to its signature recipes in an auction to be held here, two months from today. The auction will take place in this same venue."

The moment the words left her lips, waves of excitement and speculation swept through the crowd. To some, it was a strange announcement—an auction of recipes.

But to the wise, to those who had tasted the Pavilion’s creations and felt the subtle surges of mana through even the simplest dish, they understood.

This wasn’t just cuisine.

It was arcane gastronomy. A fusion of cultivation and culinary mastery.

Then the lights dimmed. Aurevia offered her final bow.

The auction was over.

***

Outside, the venue slowly emptied.

Guests departed in cloaks of silken splendor or humble traveling robes, each carrying something more than what they brought—an experience that would echo in memory.

They had witnessed a legend.

The emergence of a [Grade 5] Mana Crystal. Not just one in name, but one so pure, so rich with unbroken Mana Crystal, that it defied logic. Scholars whispered. Nobles fumed. Cultivators stared in quiet awe.

The auction wasn’t merely business. It had become history.

Some among the general audience—casual buyers, rogue cultivators, independent mages—found themselves rising a tier during the event. Whether from the Pavilion’s infused cuisine, the ambient pressure of so many powerful artifacts, or the electrified tension of the auction itself, many had broken through.

[Grade 4].

That title now hung around their necks like new chains—or wings.

The competition had been brutal.

Some items were snatched by pooled gold from newfound alliances. Others, won by lone bidders whose fortunes now ran dry. The VIPs, of course, moved differently.

Most were not solitary buyers but representatives—sentinels of kingdoms, envoys of sects, agents of deep-rooted organizations.

They sat quiet for most of the auction.

But when something caught their eye—when an item was worthy of being fought for—they moved like storms. Without hesitation. Without waste.

***

Behind the stage, beneath the muted glow of mana lanterns, Virellen sat at a long table of carved obsidian.

Here, there were no theatrics. Only ledgers. Seals. And silence.

The Royal Envoy of Velmora entered without ceremony.

His crimson-hemmed cloak trailed behind him, heavy with embroidered authority. He said nothing. Merely offered Virellen a nod as formalities were exchanged with practiced hands.

The contract had already been reviewed.

One hundred and ten million gold.

Territorial autonomy over five northern districts.

And the surrender of Princess Auralyne Viresta Caelthorn.

Virellen passed across the table a Spatial ring. Within it, the [Grade 5] Mana Crystal pulsed like a dormant heart. The envoy paused for just a moment—eyes reflecting its glow—then took the case without another word.

No pride. No hesitation. No remorse.

With the payment confirmed, he turned and departed.

His footsteps echoed down the corridor like the end of a legacy.

*****

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

✶ I Reincarnated as an Extra ✶

✧ in a Reverse Harem World ✧

⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

*****

The price was paid. The Princess was no longer theirs.

They turned wordlessly, cloaks rustling like retreating banners. Even their footsteps, once proud, felt muted under the finality of it all.

But before they passed beyond the velvet curtains of the stage, their gazes lingered on the young woman standing quietly to the side.

She hadn’t spoken. She hadn’t cried. But her silence was not weakness. It pressed.

Her presence unsettled them. Not because she was beautiful—though she was.

Not because she was noble—though her bearing carried it effortlessly.

But because she stood with a kind of quiet fury. A self that refused to die.

Even in defeat, she did not bow.

The envoy left quickly after that. Perhaps in shame. Perhaps in fear.

***

The girls—Aurevia, Cellione, Serineth, and Virellen —remained in place.

Their eyes turned toward the new girl. Toward Princess Auralyne Viresta Caelthorn.

She had not moved from her spot where she firststopped. Her violet eyes watched the retreating backs of her own people—her family—until they vanished behind the curtains.

Her fingers were lightly clasped before her, composed, as if trained since birth to maintain the illusion of calm.

But her expression... was complicated.

Aurevia felt it first. That strange pang of guilt, sharp and unwelcome.

Virelaine frowned, eyes narrowing. She hated this. Hated that she felt threatened by this girl’s grace.

Cellione clenched her jaw. She didn’t want to admit it, but... yes, there was a bitter twinge of fear.

And Serineth—quiet, always observant—watched with quiet sorrow.

This was the girl who might have their Master’s first time.

And her family had sold her.

Like them... and yet, not like them at all.

She had once had power. And still, they threw her away.

Then—without sound or warning—they all felt it.

Not heard. Felt.

A pulse. A ripple.

A voice—not in their ears, but in their minds, in their very spirit threads, as if woven into the pulse of their hearts.

It was Alaric.

"Stop sulking, you four."

Their breath caught. All eyes widened.

"Quickly wrap this up and bring her to the mansion."

A pause. Then once more—firm, calm, final:

"There’s something I need to discuss with her."

It was not a command barked aloud. It was a thought, wrapped in divinity, carried through the same channel he used when healing them, guiding them, watching them even from afar.

And it left no room for argument.

Aurevia recovered first. She took a breath, stepped forward, her voice steady once again.

"Let’s finish this."

The others moved with her. The auction was over. The eyes of the world had turned.

And now, it was time to escort the princess without a kingdom to a home not yet hers.

Or perhaps... the first place where she would be seen as more than a pawn.

***

The auction had ended three hours ago.

And though the guests dispersed under the velvet night, the venue itself remained quiet—resting under moonlight like a temple after mass.

