Ch 6.5

The night at the Tranquil Pavilion finally bled away.

At the horizon, the sun crept up in slow amber streaks, its light spilling across tiled roofs and marble balconies. Men staggered from rooms with lazy smiles and aching limbs, fastening belts and cloaks as they headed back to their lives. Others didn’t stir at all, sprawled across silken sheets, still dead to the world after a night spent emptying both coin purses and bodies.

Servant girls who had worked through the night slipped quietly toward their quarters, eyes heavy, steps dragging. In their place, a fresh shift took over—sweeping floors, changing linens, restoring the Pavilion’s immaculate illusion before the city fully woke.

The courtesans drifted back from their chambers in pairs or alone, robes loosely tied, makeup smudged, bodies sore. Baths awaited them. Sleep awaited them. Another night of work loomed ahead.

This night’s profits, however, were lower than usual.

The guests housed in the inner garden cabins had already claimed six girls for extended services, draining manpower early. A few courtesans were still injured from the previous evening’s chaos, unable to work at all.

Onteko was not pleased.

With a sour expression and her bushy tail flicking irritably, the old beastwoman climbed the stairs of one of the Pavilion’s three towers. Her cane struck each step with sharp, impatient taps.

The handmaidens stationed outside the upper chambers stiffened when they saw her approach and bowed at once.

“Well?” Onteko snapped. “Is she awake? I want a word.”

“Madam—she’s still asleep,” one handmaiden said, voice tight with nerves.

Onteko snorted.
“Then I’ll wake her.”

She shoved the door open and strode inside.

The chamber beyond was vast—more hall than bedroom. Red lacquered walls glowed faintly in the dawn light. A chandelier hung dark and silent above, while paintings and mounted mana-beast heads lined the walls like trophies.

At the centre stood a massive bed draped in veils.

A figure lay beneath the sheets.

“Wake up, Mesphine,” Onteko commanded. “I’m checking on you.”

The figure stirred. The sheets slid aside.

A woman sat up slowly, two small horns poking through her fire-red hair, which spilt over her bare shoulders, her clothes rumpled and half-unfastened. Golden, reptilian eyes blinked open, sharp even through exhaustion. She yawned softly, the movement unhurried and dignified.

Mesphine of the Fire Lizard Tribe—one of the Three Royal Mistresses of the Pavilion.

Among the courtesans, hierarchy was law. Many were beautiful. Few were revered. And only three were treated as living legends.

Mesphine was one of them.

Those who left her bed swore their vigour returned, their mana cores strengthened. Her secret technique made her priceless—and untouchable. Nobles had begged for her hand. Warlords had offered fortunes.

She had refused them all.

“Dorm Mother,” Mesphine said, voice calm despite the fatigue etched into her posture. “Good morning.”

“At least someone’s morning is good,” Onteko grumbled. “How are you feeling? Can you work tonight?”

Mesphine shifted, placing her feet on the floor. The movement drew a faint hiss from between her teeth.

“I’ll need at least three days to recover properly,” she admitted. “That beast took far more out of us than expected. I won’t be able to perform another dual ascension for at least a week.”

Onteko clicked her tongue sharply.
“Damn it. I’ll pour money into potions and healers if I have to. I can’t afford to keep you off the floor. Your patrons are already furious—especially after learning that bastard bedded all three Royal Mistresses at once.”

Her tail lashed.
“On top of that, the scoundrel didn’t even pay.”

Mesphine frowned.
“Are you sure he’s not lying. He’s an S-rank adventurer allied with BRAVE. He should’ve been drowning in coin.”

“So I thought,” Onteko said bitterly. “Turns out he’s a swindler. Even BRAVE is tired of his antics—but they can’t afford to make an enemy of him. He’s too useful.”

Mesphine sighed and leaned back against the pillows.
“Well, that's an S rank for you. I didn’t expect the three of us to be beaten in our own art.”

She glanced up.
“How are the others? Riasmel? Shania?”

Onteko took a slow puff from her pipe.
“Riasmel’s still unconscious. Never seen her that wrecked. Shania’s awake—recovering faster than either of you. I guess her Merfolk genes help her recover quicker.”

“That’s good,” Mesphine said softly. “I’ll force myself back on my feet soon, then.”

Onteko turned toward the door, pausing.
“Still… the Three Royal Mistresses bested by a single man. Hasn’t happened in centuries. In my youth, an hour would’ve broken him.”

Mesphine’s lips twitched faintly.
“Then you underestimated him. Even Riasmel couldn’t drain him, and she’s older and more experienced than you.”

Onteko shot her a glare.
“Oh, shut it. She’s grown complacent. Pleasure-first, discipline-last. That’s why she lost—and dragged you down with her.”

Onteko turned fully away.
“Recover. I’ll handle the patrons. But don’t think you’re escaping this—I’ll be docking pay from all three of you.”

“You are stingy as ever,” Mesphine muttered.

Onteko didn’t bother replying. Her cane tapped sharply as she left, already moving on to the next problem demanding her attention.

Meanwhile, deep beneath the Pavilion, the cellar dungeon lay dim and damp.

Kraven the wolf slept sprawled against the far wall, snoring loud enough to rattle the iron bars. Each breath came out like a growl, steady and unbothered.

Ben sat slumped at the edge of the cell, back against cold stone, eyes wide open.

Sleep wouldn’t come.

Half of it was the wolf’s thunderous snoring.
The other half was the replay of mistakes looping endlessly in his mind—every wrong step, every bad decision that had dragged them here.

I should’ve been more careful. I should’ve trusted my instincts.

