Chapter 187. Winner Takes All

Inside one of the Avarice Claw's upscale lodgings, a room drowned in pillows and thick with catnip smoke, a muscular Rank 3 male tiger demihuman lounged. Accompanying him were a pair of Rank 2 female panther demihumans resting against him on either side, both wearing empty, half-lidded smiles as they lazily draped themselves across his chest.

The curtain by the entrance rustled as a Rank 2 female cheetah demihuman slipped into the room, hesitating at the threshold.

"Boss, I may have found someone interesting," she said carefully, ears tucked and posture low. "I think I found you a healer."

"A healer?" the tiger asked, a flicker of interest breaking through his otherwise lazy demeanor.

"Yeah, I noticed a carriage—"

"Get to the point. Don't waste my time," he growled.

The cheetah flinched, shrinking back before rushing her words. "I saw them heal someone using skills before heading up. They're in Avarice right now, and I think they're looking for a slave."

"What are their conditions?"

"I... I don't know yet, boss. I came to—"

"RAAAH!"

The tiger's roar shook the room. The cheetah recoiled, collapsing onto the floor before instinctively folding into a submissive posture, legs tucked beneath her and tail pressed low.

“Go find out. And don’t come back with missing information.”

“T-they’re looking for a b-broker, so if they c-cut a deal you might miss—”

“No. Wait. I’ll go,” the tiger cut in, clicking his tongue. “Knowing you, you’d fuck it up. Besides, it’s better to lure them into a deal before someone else gets to them.”

“Great idea, bo—”

“Shut up.”

“Meow…”

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Ariel, having arrived near the entrance of the arena, looked around for the fat broker with guards they had been told to find. Instead, her attention was drawn to a growing crowd gathered around a particular stall. She moved closer, listening in, keen on finding out what they were up to.

“I’m looking for a dungeon escort! 10 mithril for 100 years!”

“Looking for a fight! 1 mithril for 5 years. Standard treatment!”

“1 mithril for 3 years! Cat brothel treatment!”

“I’ll take that fight!”

“1 magic crystal for 10 years. Anything goes!”

Gasps rippled through the crowd as people parted, giving way to a female cougar demihuman who confidently strode toward the front. There, a fat exotic shorthair cat demihuman sat behind the stall, flanked by two intimidating Rank 2 guards on either side holding spears.

They talked for a while, settling on the type of fight, a recurring schedule if she won, and other details, before finally nodding in agreement. She turned away and disappeared back into the crowd as the noise around them resumed and the hawking continued.

Ariel did some quick math based on the offers being accepted and calculated that they would need to risk 1 magic crystal per fight for 1000 years as a cook. It seemed like a fair balance between the low danger of a respectable profession, the high reward of a magic crystal per attempt, and the wasteful duration of a thousand years. The numbers made sense on paper, but she hadn't taken into account what lifespan truly meant to people.

“Looking for a cook! 1 magic crystal for 1000 years!” Ariel declared loudly from the back, instantly silencing the crowd as everyone turned to stare at her.

Rather than shock or awe, she was met with disgusted stares, as if she had personally insulted everyone within shouting distance. Someone in the crowd threw out a random offer, snapping attention back to the stall and pulling the crowd back into its usual churn of competing bids.

Ariel, meanwhile, stood there, utterly perplexed. Why was her offer rejected? It was perfectly reasonable, given the numbers they were throwing around. Didn’t anyone want to bet that they’d be able to win against them? Even she might consider it if she were strapped for cash and had confidence in her strength.

“You’re not going to get anywhere with an offer like that, little missy,” a powerful Rank 3 tiger demihuman said from behind Ariel.

“Why not?” Ariel asked, unbothered by his rank.

“Because you don’t understand what 1,000 years means to regular Rank 2s. Imagine asking an Apprentice to give up 40 years of their life spent on cooking. How old do you think they’d be once they actually try to reach Rank 1? Would they even reach that rank given that it usually takes 100 years? How old were they when they started? 20? 40? They’d barely be able to swing a sword properly by the time they reach 160 years old, let alone 180.”

Ariel slapped her forehead, finally understanding the problem. She may have spent a decade as an adventurer and had a better understanding of common people compared to Bastion and the others, but she had managed to reach Rank 2 in just over a century, an absurdly small amount of time to reach it. Hence, to her, 1,000 years truly wasn’t much to lose.

“Haaa… yeah, I see it now,” Ariel sighed. “Do you think increasing the offer to 10 magic crystals per fight might work?”

“Maybe. There would certainly be those whose interest you would catch, but they’d be professionals. Do you think your party would be capable of winning against them?”

“How did you know I had a party?” Ariel asked suspiciously.

“It’s… pretty obvious if you think about it. You don’t look like the type who travels alone.”

“Really, now?” Ariel asked as she crossed her arms, mildly insulted.

She was most definitely alone most of the time, since Bastion and the others had professions while she was purely an adventurer. That made her their scout, out in the wilds and in taverns. She took pride in her contribution to the group and believed she would most certainly be capable of traveling alone, albeit with significantly fewer comforts.

“Yeah, you don’t have that jaded look about you. You’re pretty soft, as far as adventurers go.”

