The Royal Spider Princess perched herself on a makeshift bench near the riverbank, pointedly facing away while I stripped off my armor and clothes to wash away the grime and shame of our recent escapade. I finally understood—why so many adventurers always smelled like a damp goat: the world itself conspires to marinate you in filth. Right now, scrubbing off layers of sludge, I felt like I’d clawed my way out of a fresh grave. The stench had been so foul I half-expected flies to file a stench complaint.
“So, what exactly did you use to take down that frogfiend? It wasn’t fel, was it?” Ichni inquired, sneaking glances over her shoulder whenever she assumed I wasn’t paying attention. Apparently, her misadventure she admitted to having from my post-shower depression scene was leaving her eyes wanting, but I was so bothered by the muck that I didn’t care if she wanted to peek. My pathetic pale complexion made me look like I could’ve crawled from the deep trenches of an ocean.
I grimaced, still recalling that vile tongue. “The spare spice pouch Randy slipped me for Quen’s stew. It was potent stuff, so I pocketed it. Turns out it doubled as emergency frog deterrent.”
“Oh ho! So you treated it to the local specialty!” Ichni teased, running her fingers through her hair. “You might’ve actually killed it with those spices. Can frogs even handle heat?” she wondered, staring thoughtfully at the sky as if expecting culinary answers from a cloud.
“Who knows? It either hated the spices or the smorgasbord of sewer muck on my boots,” I said, shrugging. “I’m not complaining either way.”
“Perhaps you should armor yourself in slime next time,” Ichni giggled, “then no beast will dare snack on you!”
“I’d rather shit in my hands and clap than go through that again.” I scowled, the memories finally becoming an afterthought. “We have a bigger problem, though.”
“Yeah… no treasure.” Ichni murmured, annoyed at our shared failure. “How were we supposed to know it wasn’t a real dungeon?”
“Nope, that was a dungeon and I’m sticking to it,” I insisted. “We had monsters, a boss, and corpses galore.”
“Shouldn’t a ‘real’ dungeon have traps, though? Like pits, spikes, poisoned darts?” Ichni countered, sounding just as uncertain about the official dungeon criteria as I was.
“They have though in the more dangerous ones, you’re right.” I said encouragingly. “Magic traps, pit falls. Thing is, if there were traps, I knew those zombies and skeletons would have triggered them long ago.”
“You’re right, proper dungeons often have magical snares or pit traps,” I agreed. “But if there’d been any, those undead shamblers would’ve set them off ages ago.”
“Oh! Good point,” Ichni said, impressed. She turned just as I was mid-change, my pants hanging from a stick. Her gaze lingered with an oddly expectant look, as if waiting for a punchline I wouldn’t deliver.
“What’s wrong?” I muttered, pulling on my clothes. “No more cracks about my bony figure?”
“Oh natt, I’ve got a whole arsenal stored up,” she assured me with an unexpectedly warm smile. “I was just thinking… we’d make a pretty good team.”
“We’re already a team, aren’t we?” I asked, puzzled by her phrasing.
“Well, yes, now. But I meant if I were alive again,” she clarified, her smile dimming slightly. “I had talents beyond just healing magic, you know.”
“I’ll hazard a guess—wall-climbing?” I ventured, picturing a certain spider-themed hero from my past life.
“How did you guess?” Ichni gasped, genuinely startled I’d nailed it on the first try.
“Just a hunch,” I said, buckling on my freshly rinsed armor. “I still bet you’ve got a venomous bite.”
“For the last time, I don’t!” she snapped, folding her arms indignantly. “And don’t you dare tell anyone I spin webs from my butt, you murakka!”
“Alright, alright. I’ll admit though, there’s a lot of creatures I wasn’t expecting when I came here.” I said in surrender.
“Oh yeah, like what? The hoplops?” She asked as I approached her, equipping her gauntlet and my glove.
“Sure, them too, but also dog-folk, those mail-delivery bird creatures—” I began, only for Ichni to pinch my cheek mid-sentence. “Ow! What gives?”
“They’re people, got it? Call them people or use j’ana if you’re feeling fancy,” she said, annoyed. “No more calling them monsters.”
