Ch 6.1 - Shackled Reunion

The Isle continent is ruled not by kings but by tribes and elven courts, scattered like islands across a vast, untamed wilderness. Most of the land was still uncharted—dense jungles, flooded swamplands, unpredictable storms, and mana-beasts lurking in every shadow.

People survived by clustering in fragmented settlements, relying heavily on adventuring guilds—the ones capable of fighting, governing, and keeping the roads safe.

Barville was one such city, a major hub where guilds shared power uneasily. The guild with the strongest influence acted as the city's governing force, though all guilds contributed to its defence and politics. Every few years, a new guildmaster-mayor was elected.

Among Barville’s guilds, the Tranquil Pavilion was another well-known guild. Its women were known as: elegant, beautiful, and deadly. But prestige brought rivals.

And their greatest rival was the Tooth and Nail Guild.

Tonight, that very guild was in chaos.

In a private room, the rat-faced beastman Pilos lay propped up on a bed, head thickly bandaged. Ointment glistened under the cloth strips, and several rodent beastmen stood around him like stone pillars, acting as guards.

A shrill shout echoed from the hallway.

“My precious Pil!”

The door flew open with a bang.

A tall human man strode in—white coat, white trousers, white boots, and teeth unmistakably rabbit-like. The guards snapped into bows.

“Guildmaster! Welcome back!”

But the man ignored them completely.

He rushed to Pilos’s bedside, eyes watery, and grasped his brother’s hand.

“Pil! Who did this to you? Who dared?!”

Pilos looked up weakly, his whiskers drooping.

“B-Big brother…”

This was Nosmos, the guildmaster of the Tooth and Nail guild—a newly ascended Tier-4 mana arts user. His recent breakthrough had elevated the entire guild's standing. Even the Tranquil Pavilion avoided provoking them lately.

But now…

Now somebody had dared to crush Nosmos’s pride.

Nosmos rose slowly to his feet, expression hardening into cold iron.

“You,” he barked.

One of the guards snapped straight. “Yes, sir!”

“Post a high-priority quest for the best healer available. Pay whatever price they ask.” His voice trembled—not with fear, but fury. “And go buy Augvare fruits in bulk from the markets. Use guild funds. I don’t care how much it costs; just keep my brother alive.”

Pilos clutched his blanket.

“Big brother… that tramp—”

“Hush,” Nosmos said with a soft, almost gentle smile. “Let me handle it. You just rest.”

Relief washed over Pilos’s face, and he closed his eyes.

Nosmos’s smile vanished instantly.

His jaw clenched.

His mana cracked like a suppressed storm.

His brother's humiliation echoed in his mind like a slap.

He turned sharply toward the guards.

“Find out who did this.” His voice was low, venomous, calm—far too calm.

“I want names. Faces. Every detail.”

He walked toward the exit, boots striking the floor with measured fury.

“I will not sleep,” Nosmos said, “until this insult is crushed. Completely.”

The door slammed shut behind him.

Ben woke with a violent gasp. His lungs seized. His vision swam.

Instinct took over—he tried to spring up, to guard, to counter—

CLANG!

Metal yanked him back. Chains groaned as his wrists jerked against them. His boots scraped the stone floor helplessly.

Ben blinked hard, trying to clear the dizziness.

A small, damp cellar.Moss on the walls. A single torch sputtering weak light. No windows. No doors within reach.

His arms were bound to a thick chain bolted to the wall. His legs, shackled too, dragged with dead weight whenever he moved.

Where am I…? What happened?

A gravelly voice rumbled through the dark.“You’re finally awake.”

Ben’s blood froze.

He hadn’t sensed anyone. Not a breath. Not footsteps. Nothing.

His head snapped toward the voice.

A massive figure sat in the corner—easily twice Ben’s size. Grey fur. Broad frame. Long, sharp fangs gleamed whenever he spoke. Golden beastlike eyes, fixed on Ben with an unsettling sense of recognition… or amusement.

Ben instinctively backed away until the chains dug into his skin.“Who are you? And where is this place?”

The beastmen scoffed.“Who am I? Depends on who’s asking. Fighter. Lover. Drunkard. Slayer of monsters. A disappointment to some.”He smirked. “For now? Your fellow cellmate.”

He rose onto his hind legs. The chain on his ankle rattled like a warning bell.

Ben’s instincts screamed—danger. Every nerve in his body told him this wasn’t a mere brute. This was something wild, unpredictable, and absolutely capable of killing him, even chained.

A bead of sweat slid down Ben’s temple.

He reached reflexively for his pockets—

Gone. His jacket was missing.

His stomach twisted.

The beastmen stepped closer, the fur on his chest parting where a long, deep scar lay. Ben’s eyes widened.

“Hmm… a human. Rare sight here.” The stranger gave Ben a slow once‑over. “So what brings you down here? Stalking the guild's woman? Or did you skip the tab as well?”

