Ch 10.3

In the dimly lit cellar, two figures remained.

A large, furred werewolf lounged against the wall, sharp eyes fixed on the young man across from him. Benjamin had hooked his legs through the iron bars and lifted his upper body again and again, grinding through another set of crunches. Sweat drenched his clothes and slicked his skin, muscles trembling with each repetition as his breath rasped through clenched teeth.

“Four hundred eighty-nine… four hundred ninety… four hundred ninety-one,” Ben muttered.

Two weeks in the cellar had tempered him. Hunger no longer ruled his thoughts, the stench no longer twisted his gut, and even the food—half-cooked meat and wriggling worms—had become something his body accepted without complaint. With nothing else left to take from him, he trained.

Kraven finally rose from the floor, stretching his broad shoulders until several joints cracked. He rolled his neck from side to side before glancing toward Benjamin, who was still in the middle of his exercises.

"Tempering your body can only get you so far," Kraven said casually. "True strength comes from the mana core."

Ben spared him a brief glance before returning his focus to the exercise.
"Five hundred and one."

"A mage should train with his abilities," Kraven continued. "Burn through your mana. Exhaust it completely. Then push beyond your limits. That's how you strengthen your core and become a true mage."

"Five hundred and two."

Ben's breathing had grown heavier, but he refused to stop.
"I'd need seeds for that," he muttered. "Or at least a sapling. Doesn't really matter though."

Kraven folded his arms. "Why not?"

Ben let out a short snort.
"Because I already reached the true mage stage."

For the first time since the conversation began, Kraven looked genuinely surprised.

"You?" The wolfman looked Benjamin up and down. "You're a true mage?"

The disbelief in his voice was impossible to miss.
"You've got to be joking."

Ben ignored him and continued counting.
"Five hundred and five."

Kraven scratched his chin.
"Well, it doesn’t feel like you’re lying. Are you secretly some noble brat? After all, some noble families tend to have an incredible mana efficiency because of their bloodline."

"No."

“Or maybe you’re secretly talented—a one-of-a-kind mage who appears once every thousand years,” muttered Kraven, scratching his chin. “But then again, you wouldn’t be stupid enough to get bested by female prostitutes. That rules that out.”

Benjamin glared at the wolf. “You wanna get punched?”

“Then maybe you’re lying,” Kraven finally declared.

“Tch. Whatever, five hundred and four.” Ben didn’t even bother looking at him. “Believe whatever you want.”`

The answer only made Kraven more suspicious.

He studied the young man for a long moment. Benjamin's movements were exhausted but disciplined. Despite the sweat pouring from his body and the bruises covering his arms, he refused to slow down.

Most prisoners spent their days complaining.

This one is trained. Most young adventurers boasted endlessly about their accomplishments. This one avoided talking about them. The contradiction bothered Kraven more than he cared to admit.

Before he could press further, a voice echoed from somewhere beyond the corridor outside their cell.

"Dinner time, lazybums! Wake up!"

The shout bounced off the stone walls and echoed through the basement. Benjamin immediately stopped counting.

Kraven grinned, "Now that's the best thing I've heard all day."

A few moments later, Gina and Fina appeared outside the cell carrying wooden bowls. The smell wasn't particularly appetizing, but after spending enough time in the dungeon, even mediocre food started looking appealing.

Kraven snatched his portion the moment it came within reach.

"Finally."

Without a trace of dignity, he immediately began shoveling food into his mouth.

Benjamin accepted his own bowl more carefully. He sat against the wall and began eating in silence. At some point during his stay, he had stopped caring what the food tasted like. As long as it filled his stomach, that was good enough.

The sisters lingered nearby instead of leaving immediately.

Gina rested her hands on her hips while watching the prisoners eat.
Then her gaze settled on Benjamin. "You know that human girl you came here with?"

Benjamin paused mid-bite. "Chloe? What about her?"

Gina's lips curled into a mischievous smile. "She's gotten pretty popular around the Pavilion."

Benjamin nearly choked. He spat out his mouthful and coughed violently. "Wait—what?"

Kraven barked out a laugh. "See? I told you."
He pointed his spoon at Benjamin. "It was only a matter of time before she discovered the joys of being a woman. To be honest, I thought she might get broken after a few beastmen used her, but I guess she has some talent. Color me impressed."

Benjamin's head snapped toward him.
"What the hell does that mean?" His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Explain. Right now."

Kraven only smirked and returned to eating.

Gina clicked her tongue. "Tch."

She folded her arms across her chest and deliberately looked away.
"I don't think I will."

Benjamin stared at her. Gina stared right back. Then she stuck her tongue out at him. The gesture was so childish that Benjamin almost couldn't believe she was serious.