“J’ana?” I asked, trying to add to my demon lingo.
“It literally means ‘people,’” Ichni said with a disapproving click of her tongue.
Ohhhh. All this time I’d been casually labeling her friends and townsfolk as monsters… wonderful.
“Right, sorry,” I offered, sheepish. “I’m just used to the idea that anything sporting fur, feathers, or fangs is out for my blood. Your hungover harpy pal looks eerily like one that tried to kill me before.”
Ichni sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Humans blur together for me too sometimes. Just don’t go cleaving Hilda in half next time, okay?... Although you seemed to have gotten sweet for her, if I remember right.” She smirked at me as the memories of mistaking Hilda as a poor overworked lass began to haunt me.
“I… I am reformed of that notion.” I blurted, as we made our way back to Aratan Villa empty handed. “It’s not just her, though. Keeping a straight face for the wolf-man took some willpower. Until he opened his mouth, anyway.”
“Yeah, they’re more obnoxious than dangerous, but they will talk to you to death if you give them the chance.” Ichni teased, running her fingers through my damp hair as if to brush off the last drops.
“And Quen, the green lady at the blacksmith? She has the mouth of a foul sailor, but it was the first time I’ve seen an orc.” I admitted, earning me another smack. “Ow, what now?”
“Let’s keep descriptors of them limited to NOT their skin color, khippa. Please.” She chided me.
“Okay, but she was literally green!” I protested.
“She was strong, confident, and skilled in her craft, too! You don’t need to be skin deep when you think of the woman we’re about to report our failure to!” She continued to scold.
“Okay, shit, sorry!” I begged as she tugged on my ears. Her grip was weak, but I was almost certain my ears would fly off if I let her keep pulling.
“Is every town like this? A mixed culture of humans and… other kinds of folks?” I tried changing the subject, carefully choosing my words. She mulled the question over.
“Ha! Oh definitely not.” She responded with an amused smile. “There’s a village full of hot fish women that want to fuck any guy with a heartbeat.”
“Sweet holy chastity belt, really? I better girder my loins then next time I’m in the water.” I said sarcastically. “Where is it exactly so I know where to avoid it?”
“I’m just messing, you pervert!” She chuckled to herself for the gotcha moment, ignoring my sarcasm. “There is a harpy village though that, uh.. You should be careful around during their mating season.”
“Gods bless it. I’ll be on my guard if I see a cliffside full of them, then. Sounds like a ‘one-night drop’ rather than a one-night stand,” I joked, attempting levity of the difficult discussion we were going to have with Quen later.
As I followed the canal that fed from the sewer, I could soon see the outline of the town coming ever closer. I realized that there was no way I would be sneaking in without donning another bush disguise, and I’d rather risk smoothly talking to the town guards again.
“They actually nest in a giant tree,” Ichni corrected, drifting in front of me, finger raised like a teacher. “Pop quiz: can ‘monsters’ be called people too?”
“Well, yes. We just said so, unless you’re trying to bait my usage of ‘monsters’ earlier, which I’m not falling for!” I said hurriedly as she reached for my ears.
“Alright, fine. Then what makes a monster different from a person?” Ichni pressed, her tone more earnest now, as if testing my moral compass.
“I, uh… if they can speak for themself, think for themself, and love for themself.” I said, reciting an edited version of a holy scripture. “Then they can uphold the law for themself, and care for more than themselves.”
“It’s a bit lofty, but I’ll take it,” Ichni mused. “I was going to say ‘people pay taxes,’ but your version works.”
“Well, I’m sure the archer lady and the old man don’t pay taxes, and I would refer to them as people.” I said matter-of-factly. “I’m sure any creature out there can be considered a person, given the right environment. I’m a person!”
“Am I a person to you?” she asked, slyly.
I shot her a pointed glare. “You mock me enough to qualify as one, yes,” I huffed, pushing past her. I wasn’t stepping into that snare.
“If the test was that easy, I would have applied for my “j’ana permit” long ago!” she teased with a laugh.
“Though Onshi was pretty sarcastic too,” I muttered, trying to deflect.
“Ah, so is he a person to you?” she pressed, clearly amused by my dilemma.
