CHAPTER 73: GOING OUT

Under the velvet shroud of night, two figures moved quietly through the streets—Alaric and Auralyne, their footsteps hushed against the ancient stone.

Caerwyn never truly slept; the streets whispered with low voices, lanterns flickered beside brothels and gambling dens, and distant laughter cut through the silence like thin glass.

The late-night shops that still thrived didn’t trade in food or tools—they dealt in indulgence, vice, and secrets.

Their pace was steady, unwavering. Soon, they arrived.

The slave house still had its gates open, golden torchlight spilling from its ornate windows. A man in fine robes stood at the threshold. His eyes widened at the sight of the cloaked figure approaching.

"Ah... what a pleasant surprise, Lord Alaric,"

He said, bowing deeply. His voice oozed with practiced reverence.

"I believe you’re here for your... merchandise?"

Alaric gave a slight nod.

"Then allow me to conclude the final steps without delay,"

The slave trader replied quickly.

"Everything is ready. Please, this way."

He led them into a large VIP chamber, lavish and overly adorned—a room designed to impress men of wealth and perversion. But the tension in the air shifted with every step Alaric took. This was not a man here to indulge.

"Please, be seated,"

The trader offered.

Alaric sat down without a word and gestured silently. Auralyne sat beside him, though her eyes were unsure—troubled. She watched him in silence for a moment, her amethyst gaze unreadable.

"...You think I’m buying them for pleasure?"

Alaric asked suddenly, a faint smile playing at his lips.

Auralyne hesitated.

"...No, Master. You can do as you please. I have no right to judge you. Even if you were to treat me as trash... that would simply be my fate. But instead—"

She paused, voice trembling,

"—you treat me with kindness, more than even my own family ever did."

Her eyes met his.

"So I believe... you’ll treat them the same. If this were earlier, I may have doubted your intentions. But now—no. I won’t."

Alaric only chuckled, saying nothing.

Moments later, the door opened again. The slave trader returned—this time accompanied by twenty-four girls.

They entered quietly, many of them still rubbing the sleep from their eyes. They had clearly been roused moments before and hastily prepared, powder dabbed on their cheeks, hair brushed and smoothed—makeshift attempts at beauty.

Alaric observed them silently.

They ranged from fifteen to perhaps twenty. Some looked defiant, others distant. Most simply looked numb.

"These,"

The trader announced with pride,

"are the finest, as requested. All of them—pure, untouched. We searched across the borders, through kingdoms far and wide. Some even came from noble bloodlines in distant lands. I trust you are satisfied."

"I understand,"

Alaric replied flatly.

"No need to gild your words. Your service is adequate. You’ll be rewarded."

The trader bowed deeply, practically salivating.

"Then... let us begin,"

Alaric said.

"Proceed with the branding."

"As you wish, my lord."

The man presented a silver knife and a vial of special ink—prepared for binding. Alaric took the blade, made a precise cut across his finger, and let the blood drip into the vial. To the trader’s surprise, it was red—not golden like the last time.

He blinked, visibly puzzled, but said nothing.

One by one, the girls were branded.

Some winced. Others stood still, empty. A few sobbed softly but made no protest. The symbol etched on their necks glowed faintly for a second before turning into a permanent mark—a symbol of slavery and lost freedom.

When it was done, Alaric raised his hand. In a shimmer of gold, coins rained upon the table, clinking like divine bells.

The trader’s jaw slackened. He nearly wept with joy.

Alaric looked at him coldly.

"Take your reward and leave. I have something to discuss with them in private."

"Yes, yes, of course!"

The trader nearly tripped over himself bowing.

"Please forgive this lowly servant for lingering!"

In a heartbeat, he gathered the coins and scurried out, glancing nervously at the girls before vanishing through the door. The girls, 24 in number, parted for him as he passed.

The moment he left, Alaric rose.

The girls flinched as he moved—fear painted on their faces.

But Alaric didn’t acknowledge them. He walked straight past and toward the chamber’s ornate exit.

*****

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

✶ I Reincarnated as an Extra ✶

✧ in a Reverse Harem World ✧

⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

*****

He paused, hand on the door, and turned.

"Form a line,"

He said.

"You will exit one by one. First marked, first out."

They didn’t move. Not immediately.

Then his voice cut through the stillness again, sharper this time.

"Do I need to repeat myself?"

They jolted into motion, scrambling to form a rough line. Twenty-four girls... too many for one neat row, so they formed two.

Alaric opened the door.

The hallway beyond was dark. Unnaturally dark. The kind of dark that drank light whole.

The first girl hesitated, no older than twenty. Her hands trembled. But she stepped forward—and crossed the threshold.

The door closed.

Alaric opened it again. The second girl stepped through.

This continued—twenty-four times.

The last was the youngest, barely fifteen. She was visibly shaking, but Alaric said nothing. He merely watched, impassive. When she passed, the door shut with a final, soft thud.

Only then did he turn to Auralyne.

"Come,"

He said simply.

She blinked, still digesting the surreal process she had just witnessed. But she followed.

Beyond the door... the hallway was normal. The girls were gone.

She froze.

"...Where did they go?"

She asked, heart beating fast.

Alaric kept walking.

"You already know,"

He said.

Her lips parted—but she didn’t reply.

She did know.

Though she wished she didn’t.

As they exited the slave house, the trader bowed again, still grinning greedily.

"...Lord Alaric, may I ask—?"

"No,"

Alaric replied.

The trader shrunk back, bowing again.

"As you wish..."

They left.

The night air was cool, the streets quieter now. The road home was the same—but everything felt different.

The mansion still sat in darkness. But something about it seemed... lighter.

Auralyne glanced sideways.

"...Where did they really go?"

Alaric looked at her, smiling faintly.

"I told you. You already know."

And in that moment, she did.

She said nothing more.

"Go to your room,"

He said softly.

"Rest. Tomorrow... will be fun."

And then he vanished—his presence melting into the shadows of the corridor, like he had never been there at all.

-To Be Continued