"Handsome boy, how many women would you like to accompany you?" the woman asked with a smile that never quite reached her eyes, "I suggest two or more. Just one would be too quiet and you might grow bored."
Baston studied her for a brief moment.
Her tone was light and almost playful but it was just a temptation for the pleasure. It was an invitation and expectation to spend more.
"You just want more money…" he thought but his expression remained neutral.
"Not only that, we have all kinds here," she continued, leaning slightly closer, "Young, middle-aged, and even older ones. Which one would you prefer?"
He did not hesitate, "Just one of each then..."
For the first time, the woman's smile halted. It turned into a satisfying smile.
"Well… I didn't expect that..." she chuckled softly, "You're quite bold. Three at once? I'll prepare the best room for you then."
Her laughter lingered for several seconds before she gestured for him to follow.
The hallway was narrow.
The dim lanterns lined the walls and their flames were flickering to show every customer that their secret would be locked in the shadows. The pleasure would stay hidden and the reputation would not be affected.
Baston noticed few doors. It was closed, all of them. There was no laughter that was spilled out from inside. There was only the silence.
A place like this should have been noisy, filled with indulgence and pleasure. Yet here, the quiet pressed in from all sides, suffocating the people rather than soothing them.
The woman stopped in front of a door and opened it, "This will be your room."
She stepped aside, letting him enter first. He walked in without hesitation.
The moment he crossed the place, he finally could see the kind of privacy that the brothel provided.
The room was clean, the bed was neatly arranged, the table was untouched, and the curtains were drawn just enough to allow a sliver of light through.
Nothing was out of place and yet, the mystery deepened. There should be something happen here that needed his caution.
He did not move right away.
He let the silence settle, stretching just long enough for his discomfort to disappear. Then slowly, he stepped further into the room and his footsteps echoed against the wooden floor.
His gaze traced the edges of the furniture from the table, the bed, and the curtains. Everything was arranged cleanly and neatly. There were no signs of recent use.
There were no wrinkles on the sheets, no displaced objects, and no lingering warmth of presence. It was as if the room existed only for him as the precious customer.
He reached out and brushed his fingers lightly against the table's surface. There was no dust, not even a trace.
"That's strange…"
A brothel that operated constantly should not have such untouched spaces. Even the most careful attendants would leave behind the subtle signs. After all, it was kind of dirty place.
He shifted his attention toward the door again.
From the outside, the building felt cramped. From the inside, this room felt isolated.
A faint creak echoed somewhere beyond the wall. He turned slowly, and yet, he could not find any reason why he must be in this place.
"I wonder why the coin led me here..."
He exhaled slowly, suppressing the instinct to investigate immediately. Whatever was hidden here, it was not meant to be found easily.
"Please wait here…" the woman said, "I'll bring them shortly."
She paused at the doorway, glanced back and winked. By then, she left. The moment the door closed, Baston's expression changed.
The faint neutrality vanished, replaced by something sharper of calculation and alert. He turned slightly toward the door, listening against the footsteps and soft movement.
"This place should be being watched…"
If there were the watchers, then there were the secrets that were worth guarding. And if there were secrets, then the old book had brought him to the right place.
However, something did not align.
If this was merely a den of thugs that were exploiting women, the book would have already issued the quest upon entry. Eventually, it waited for something to be done.
"What I really should do here...?"
He muttered softly, tapping the cover of the old book without opening it. Whatever triggered the quest, it had not happened yet.
The silence returned and he stood still for several seconds before he was slowly exhaling, "There's no way this place exists just for the pleasure…"
His gaze moved across the room again and he walked around.
The old book had led him here. That alone was enough to dismiss any notion of coincidence. Still, there was a problem.
No quest had appeared even after he entered the brothel.
Normally, the proximity alone would trigger it. The moment he approached the target or even something related, the old book would respond.
But now, there was nothing to show.
Did he need to move around the place?
He considered leaving the room but he quickly dismissed the idea. The brothel was too small and wandering aimlessly would only attract the attention.
Such attention, in a place like this, was dangerous unless he did something out of place.
His eyes shifted toward the door outside, thinking what would happen if he started opening them one by one.
The thought lingered only for a moment since it was reckless.
Before he could decide, a knock echoed softly. Three times of measured tone before the door opened.
"Handsome boy, here they are…" the same woman entered, followed by three others, "The young, the middle-aged, and the older one… Just as you requested."
Her gaze lingered on Baston for a moment as if she was looking for something, "Enjoy yourselves..."
She giggled then left once more.
The door closed and Baston turned his attention to the three women. The difference between them was immediate.
The youngest which was no more than twenty stood with forced confidence. Her smile was bright but it was fragile.
The middle-aged woman carried herself with composure. Her expression was calm and almost indifferent.
The oldest looked hesitated. Her eyes avoided his and her hands were trembling slightly at her sides.
"She doesn't belong here…" Baston thought.
That was what he could sum up from the behavior. That alone made her stand out more than anything else.
"Wait…"
He raised his hand before any of them could move closer. The three women soon froze.
"Before anything else," he said calmly, "You don't need to do anything."
"What?"
"I'll pay…" he continued, "You just need to stay here and accompany me. That's all…"
The youngest blinked in confusion, the middle-aged woman narrowed her eyes slightly, and the oldest looked up to him.
"This… Is this alright?" the old murmured.
"I don't mind…" the middle-aged woman replied after a moment.
"I agree!" the younger one added quickly.
The oldest then said nothing more. Her hesitation deepened and the atmosphere shifted. It was awkward and uncertain.
Baston noticed it immediately.
The other two adjusted quickly, accepting the situation with practical ease but the oldest remained tense as if even standing there was difficult.