Fina, who had been watching her big sister’s farce almost unimpressed, let out a long sigh.
"Sis, you need to stop acting childish."

------------x------------

The dining hall stretched long and wide, lined with rows of heavy tables and benches set opposite one another. Simple meals had been laid out in careful order—millet, thin stews, meat broth, and coarse bread. Nothing fancy. Just enough to keep the body going.

Servant girls lined up at the counter, collecting their plates before drifting toward the benches. Some gathered in noisy clusters, laughing and trading stories. Others ate in silence, hunched over their meals. This was the servants’ dining hall—unadorned, practical, alive with murmurs and clatter.

Two orc women entered together with a human girl between them, their plates already filled.

“Hey, Chloe!” one beastwoman called out, waving from a nearby table. “Over here! We’ve got space!”

“No—sit here!” another voice called from the opposite side.

Chloe paused, startled by the sudden attention. She gave an apologetic smile and lifted her plate slightly. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m with my sisters. We need seats for three.”

For a moment, the hall went oddly quiet.

Then, almost at once, several girls stood and shifted, benches scraping softly as an entire row cleared itself. Empty seats appeared as if by instinct, forming space for Chloe and her companions.

She blinked, bewildered, then hesitated before accepting. Sitting down between the two orc women, she barely had time to lift her spoon before the space around her filled.

“Is it true you burned Mr Gother’s eyes?”
“Are you a Blessed Child too?”
“How is he even still alive?”

The questions came fast, overlapping, excited.

Chloe shrank slightly under the attention, clutching her bowl.
“I—I just want to eat in peace,” she said weakly.

That only earned a few laughs.

Word had spread quickly since the incident. Too quickly. To the servant girls, Chloe had become something rare—a symbol. A human who had fought back. A girl who hadn’t screamed and broken when cornered, but instead struck first and escaped.

Stories followed her now, growing with every retelling. How she had blinded a vile regular who thought money bought obedience. How she had smashed a bottle over Lord Pilos’s head when he tried to drag a girl back to his estate—a Blessed Child of the Tooth-and-Nail Guild, no less. How she had sent him running, bloodied and humiliated.

And then there was the septic chamber.

A girl brave enough to descend into that pit of filth and return smiling—who cleaned it thoroughly and cheerfully—earned respect no one could fake. Orcs, beastfolk, and even veterans of the Pavilion nodded to that kind of strength.

Chloe, still chewing her bread quietly, felt the weight of eyes on her from every table—friends, admirers, girls who had been pushed around once too often.
She hadn’t meant to become anything like this. But somehow, without trying, she had.

By nightfall, Chloe returned to her quarters.

Her room had been moved to the servants’ wing after her demotion from courtesan duties. It was smaller, plainer, tucked farther from the Pavilion’s heart—but she welcomed it. The role suited her. The work was honest. And for the first time since arriving here, she felt at ease.

She walked down the long corridor that connected the main building to the servants’ quarters, lantern light casting soft shadows along the walls.

That was when she saw her.

A figure knelt in the middle of the hallway, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her posture was small, broken. Feathers drooped limply at her sides, wings sagging as if they could no longer hold her up. Tears glistened in her eyes.

Chloe’s breath caught.
“Sheila?” she gasped, rushing forward.

It was her—the harpy girl Chloe had helped at the fountain square. The first friend she had made here. The first to smile at her without suspicion.

Sheila startled and hurriedly wiped at her face, trying to erase the tears before Chloe could reach her.

“What’s wrong?” Chloe asked softly, kneeling beside her. She reached out instinctively to help, but her hand was slapped away.

Chloe froze.

Sheila’s body trembled, as if she’d reacted on instinct alone. A second later, realisation dawned on her face, panic flickering across her features.

“I—I’m sorry,” Sheila stammered, pulling back. “I didn’t mean to— I’m fine. I really am. I have to go.”

She stood too quickly, eyes darting down the corridor behind her as if afraid someone might appear. Without waiting for another word, she turned and hurried away, footsteps light and frantic as she disappeared into the darkness.

Chloe remained kneeling in the hallway, staring after her. Confusion tightened her chest. Worry followed close behind.

“…What’s troubling her?” Chloe whispered, her voice echoing faintly in the empty corridor.

----------------x----------------

Trivia

A True Mage is an elite classification for a magic user who has successfully formed a contract with a divine, celestial, or malicious spirit. This process merges the spirit with the mage's fully evolved mana core—known as a mana heart—granting the mage a "second awakening" that unlocks a whole new set of powers and skills previously held by the contracted spirit.