I wound my way through the maze of tents and pavilions, many adorned with the colors of distinct slaver houses. I breathed deeply, savoring the mingled aromas of spices, dust, and unwashed bodies. Freshly-cut pine laid heavily over all the familiar scents, sweet and sharp in my nostrils, courtesy of the large temporary platform that now stood in the center of the marketplace.

  Bodies pressed in from all sides. Heat radiated from the crowd. Sweat prickled along my spine. Merchants had merely moved their carts or tables closer together, none wanting to miss out on the profits from such a large gathering. The bottleneck of people this created only gave them more time to sell, swindle, or seize the passers-by.

  I dodged around sticks of unidentified meat thrust toward my face by persistent vendors. The cries of slavers who recognized me followed in my wake. I quickened my pace, wanting only to be free of the increasingly thin corridor of humanity that threatened to suffocate me with its sounds and smells and unrelenting press of flesh.

  I pulled free from the stifling press of the crowd, tilting my head up to the blue sky as I gulped in breaths of air. What had started as a welcome and familiar smell of the marketplace had quickly turned stale, overshadowed by the pungent stench of unwashed bodies.

  A voice cut through my thoughts. Leonard strode towards me, his pristine white attire a stark contrast to the dusty marketplace. "Really, sir, if I'd known the weather was so hot, I might not have come."

  I couldn't help but grin at his familiar complaints. "Come now, Leonard. I know you better than to think you'd miss a trip to the city."

  Leonard paused mid-stride, lifting a shoe pointedly. The lower half of the white leather had long been splattered with dust and mud. He half-heartedly wiped at the gold buckle with a handkerchief pulled from his vest pocket.

  "I certainly wouldn't miss all this mud. I can't believe you let me wear white." His finger traced the edge of the buckle, saving what could be saved, but the soft leather was beyond redemption. "And who do you think will have to re-mop the floors after we stomp dirt all through the house? Me, of course."

  My lips twitched with amusement as I watched his fussing.

  "Well, Mister Hawthorne, if you don't like the duties of a manservant, perhaps you shouldn't be one?"

  Leonard froze. His face twisted into a dramatic mask of outrage, eyes widening and nostrils flaring as if I'd suggested he eat the mud off his shoes.

  "Manservant, am I?"

  He planted both feet firmly on the ground, arms crossed over his chest. His white jacket—more suited to a formal ballroom than a dusty marketplace—strained at the seams with the unaccustomed pose. The back hung low, suffering the same mud-splattered fate as his shoes.

  I closed the gap between us in two quick strides and grasped his elbows. "I'm sorry, Leonard. You are a most magnificent butler."

  One eyebrow arched higher on his forehead, the rest of his body perfectly still. "And?"

  A deep sigh escaped my lips. Muddy as the ground was, this was a hole I'd dug myself into. I'd learned long before today that cheap shots cost the most to fix.

  "And of course you can use the estate accounts to commission new shoes."

  Leonard's mouth opened, ready to press his advantage.

  "Commission new shoes and an outfit to match." I hurried to add.

  His mouth snapped shut. His eyes narrowed slightly as he considered the proposal, weighing if he could extract anything more from this rare moment of contrition.

  "You look good in the white, by the way." The words tumbled out before I could stop them. Was I digging myself deeper or climbing out?

  After an extended pause, Leonard's lips curled into a wry smile. "I do, don't I."

  No question in those words—a statement of fact. His eyes traveled over my outfit, assessing each carefully chosen piece with the expertise of someone who had dressed me for years.

  "You'll do."

  His hands brushed over my shoulders in a familiar ritual. There had been nothing there to remove, but the gesture meant everything between us. I was ready.

  Today, I had chosen an ensemble that made a statement. The heavy brocade jacket clung to my shoulders, its weight a constant reminder of purpose. The fabric caught the light as I moved, deep blues shot through with silver threads that created patterns too subtle to see unless one looked closely. A sharp contrast to my typically understated attire. Instead of blending into the background, I intended to stand out. Each piece meticulously coordinated, the polished boots reflecting my intent.

  The lack of official colors at the Velez Estate remained an anomaly in the world of slaver families. The mere mention or sight of me and my brother was sufficient to showcase our distinction. We needed no colors when our name carried power enough.

