He smiled toward the crowd.
“Now, honored guests... the starting bid is 50,000 cosmic coins!”
Gasps rippled across the auction hall.
That was enough to purchase a small kingdom.
Taryn remained still, the shadows of devilish horns faintly shimmering above his brow, a cold flicker in his blackened eyes. The seal on his heart was still suppressed. The pain muted—for now.
Then a voice whispered in his mind.
“My lord… you must obtain that woman at any cost.”
He recognized the voice instantly.
“Imp.”
“Indeed,” she replied, her tone businesslike.
“First, you told me to kill her. Now you want me to buy her?”
“Initially, I underestimated the full scope of her physiology. I didn’t know the elders had confirmed the Angelic Physique. But now that it’s public knowledge—she’s invaluable. The benefits she offers... are immeasurable.”
Taryn frowned. > “And what about my lack of funds?”
“Leave that to me,” Imp said. “Draw the symbol I gave you. I’ve already arranged for everything else.”
“51,000!”
“52,000!”
“54,000!”
Taryn raised his hand.
“70,000.”
A hush fell over the room.
Even the Sun King’s envoy looked toward Booth Seven, his expression tightening.
“80,000!” the envoy declared, voice steady but forced.
Taryn didn’t hesitate.
“100,000.”
Gasps filled the auction hall.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“Going once… going twice… sold to Booth Seven!”
The Saint Mother was gently brought forward on a floating platform. Her aura, though dimmed by captivity, still shimmered faintly. Her gaze swept the room… until it landed on Taryn’s booth.
“You… feel familiar,” she murmured softly, her voice muffled by exhaustion.
Not just because of the lingering aura of her daughter.
Not just because the sigil in his chest pulsed with her bloodline.
But because she recognized him.
Her daughter’s betrothed.
A child of the sect. A bond long dormant.
Taryn flinched.
The pain surged back. Blood rose in his throat.
She recognized the soul fragment… and the bond.
He had no choice.
Quickly, he performed a hand sign under the desk and sent her into Gehenom Valley, hidden away within his dimensional palace. She didn’t resist. Her body vanished in a flicker of space, unnoticed by all but the most attentive observers.
A few nearby cultivators glanced up, puzzled by the dimensional ripple.
But said nothing.
Curiosity could kill.
Back in his booth, Taryn held still. His body trembled faintly.
“The funds?” the auctioneer prompted.
Taryn remained silent.
A moment later, his cosmic card glowed.
Funds transferred: 100,000 cosmic coins.
“Night Devil cult banking access,” Imp whispered cheerfully. “I’ve given you temporary credit authorization. You’re welcome.”
“You terrify me.”
“I aim to please.”
The auction wound down. Most guests assumed the climax had passed.
But Taryn’s gaze sharpened when the next item appeared.
“Up next—an indestructible Netherworld tablet. Recovered from the Merlin ruins. Untranslatable.”
Nobody bid.
Taryn used Eunuch’s leftover funds and claimed it by default.
Ox will decode it, he thought.
Then came the true final item.
“This man,” the announcer said, “may be familiar. An elder of the Merlin Sect. Former fiancé of the Saint Mother. Suspected to be the father of the S-Class cultivator. Presenting… Elder Caelen.”
Taryn stiffened.
His father was dragged onstage—bloodied, one arm missing, one eye gouged, barely conscious.
“He refused to speak, even under torture. A silent old fool. Perhaps a skilled buyer can loosen his tongue. Starting bid: 5,000.”
Tears welled in Taryn’s eyes.
Not from emotion—his undead heart made such feelings distant, unreachable.
But the mind remembered.
A flicker of childhood.
Taryn, eight years old, stood at the edge of the meditation platform while other children practiced opening minor dimensional gates—simple tears in space used to pass messages or move small objects.
They did it effortlessly. Their imprints glowed.
He had none.
He remembered hiding behind a stone pillar, hands bloodied from overexertion, wishing for the strength others seemed born with.
Caelen found him there.
He didn’t speak at first. Just knelt beside him and placed a stone in his palm.
“Your mother died giving birth to you,” he said flatly. “That wasn’t your fault.”
“But if you quit now… everything else will be.”
Taryn never forgot that line.
It wasn’t comfort. It was structure.
It was the moment he decided pain was meant to be used.
He made no move to bid.
The Sun King’s envoy raised a hand.
“10,000.”
“Sold!”
The auction neared its end. Most guests prepared to leave.
Taryn remained seated.
Then quietly, he drew the protection sigil Imp had given him—carving it into the armrest of his booth.
“Imp,” he whispered. “Now.”
“Gladly.”