Path To Godhood Begins With Marrying Wife And Gaining SSS Rank Skill

Herion hesitated for only a second. He remembered his father’s advice that asked him to drink mindfully, because not only women but men also needed to protect themselves.

He took a sip.

The liquid burned his throat. His face twisted, but he forced himself not to cough. He took another, bigger swallow.

Heat spread through his chest.

He moved deeper into the tent, watching the auction.

 A caged beast was dragged onto the stage. A glowing dagger.

A strange crystal.

When bids started rising, Herion surprised even himself. He lifted his hand and spoke firmly, his voice steady. He bought a small enchanted dagger, a leather pouch that resisted fire, and a strange metal bracer that looked ordinary but hummed faintly. Coins exchanged hands quickly. The auctioneer nodded with respect at the confidence in his tone.

Another cup appeared in his hand. Then another.

The noise grew louder, or maybe his head grew lighter. His steps became less steady. His thoughts slowed, then sped up in strange bursts.

He laughed once for no reason, then frowned just as suddenly.

Around him, men argued and raised paddles. Coins slammed onto tables. The woman from before refilled his cup again, barely looking at him.

Herion’s vision blurred at the edges.

This… is strong…

He tried to stand straight, but the ground felt soft. The room seemed to tilt. Sounds stretched and echoed.

Someone nearby cursed loudly over a lost bid. A chair fell. Two men shoved each other.

Herion turned his head too fast. The world spun.

He bumped into a table and nearly fell. The cloak wrapped around his face slipped, exposing his handsome features. Several people glanced his way.

Before he could fall, a hand shoved him aside roughly.

“Watch it, brat,” a man growled. “If this is your first time, you shouldn’t have come alone.”

12:04

Herion opened his mouth to argue, but the words tangled. His tongue felt heavy.

“Watch it, brat,” a man growled. “If this is your first time, you shouldn’t have come alone.”

Herion opened his mouth to argue, but the words tangled. His tongue felt heavy.

For the first time, a thin thread of unease slipped into his mind.

This place… is not like home.

The friendly noise he imagined earlier now sounded sharp. Faces looked harder.

The eyes were not kind. They were measuring and calculating.

He tried to walk toward the exit curtain, but his steps wobbled. Someone laughed behind him.

“Too much for your first time, kid?”

Herion did not answer. He pushed forward, but his shoulder hit a wooden pillar. His vision dimmed at the edges.

As he looked around, he noticed several women smiling at him in a friendly but watchful way. One approached with a gentle expression and held out a cup.

“Want a drink, handsome?” she asked, her voice smooth.

Herion shook his head. “No, I had enough.”

She chuckled lightly and nudged the cup closer. “Just one more sip. It will make you feel better.”

Two more women came near, laughing softly, patting his arm as if encouraging him. Their movements were easy and practiced. They did not force him, but they did not give him much space either.

Herion’s face flushed. He tried to wave them off, but another cup touched his hand. He took it without thinking.

The liquid went down his throat again.

The last thing he remembered was someone saying, “Easy, easy… just relax.”

As the noise continued, the auctioneer walked onto the stage and raised both hands.

“Ladies and gentlemen…”

“Now it is time for the real thing you all came for.” As he spoke, he made a sweeping gesture. Several cages were rolled forward, iron wheels scraping against the wooden floor. At once, many people leaned forward in their seats.

Inside the cages were men and women of different races, including humans and half-beasts. They were chained and looked exhausted. Their clothes were torn and minimal, and their eyes were dull with fear and anger. The sight made the atmosphere heavier, but the crowd reacted with interest rather than pity.

A few impatient voices rang out.

“Just women? Where are the big toys?”

“Yes, where are the boy toys?”

The auctioneer smiled smoothly and lifted a hand. “Calm down, ladies. We have many of them as well.” He signaled to his assistants. Another cage was pushed out, this one holding tall, slender men with bound wrists.

The women who had been serving Herion noticed his gaze sharpen.

“Young master,” one of them said softly, leaning closer, “which one do you like?”

Herion, his face slightly flushed, gave a loose laugh. “Like? I like them all.”

She smiled. “You have a big appetite.”

“I also have big pouches of money too,” Herion replied with a crooked grin as he slowly stood up and raised his hand.

“Hey, mister,” he called toward the stage. “I heard Ruthiana is not selling slaves. So where did you bring so many fine… specimens from?”

The auctioneer looked at him. Normally, he would have ignored such a question. However, this was a patron who had been bidding with confidence, so he forced a polite smile.

“All of them are refugees and exiled people running from Frontier because of the sudden situation.”

“I see,” Herion said, his tone changing slightly. “But do you have the right to sell them? Isn’t Count Blanks overseeing this land? Isn’t this kind of act forbidden?”

The moment he said that, a heavy silence fell over the tent.

Many had taken Herion as some rich, nosy youth. But now his words made several people exchange uneasy looks.

The auctioneer kept smiling, though his eyes hardened. “Count Ethan is a great man, but we also have a backer who cannot be offended. So do not be afraid. His authority does not extend here. He cannot do anything here.”

He turned as if to continue the auction.

“I see,” a cold voice erupted from his lips.

Everyone turned.

Herion no longer looked loose or drunk. His posture became straight. His eyes were clear and sharp.

BANG.

The glass in his hand shattered as he crushed it. Shards fell to the floor. The women beside him jumped back in shock.

“You have a backer. Good,” he said quietly.

“Then let us see how strong your backer is to shield you from Blanks’ land.”

He pulled out a token and raised it high.

“Order of the Eternal Blades.”

A sharp whistle cut through the air.

From the edges of the tent and the shadows near the beams, several cloaked figures appeared at once. Their movements were fast and precise. Weapons flashed in the lantern light.

“Lay everything here to dust and imprison them,” Herion ordered, his voice firm and cold.

Panic exploded inside the tent. Chairs overturned. People shouted. Some tried to run, but the exits were already blocked.

The auctioneer’s smile vanished. He stepped back, and his face became pale