As the proprietor of a brothel, it was to be expected that Sylphia’s week would always be eventful in one way or another. Whether it be mistreated employees, entitled customers or just general complaints there was always something happening. However, among the countless eventful weeks this one had been the most memorable in a long time; and not in a good way.
It was not every day that a duke stormed into the Enchanted Flower demanding to learn everything about a customer, going so far as to threaten to execute her if she could not provide a satisfactory answer. Anton Tremas had been an enraged beast then, tearing and smashing everything he could get his hands on. Even though it had been five days, the damage was still being repaired. The worst part about it was that the bastard left without paying for the damages!
Just wait till Savandor gets back, Sylphia swore for the umpteenth time since then. She took a long pull from her pipe and exhaled a thick cloud of lavender-scented smoke, adding to the stuffiness of the room. I’m going to bill him twice the amount the repairs cost.
The infuriating thing about the whole situation back then was that she could only stand there with a plastered smile and watch. Even though she had the power to put a 5th Order sorcerer like him in his place, when he threatened to kill her she could only listen with as calm a smile as she could manage. He was a noble of a human nation, and she was an elf; if she had tried anything she would have lost everything. As upsetting as it was, it was the way of the world. Unfortunately, without sufficient power she could only accept what was dished out to her. Fortunately her backing was strong enough that the man did not actually follow through with his threat.
What did I do to deserve this? She sighed internally as she released yet another cloud of smoke. Fixing her gaze on her aide, she gave her a nod. “Let her in.”
Talia nodded with a curtsy before leaving the room. A moment later the door opened and admitted a woman in a long black dress with a white patterned mask and a black scarf around her neck. The manner in which the woman held herself was for the least part extremely infuriating. Just like last time, she strut in like she owned the place and sat herself comfortably in in one of Sylphia’s sofa without an invitation.
“It’s been a while hasn’t it Madam Sylphia?” she began in a tone that exuded a little too much familiarity.
Sylphia was not having it, especially from the person responsible for her current troubles.
“How did you enter the Enchanted Flower without being stopped?” she demanded.
Although Tremas never bothered her after the first time, there was no shortage of his goons sloppily traipsing about in a manner they thought was stealthy around the Red District, all the while keeping a constant eye on the door of the Enchanted Flower. ‘Lady Maverick’ might be wearing a mask at the moment but that did not really do much considering the fact that she always hid her face. Her dress was not much different than the one she wore last time so unless Tremas’ goons were extremely inept it was unlikely she would have gone unmissed.
“As fun as it would be to tell you how I cleverly worked my way around them, that is simply not true,” ‘Lady Maverick’ responded. “I just turned myself invisible and walked in. It seems they did not consider that I might have such a spell in my possession considering the fliers in town revealing I’m a senior mage.”
There was blasé smugness in her voice that made Sylphia fantasise about punching her, but she stayed put and took another drag from her pipe. Maybe she was inhaling too deeply because her gown slipped from her shoulder, exposing its milky bareness. Honestly, she was not bothered to set it right, so she exhaled and spoke up.
“What is it that you have come looking for this time?” she asked.
“The information I asked for last time,” The masked woman responded. For a moment her eyes flashed to her exposed shoulder before moving back to her face. “You said you would be able to gather the information I wanted in a day. Although I’m a little late I have come to collect.”
“Oh?” was the response she gave in the moment. After pulling from her pipe she gave the rest of her reply. “Very well then. Could you wait for a minute?”
The information was in one of her table drawers, but she did not feel like getting up so she instead used [Mage Hand] to open it and take the papers out. Then she floated them to ‘Lady Maverick’s’ end of the table. The masked woman picked the papers up and scrutinised them silently.
“The information only mentions the Scions of the Life Goddess, the Dragon God, the Magic God and the Beast God,” Sylphia felt the need to explain. “The offspring of Netha’mun never leave the sea so they are largely unknown. As for the Winter Goddess, it is unknown whether she has any children who are not lost to history.”
‘Lady Maverick’ nodded at her explanation but added a question of her own. “So this information is on all Scions on the continent?”
“Perhaps,” Sylphia responded. “But those are only the ones who appear in public. There might be others who prefer to stay out of the limelight and keep to themselves.”
Honestly, Sylphia was curious why the woman was interested in Scions. What could she possibly want with such information? Did it have to do with the fact that ‘Lady Maverick’ was not human or even beastkin but a different sort of monster? On more than one occasion she had been thinking about what kind of creature the woman was. Her aura was unlike any she had ever seen in her life, the closest to it being a vampire. That fact at least gave her an idea about what group she belonged to.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
One thing Sylphia was relieved about was the fact that the woman did not bring up the fact that she had used [Mystic Eyes] on her and she did not seem upset about the matter; or maybe she was just not showing it. Either way, as long as it did not come up Sylphia was satisfied. As much as she wanted to strangle the woman, the last thing she could afford at the moment was to get into an argument with her. It would likely turn violent and alert the goons outside, putting her in the sights of Tremas once more.
