...

Place: Northern District, Red Light District

Time: Later that Night, After visiting Ariana

The sun had long surrendered to the night, casting the Northern District of Wolfsteeth into a kaleidoscope of shadows and flickering lights. Lanterns hung from wrought-iron poles, their flames dancing in the hot evening breeze. The air was thick with the scent of incense, mingling with perfumes and less savory aromas hinting at the district's underbelly.

Otto navigated the winding alleys of the red-light district, his polished boots clicking softly against the worn cobblestone streets. He pulled his coat tighter around himself, trying to avoid any of the forthcoming workers trying to grab his arm or lean against him in ways he was very uncomfortable with.

The further he ventured, the more he questioned how he would gain any insight from the meeting, concerned about how far Alexander's influence reached.

'Just who is he?' he wondered.

Rumors about Alexander being a customer in the Underworld were nothing new. His people regularly attended noteworthy auctions, their pouches full of gold, throwing it at any spell manuals, alchemy recipes, and artificing blueprints.

Otto had ruled more than a few cases of thieves from other cities arriving with stolen goods or their own scum trying their luck in Wolfsteeth. But besides stealing them, also owning stolen goods was illegal.

He knew that Alexander had to give them back from some connections, but since those were pieces easily copied, which wasn't illegal, he did so before voluntarily returning them.

Many Unions didn't like this loophole, so they tried their best to complain and force a resolution. Unfortunately, the Lady ignored all their protests.

As such, it should've been settled, right? No, because Alexander was very petty, making Otto smirk inwardly. He already knew the next few steps of his plan.

Alexander had made a magazine, a thin book with oversized pages. He wanted to write it and fill it with all the recipes he got, including explanations and other information.

The price would be one small silver coin, a low price but enough to cover any costs since he wanted to sell it once a month. But most importantly, he wanted to piss off the Unions.

It would be useless for the ordinary commoner but a treasure trove for every artisan, 'It will be quite the surprise—' Otto mused, already expecting quite the uproar.

Turning a corner, Otto was brought out of his thoughts when he found himself standing before an opulent establishment. Its facade was adorned with crimson drapes and gilded accents, soft golden and pink light spilling from the windows. The muted strains of exotic music drifted through the air, punctuated by laughter and hushed conversations. The scents weren't overwhelming but still inviting, as if someone pulled him inside like a marionette.

Steeling himself, he stepped inside. The interior was a sensory overload—dim lighting bathed everything in a warm glow, plush furnishings upholstered in rich fabrics, and the haze of incense smoke swirling lazily overhead. Pheromones and perfumes blended into a heavy aroma that almost made him dizzy had it not been for his skills.

He scanned the room, his gaze moving past courtesans and patrons lost in their own worlds. It didn't take long to spot Quill, another retainer of Alexander, but a less known one.

In a secluded corner draped with velvet curtains, a young man reclined with effortless ease. Quill was a rabbit kin, his long, purplish ears poking out from tousled hair that framed a face both handsome and mischievous. He wore a sleek, tailored suit that contrasted sharply with his playful demeanor, silver rings glinting on his fingers, and a cigarette on his lips that emitted a potent scent.

Three women were draped over him, their laughter ringing like delicate chimes, "Oh, Quill, you're hopeless!" one giggled, her eyes sparkling.

"Oh, my—" Quill drawled, teasingly smiling, "—How about taking the party to the luxus suite and doing some bad stuff? I have quite the potions, hehe."

Another woman pouted playfully, "But I want to be first this time—" she cooed, tracing a finger along his jawline and snuggling closer to him.

Otto approached hesitantly, feeling acutely out of place in his formal attire amidst the decadence. As he neared, he couldn't help but notice the sharpness lurking behind Quill's eyes, even as he engaged in frivolity.

Clearing his throat, Otto tried to draw his attention, "Excuse me, are you Quill?"

Quill turned his head lazily, his eyes droopy, but the glint made Otto almost flinch, 'This predatory attitude... like everyone else.'

After meeting Ariana, Otto observed that they all had a certain air around them. It was as if they were constantly on edge, seeing everyone initially as an enemy.

'It makes sense, though—' Otto quickly deduced, knowing that they most likely had constantly been asked for favors, making them mistrusting toward everyone they didn't have all the information about.

Quill regarded Otto with a mix of amusement and mild curiosity, "Well, look who we have here—" he said, exhaling a plume of spiced smoke, "—You're Otto, the judge guy, aren't you?"

"Yes—" Otto replied, straightening his posture, "—I was hoping to speak with you."

Quill arched an eyebrow, his ears twitching slightly, "Listen, if you're here to complete the list, good for you. But we've got nothing to discuss until you actually become our archivist."

"May I know what exactly you do?" Otto pressed, undeterred by the dismissive tone.