“Nope, definitely a demon,” I declared flatly.
“What’s the catch, then, mitre?” she asked, pushing for more details.
“Most call it humanity, but let’s say empathy,” I explained, recalling the Lion-Oger’s cruel glare. “People, even animals, can show compassion.”
“And those so-called monsters you mentioned?” Ichni prompted.
“Even monsters—or folks part demon—can show compassion, I’ve learned. But Onshi clearly lacks it. He’s pure demon, no empathy at all,” I concluded, pleased with my reasoning.
“You’re forgetting one detail,” Ichni said softly, settling on my shoulder.
“And what’s that, more terminology?” I remarked at the lessons of social etiquette I was being force fed.
“I’m the daughter of the DEMON king.” Her phrasing of the word “demon” was rather dramatic, but she got the point across. Now clutching at straws, I rubbed my chin for an easy excuse.
“Uh… maybe you’re adopted?” I quipped, hoping to dodge the moral minefield.
“Ha! If only. I’ve got his nose and his nasty temper, no escaping that lineage,” she said, laughing, though her eyes told another story. The adoption crack must’ve stung.
“Then maybe he gave you empathy, too?” I offered gently. She dismissed the idea with a wave.
“Heh… if anyone deserves credit for my empathy, it’s my mother. She loved everyone—well, almost everyone,” Ichni said softly, her smile turning somber.
“What happened to her, Ichni?” I asked, trying to finally figure out what made her so sad.
“I… not now, Adrian. Another time, perhaps. Khippa.” She finished, slinking away from the thoughts that were trapped in her head.
“Oh, alright. Well, just know if you ever do want to talk about it. I’ll be here.” I said, trying to be as supportive as I can.
“Thanks, Addy. I know.” she replied softly. With a slight nod, she vanished into the gauntlet, leaving me alone with my own thoughts as we neared the southern gates.
The guards at the gate, a husky mastiff-man and the bulldog-woman from before, recognized me on sight. Instead of tossing me in irons, they informed me, with thin politeness, that Lieutenant Dullahan was seeking an audience. Fantastic—nothing like a probable death sentence to start the morning. I thanked them, feigning calm, and promised to find Dullahan straight away. They let me pass without a fuss. For now, I was just a “person of interest.” How he knew about me at all was a puzzle I didn’t relish solving.
Heading into the southern district, home to the Adventurer’s Guild, I pondered grabbing a last-ditch quest to improve my rotten luck. My adventurer’s card said I was as lucky as a cat in a kennel, but maybe fate would throw me a bone. Passing by, I noticed the guild hall looked surprisingly fresh, almost as if it had undergone a speedy renovation since I’d last seen it. Looks like Rosalina has been spending extra on elbow grease!
My hand hovered over the guild’s doorknob, but I paused. Avoiding Quen wouldn’t solve anything. Worst case, she’d refuse my excuses and force me to pay full price for a decent blade. Maybe I could return later with proof of my valor—like after freeing a spirit at that first shrine. A tangible display of heroism might soothe her temper.
I continued along the cobblestone streets, marveling at how this small community thrived on what felt like the edge of reality. If no one could leave (as that invisible barrier suggested), how did commerce endure? No lively family shops popped up to greet me, but I also saw no empty storefronts or signs of struggle. Did people here even trade property? Could someone just… buy a home in a world sealed off from beyond? It was a strange thought—that prosperity could exist in a closed loop, no newcomers or departures, just eternal recycling of goods and fate.
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I was lost in my own idle thoughts, half-expecting to run into that demon hooker again around the next corner, when suddenly—it hit me. A suffocating presence crashed into my senses, freezing me mid-step. My muscles seized, my breath caught in my throat, and a phantom chill gripped my shoulder. For a heart-stopping moment, I could’ve sworn death itself hovered behind me, waiting with open arms. My chest heaved in ragged gasps, eyes darting frantically for whatever monstrous force radiated this malicious aura, as though mere sight might kill me on the spot.
