The Beast Tamer's Hall was a sprawling, ornate structure that spoke of wealth and prestige, at least from the outside. The building's facade was polished marble, with intricate carvings of legendary beasts adorning the entrance. Twin statues of rearing war horses flanked the massive doorway, their stone eyes seeming to judge all who entered.
The interior was a stark contrast between opulence and desperation. The main showroom was brilliantly lit, with crystalline fixtures that cost more than Jace's entire debt. Wealthy summoners and their families browsed the premium displays, where Rare and Epic tier beasts were showcased like precious jewels. Each cage was immaculate, temperature-controlled, with specialized attendants monitoring the beasts' every need.
Jace paid the 10 credit entrance fee to a bored clerk who barely glanced at him. The fee was nominally for "browsing privileges," but everyone knew it was really just a filter to keep out the absolute dregs of society. Ten credits meant you at least had some minimal resources, even if you couldn't afford anything in the main hall.
He walked through the showroom, feeling the weight of dozens of dismissive stares. His threadbare cloak and gaunt features marked him immediately as someone who didn't belong. A few attendants started to approach, ready to escort him out, but he moved with enough purpose and confidence that they hesitated. He clearly knew where he was going, even if he looked like he couldn't afford anything.
Jace ignored the brightly lit, ostentatious space where dealers proudly displayed 'premium stock.' A massive Earth Golem stood in a reinforced enclosure, its body gleaming with polished stone and precious minerals. Price tag: 15,000 credits. A family of Storm Hawks occupied an enormous aviary, their electrical auras crackling with barely contained power. Price tag: 22,000 credits. Each beast represented more wealth than Jace could conceive of acquiring in his current state.
The attendants clearly wouldn't waste a second on him here. Their dismissive glances said everything. He was a rat in a palace, tolerated only because he'd paid the entrance fee.
He walked straight past the displays, heading deeper into the Hall, following the subtle signs that indicated different sections. Premium Stock. Standard Contracts. Budget Options. And finally, barely visible in a dim corner, a small placard reading: Discounted Stock - Final Opportunity.
The euphemistic language couldn't hide what it really meant. Rejects. Failures. Beasts that had been written off and were waiting for disposal.
The air changed completely as he descended a short flight of stairs into the lower level. It became cooler, dimmer, and heavier with the metallic scent of despair and sickness. The soundproofing that kept the premium beasts' roars from disturbing customers didn't extend down here. He could hear everything. Pained whimpers, aggressive snarls, the scrape of claws on metal, the shallow breathing of dying creatures.
The back room was exactly as promised. Rows of simple iron cages, covered in grime, housing the Hall's refuse. The lighting was minimal, just enough to see the inventory without wasting resources on presentation. These beasts weren't meant to be sold. They were meant to be removed, either through desperate buyers or euthanasia.
Jace didn't hesitate. He moved systematically down the first row, activating his royal knowledge, allowing the instinctive analysis to flow. Each beast was assessed not by its current, failing stats, but by its fundamental potential. Could the Royal Stat Floor compensate for its weaknesses? Could the defect be remedied with materials or training? Was the bloodline salvageable?
The systematic analysis was detached and quick, the Prince's tactical mind parsing data with ruthless efficiency.
Cage one: Earth Drake, missing a leg. The wound was old, improperly healed. Its Constitution was permanently damaged, the spiritual channels that governed physical resilience irreparably severed. Even with the Royal Stat Floor, it would never function at more than sixty percent capacity. Worthless.
Cage two: Shadow Panther, blind in both eyes. Sensory organs for a predator species were non-negotiable. The blindness wasn't a defect that could be compensated for. Worthless.
Cage three: Shadow Hound, aggressive, frothing at the mouth. Its Spirit stat was unnaturally volatile, the spiritual core damaged by improper forced cultivation. The beast was teetering on the edge of going feral permanently. Too risky for a 45 Spirit tether. One aggressive episode and the forced feedback would kill Jace instantly.
Cage five: Flame Sprite, barely flickering. Its elemental core had been cracked, probably during a failed ranking attempt. The damage was terminal. It had maybe a week left before complete dissipation. Worthless.
