Episode 22: Red Star
The carriage heading to the northern district’s outskirts was quiet.
Outside the window, abandoned mining villages and old barracks ruins flashed by.
The streets had more guard dogs than beggars, and carts carrying corpses rolled past nonchalantly.
“The auction house is a converted underground weapons storage facility, operating on the second basement level. It’s not on any official map,” Astier said calmly.
Across from me, she unfolded a blueprint of the auction house, continuing her briefing.
As an intelligence agent, she was adept at this—likely routine for her.
“There are three entry points from the outside: the main entrance, the eastern ventilation shaft, and the underground drainage. You and I will enter through the main entrance as low-tier merchants.”
“Security?” I asked.
“Officially, a private security firm; in reality, armed personnel tied to the Red Star, mostly former bandits. The first floor is for registering traders and participants; the second basement is the main auction hall, rigged with surveillance sorcery.”
I glanced out the window. The narrow, filthy streets were shrouded in unidentifiable smoke.
The roadside, crowded with vagrants, was littered with signs for scrap dealers and foundries. A place like this was perfect for underground dealings.
“The auction house’s primary clients are mid-to-low-tier nobles. This time, the issue is a middleman broker named Esren Park. We can trace the Red Star’s funding routes through him.”
The name stirred a memory. In the original story, Esren Park appeared as a grotesque, beast-transformed non-boss enemy, muttering his own name.
His backstory involved smuggling test subjects before succumbing to beast transformation.
I checked the blade hidden inside my wrist guard.
It looked like an ordinary arm brace but concealed a custom-made blade, inspired by an assassin game.
I couldn’t carry an eye-catching weapon like Radiata, a Reinforced Armament as a low-tier merchant.
Though I’d never used it on the front, a few days of practice was enough for real combat.
My opponent wasn’t a great demonic beast capable of slaughtering hundreds of soldiers.
I dressed as a mercenary-turned-merchant, while Astier posed as my attendant, clad in a tattered gray cloak and carrying a worn bag. Her skillful touch was a great help.
“From now on, I’m from the southern kingdoms. Speak to me casually,” she said.
Though the continent used a unified language, accents and vocabulary varied by nation.
Astier adopted a southern accent, akin to a regional dialect like Jeju’s.
I, however, could only speak with a noble accent, ingrained in Ian Baltazar’s body, so I was set as a fallen noble. Aside from that, our disguise was perfect.
“Ready?” I asked.
Astier nodded, her eyes briefly sharpening.
“I’m looking forward to your methods, master.”
I paused, glancing at her with just my eyes.
Her expression was dead serious as she called me “master.” I nodded awkwardly.
“…Right.”
At the auction house entrance, we blended into the line of participants.
The crowd was already suspicious—black robes with skull patterns, masks carved with serpent eyes, red tattoos typical of the south.
I wanted to knock them all out and extract information, but I held back.
The plan, combining original story knowledge and Astier’s intel, was to dismantle the Red Star from within.
Start with the lower ranks, cut off their funding and trade routes, and erode the trust of mid-level operatives, turning them against each other.
Even if I knew the faces of high-ranking nobles, the approach remained the same.
Charging in to take their heads would be socially impossible.
Killing them without evidence would brand me a traitor who murdered nobles.
Clear proof was necessary—likely what the emperor wanted too. The wooden door creaked open.
“Next, number 27, Lion Paleo Trading Company.”
“That’s you, master,” Astier whispered.
I showed the trader’s certificate and entered.
A wide, circular hall greeted us, with balcony seats overlooking from above.
The center was slightly elevated like a stage, still empty.
A red curtain hung at the back, giving the impression of a grand theater.
“Lots of nobles,”
Astier whispered, staying close.
The hall was packed with guests—some with faces fully concealed, others in gaudy masks adorned with jewels.
“Some of the auction items are prohibited under imperial law. People come here willing to take that risk for profit,” Astier said.
I noted a few individuals—nobles likely tied to the Red Star, matching Astier’s intel.
There was no hard evidence, but suspicion was enough for now.
A metallic chime rang, and the lights slowly dimmed.
A host in a deep green robe appeared at the center of the stage, their amplified voice filling the hall.
After a brief welcome, the auction began.
“The first item: the ‘Heart of Lumen,’ a massive mana stone unearthed from southern ruins.”
A blue crystal, radiating a faint, pristine glow, was displayed.
It was a stone formed from condensed magical essence, usable for enhancing or crafting weapons and accessories.
“Starting bid: 5,000 gold.”
Bidding erupted. I focused on the key figures, tracking their behavior.
Not bidding would seem suspicious, so I called out a modest price. Most bids easily tripled mine.
“A rare-blooded slave, captured directly from the south.”
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. A young boy, shackled at the ankles with dried blood, stood on stage.
Notably, beast-like ears protruded from his head.
This world was primarily human, with no dwarves, elves, or orcs.
The only exception was this beastfolk race, officially called hybrids of transcendent beings—mutated by the influence of a mythical entity.
Players simply called them beastfolk for convenience.
“Starting bid: 3,000 gold.”
The auction house heated up. Unlike other items, the bidding for the rare beastfolk slave was fierce, driven by the allure of owning such a rarity.
“4,000 gold!”
“4,500!”
“6,000!”
I stared silently at the scene. More slaves and test subjects followed, each in a pitiful state.
I thought I’d grown numb to gruesome sights after fighting on the front lines, assuming this wouldn’t faze me.
I was wrong.
This was a different kind of horror—perhaps disgust was the better word. Images of those who died on the northern front flashed before my eyes.
“…!!”
The air grew colder, as if dropping three degrees.
My unintended killing intent had leaked. Astier reacted, gripping my arm tightly under the seat.
“…Not yet,”
She whispered, cold sweat trailing down her cheek.
Her usually impassive face was pale, though she held up better than Sylvia had. She shook her head desperately.
“A mistake.” I said.
Astier didn’t seem convinced, but I had no time to explain.
My brief lapse had drawn attention from nearby nobles.
Some fainted; others struggled to breathe.
Irena’s advice to suppress my killing intent had failed momentarily.
I’d attracted unwanted attention. The organizers were now watching, exchanging cryptic signals.
‘Did I mess up?’
This was a den of traitors. In a place where exposure meant ruin, a half-baked plan wouldn’t cut it.
I switched to a direct approach. Signaling Astier as planned, a massive explosion rocked the hall.
BOOM!
The blast came from behind the curtain, where unlisted items were stored.
Thick smoke and chaos erupted. Amid the screams of fleeing participants, I rose slowly, turning my gaze to a man in the left balcony.
“Esren Park.”
Red shirt, gold-rimmed monocle, slickly combed hair. Esren’s eyes trembled visibly.
“…Is it not rude to disrupt an auction?” he said.
Immediately, hooded figures in black surged from the balcony and floor, brandishing weapons from all directions.
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