“Noted,” The woman replied. She stood up, announcing the end of her visit. “I’ll be going then. There’s still one more stop I wish to make.”
“Very well,” she said, not offering to let Talia see her out. The woman would likely leave via Door like she always did, that was what she thought.
This time was different. ‘Lady Maverick’ swept the papers off the table and dropped them onto the floor, where her shadow voraciously devoured them. A second later a black cat which was likely her Familiar sprang up from said shadow in into her arms. Then, just like that, the woman popped out of existence.
It took a while for Sylphia to register what had just happened and she could not help but stare at the place where the woman had previously been. With no one present she let her nonchalant façade fall as she stared open mouthed at the spot, casting [Mystic Eyes] to see if she had seen what she thought she had.
Was that [Teleport]ation?
***
When are those damn guards going to stop patrolling the city? Malvin thought as he drained his fourth glass of liquor.
Sifting through the books on the table, he concluded for the umpteenth time that his establishments on the shady side were not doing as well as they should. With that little bastard Anders getting himself killed the whole damned City Guard was patrolling all of Yshta and hindering his businesses. Usually those dogs looked the other way for few coins under the table, however, that fucking slimy brown-noser Guard Captain was currently too busy kissing up to Tremas to hold to his end of the bargain!
“It’s all that witch’s fault!” he yelled, slamming his empty glass on the table.
He knew she was daring from the fact that she so boldly broke into his house and admitted she was the one that robbed the Masons. What he had not expected was that she was fucking crazy as well! Robbing the nobles was something one could get away with if they were skilled, but killing a noble’s kin- particularly their heir- was fucking asking for death. They would pursue you to the end of the world!
If anyone finds out she was here… he began to think while he poured himself another drink.
If that happened he would be utterly fucked!
“Shit!” he yelled, chucking the glass at the nearest wall.
“You don’t look to be in the best of moods today Mr Grunt,” a soft voice came from behind him. “Perhaps I should come back another day.”
Hearing that voice, his heart nearly jumped out of his chest. Immediately, he spun his armchair to find himself facing a masked woman with a cat in her hands. Even if she had not spoken and that cat was not with her, he would have recognised her for her choice of dress. It was the fucking witch responsible for his losses!
“What are you doing here?” What would have come out as a demand on any other occasion was a mere inquiry.
Even though he was mad at her, Malvin did not forget she was a 7th Order sorcerer. She could easily crush him if he offended her. Even if by some miracle his bodyguards outside were somehow alerted and managed to come inside he was doubtful they would be able to stop her from killing him if she really wanted to. This realisation brought him to a sudden decision.
I’m going to hire stronger bodyguards.
Fuck saving money by hiring cheaper guards! What was the point of having more money when your life could be taken on a whim by those you antagonised? Money could be earned anytime in life but it did not follow you in death. So, better to be dirt poor than a gilded corpse!
“I didn’t know you were in the habit of wasting good alcohol Mr Grunt,” the woman spoke with a disapproving tone.
The glass he had thrown earlier floated to her and as she grasped it, it occurred to him that he had not heard the sound of glass shatter against the wall. His eyes remained fixed on the witch as she turned her back to him and her free hand moved to her face, presumably to lift her mask. Then she brought her occupied hand to her face and gulped.
“What are you doing here?” he repeated when the glass had been emptied.
The witch touched her face once more with her free hand and turned to face him; the mask was back on. Also, the cat that was previously in her arms now rested on her shoulder.
“Why the hostile attitude Mr Grunt?” her tone was almost playful. “Aren’t we friends?”
“You are too dangerous a friend to have in these times,” he responded earnestly. “Please state what you came here for.”
“So you don’t consider me a friend? Oh, how you wound me!” she exclaimed mockingly.
This fucking bitch!
“Please be serious Miss Maverick,” he said patiently.
“If that is your wish,” the witch said, and the playful demeanour was immediately dropped. “Do you deal in herbs and flasks and a shit-ton of paper?”
“Yes,” he replied softy. Then, quirking up an eyebrow, he asked, “why?”
“For personal reasons,” she answered. “How much would it cost to purchase all you have in stock?”
He thought about it for a while before he came up with an answer. “I have around ten kilograms of paper, which will cost about fifty silvers. The flasks would be around three gold if they are of good quality and the herbs; depend on their grade. If I have to table an amount though it would be around forty gold for all of them.”
To be a successful merchant, it was a basic necessity to know the value of your stock, which was why he was able to come up with an amount almost immediately. That said, the amount had been inflated a little.
“Here then,” the witch tapped the ring on finger and dropped several tens of gold pieces on the table. “Forty gold, count them if you like. As much I would love to stay and get the items myself, I am just not in the mood. However, Nyx will accompany you so please give him everything I asked for.”
Before he could ask who Nyx was the cat on the witch’s shoulders suddenly jumped off and landed on the arm of his chair. It looked at him with large green eyes that he was certain were mocking him. The little beast’s words proved him right.
“I hope we get along short fat man,” it said mischievously.
He already did not like the little bastard.