She was afraid, not of him but because of something else.
Before he could question further, a faint sensation stirred within him. It was familiar and warm.
He turned slightly onto a corner and reached into his coat. The old book appeared in his hand and he opened the last page.
"Solve the problem of the women at the brothel…"
"Release them from the thugs…"
"Violence is an option…"
His eyes narrowed because there were three lines and that was new.
Previously, the number of lines always hinted at the complexity and the cost of the task.
One line meant simplicity, two often meant blood, and as for three, he did not know it yet.
He exhaled slowly, "Violence is an option…"
It was not a requirement which meant there was another way.
However, the real question was why give a choice now?
The old book never offered unnecessary freedom.
Every word carried weight and every omission pointed into intention. Something about this situation was different and he had yet to see it.
He closed the book. He remained still since the weight of the words were settling in his mind.
The three lines of quest was not just a task. It might be a warning.
He replayed them carefully for solving the problem, releasing them, and doing the optional violence. The phrasing was indeed deliberate.
If the solution were simple, the book would not need to emphasize the choice. It would simply just direct him.
Instead, it left room for the interpretation. That meant, there were the consequences that were tied to how he completed it.
Baston's fingers tightened slightly, "Then, the real question is not what to do…"
His gaze lifted toward the women, "But who I'm really dealing with..."
He needed a name behind all of this. He needed an identity of the person who ruled behind the curtain. The one that struck fear toward the women.
Once he got the clue, he could then move forward with the quest.
Across the room, the three women had gathered together. They were whispering softly about this unique customer.
"What do you think he's doing?" the youngest asked.
"I don't know," the oldest replied quietly, "But… we should be grateful..."
"At least, he's not like the others," the middle-aged woman added, "We do as he says then we get paid. That's enough..."
Their voices were low and careful. Even here, they spoke as if someone might be listening.
Baston did not interrupt them immediately. Instead, he listened secretly. Not toward their words but toward what they avoided of saying.
There was fear in their wrongdoing but there was also acceptance. It was not the kind that was born from resignation alone but from the repetition.
They had lived this reality long enough to act casually toward it.
That was dangerous because when suffering became the routine, people stopped resisting. And when the resistance disappeared, the control became absolute.
His gaze lingered briefly on the oldest woman since her reactions were different. She was not fully broken and not yet reshaped by the environment.
"She's the key…"
The thought surfaced naturally. Not because she spoke the most but because she struggled the most.
In places like this, the ones who resisted were often closest to the truth.
He then stepped closer, "May I ask you something?"
They turned toward him, "Yes?"
"Are all the women here controlled by the thugs?"
The reaction was immediate. It was shock, fear, and recognition.
"How did you know?" the oldest woman whispered and her composure was breaking as she reached for his arm, "Please… if you know, then help us."
"Calm down," Baston said evenly, "Explain everything from the beginning..."
The story unfolded slowly. Zimus was the name of the man who managed the brothel here. He was not just a thug. He was the leader of this town.
The brothel, the thugs, and the loans were his business. Everything led back to him. People came willingly for the money but few left willingly after.
"If they can't pay…" the middle-aged woman said and her voice was steady despite the weight of the words, "They must stay..."
Baston listened carefully. He was not interrupting and not reacting. He was here just for observing first. Each detail added to the pattern that was forming in his mind.
"The old woman…" he said at last, glancing toward her, "What happened?"
The middle-aged woman sighed, "Her husband borrowed the money to start a business…"
It was a familiar story that was full of hope, effort, and failure.
"He lost everything in the end…" she continued, "And the contract stated that if he couldn't repay the debt, his wife would resume it."
"What about you?" Baston asked.
"It's for my son," she replied without hesitation, "He studies at the knight academy and because of that, he needs money for tuition."
"Does he know?"
"No…" her answer was immediate, "He never will..."
Baston did not respond immediately. Instead, he studied her expression.
There was no hesitation and no doubt. There was only a quiet resolve. A choice had been made and she had accepted it wholeheartedly.
Despite having wrong decision, it was not his right to judge the mother. After all, the intent behind was good enough.
"People really endure more than they should..." he murmured absentmindedly.
The middle-aged woman only gave a faint smile, "That's because we don't always have the luxury to refuse."
He nodded slightly since he understood that much more than he cared to admit.
The silence followed since he didn't know what to do with the women. Each word lingered, settling into the space between them.
He leaned back slightly and his expression was unreadable.
On the surface, the quest was straightforward. It was about the debt, failure, and punishment. A cycle as old as any corrupt structure yet something about it unsettled him. While he was pondering, another information was muttered.
"However, Zimus doesn't force us to do this job…" the middle-aged woman murmured.
"What do you mean?"
"He lets us to choose… He warned us about the payment. If you borrow willingly and sign willingly, then you have to accept the terms willingly."
"That's not a choice," Baston replied bitterly.
"It is… It's just not a fair one… At least, he warned us many times before…"
The distinction faltered because it revealed something deeper about the man. Zimus did not rely purely on force.
He relied on the systems, agreements, and desperation. He provided a way to earn the money in easy way. There was no need to hold a debt for a long time since he already provided the platform.
It seemed dismantling him would not be as simple as removing a single man.
"No wonder the old book gave three lines…"
Everything made sense and that was the problem.
There were victims, perpetrator, and clear objective. The old book rarely worked his way.
There was always a hidden edge. There should be a missing piece or obscured truth. His eyes shifted toward the door.
If the violence was optional then perhaps, the real problem was not just about Zimus.
For the first time since entering the room, Baston smiled faintly.
It was not out of amusement but because the quest had begun. Even though so, the mystery had only just revealed its first layer.