I turned westward, towards Madam’s Bagel Boutique, and there he stood. A towering figure sheathed in twisted metal armor from shoulders to sabatons, chatting casually with a guard who looked as rattled as I felt. His pauldrons bore weeping skulls, and they bobbed as if he were chuckling at some shared joke. Then the guard pointed my way, and the knight’s head—yes, his head, held casually under one arm—swiveled to meet my gaze. Our eyes locked, and in that instant, I knew who commanded the suffocating aura of doom.
He wore a horned helmet framing stringy white hair, and his eyes were neon-blue embers flickering with cruel amusement. At first, I might’ve been just another backdrop in his perfect diorama, but then he twitched. Recognition flared, and suddenly I was no longer a random extra—I was prey.
“Oh, MERDU. He’s HERE?!” Ichni’s voice shrilled inside the glove, panic crackling in my ear. Her alarm was quickly overshadowed by a thunderous bellow that swept the entire street. Dullahan, head in one arm, the other arm extending to point at me, spat out a single word:
“You.”
He began trembling, not with laughter but burning fury. “YOU! YOU DARE!”
“Oh, look at the time!” I shouted back. “It’s fuck-off-o-clock, and I got an appointment for anywhere but here, buh-bye!”
I knew I was dead the moment he reached me, but the moment I saw him lower his body, I wasn’t prepared for the speed he took off at. He crouched, then launched forward with terrifying velocity. Each footfall struck like a hammer on an anvil, leaving dents in the street. I bolted before he could close the gap, heart in my throat.
With no weapon to speak off, I still couldn’t shake off the dooming thought that this evil knight could snap my neck in a second. I hauled my sorry skin off the corner, into an alley, and frantically looked around to hide.
“Adrian, the sewers!” Ichni suggested in a panic. “Maybe we can lose him in there!”
I lifted the nearest manhole cover up with what felt like peer adrenaline, pencil dived in, and let the cover clang noisily in place as I fell into the stone side of the gutter with an disgraceful tumble, wincing at both the pain and the echo that announced my escape route all too clearly.
Ignoring my aching limbs, I grimaced at the blackness pressing in from all sides. Only a faint glow from a distant grate offered any guidance.
“Ichni,” I hissed, voice trembling, “not a great time to mention this, but I’m not so good with the dark!”
Shaking, I fumbled for my torch, cursing when I remembered I lacked a spark to ignite it. I shuffled along the damp brick wall, aiming for that distant patch of light, heart pounding.
“It’s alright,” Ichni urged, forcing optimism. “Dullahan’s persistent, sure, but he can’t smell you down here. He’ll spend a moment searching, get bored, then stake out the likeliest exit. We’ve got time to move, trust me!”
A sudden GONG echoed behind me, flooding the tunnel with harsh light. I whirled, horrified to see Dullahan entering the sewers. He hadn’t simply opened the manhole—he’d smashed it down with such force it ricocheted into the waters below. My eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. He’d followed me with terrifying accuracy.
“HOW DARE YOU?” he snarled, voice echoing with centuries of hatred. He leveled a gauntleted finger at me, each ragged breath stoking his fury. “SPINELESS WORM! I UNDERSTAND YOUR TERROR OF MY SCORNFUL EYES, YET YOU FLEE AFTER DENYING ME ONE OF MY FEW PLEASURES?!”
“Uh… what?” I stammered, inching towards the dim light. His heavy steps followed, each one a ticking second off my life.
“THE BAGEL,” he thundered, voice so furious it conjured a phantom wind. “THE SACRED BAGEL SANDWICH I SAVORED WHEN I VISIT THIS PLACE!”
I nearly pissed myself when I felt the force of his overwhelming disgust. “THE NERVE OF A GHOUL TO TAKE JOY FROM I, THE MIGHTY DULLAHAN. I WILL MAKE SURE YOUR SCREAMS ARE STAINED INTO THE WALLS OF THESE VERY SEWERS!”
“Fine, take your damn bagel back!” I hollered, hurling the soggy sandwich onto the slimy floor as if tossing chum to a shark. Let him choke on that goodwill.
I bolted towards a faint glow, turned a corner, and sprinted on. Behind me, footsteps halted, followed by a wet squelch of ham and cheese. The temperature plummeted as though winter itself stepped into the tunnel.