Just beyond the stage, within the same sprawling estate grounds, a separate path led toward the annex—the newly constructed private mansion of Alaric Aurelian.

A structure raised not by the Crydias family, but by his own command, funded with silent coin and divine intent.

It was not connected to the main building where Lord and Lady Crydias held court. It was his.

A domain apart.

From the rear of the auction hall, Aurevia, Cellione, Serineth, and Virellen walked in solemn silence, escorting the girl whose fate had shifted in a single bid.

Auralyne said nothing as they moved through the marble paths veined with glowing glyphstone, her footfalls quiet against the polished floors. She walked like someone used to being watched—chin high, movements composed, but her eyes flickered too often for it to be anything but a practiced mask.

The four girls remained tense. Not just because of her. But because of what she now represented.

They reached the entryway. Familiar doors opened before them with a soft hum, revealing the quiet, incense-laced calm of Alaric’s personal chambers.

He was waiting.

***

Alaric sat at his low table near the inner sanctum of the room, a single cup of steaming tea in hand—poured from no pot, summoned from no kitchen. Its fragrance hinted at mountain petals and a touch of iron.

He sipped it in perfect stillness, as though the entire world were simply waiting for him to speak.

He looked up as the door opened, eyes brushing over all five women with the same unreadable calm.

Then he smiled.

That smile.

The one that always said more than it ever explained.

Virellen stepped forward, her hands resting on her hips.

"Master,"

She said with a slight frown,

"what are you going to do with her?"

Alaric placed the cup down gently, the porcelain clicking softly against the lacquered table. He looked at them—each one—then raised a brow, amused.

"Maybe the thing you’re thinking?"

Se said, voice smooth as velvet.

The reaction was immediate.

Aurevia stiffened.

Cellione choked on her breath.

Serineth’s face flushed and turned away.

Virellen narrowed her eyes.

"Tch. Of course."

But before any of them could press further, Alaric waved his hand lightly—more like a breeze brushing them aside than a dismissal.

"Enough. That’s all."

The air shifted.

"Go now. Assist Lord and Lady Crydias. They’re likely still settling the final security arrangements. Help where you’re needed."

They hesitated. Briefly.

But Aurevia gave a respectful bow.

"As you wish, Master."

One by one, they turned and left, leaving Auralyne standing alone in the middle of the room.

***

When the door finally closed, the air seemed to settle. The silence was different now—denser.

Alaric remained seated, eyes resting on her.

"What’s your name?"

He asked.

She looked up, puzzled.

"...You already know it."

"I do,"

He said softly,

"but I want you to say it."

Auralyne stood tall, even now.

"Auralyne Viresta Caelthorn."

Alaric nodded, as though the name now carried weight only after she had claimed it herself.

He set the teacup aside and met her gaze fully.

"Tell me your story,"

He said.

"Everything."

Auralyne hesitated. Her lips parted, as if to ask why, but the words didn’t come.

She knew, instinctively, not to question it.

So she began.

***

She told him of the vanished prince—her father, the rightful heir.

Of the empire-backed coup.

Of the king who sat on a throne that was never his.

Of her exile within the palace she was born to rule.

Of the slow suffocation of powerlessness.

Of betrayal. Of her cultivation. Of survival.

She told him everything.

By the end, her voice was quiet, nearly breaking. But still, she did not cry. Not yet.

Alaric let the silence sit, coiling around her words like fog.

Then he spoke.

"I see. So, Auralyne... do you desire revenge?"

She looked up sharply. Her eyes trembled.

"...What?"

He smiled faintly, not cruelly.

"No need to be shocked. Others are already sowing the seeds of rebellion. The question is—do you want what is rightfully yours?"

He leaned forward.

"Do you want to take it back?"

Auralyne’s voice shook.

"...If I could—if there was a way—yes."

Alaric’s tone turned low, solemn.

"There is. But it has a price."

Her eyes widened.

"I’ll pay it. I’ll pay anything. I’ll be your slave—I’ll do anything. Just teach them a lesson... those people... those monsters..."

He smiled again, gently this time.

"Good. Then before anything else—"

He stood.

"—you need to drink my blood."

She recoiled.

"Wha—"

He raised a hand to stop her.

"One drop. That’s all. Once it touches your tongue, the pact is made. You will be bound to me—not like the others, but deeper. No betrayal. No lies. I will always be watching. A kind of slave, yes, but with... higher freedom."

He stepped forward, slowly. Auralyne didn’t move.

"Are you willing?"

Her voice caught.

"...I am."

"Then open your mouth."

She did.

He raised a single finger and made a small cut. A drop of blood formed—crimson, glimmering faintly with divine light—and fell.

It landed on her tongue.

The moment it did, her body jolted. Her heart seized for a second, then steadied—now pulsing with something foreign.

Alaric’s divine heart core shone faintly for an instant.

A golden thread blinked into existence—connecting chest to chest.

It pulsed once.

Then vanished, like it had never been.

For a heartbeat, he felt her—her grief, her fury, her boundless hunger. Then he released it, severing the momentary resonance.

Auralyne clutched at her chest, breath shivering.

And when she looked at him, her eyes were wide.

But she said nothing.

Only nodded.

And for the first time since being sold... she no longer felt hollow.

-To Be Continued