As Ariel opened her mouth to argue further, he quickly interrupted her.

“Anyway, if you’re interested, I might know a person or two who would be interested in taking your deal. At the very least, it’ll be worth discussing the full details.”

“And you’ll broker the fight for us?” Ariel asked, raising a brow.

“For a mithril coin…” he said with a sly smile. “Each.”

“That’s too much and you know it!”

“Good luck trying to find someone gullible enough to waste their life,” he said as he started walking away.

“Wait!” Ariel called out. “You’re right. It’s worth discussing the details, but you’ll only get paid when you find us fights.”

“Sounds like a deal,” he said with a predatory smile that Ariel chalked up to his species.

They moved up through the residential tiers of the Avarice Claw and eventually reached one of its more luxurious quarters. Decorative curtains parted as the door slid open, revealing a room hazy with drifting Mana Leaf smoke, thick enough to soften the edges of the light. Bastion lay sprawled across a mound of pillows, bare-chested, while Seraphina and Lilia draped themselves over him in similarly scant clothing, their weight settled comfortably against his chest.

“I found a broker,” Ariel said, stepping in without pause, the tiger demihuman trailing just behind her.

“Great!” Bastion said, sitting up. “What sort of fight are we looking at?”

“That’s what I’ve come to discuss,” the tiger said from the doorway, his gaze immediately flicking to Lilia before returning to Bastion. “I’m here to determine your bottom line so I can find you a match that leads to a Rank 2 slave, bound for 1000 years.”

“Make that three,” Bastion said as he rose and walked over, sizing himself up against the tiger demihuman, who stood slightly taller. “I’m interested in three Rank 2 slaves for cooking, for a duration of 1000 years.”

“And what are you willing to give up for it?”

“Up to 5 magic crystals per fight if needed.”

“You really want a Rank 2 slave for that duration, don’t you?”

“Enough to throw away 100 magic crystals if it comes to it. So, do you think you can set something up?”

“Hm… I might have what you’re looking for, but as it so happens, they likely won’t take money in exchange.”

“Oh? What would they want, then?”

“Why… other slaves, of course. 3v3, winner takes all in a direct takeover.”

Bastion narrowed his eyes at the tiger's offer. This was no longer a wager between free individuals but a contest against a slave owner staking their own slaves in the hope of acquiring more. It was one thing to risk money for slaves, but something else entirely to gamble with his girls' freedom. It wasn't an arrangement he was willing to accept without ironclad guarantees.

“I would like to meet with the owner of the slaves being proposed.”

“I have full authority to decide for them.”

Bastion didn't answer immediately. Instead, he looked back at the girls, silently asking for their thoughts. Ariel merely shrugged, unconcerned, while Lilia glanced at Seraphina.

“Let’s draft the terms first and see if they’re worth accepting,” Seraphina said. “If the fight ends up being unfair, we can always walk away.”

“Excellent. Then let's get down to the details,” the tiger demihuman said, a feral grin spreading across his face.

They spent the next several hours negotiating every clause of the contract before finally settling on an unusual arrangement. At stake were three Rank 2 slaves with permanent non-criminal slave status, each carrying standard rights that required their consent for sex, physical contact, or voyeurism, while preventing them from being ordered to commit crimes. In exchange, Seraphina, Ariel, and Lilia would stake themselves under the same conditions, with the only difference being the duration capped at a maximum of 1000 years, effectively reversing their initial requirements.

Bastion was excluded from participating, as the opposing slave owner had no interest in owning men. The match itself would be a 3v3 battle between the girls with summons prohibited. The broker also attempted to impose restrictions on equipment usage, but the girls refused outright, forcing him to withdraw the demand.

The battle would be held as an official, publicly witnessed match governed by a magic contract with two binding outcomes. If Bastion’s side won, ownership of the opposing slaves would be immediately transferred to him, overriding any existing contracts. If they lost, Seraphina, Ariel, and Lilia would instead be forcibly bound into slave contracts under their opponent, the transfer taking effect the moment a victor was declared, while the rules of the engagement were kept.

After hours of scrutiny and revisions from both sides, the girls finally agreed to the terms. Satisfied, the tiger demihuman departed with a pleased grin, eager to arrange the match.

“Are you sure about this, boss?” the cheetah asked nervously after the tiger explained the deal to her and the two panthers back in his own accommodations.

“What do you take me for?” the tiger roared. “Just fight at your best and you’ll win easily. In exchange, I’ll reduce your contract duration to no more than 1000 years.”

“Can… can we get that in a contract?”

“Are you calling me a liar?” he snapped, his thunderous roar shaking the room.

The cheetah immediately dropped into a submissive posture, averting her gaze.

“Are you sure we can win, boss?” one of the panthers asked lazily.

“They’re young, inexperienced, and probably never fought proper arena battles,” the tiger said, pacing as his confidence returned. “I could see it in their eyes, especially the leader of that harem party. He was just some stupid rich kid before he got here.”

The panthers shrugged, unbothered. With their abilities, they expected to win the fight regardless, and continue serving the tiger as they always had, leaving them with little reason to complain. He treated them well enough.

The same couldn’t be said for the cheetah, whose unease slowly faded.

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