“You… you didn’t even EAT it,” came his voice, quieter but more dangerous. “You… YOU NEVER WANTED IT?!”
Dullahan shot around the bend, clutching a crackling orb of blue-white flame in one hand, his eyes blazing sapphire.
“NOW YOU WILL DIE!” he shrieked, voice pitching high with murderous intent, hurling that fiery sphere at lethal speed.
The projectile skimmed the brick wall, dissolving stone into molten slag as it barreled straight for me. If that thing hit, it was going to obliterate me in one go!
The sewer flared with harsh light and searing heat. I dropped flat, feeling the scorching blast singe the air overhead. One glance at the half-melted wall told me it was still red-hot, so I pressed my torch against it, igniting it on the spot.
“Thanks, mate!” I blurted, then took off, torch in hand.
As I spoke, the first sphere ran into a wall head on and exploded in a fireball, shaking the sewers and sending steam and stone scattering everywhere. Steam, rubble, and scalding droplets pelted my body. Reeling from the blast, I ducked around a corner as two more blazing orbs streaked past, carving smoking furrows in the stone where my skull used to be.
As I heaved a deep breath to keep going, I felt a sudden pain shoot up my leg as I tripped forward. Looking down, I screeched like a frightened schoolgirl when I saw that the head of the dreadknight was clamped down on my ankle and glaring daggers at me. Trying to shake him off while running like a stuck piece of toilet paper, I heard him growling and cursing me as his body rounded the corner further behind, more energy orbs at the ready.
“Can you please let go of me, you scary, scary demon!” I begged as he bit down harder, slowing my escape to a mortifying crawl.
Ichni emerged, flipping him off with gusto. “Hey Dullard,” she taunted, “why not take a hint from Onshi’s coloring book and leave while you’re ‘a head’?”
“HUHHHHH? MMMSESS MMMKNII?!” Dullahan’s head choked in surprise as the spider hawked a webbed glob and shot it into one of his hollowed out eyes.
“Let go.” I said, with as much menace in Command Undead as I could at Dullahan’s head. It was two chomps away from making me piss my pants in sheer terror, but if the guy was undead, there was a chance, right?
Whether it was from the surprise of Ichni or my meager fel ability, his jaw slightly unclenched as I felt a gut punch from the spell’s cost. Sensing his loosened grip from the mental shock, I wrenched my leg up and shook him loose. Scoring a crit hit on the skill and a fail on the strength, I soccer kicked him down a different tunnel, breaking several of my toes in the process.
Howling in pain, I stumbled across a watery channel and promptly slipped, landing hard on my spine. Another scorching orb tore overhead, obliterating a chunk of wall and sending it tumbling into the murky depths. I realized that I have never met the mayor or any sort of town leader, and while establishing allies is important, there was no way in hell I was getting the key to the city after this.
“Holy Four-Lights, you weren’t kidding about persistence!” I muttered, staggering upright. Dullahan’s body, headless and effectively blind, fumbled about, flailing pathetically to avoid stepping into the waterways and searching for its lost noggin. It would’ve been hilarious if I didn’t know that once reunited, he’d be on me like a rampaging bull-ahan again.
“YOUR HIGHNESS! FEAR NOT, I SHALL SAVE YOU FROM THIS PUTRID PLACE! FOUL, FILTHY GHOUL, I’LL-! JUST… GIVE ME A MOMENT!” he hollered helplessly, his voice echoing off damp walls. The poor fool was truly devoted, in a terrifying, homicidal way.
“Adrian… look!” Ichni said, ignoring her would-be rescuer’s cry and pointing at the giant hole that the last explosion made. My jaw nearly dropped to the floor when I saw it.
Somehow, during my frantic chase with the Dullahan, we had gotten to the south end of the sewers underneath the town. The wall, or rather the missing section of the wall, revealed an eerily familiar design of a room behind it. The freshly paved hole revealed a hidden chamber beyond—marble pillars, dusty shelves, and a massive set of double doors. A skeletal figure slumped against those doors, richly dressed in tattered finery, adorned with a gem-studded cane and enough jewelry to fund a small kingdom. Jackpot.