“…It’s you!” Ben snapped. “Kraven Dumbskull. The wolfman with the scar—you’re the one we’ve been searching for all morning!”

Claws flashed.

Before Ben even realised what happened, Kraven’s hand was at his throat—sharp nails hovering just shy of piercing skin. The chains didn’t even stop him. Even bound, he moved like a predator.

Ben’s breath seized. One wrong twitch and the wolf would tear out his windpipe.

Kraven’s gaze sharpened, cold and assessing.“So. Which guild sent you? The Mashed Heads? The Barbaric Ogres?”

“…What? None of them,” Ben sputtered.

Kraven’s brow lowered.“Not debt collectors, then.”His expression darkened. “Are you an assassin? Did the chief of the Karteula tribe send you? I only borrowed her daughter, not that she didn't enjoy my company—”

“Huh?! No! I’m not an assassin!” Ben snapped, completely thrown off.

Kraven stared a moment longer—then his shoulders relaxed. His eyes warmed by a fraction, though his claws didn’t move from Ben’s throat.

“I see. Then maybe you’re here to hire me for a job?”

Ben released a shaky breath.“Yes! Exactly. An escort mission!”

Finally, Kraven withdrew his claws.

“Well, you’re out of luck. I already accepted an escort job for someone else. Human girl. Supposed to bring her across the Isle continent. She won’t arrive for another three days."
He nodded to himself. “Once I'm done with that, then maybe—”

Ben’s jaw dropped.“That human girl you’re supposed to escort has ALREADY arrived! I’m her fellow guard! We spent the entire morning looking for you—until your guild sisters knocked us out and dragged us here!”

Kraven blinked. “…What?”

Ben glared. “Yes. What.”

The wolfman rubbed the back of his head, brow furrowing.“So… it’s already been a week. No wonder the hag was charging a fortune.”

Before Ben could ask what that meant, Kraven suddenly flopped flat onto his back with a heavy thud, hands over his head in despair.

“A whole week gone… gods damn it!” Kraven shouted, slamming the back of his head against the floor as if the news itself had physically struck him.

Ben stared at him, baffled but already too exhausted to care.

He shook the confusion off.
“So what exactly is going on here? Why were we dragged down into this cellar with chains on our necks?!”

Kraven glanced lazily at him, then around the dim room.
“Ah, nothing serious. Just… skipped a few tabs, that’s all,” he said with a shrug.

Ben blinked.
“Tabs? What the hell does that mean? And why was I attacked? Why am I down here with you?”

Kraven grinned, sharp teeth glinting.
“Don’t worry. She’ll explain everything.”

A mature woman’s voice drifted through the bars like a knife wrapped in silk.

“Well, well. You’re finally awake. Excellent.”

Ben jerked his head toward the cell door.

An old beastwoman entered—short, but with a presence that filled the room. A plump, fluffy tail swayed behind her, and a smoking pipe glowed between her fingers.
Behind her walked the catwoman from earlier—mask off now, expression cold and unreadable, following like a quiet shadow.

The old woman eyed Ben as if assessing a piece of livestock.

“Well, your wounds knit themselves up rather quickly. My girls had to pluck out each thorn one by one so you wouldn’t bleed out and die on the floor. I assumed you’d perish anyway, but look at you—still alive. Quite the vitality for a human.”
She flicked ash off her pipe.
“Of course, the cost of removing said thorns will be added to your growing tab.”

Ben’s teeth ground together. Heat coiled in his chest.

He lunged toward the bars, chains clattering violently.
“Why am I down here?! And what did you do with Chloe?!”

He turned his glare on the catwoman.
“Where. Is. She?!”

The catwoman didn’t flinch.
Her eyes lowered.
Closed.
Silent.
Not a single word escaped her lips.

The old woman took a slow drag from her pipe.

“That will be quite enough. I’ll be the one doing the talking here.”

Ben snapped.
“And who the hell are you, hag?”

The old woman’s brows twitched—just once—before her smile sharpened to a blade.

“I,” she said, tapping her pipe on the iron bars, “am Onteko Barsia. The owner of this fine establishment. Guildmaster of the Tranquil Pavilion.”
Her voice cut like icy steel.
“My girls brought you here on my orders. And I suggest you mind that little tongue of yours—unless you want me to peel it off and brew it with your balls into a fine aphrodisiac. It would at least pay off a portion of your debt.”

Ben stared, seething.
“Debt? What debt are you even talking about?!”

Onteko exhaled a ring of smoke, unimpressed.

“I assumed your friend over there already briefed you,” she said dryly. “But judging by that vacant stare—”
Her eyes slid to the wolfman.

Kraven was lying flat on the floor, arms behind his head, staring peacefully at the ceiling as if this were a spa and not a prison.

Ben felt a cold dread crawl into his stomach.

He had a very, very bad feeling about this.