Ch 5.5

Word spread quickly—by midday, the story of a human girl defeating young Lord Pilos had already swept through the district. Chloe became an instant local hero. Stall owners waved at her; strangers offered fruit, perfumes, even clothes as thanks for her bravery.

Ben, hauling the growing pile of “gifts,” looked anything but heroic.
“Careful,” Chloe said cheerfully, balancing a basket of apples. “They’re just being kind.”

“Kind,” Ben muttered under the weight, “or trying to bury us in gratitude.”

Amid the praise came warnings. An elderly beastwoman tugged at Chloe’s sleeve.
“It’s best you leave while you can. The Tooth‑and‑Nail Guild won’t let this go. They’re veterans—blessed warriors, all of them. They’ll come back.”

Chloe smiled warmly. “Thank you for worrying, Granny. We’ll head off soon—but first, we need to find someone. Have you seen a wolfman with a scar on his chest?”

The old woman shook her head apologetically.
“No, dear. Can’t say I have.”

“That’s alright,” Chloe said, pressing a handful of fruit into her palms. “Please, take these.”

The woman blinked and laughed softly. “Oh, bless you, child.”

By evening, they’d searched every corner of the district. The baskets of offerings had been trimmed down to a few useful supplies, but Ben’s back still ached from carrying them. The harbour wind had turned cool, and the streets glowed copper beneath the fading sun.

He must’ve already left, Ben thought grimly. No point staying here.

Setting the bundle down, he sighed.
“No luck. We’ve asked everyone—he’s probably long gone. We should move on.”

Chloe nodded, waving to a few lingering well‑wishers.
“You’re right. Maybe we try—”

A smooth, feminine voice cut through the noise behind them.
“You’re looking for the wolfman, aren’t you?”

Ben and Chloe turned. A tall, slender woman with tan skin stood at the mouth of the alley. She wore a silk kimono that caught the lamplight, and a half-mask concealed most of her face. Cat-like ears rose from her dark hair, twitching slightly as she watched them. Her blue eyes regarded them with an unsettling, unblinking calm.

“Yes!” Chloe said eagerly. “You’ve seen him?”

The woman’s lips curved into a polite smile. “Follow me.”
Without another word, she turned, her kimono whispering softly across the cobblestones as she gestured for them to come.

Chloe took a step, smiling in relief, but Ben caught her wrist. “Hold on.”

The pull stopped her mid‑stride. The catwoman turned, one ear flicking in visible irritation.

“Who are you,” Ben asked evenly, “and where exactly are you taking us?”

Her tail swayed languidly as she answered, the same smile fixed in place.
“I work for one of the local establishments. The wolf beastman with a cross‑shaped scar on his chest—he’s there. I assumed you two were his companions, yes?”

“That’s right!” Chloe said brightly, nodding. “He’s one of our party members—”

Ben shot her an exasperated glare. “Quiet. Let me handle this.”

A flicker of annoyance passed through the catwoman’s eyes. “Then decide quickly. Do you wish to follow or not?”

Ben hesitated, jaw tight. Without the wolfman, their mission couldn’t even begin—and he needed that man’s signature to secure his adventurer’s stamp.

Grinding his teeth, he gave a curt nod. “Fine. Take us.”

The catwoman walked lightly ahead, her tail swaying in rhythm to her steps. Chloe followed at her side, almost skipping, while Ben trailed close behind, uneasy.
I don’t feel any hostility, he thought. But something’s wrong. Is this a trap?

The catwoman led them back toward the fountain square in the heart of the red‑light district. Ben leaned close to Chloe and whispered, “Don’t leave my side.”

“Huh? What was that?” she asked, blinking up at him.
He rolled his eyes. “Never mind.”

She shrugged and kept walking.

The woman guided them through the square—back to the place where Chloe had earned her small dose of fame—and into a tall marble building that shone under the lamps. The air was thick with perfume.

As they climbed the carpeted stairs, Ben glanced around at the ornate railings and gilded sconces. “Uh… what is this place?”

“The guildhouse of the Tranquil Pavilion,” the catwoman answered smoothly.

“A guild…?”

“Guildhouses take many forms,” she said. “Ours manages the urges of the city’s men. We give them an outlet before their instincts turn violent. You humans call it a brothel, I believe.”

Ben cleared his throat. “Right. Makes sense, I guess.”

Chloe tilted her head. “What’s an urge?”

“When a man starts—” the catwoman began.

Ben clamped his hands over Chloe’s ears.
“That’s enough. She doesn’t need to know.”

The woman chuckled behind her mask. “I see—protective, aren’t we?”

Chloe pulled his hands off, cheeks puffed.
“Hey! Why are you covering my ears?”

“Because it’s heretical knowledge,” Ben said, dead serious.

“Oh. Well, then I won’t listen,” she replied primly.

Ben sighed in relief. The catwoman merely smiled and kept walking.

Inside, the Pavilion was lavish—velvet carpets, chandeliers glowing like amber honey, the air thick with the sweetness of alcohol and rouge. The hall stretched high, two stories rimmed with polished railings. It was beautiful, and yet something in Ben’s gut tightened.
Where is everyone? It’s too quiet.

The catwoman glanced back.
“By the way, I wanted to thank you for rescuing Sheila earlier.”

“Sheila?” Chloe asked.

“The harpy girl,” she said with a polite smile. “You saved her from that scum rat earlier. I owe you for that.”

Chloe straightened proudly.
“We’re happy to help! After all, it was the right thing to do.”

The catwoman’s smile deepened, though her eyes seemed sad. She spread her arms.
“All the same… I feel terrible about what comes next.”

Ben’s pulse spiked.
“Chloe, get back here—”

Before he could finish, the catwoman wrapped her arms around Chloe, pinning her.

“Hey!” Ben lunged forward, but shadows dropped from the balcony above—half a dozen masked beastwomen in matching kimonos, landing light as predators. They encircled him in seconds.

Ben’s hand flew to his jacket, fingers tightening around a fistful of seeds. His voice sharpened. “What the hell is this?”

Chloe struggled, eyes wide.
“Why are you doing this?”

A flicker of guilt crossed the catwoman’s face.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, holding her tighter.

The masked women closed the ring, perfume and tension filling the air.

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Trivia:

People who control mana are usually called mages.
But on the Isle continent, they’re known as Blessed Children, a term especially used by the beastfolk tribes.