Chapter 30: Black Gold

Eugene Fordi’s day began in a bedroom that, much like a scene from a novel, seemed to stretch toward an invisible horizon.

"Are you Maid 71 or 72? Never mind, just serve me..."

The decadent lifestyle that wealth can construct always challenges the limits of human perception. As the kingpin of all kingpins in this den of iniquity, he was so poor that he had nothing left but money.

The slave market handled astronomical numbers every day. For a man like him, as long as he didn't overstep—such as embezzling treasures specifically requested by the big shots—the sheer flow of gold and riches was so torrential that it was nearly impossible to spend it all.

With hundreds of servants and a mansion grand enough to make a count envious, he possessed a bathtub large enough to raise fish in. Outside his door, young and beautiful maids waited in line. He lived a life of luxury, and he didn't try to hide it in the slightest.

Yet, he remained in the Docklands, confined even within the slave market itself.

A man like him was not allowed to leave the Docklands, let alone the Radiant City. The private residence within the slave market was destined to be his prison for life. Sometimes, he would even question whether the slaves were the ones in the cages, or if he himself was the one trapped...

"No, I am not the prisoner. They are."

Early in the morning, after enjoying a spectacular "beast-fighting" show and watching the unlucky wretches torn limb from limb by lions, he laughed with genuine pleasure.

The slave market in the Docklands had long ceased to be a mere exchange. It might have started as one, but as demand and desire ballooned, it had long since soured. Inside the slave market, a grand hall known as the Beast-Fighting Club had just hosted a bloodbath.

Outside the ring where the dead and the beasts occupied the stage, spectators of various ranks and classes filled the stands. In the middle and back rows, people waved their betting slips, cursing the dead for their incompetence. In the private boxes along the walls and the premium seats in the front row, masked figures savored the stimulation brought by blood and death.

Those who were usually well-dressed, upright gentlemen and noble ladies did not utter their usual high-minded moral platitudes. Some covered their mouths with fans, revealing excited eyes; others, while loudly decrying the immorality of the place, stared with glowing, unblinking eyes at the spots where the blood pooled.

"...It seems the new show is a success, though they appear to be getting a bit tired of beasts tearing people apart."

"Perhaps we can add some spice. Shall we go to the underground ruins next time and bring back some monsters? We could add them to the betting pool, make it a game of preference..."

"By the way, some of the maids are getting boring, and those over sixteen are already too old... Lightly dressed little beauties being shredded by beasts—that would surely get these animals excited."

This place offered every pleasure, but it clearly lacked morality. It even had laws; after all, within the kingdom, the slave market was perfectly legal and compliant. Under this system, "total slaves" who had lost everything were not considered people; they were merely consumable wealth.

When discarding morality and empathy can bring wealth and status, sentient beings will demonstrate an astonishing depth of depravity and flexibility.

"Viscount Quinn really enjoyed your new program. He has some slaves he no longer wants, and he wishes to participate as well."

"It is my honor..." How could Eugene refuse a superior seeking entertainment?

"High Priest Keda hopes you can keep an eye out for new cargo for him. The last boy was good, but he was too old. It would be better if he were even younger."

Younger? The last one was only seven, that beast.

"It is my honor! Please tell him I will see to it as soon as possible." Despite his thoughts, Eugene responded with great excitement.

"Lieutenant Windal asks if you need some 'total slaves' from military operations. Your newly added beast-fighting games must require a heavy supply..."

"Uh, hasn't there been no war recently?"

"No war does not mean there are no war slaves. Some ignorant backwater places actually dared to refuse to pay taxes. Without taxes, how are our generals supposed to feed their troops?"

The chaos and corruption of the kingdom were most explicitly and nakedly displayed in the lowest, filthiest dregs of society. This rot was comprehensive, with every aspect sliding toward the abyss.

"I am honored. I have a new inspiration. Perhaps we could stage a small-scale 'theatrical war,' having a fully armored knight face off against those peasants who refused to pay taxes, just so our audience can appreciate..."