  As I moved through the crowd, my eyes fixed on the auction platform ahead. The wood still reeked of fresh sap, sticky sweet in the oppressive heat. My mission was clear and unlike anything I'd done before, to acquire a demon, an entity whose very existence had only recently shifted from myth to startling reality.

  Demons had always been figures of legend, creatures of the dark whispered about in hushed tones until the breach tore through reality, bringing them crashing into the human world. I remembered the shock, the fear that rippled through the masses at their arrival. The screams. The panic. The blood. These beings, once confined to the pages of books and the nightmares of children, now stood flesh and blood before humanity.

  As the world reeled from the shock of the demons' arrival, humanity's fear quickly gave way to a darker impulse. I witnessed this transformation firsthand, observing as these beings were reduced to chains and spectacle. My stomach had turned the first time I saw a demon in shackles, their eyes hollow with something beyond hatred. Something I recognized too well.

  Demons became unwilling performers, used as gladiators, beasts of burden, or objects of curiosity, all at humanity's whim. This exploitation of their strength and abilities was a testament to human fear turned into control, a control I saw as deeply flawed yet ripe with opportunity.

  The hypocrisy of my position wasn't lost on me. Here I stood, planning to purchase what others had enslaved, telling myself my intentions were different. Better. Not hypocrisy if I meant to be different. Not exploitation if I offered something better than what awaited them otherwise.

  To most, demons were just another form of entertainment, but my thoughts ran deeper than mere spectacle. It wasn't just about power; it was about proving something to myself, about mastering the untamable and bending it to my will.

  I was deeply absorbed in my thoughts when a firm tap on my elbow snapped me back to reality.

  Leonard, with a spark of excitement in his eyes, leaned in closer. "Sir, there's something you've got to see." With a discreet gesture, Leonard directed my gaze across the crowd.

  My eyes immediately found the source of Leonard's excitement—a demon that defied every expectation. Towering above the crowd, this figure commanded attention, a stark contrast to the enslaved beings I was accustomed to seeing. His skin was a deep, unreflective black, absorbing the daylight that fell upon it. Scattered across his arms were lighter scars, stark and prominent. Among these marks, tattoos with a faint shimmer traced complex designs, catching the light with every subtle shift of his muscular frame.

  The demon's clothing, every bit as luxurious and deliberately chosen as mine, distinguished him with an unmistakable intention. He stood regally, his appearance a stark defiance of enslavement. Two horns, adorned with golden tips, crowned his head, adding to his commanding presence. Bright gold chains lay heavy around his neck, each a statement of power rather than submission. The dark fabric of his sleeveless jacket, combined with the evident strength of his physique, only added to the picture of power.

  The crowd's reaction intensified my astonishment. Animated conversation and joyful laughter swirled around the demon, far removed from the jeers of mockery or the suffocating silence of fear. This demon interacted with those around him not as a forced spectacle, but with the natural charisma of someone who truly belonged.

  The realization washed over me; here was a living embodiment of the untapped potential I had pondered. I found myself moving forwards towards the small group.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Leonard leaned close, his breath warm against my ear. "Remember earlier when I said I didn't want to get dirty, sir? I've reconsidered." A smirk played on his lips as his gaze lingered on the demon's imposing form.

  The demon looked at me as I approached. His eyes, though completely black, sparkled with a depth of curiosity and an unmistakable intelligence. As I drew closer, a flicker of intensity passed through his eyes as they trained onto me. Not just acknowledgment—recognition. A sudden grin spread across his face, wide and knowing.

  "Jacobi Velez. It's a pleasure to finally meet the man behind the name." His voice carried a warmth tinged with amusement, deep and resonant in a way that suggested power held in careful check.

  Momentarily caught off guard by his directness, my hand extended before I could think, surprise making me revert to formality. "I see my reputation precedes me." I extended my hand, head tilting slightly to accommodate his height. "And you are?"

  His large, paw-like hand closed over mine with a firm grip. Power emanated from his grasp, overwhelming force held in careful restraint. My bones could shatter like twigs if he wanted. I fought the urge to either pull away or grip harder, my body caught between instinctive caution and fascination.