Quill's grin widened, a hint of slyness in his eyes, "Me? I'm just Mr. Alexander's humble retainer, doing little things here and there—" He took a leisurely drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing amber, "—Nothing that would interest a judge who is not my colleague."

Otto sensed the layers beneath his casual words—a veil over something much deeper, "You're his intelligence operative, I presume." he ventured cautiously.

A flicker of surprise crossed Quill's face before he chuckled softly, "Oh my, you're quite the clever one—" he said, his tone turning cool, "—But I'd watch those bold assumptions and any... hostile intentions that may come from it."

A subtle tension settled over the table. The women sensed the shift and quietly slipped away, casting wary glances between the two men. Otto felt a chill run down his spine like an icy hand had brushed against his neck. The atmosphere grew heavy, and he realized he might have overstepped.

"I have no harmful intentions—" Otto clarified, though his voice wavered slightly, "—I just want to understand why you're doing this. Are you as idealistic as the others?"

Quill tilted his head, feigning innocence, "Idealism? You mean helping out some poor bastards?"

"You are obviously not a lawful citizen—" Otto continued, choosing his words carefully, "—So why align yourself with Mr. Alexander? Is it for gold? Power? Immunity from prosecution?"

For Otto, whatever Quill did was something that every noble had done since the beginning. They all had retainers who would do the dirty work for them, and apparently, the boy before him was such a person.

However, after talking with those three youths, he wondered if Quill also had the same tendencies. He remained cautious about his own motives, which he slowly regarded as superficial compared to Alexander's retainers.

At that, Quill's gaze hardened the playful light in his eyes dimming. The air around them seemed to thicken, and Otto's heartbeat quickened, "Oh my—" Quill murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "—We are very bold tonight, aren't we?"

Otto swallowed hard but held his ground, "I need to know," he said, though doubt gnawed at him.

Quill regarded him for a long moment, the silence stretching uncomfortably. Finally, he sighed and stubbed out his cigarette in a crystal ashtray, "Fine, let's say hypothetically, the places I frequent are full of people like those lovely ladies—" he said, nodding toward where the women had gone, "—thieves, smugglers, outcasts—elements you'd rather not meet. But they live here, and this is their reality."

He leaned back, crossing his arms, "I can help them achieve a stable life, one without crime and one which isn't making them sleep with a dagger under the pillow. I can give them opportunities they wouldn't have otherwise. Why do you think we're planning to implement schools for adults in a year or so?"

"I didn't know that—" Otto admitted, surprised.

"Well, now you do—" Quill shrugged lightly, "—Everyone deserves a chance. Just because they've made mistakes doesn't mean they're irredeemable."

"I disagree—" Otto replied firmly, "—Some people are beyond redemption."

Quill's eyes narrowed, and the edge in his gaze returned, "Do you think I'm a bad person?—" he asked softly, "—are you one of those to condemn all those poor bastards into a life of constant struggle, so those happy-go-lucky motherfuckers would never see what the real world looks like?"

He slowly stood up, adjusting his blazer with deliberate movements. "People make mistakes, but refusing to let them grow from them is foolish and shortsighted."

"What if they repeat those mistakes?" Otto challenged, his own frustration seeping through.

Quill smirked, a hint of danger in his expression, "Listen here, you bacon on legs—" he said, the insult delivered with a disarming smile, "—At first, I thought the idea was stupid too. But after seeing how we help even the most miserable souls, I understood they can change if given the chance. Or would you rather we discard them because a small percentage are truly rotten?"

He stepped closer, and Otto resisted the urge to step back, holding his ground, "So, are you saying we should waste resources on them?"

"Of course!—" Quill exclaimed, a genuine laugh escaping his lips, "—haha! For that one person, it might seem like a waste. But what if, overall, we reduce crime, generate more taxes, create jobs, and so on? Isn't that worth the investment?"

Otto frowned, his mind grappling with the concept. The pragmatic approach clashed with his rigid views of justice.

Quill observed him thoughtfully, "I see you, buddy—" he said, his tone almost sympathetic, "—You need to think really hard about this because Mr. Alexander won't stop just because there are some bad apples. He'll keep pushing forward. And if you even consider sabotaging his efforts—"

Before Otto could react, he felt a cold touch against his neck. Glancing down, he saw Quill, his pink eyes without any emotions. The aura he felt made him shiver, unable to move or say anything; cold sweat ran down his back, and he thought that his death was near, but as fast as it appeared, the sensation of death was gone, with him able to breathe again.

"This is just a friendly warning—" Quill whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of Otto's heart, "—Don't take it personally. But if you're only here to meddle, perhaps you should settle for a cushy job as a consultant with the Helping Paw and keep your nose out of the stuff for the big boys."

Otto's pulse thundered in his ears. He nodded slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements, "I... understand," he barely managed to say.

Quill offered a disarming smile, "Good talk—" he said brightly, "—Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to."