Cage seven: Water Sprite, clearly malnourished. The royal knowledge assessed its potential. Low baseline bloodline, no special traits, no hidden advantages. Even properly fed and trained, it would cap out at mid-Common tier. With the Royal Stat Floor, it might reach high-Common. Not enough. Worthless.
Most were truly worthless, genuine failures whose defects were too fundamental to remedy. The Hall's assessment was correct more often than not. These beasts were unsalvageable.
Then he reached the final row, tucked away near a corner marked with a red tag. Scheduled for destruction. These were beasts that had already been written off completely, waiting only for the Hall to process the paperwork and carry out disposal.
And he saw her.
In a cramped, barely-three-feet-square iron cage, barely alive, was a Seraph. The recognition was immediate and absolute. Jace's breath caught in his throat, every instinct screaming at him that this was it. This was the weapon he needed.
The Seraph bloodline was legendary, spoken of in the royal archives with reverence and strategic analysis. They were celestial beings, renowned for their incredible speed, devastating single-target damage output, and purity of Spirit. In one-on-one combat, a properly trained Seraph was unmatched. They were the apex predators of personal warfare, the kind of beast that could turn the tide of entire battles through surgical strikes against enemy commanders.
This one had no wings. Where the mighty, luminous wings of a Seraph should have been, spreading from her shoulder blades in cascades of pure light, there were only twin scars. Smooth, deliberate scars that spoke not of accident or birth defect, but of surgical removal.
The cage was marked with a simple placard: Seraph. Rare Tier. Wingless defect. Scheduled for destruction: Tomorrow.
Jace's royal knowledge flared, parsing the information with frightening speed. The Hall Manager saw a failed beast, a defect whose physical flaw made her useless in flight-heavy combat. Seraphs were valued for their aerial superiority, their ability to strike from above with divine judgment. A wingless Seraph was like a bird without flight, a fundamental contradiction that destroyed its core combat identity.
But the Prince saw deeper. He analysed the bone structure, the muscle distribution, the faint traces of celestial energy still clinging to her starved form. The assessment came together in seconds.
Beast: Wingless Seraph (Female). Tier: All Seraphs are born at Rare tier minimum. Current condition: Heavily malnourished, stats artificially suppressed by prolonged starvation. Bloodline: Pure Seraph, possibly highborn based on bone density and spiritual signature. Top-tier genetic potential.
Defect Analysis: The wingless state is not a birth defect. Scar tissue patterns indicate forcible removal, clean cuts made by someone with surgical precision and knowledge of Seraph anatomy. Likely punishment, exile, or severe battle trauma. The wings were taken deliberately.
Royal Archive Note: Seraphic wing regeneration is possible with the correct materials. Wing-Marrow Opal, a rare mineral found in contested zones near Seraph Nation territories, can stimulate regrowth when processed into an elixir. Estimated cost: Significant, but obtainable at Epic tier resources.
This Seraph wasn't defective. She was punished. And punishment implied a story, a history, possibly even royalty. Common Seraphs weren't typically subjected to wing removal. That was a punishment reserved for those who had fallen from significant heights.
The prospect of a fully sentient, potentially highborn first beast was indeed a rare find. Most summoners started with mindless Common beasts, creatures that operated on pure instinct. A sentient Rare tier beast with an intelligence matching or exceeding human baseline was worth ten times the standard price.
Her large, golden eyes, currently dull from neglect and resignation, lifted slowly and fixed on Jace. Her gaze was one of deep pain and suffering, but also profound intelligence. She was assessing him, just as he was assessing her. She saw his weak stats, his gaunt frame, his obvious desperation.
And perhaps, in some deeper way, she sensed something else. The faint echo of true royalty, buried beneath the failure.
Everyone saw a defect. The Hall saw a liability. Other summoners saw a worthless cripple. But Jace saw a true master-tier combatant, just needing time, proper nutrition, and specialized materials. A Seraph who, with the Royal Stat Floor's 20-30% performance boost, would fight far above her tier from day one.
This was his weapon. The wingless princess, marked for death, waiting for someone to see her true value.
Jace stepped closer to the cage, his decision already made. The climb would begin here, with the most broken beast he could find, and together they would rise higher than anyone thought possible.