  "I am Wynford Darkwood. Perhaps you have heard of me? I reached out to the Grand Council in recent months regarding my plans for a demon combat guild."

  Recognition sparked immediately. The combat guild proposal had sparked considerable debate during the last session of the Grand Council, drawing varied opinions from its members. I hadn't attended personally, but the reports had been detailed. Not once had they mentioned Wynford was a demon himself.

  I worked to keep the shock from my face, schooling my features into practiced neutrality. "I'm familiar with the name. The fact you're a demon, however, was an unexpected detail."

  Leonard couldn't contain himself. A chuckle slipped free before he straightened his lapel with feigned seriousness. "Darkwood, you say? A rather suggestive surname for a person of your... impressive stature." His lips quirked upward in a barely-contained grin.

  Wynford's laughter rumbled deep from his chest, the sound rich and unoffensive. "Ah, it is a name chosen for me, not by me. But I suppose it does carry a certain... connotation."

  A slight smile played on Wynford's lips. "Indeed, my demonic heritage isn't the forefront of my professional identity; I prefer to be recognized for my ventures in entertainment and business."

  He casually gestured to the horns adorning his head, gold-tipped and gleaming in the market sunlight. "These, though authentic, are mostly decorative."

  I narrowed my eyes, studying his confident expression. "So, why were you looking for me?"

  "The Grand Council has been... resistant to fully embracing the value we could bring to sanctioned combat." His voice lowered slightly, becoming more intimate despite our public surroundings. "I thought perhaps having someone of your stature supporting the venture might sway some opinions."

  A hearty laugh burst from my chest, genuine and booming. "It's surprising to find you here, then, at a demon auction."

  Wynford narrowed his eyes. His arms crossed over his massive chest, fingertips drumming against an intricate tattoo of a large feline-like creature that covered much of his forearm. The design seemed to shift subtly with each movement of muscle beneath the skin.

  "I've come for a specific reason, or should I say, a specific demon, who is being auctioned today. The future face of my business."

  My eyebrow lifted, curiosity piqued. "So, you know what they're selling?"

  Wynford's gaze drifted past me toward the main stage, something fierce flickering in those black depths. "I know who is on offer today." His attention returned to me, studying my face with new intensity. "I hope there aren't many others like you here."

  "Was that meant to be an insult?" The corners of my mouth twitched upward.

  His massive shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. "I mean men with money and a desire to own demons. Unfortunately, I'm aware of far too many who use them as nothing more than trophies for their homes."

  Leonard's elbow found my ribs, a firm, deliberate nudge. This familiar signal—his way of drawing my focus without words. His body angled closer to mine, but his eyes never left Wynford.

  "Sir."

  Just one word, but Leonard's tone transformed it into a performance—exaggerated solemnity that bordered on comedic, loud enough to cut through the marketplace hum.

  His gaze lingered on Wynford, drinking in the demon's imposing figure and undeniable charisma. A flush crept up from beneath his collar. With a flourish more suited to the capital's stages than this dusty marketplace, Leonard's hand flew to his heart. His body swayed slightly, as if struck by some invisible force.

  "Alas, I fear if I stay any longer, I'll be lost to Wynford's charm entirely. A fate most tempting, but I must protect my virtue."

  His voice dripped with feigned distress. His free hand fluttered to his forehead in a mock swoon. The corners of my mouth twitched, holding back laughter that threatened to escape. Wynford's head tilted, a curious glint in his eyes.

  Leonard's gaze, alight with mischief and something that looked remarkably like genuine interest, met Wynford's for a lingering moment. A dramatic sigh escaped his lips before he straightened, shoulders squaring with theatrical precision.

  "Sir, I trust you will handle our enthralling friend here with care."

  His composure returned with practiced ease, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward in a sly smile. The look we exchanged spoke volumes—camaraderie, caution, and something else I couldn't quite name.

  My eyes scanned the crowd, calculating. Within this diverse throng, Wynford stood as my only true rival—the only one with wealth and power resembling my own. An idea sparked, sudden and bright. My hand clamped over Wynford's forearm before I could second-guess myself. His skin burned hot beneath my palm, like touching sun-baked stone.

  "I have an offer that could benefit us both."