“You gotta be…!” I began, debating whether or not this was lady luck calling, but it was Ichni that answered instead. She tried shoving me towards it, went through me in a very awkward motion, and proceeded to point at it as though I had gone blind.
“Adrian, look!” she insisted, eyes gleaming. As I walked through the hole, she let out a whoop. She practically had “Payday!” written all over that dopey grin of hers. “That ghost hoe had great taste! He was rich! WE’RE RICH!”
“We’ll be dead if we stick around like this guy! Besides,” I rambled as I took the cane, the entire hand that contained three rings, and a thick necklace like I was on a bandit shopping spree. “You’re royalty, you’re practically made of money! Actually, why don’t you pull a loan out from daddy’s credit card for us or something?”
“What the hell is a ‘credit card’, you murakka! Come on, we need to beat feet and get out of here!” She retorted, and as I hopped back in the sewers, I spotted a manhole nearby. Discarding my torch into the murky water like an abandoned companion, I hastily clambered up to make my bid to escape.
A couple of minutes later, the manhole we’d emerged from erupted violently, the cover soaring skyward like a fired cannonball. It nailed an unfortunate bird mid-flight, killing it instantly. Moments after, the metal lid crashed back down, punching through a nearby rooftop and prompting frantic shouts inside. It was like Dullahan’s boxing bell for another fresh round of hunting.
As I peeked from the hole of a trashcan I hid in, I saw Dullahan’s head leap out first, cursing anything and everything under the sun as his body trudged out behind him before the two pieces rejoined. He looked around, scanning for any sight of me, before sprinting past the trash can I was taking refuge and out of sight. I waited for a moment, where he sprinted by us a second time to my utter terror, before the sound of his loud metal boots faded off to the distance.
“So… the trash can, huh?” Ichni murmured from my glove. I emerged, dripping in pulp and scraps, lifting the lid with a resigned sigh. “Feels like a second home, I bet, hehe!”
“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” I said with pointed pride at my imperfect plan despite the rotten fruit clinging to my hair.. I took a look around and realized I was in the southeastern corner of town, whereas Quen’s blacksmith shop was in the northeastern district. Getting there above ground meant crossing the main road that ran from the east gate where I was first quizzed, which quite frankly wasn’t something I’d ever want to experience again.
“Back to the sewers? Ugh, but I threw away my torch…” I grumbled, weighing whether to scoot across the street inside a ninja trashcan. A soft “Pssst!” broke my chain of thought.
“Huh?” I looked around, and then spotted another familiar face. It was the demon hooker, smoking a cigarette, and looking at me with the utmost pity from her pupiless, off-white eyes. Her long dress gown exposed her crimson skin past her knees, and her ram horns were cocked to the side as she appraised me.
“Hey, you’re the freak that was trying to buy some time with me the other day, right?” she asked, taking a slow drag on her cigarette.
“Well, no, but we kept running into each other, that’s it I swear!” I promised, worried she was going to scream for help.
“Riiiight. So that big, scary knight is hot on your trail, huh?” she teased, voice dripping with a mix of sultry mockery and faint menace. “Be a shame if he caught you…”
“Yeah, I know. He’s lost me for now.” I began, furling my brows angrily at her as I rested my hand on the pommel of my sword. “Think we can keep it that way?”
“Oooooh, big scary guy yourself, aren’t you?” she purred. “Braaaave. I like that in a ghoul.” With a casual display, she snuffed her cigarette on her tongue, then flicked it away with a deft twitch of her tail.
“Here’s the deal,” she offered sweetly. “Pay me, and I’ll guide you wherever. Out of town, a secret hideout—your call. I can make you vanish like a whisper.”
“I just need to reach the blacksmith’s place up north,” I pleaded.
“Oh, Quen’s forge?” she said, amused. “Simple. Why not use the sewers again, big guy? Don’t tell me—afraid of the dark?” She smirked knowingly.
I kept quiet, and her giggles said it all: she’d hit a nerve. “Oh my, I’m so sorry,” she faux-apologized, not sounding sorry at all.
“It’s… complicated,” I tried, but she silenced me with a fingertip to my lips.