The dungeon door suddenly creaked open.

Heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Kazyak stomped in, a tray clutched in her hands, her short temper practically steaming off her. Her frilled hair was tied back messily, her expression dark enough to kill.

That hag, she fumed silently. Threatening to cut my pay and dumping this shit on me. One day, I’ll rip her tail off.

Ben stiffened as soon as he saw her.

“You—” he snapped, recognition flashing in his eyes. “You’re that girl from before!”

Kazyak shot him a venomous glare.
“And you’re that brat who bruised my face with that punch,” she spat. “Now I’m stuck doing maid duty. All thanks to you.”

Her eyes flicked over him, narrowing.

“How the hell did you patch yourself up so fast anyway?”

Ben ignored the question, gripping the bars.
“Where’s Chloe? What did you do with her?”

Kazyak’s lips curled into a cruel grin.
“Oh, that little mouse? She was snooping around the guild hall. Aisha probably spanked her good for stepping out of line.”

Ben’s stomach twisted.

“Relax,” Kazyak continued lazily. “We won’t kill her. The old hag approved her. She’ll work—body and mind—to repay your debt. That’s what happens when you drag others into trouble.”

“You—!” Ben started, then stopped himself.

His tongue caught in his throat.

If he said it—if he told her Chloe was from the Church, a nun—things would only get worse. Tensions were already high enough between the Church and the Isle.

He swallowed hard.

“She’s just an innocent girl,” Ben said quietly. “Please. Leave her out of this.”

Kazyak scoffed.
“Innocent?” she laughed coldly. “We were all innocent once. Eventually, we all had to spread our legs.”

She shoved the tray through the bars and turned away.

“I want a rematch someday,” she added over her shoulder, pointing back at Ben. “Until then, be grateful you’re alive.”

Her grin was wild—feral, bloodlust flickering behind her eyes.

Ben glanced down at the bowl.

Half-cooked innards. Pale, glistening.
Silkworms writhed sluggishly on top, some still alive, trying to crawl free.

His stomach lurched. Kraven suddenly stirred.

“Hm?” the wolf muttered, rising like a corpse pulled by invisible strings. “Is that food I smell?”

Ben recoiled.
“What the fuck is that?!” he barked. “It’s not even cooked! You call this food?”

Kazyak, already turning to leave, whipped back around and kicked the bars hard enough to make them rattle.

“Fuck off!” she snapped. “Looks fine to me. What did you expect—fine dining?”

She stormed down the corridor, her voice echoing back one last time.
“I’m a class courtesan reduced to a goddamn server, listening to complaints from brats. I’m done with this shit!”

Silence returned.

Kraven didn’t hesitate.

He grabbed the bowl and swallowed its contents in one brutal gulp, innards and worms alike. Not a single chew.

Ben’s appetite died on the spot.

He turned away, gagging, retching into the corner.
“This thing fucking stinks—”

Kraven blinked at him.
“Oh? Then… you don’t mind if I eat yours too?”

Drool slipped from the corner of his mouth as he lifted Ben’s untouched bowl, looking oddly hopeful.

Ben wiped his mouth, face pale.
“Please. Be my guest.”

Kraven happily devoured it.

Ben sagged back against the damp stone, chains rattling softly as his head fell forward.

“…I wonder if she’s okay,” he muttered.
After a pause, quieter: “This mission… It’s already a failure.”

Kraven smacked his lips, unfazed.
“No point whining. We wait. Our chance will come.”

Ben shot him a hard glare.
“Our job was to protect her. Remember?”

Kraven waved a dismissive hand.
“She’ll live. Girls are valuable here. As long as she works, she’s safe.”

Ben’s fingers curled into fists.

“You know…” He hesitated, eyes flicking toward the shadows beyond the bars. Then he leaned closer, lowering his voice.
“That girl is a nun.”

Kraven frowned.
“…So?”

Ben stared at him, genuinely stunned.
“So? She’s taken a vow of celibacy. She can’t work here.”

Kraven exhaled through his nose.
“That’s a shame.”
He shrugged. “Sex is one of life’s greatest pleasures. Don’t worry—she’ll get a taste of it eventually.”

Ben let out a bitter huff.
“Yeah. Just like how you tasted the top courtesans, and now we’re rotting in chains because you couldn’t pay their fees. Hope it was worth it.”

Kraven scoffed.
“You’re still sulking over that?”

“Of course I am,” Ben snapped. “I’m chained in a dungeon for your indulgence.”
His voice dropped, jaw tight.
“And that girl… she’s righteous to a fault. She’s not built for this world. We were supposed to protect her.”

Kraven shrugged again, almost amused.
“The mission’s still on. We escort her to the Withering Village in one piece. The Pavilion won’t kill her.”
He tilted his head. “Might traumatise her first time with a beastman. Or…”
A grin crept in. “She might enjoy it. Turn a new leaf. Forget that church nonsense.”

Ben’s gaze went cold.

“Chloe is… stupid,” he said flatly.
Then, after a breath, quieter:
“And I don’t hate her. For some reason, I don’t want her ideals ground into filth. This world needs people like her—kind, foolish, stubborn.”

Kraven’s smile widened slowly.

“Is that so?”
His eyes gleamed in the dark. “Then this is a perfect test of her faith.”

He leaned back, chains creaking.
“I’ll be honest—I enjoy watching Church folk fall from their high horses. Seeing that pristine mask crack… It’s satisfying.”

Ben said nothing.

But the chill that crawled up his spine had nothing to do with the cellar’s cold.