  Curiosity flickered across his face, reshaping his features. "What kind of offer?"

  "A joint venture. I get a prizefighter, and you get someone to represent your fighting establishment and brand."

  His head tilted slightly. "A partnership?"

  A nod was all the confirmation needed. "Yes. Beneficial for both of us."

  A smirk spread across his face, revealing the edges of teeth too white and sharp to be human. "Let's discuss this further."

  We navigated through the pressing bodies, seeking shade and respite from the sweltering heat. Sweat trickled down my spine, dampening my fine shirt. The crowd parted for Wynford's imposing form more readily than they had for me, a fact I noted with interest.

  In a secluded, cooler corner, sheltered by a canvas awning, Wynford's massive hand settled on my shoulder. He leaned down, forcing me to look up into eyes that absorbed light rather than reflected it.

  "You have a keen eye for business, Mr. Velez." His voice lowered, a rumble I felt more than heard. "But are you certain our gamble will pay off?"

  "You know this fighter. He can bring money to us both." My voice remained steady despite the intimidating proximity.

  His fingers stroked his chin, contemplative. Then he released my shoulder and straightened to his full, impressive height. Something shifted in his expression.

  "She." His gaze bored into mine, intensity burning away any ambiguity. "She is my first choice to represent the company."

  Surprise jolted through me. "She?"

  Wynford's face beamed. "A beautiful figurehead is great for business."

  My eyes drifted across the surrounding bustle, buying time to process this unexpected turn. A female fighter. The thought hadn't crossed my mind, not even fleetingly. Having a woman represent any business typically brought positive results, that much I knew. But would an otherworldly female draw the same advantages? The buzz of the crowd faded as my mind raced through possibilities.

  I narrowed my eyes, studying his confident expression. "How can you be sure this demon is a skilled fighter?"

  "Ah, I know this woman." Laughter rumbled from deep in his chest, a sound that vibrated through the air between us. "To succeed in the ring would only use a fraction of her potential. The challenge will be to control her."

  A chuckle escaped me before I could stop it. "My women have never been hard to handle before." The confidence in my own voice surprised me. "Having a female fighter rather than male would be much more convenient for my household."

  "Don’t make that assumption until you meet her. She can be intimidating."

  "If she's your friend, why is she being put up for sale?"

  A shadow crossed his face, darkening his features like a cloud passing over the sun. The jovial businessman vanished, replaced by something older and grimmer.

  "She gained passage to this world with a contract of ten years' servitude. I wish to redeem the rest of this transaction by signing her up with my company." His voice lowered, taking on a rougher edge. "I can't fathom what ordeals she has experienced since her arrival here last year. I didn't even hear about her being here until last month. She is quite secretive."

  My brow furrowed as concern washed through me. Something about his tone made my skin prickle with unease. "She'll be trouble, won't she?"

  A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, not reaching his eyes. "Almost certainly. Yet I am sure it will be worth it." His gaze held mine, unflinching. "If you want someone who can win fights and provide profit to your company, then Joy is the one you should choose."

  "Joy." The name rolled off my tongue, unexpectedly mundane. "Unusual name for a demon."

  Wynford nodded, a slight movement that sent the gold chains at his horns swaying. "Indeed, that is the name she has adopted while living among humans."

  My eyes dropped to the ground as I struggled to keep my expression neutral. Part of me wanted to trust this demon businessman, strange as the concept seemed. If this female demon needed a firm hand, my trainers at the estate would ensure her compliance. As a last resort, I could leverage her connection to Wynford to force obedience.

  A smile spread across my face as the pieces fell into place. "Alright, what do you say? Do we have a deal? We go halves—I get my fighter and you get someone worth representing your business?"

  Wynford's massive hand engulfed mine again. The pressure increased slightly—just enough to remind me he could crush my bones to powder with minimal effort. If this demon woman possessed even half his strength, she would be extraordinary in the ring. Our handshake held a moment of tension, a test of wills between predator and supposed equal.

  Then a wide grin split Wynford's face, transforming his features.

  "We have a deal, Jacobi."

  I stepped back, folding my arms across my chest with a satisfied smile. Victory tasted sweet, having secured what I wanted before the auction had even begun. Today would be a day to remember.