I Wrote Trash Novels to Level Up, Now Everyone Thinks I'm the Hero

Wooden auction paddles kept shooting up through the thick haze of magical smoke. The harsh, guttural bidding war between slave traders, gang leaders, and local warlords crashed against the walls, shaking loose flecks of moss from the ancient stone.

"Eleven thousand!" "Twelve thousand five hundred!" "Fourteen thousand!"

"Fifteen thousand gold!"

A booming, rough shout rolled out from the front row.

Bargon — leader of the Iron Blood Mining Guild, a hulking man with a bare, scar-covered chest and a massive war hammer resting across his lap — shot to his feet. He slammed a leather sack of mud-caked raw gold onto the stone table and swept the hall with a red-eyed, threatening glare.

"The Iron Blood Gang's taking this one, whole! Anyone raises their paddle again, I'll bury their whole family alive at the bottom of the mine!"

The entire hall went silent instantly. The wealthier merchants exchanged wary looks, several quietly lowering their number plates. Nobody in Oakhaven wanted to tangle with a mining tyrant who commanded thousands of vicious miners and had no problem slaughtering rivals in broad daylight.

The auctioneer on the platform beamed and raised his gavel.

"Fifteen thousand gold, going once! Fifteen thousand gold, going—"

"Thirty thousand."

A young, clear voice — flat and level as a lake without a single ripple — rang out from the shadows of the fifth row.

The noise in the hall died instantly. Every head snapped around at once.

Bargon's eyes bulged, the veins in his neck throbbing violently. He jabbed a thick finger straight at the small, ash-cloaked figure and roared:

"You little brat, still wet behind the ears! Do you have any idea who I am? Thirty thousand gold? What could you possibly pay with — your own life as collateral?!"

Under his hood, Lucian didn't even bother standing up. The ten-year-old crossed his legs at his leisure, reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out a crisp, gold-edged stack of vellum, still smelling of premium magic printing ink.

He flicked through the pages with his thumb, each sheet giving off a soft, crisp shhk, shhk.

"Thirty thousand gold. Grade-A Vance bearer notes, issued against documented publishing revenue. Crown-recognized, redeemable at any Vance branch on the continent, and backed by clean commercial provenance."

Lucian tilted his head up, letting the corner of a mocking smile show beneath the shadow of his hood.

"Anyone want to beat that?"

Absolute silence dropped over the hall, so thick you could have heard every pounding heartbeat in the room.

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Bargon stood frozen in place, eyes bulging as if they might pop out of his skull, staring at the pristine stack of notes in Lucian's hand.

In this crime-soaked stretch of borderland, the one thing Oakhaven had in overwhelming surplus was dirty gold — looted gold, tax-dodging gold, gold mined without a permit. But to turn that dirty gold into legitimate assets in one of the Empire's great cities, they had to route it through money launderers who skimmed off thirty to forty percent of its value.

A stack of crown-recognized Vance bearer notes backed by legitimate publishing revenue was worth at least twenty percent more real purchasing power here than raw gold, coin for coin.

This wasn't just money. It was a legal ticket for someone crawling in the gutter to step straight into high nobility.

Bargon's financial advisor grabbed his arm from behind, whispering urgently, trembling.

"Boss... stop! You can't outbid that! That kid's carrying Grade-A notes from Vance's headquarters — he's got to be an heir to the Great Trading House, or royal blood sent out on some undercover errand! Touch him, and the whole Mining Guild gets wiped off the map by morning!"

Bargon ground his teeth so hard they creaked, his chest heaving with humiliation, but the arm holding his massive war hammer slowly lowered. He bit his lip until it bled and dropped back into his seat, seething, not daring to say another word.

On the platform, the auctioneer swallowed hard, his hand trembling so badly he nearly dropped the gavel.

"Thirty thousand gold, going once... going twice... going three times! Sold!"

Crack!

The gavel came down with a decisive strike, ending the wildest auction Oakhaven's black market had seen in ten years.

Lucian rose and walked calmly down the stone steps, watched with a mixture of reverence, wariness, and outright fear by hundreds of hardened criminals. Not one of them dared meet his eyes; they parted before him automatically, clearing a path as if welcoming some dark prince.

Economic dominance.

No sword drawn, no violent surge of mana. The absolute superiority of a single civilized financial instrument had crushed the raw, primitive violence of every border thug in the room.

The auctioneer bowed low, dropping to both knees on the stone floor in front of Lucian. He extended a silver, jewel-inlaid key and a jet-black scroll of vellum, glowing with a deep crimson light, offering it up with both hands.

"Honored guest... this is the key to the titanium cage, and the Soul-Bound Magical Slave Covenant. From this moment on, the life and body of the Silver Moon Sacred Maiden are entirely yours to command."

Lucian took the key and the blood-marked covenant, tucking them into his pocket without so much as another glance at the auctioneer.

He turned, stepped up onto the platform, and stood before the massive iron cage.

Inside it, Sylvia still sat curled in the shadows. Her silver ears drooped low, her sapphire eyes cold and full of a deathly resignation as she stared at the child who had just spent thirty thousand gold — enough to buy a whole war fleet — for the sole purpose of owning her.

Click.

The magical lock opened with a soft sound. The heavy iron cage door slowly swung open.

Sylvia stirred. Her joints let out a faint, pained creak after days of confinement. She rose slowly, stepping barefoot, her feet raw and bleeding, across the cold iron threshold.

The heavy sealing chains dragged across the stone floor with a grim, hollow clatter.

She stopped in front of Lucian and lifted her exquisite, exhaustion-pale face, looking straight into the dark eyes beneath the ten-year-old's hood.

Her lips curved slightly as she spoke, her voice clear but cold as the eternal ice of the far north.

"So. You have me now, new master."

She raised her pale, collar-bound throat higher, her eyes not showing so much as a flicker of fear.

"What would you like me to do first? Kill someone for you? Or would you rather I take off my clothes and entertain you?"

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