Hive Knight: A Dark Fantasy LitRPG (Trinity of the Hive Book 1) Grayson Sinclair (book recommendations website .TXT) 📖

bin and brought the side of my palm to the unfortunate guard's neck. I held back, trying not to crush his windpipe, but put enough force behind it to bring him to his knees, breathless, to clutch his neck. I kneed him in the face, breaking his nose and sending him to the stone, unconscious.

The drunk guard stumbled over his words in an attempt to shout while also drawing his weapon. He rushed me and stumbled, tripping over a rock and tumbling to the ground. I took two steps and kicked his teeth in before he had the chance to stand back up.

What a waste of time. I stepped over the bleeding drunk and left the alley.

The route to the auction house was clear after the scuffle with the guards. Pulling up the map to check my location, I waved away the blinking notification tab. I’ll deal with it later.

I ducked through another back street and hopped the gate to the auction house. It was located in the Market District, but it looked as if it belonged in the Noble District. Where everything in the market squares felt cramped, with as many stalls squished together as possible. The road to the slave market was vacant and clean. Freshly paved stone and large red brick walls topped with wrought-iron spikes lined the entirety of the square.

In the center stood the primary residence for the Slavers Association. It was called a house, but it was as extravagant as any high noble’s mansion.

The palatial home was built of spotless white stone with matching marble columns. The dark oak shingles were trimmed in gold and accented the stone perfectly. Large windows on the second and third stories offered a brief glimpse of the ostentatious wealth that was present here—bedrooms and offices that held more gold and marble than a bank vault.

I’d forgotten how profitable the business was. “Bah,” I muttered.

The worst kind of blood money. To sell a being that has all the intelligence of a flesh and blood human, just because you don’t consider them real. Disgusting.

Flanked on either side of the grand manor were two large warehouses. Built of sturdy wood, they’d stood the test of time, but were much worse for wear. Broken and rotten planks were scattered across the two buildings and detracted from the opulent house.

As I walked into the courtyard, I was surrounded by even more wealth. People were busying about in the large square: rich men and women crowding each other to get a look at the wares.

They all crowded around a makeshift stage. The wood was of excellent quality, but the construction was clearly sub-par. It still dripped wood stain that was too thickly applied. A thud caught my attention as one of the wooden gates to the warehouses was forced open.

Several large cages rolled out to rest near the stage as the massive crowd shuffled against each other to get a better look. Elves and dwarves were locked in the cages. Men, women, and even children. People whose only crime were being born differently and being unlucky enough to be caught outside of their respective kingdoms.

I slipped through the crowd as quickly as I could and moved to get a better look at the faces of the slaves, studying each of the cages carefully.

Eris wasn’t among the group currently for sale. I turned my gaze from them, feeling sadness and shame well up inside me. It's wrong to treat NPCs as slaves, but there's nothing I can do. Bad things happen to people who don’t deserve it. It's a harsh world we live in.

As much as I despised slavery, I wouldn’t step in and stop it. I was a part of the problem. But I’m just one man. One man can’t change the world, and to believe otherwise is a fool's dream.

No. I couldn’t help the slaves. My one and only priority was Eris. She came before all others, and I couldn’t right every wrong I came across. Yeah, maybe telling myself that will help me sleep at night.

I ignored the slaves and focused on my surroundings. Watching the comings and goings of the number of guards that were scattered around, keeping an eye on the merchandise. There were four by the stage. Their hardened gaze fixed firmly on the cages, periodically glancing at the crowd to keep an eye on them, but it was clear what they were being paid to protect. But beyond those four, there were two more on each of the warehouses, standing by with compound bows at the ready.

I can’t go waltzing through like I own the place. I’ll get tagged the moment I act out of the ordinary. With no clear plan of action coming to me, I settled in and waited for an opening.

I stood out sharply compared to the rest of the crowd, all wearing expensive outfits and jewelry, while I was wearing my usual cotton shirt and pants, still filthy from being in jail and climbing through back alleys. I was getting a few sidelong looks from the people close to me, but the mercenaries hadn’t yet noticed me, so I quick-equipped my armor and sword. With my shabby clothes, I looked like exactly what I was—an outlier. Least with my gear, I’ll look like a warlord, or one of the bandit kings, instead of a homeless beggar.

Nothing happened for a few minutes; the buyers all craned their necks to get an eye for the slaves. Dozens of whispered conversations broke out, each one talking about prices. The door to the auction house opened, and a man in a dapper white suit strolled out, his head shrouded by the large brimmed hat he wore on his head, but the shadows ended at his thin mustache and goatee.

It was the same man I’d seen in the Mnemosyne without a doubt. Magnus.

I gnashed my teeth, biting