“No worries, I’ll hold your hand,” she said sweetly, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Whatever happens in the dark will be our little s-e-c-r-e-t, okay~? Little boys always need to hold the hand of their mother when going through scary places, right?”
“I’m not a—!” I began hotly, but one chilly glare shut me right up.
“No, you’re not, but if the little chicken shit can’t be seen and pees himself in the dark, then that’s what we’ll do. So, how much are you paying?” She said, her hand outreached and palm up. She was eyeing the stick that was at my hip, though the gem was hidden behind my cloak.
I fumbled for my coin pouch, internally cursing this twisted therapy of facing my phobia. As I did, the dead noble’s necklace tumbled from my pocket—a silver chain with a gem-encrusted locket. We both paused, eyes locking on the sparkling piece.
“That locket…” she mused, “I, ah, had a fling with a wealthy old fellow who wore one just like it!”
“Yeah, found it in the Maiden’s Crypt.” I half-lied. “What do you think, will that cover the pay?”
“Really?” She blinked, eyeing the jewels with barely disguised greed. “This could be worth thousands—uh, I mean tens of silver. It’ll more than do.”
“Yup! You’re worth it, babe.” I said eagerly.
“‘Babe?’ Don’t push it,” she snapped, snatching the necklace. “I’m a professional. You’ve paid in style, and I appreciate it. This’ll be perfect for certain high-tier engagements, much better than these cheap faux pearls.”
“Understood, madam. Lead on,” I said, gesturing politely. With Ichni hidden in the glove, we descended once more into the dank sewers—fingers crossed this was a final visit.
For a few minutes, she babbled about the late noble’s wild tastes, while I tried to block out the mental images. To my relief, she didn’t force any hand-holding. Instead, she conjured a tiny flame at her fingertip, guiding us through the darkness with a smug confidence.
I considered asking if her flame trick was a fire elemental skill or just standard succubus flair, but decided not to risk her ire. I needed that flame more than an answer.
She navigated the sewer like a local, striding gracefully past sludge and debris. When a stray rat drew too close, a flick of her wrist incinerated it instantly, causing me to flinch at the sudden conflict ending. She was not someone to be messing with, and certainly in no need of my cardiac lessons I was hoping to charge her.
Nearing a faint shaft of light, she flicked her tail playfully against my leg, then gestured with it upward.
“There you go. This will take you right behind her shop.” She said confidently. “I’d take a listen for those big mean boots before you go, though.”
“Thanks, uh…?” I asked, pausing for a name.
“Dahlia,” she replied with a wink. “Information broker by day, something else by night. I’m a tad showy, yes, but perhaps you’ve met my sister at the Bronze Rooster?”
“Your sister…?” I racked my brain for a connection, drawing a blank.
A memory clicked—notes, a quiet woman collecting intel. I gasped.
“Yup, that’s her,” Dahlia confirmed brightly. “She prefers subtlety. Believes she can milk the info from that pathetic bard for some grand prize, though she loathes him too much to say hello. Adorable, isn’t it?” She giggled at the thought of her angst-ridden sibling.
“Thank you, Dahlia,” I said, offering a respectful nod. “If we cross paths again, I hope I’m less… hunted and haunted.”
She grinned, tongue playfully poking between her lips. “No hard feelings. If someday you ‘improve the packaging’,” she waved a hand vaguely at my face, “maybe we can discuss more pleasurable ventures. Until then, if you ever need info or a quiet exit, remember my name. We move on once we’ve drained a town’s secrets, you see.”
“Dry as in information, right,” I echoed, pretending full comprehension. Dahlia eyed me skeptically, then shrugged and sauntered away into the darkness.
“Well, don’t dilly-dally for too long, big scary man.” her voice teased from afar. A shiver crawled up my leg at her parting words and the sway of her hips. I felt almost violated by that lingering gaze, though I couldn’t deny she had style.
“Hey, get your merdu together!” Ichni hissed, cutting through my daze. “Let’s see if we can convince Quen we hit the jackpot!” I shook myself out of my questionable stupor, clapping both sets of cheeks. Making my way up, I pushed the cover up and made my way into Quen’s back door entrance.