Eugene "Black Gold" Fordi never lacked for sinister, profit-generating ideas. The slave market had grown to such an extent that it now entangled countless high-ranking figures, and his own wicked little mind was likely directly responsible.

This brought him infinite wealth and connections... but it also trapped him in his own kingdom. He knew too much; he knew the true nature of the beasts beneath the polished facades of those big shots. If he ever attempted to leave or retire, it would lead people to believe he might leak their secrets. Even the mere possibility of him falling into the hands of political rivals was enough to guarantee he would be made to vanish.

He was in a cage, too—he simply happened to be happy and satisfied with this gilded beast-cage.

Sometimes, he even felt he was similar to the gang trash outside. He felt useful enough, but when he had time to think, he felt that merely standing on a stage in public was an unbearable, filthy thing.

Thinking of the gang members reminded him of that enthusiastic young man from yesterday. Did the lad think his disguise of excessive obsequiousness was convincing? Eugene wouldn't expose him; he enjoyed that kind of enthusiasm. Who wasn't a mask-wearing pretender? Who wasn't a hypocrite in this dirty world?

Suddenly, he remembered the new topic in the Docklands: a "noble" classic Oath Knight.

"He, perhaps, is a truly good man." Anyone with some understanding of Oath Knights would recognize this kindness from a bygone age. But everyone could see that his power, as a degenerate breed, was fading... Once he truly lost his strength, he wouldn't need tigers or leopards to tear him apart; the stray dogs who hated him, feared him, or perhaps even envied him would do it themselves.

When everyone else is steeped in darkness, isn't your brightness an insult to our eyes?

"Perhaps I should prepare a spot for him in the cages here... A once-noble classic knight being torn apart by a group of low-life thugs—I’m sure many would be willing to watch that."

"By the way, that little fellow from yesterday seems related to the knight. Hah, does that noble soul intend to rely on such small-time thugs to protect him once his power fades? How truly comical... Let’s see if anyone places an order for that."

Eugene would not take initiative unless there was profit, or rather, an order. And based on his past experience, he believed there absolutely would be one—perhaps a noblewoman looking for a new thrill, a lurking cultist playing with filthy rituals, a collector, or someone simply trying to humiliate the concepts of justice and morality.

"Right, I have an appointment today..."

The pig-like man who showed up yesterday dressed in finery claimed he had a highly valuable, rare item and wanted to auction it for a high price. He said he would bring it today for Eugene to authenticate...

"Hah, what kind of treasure could a piece of Docklands trash possibly have? It’s likely just more low-quality magical junk..."

But soon, he was proven wrong—and slapped in the face with a look of pleasant surprise.

"Blood of a Hero?! How is that possible?! Is it from that Knight? No, that noble person?"

"A private trade? Of course, it must be private. It must remain absolutely confidential..."

He seriously considered canceling his banquet with a certain noble to leave immediately and finish this transaction that could not wait.

"Cavendi, Cyril... Never mind, take Cyril."

His two bodyguards were his protectors, but also his monitors for the slave market (and the people behind it). Something like the Blood of a Hero could never enter the auction process; anyone who touched it might be tempted to swallow it immediately.

Touching the blood-red fragment, no larger than a pinky nail, and feeling the pure vitality contained within, Eugene wore a look of joy. In this world, power didn't just represent wealth and status. If one could use this to evolve into a stronger "species," it also meant a longer life. Who could refuse to live longer?

Bringing an extra bodyguard meant one more person to split the spoils with, and even if they only got a tiny bit, Eugene still found it regrettable. However, he dared not leave the bodyguards behind... there were likely more people who wanted his head than there were those who wanted the knight's.

"Seven o'clock tonight? Fine. Tell your boss I will be at the banquet on time."

That night, he arrived right on time at the old mansion in the slums. The burly, simpleton-looking man who opened the door for him seemed a bit dull-witted.

"Welcome, welcome." Lian, cloaked in an illusion, greeted his prey with a pleasant smile.