He turned on his heel and sauntered away, disappearing among the velvet curtains and dim lights, his silhouette melding with the shadows.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Otto stood rooted to the spot, his mind racing. The encounter had shaken him more than he cared to admit—the ideals, the risks, the unwavering commitment—Alexander's retainers were far more complex than he had anticipated.

As he exited the building and stepped into the night air, he drew a deep breath, hoping to steady himself. The city's lights stretched out before him, a sprawling tapestry of life and secrets. The weight of his ambition pressed heavily on his shoulders.

'This is too different—' Otto knew about other nobles and how their retainers were decided, knowing that any decent Viscount would give him any position he wanted.

Here, though, Alexander was too demanding and idealistic, but Otto first needed to understand if he chose them and slowly changed or were like this from the beginning, 'Still have some to talk to.'

Lost in thought, Otto made his way back through the labyrinth of streets, the distant sounds of the city echoing around him. The decision loomed ahead, and for the first time, uncertainty gnawed at his resolve.

...

The Next Day—Leonandra Estate

The morning sun bathed the sprawling grounds of the Leonandra estate in a warm glow, casting long shadows from the tall-standing Oyarion trees that lined the white-stone pathways. Sitting in a rented carriage, Otto adjusted his copper-colored necktie nervously, wanting to make the best possible impression. Looking out the window, he was baffled by the monstrous size of every mansion—the whole estate comparable to what a Marquis might consider home.

These mansions were architectural marvels—elegant yet unpretentious, much like the nobles who owned them. They were a testament to the Leonandra household's disregard for ostentatious displays of wealth, favoring practicality and subtlety instead.

After the carriage stopped, he focused back on the task at hand. Exiting it, he immediately saw a guard and servant waiting for him. A short conversation later, they were there to attend to his needs and guide him while he was on the estate.

'So this is where he lives—' Otto thought, noting the disarray of the garden beside Alexander's mansion. The marks of numerous battles were evident, and the butterfly-kin gardeners looked on the brink of despair as they tried to maintain what was left. Knowing him, it makes too much sense, he mused.

Even though the young noble tried to show his best behavior at the courthouse and in Wolfsteeth, his reputation was widely known—eccentric and impulsive. Since he became known for acquiring mana skills, new rumors about him were a daily occurrence.

After a few more minutes of walking, Otto suddenly felt heaviness and needed to adjust his skills to maintain his composure. He now understood why Alexander had such trouble adapting, 'The miasma is insanely thick.'

The estate was at least two hours away from Wolfsteeth's eastern borders, closer to Kratikal. With it came the miasma, unnaturally thick and eroding the sanity of anyone unaccustomed to it.

Barely managing to adjust, he already stood before the mansion. The front door was wide open, a piece of cheap wood acting as a doorstop. It made sense, given the constant stream of servants, workers, and others coming and going, all seemingly oblivious to his presence.

With only a nod, the servant and guard greeted the bored door guards sitting on either side of the entrance, who appeared to be dozing off. As they walked through the mansion, Otto felt a sense of déjà vu.

Chaos couldn't begin to describe what was happening inside. An artifact must have shielded the exterior from sound, for as soon as he stepped in, a cacophony of shouts and clattering assaulted his ears.

"Did you get the food for Ms. Sarah?"

"Do it yourself! The schedule says I'm to care for Ms. Janina!"

"What?! Was the plan changed again? What's Francy doing?!"

"It's been the same mess for two weeks since Cloelle left—the replacement isn't up to par!"

The maids were arguing, clearly frustrated by managerial problems.

"Hey, I need to see Mr. Alexander; where is he?" someone shouted.

"Why? Did something go wrong again?"

"Yes! The apparatus broke again!"

"Listen, if you're having issues, just report them to the blacksmith!"

A group of workers, some with a distinctive smell of alchemical substances, quarreled while their foreman used sign language to mediate.

"Hey! Servant, whatever your name is—"

"No time! Get what you need yourself!"

"Ugh! I need to speak with some bunny-kin woman. She is responsible for education! Ariana will kill me if I don't find her! Come on! Help me out!"

Additionally, many workers from the Helping Paw seemed to be here, needing to talk to someone since apparently others still worked at the estate.

'That's... a lot to take in—' For Otto, it looked like mayhem. But he couldn't admire the chaos for too long as he continued on, his guides ignoring what seemed to be a daily occurrence.

As he walked through the corridors, he couldn't help but notice the blend of destruction and improvised repairs. The walls were adorned with tasteful artwork, some ripped or hastily stitched together, and the floors gleamed in places, attempting to cover scratches, dents, and broken tiles.

Turning a corner, he nearly collided with a maid carrying a stack of linens, "Oh! Pardon me," he said, stepping aside.

She gave him a curt glance, "Watch your step!" she snapped before hurrying off.

Otto began slowly to understand the closer he looked at the servants and workers—all of them were barely through their first mating season or their legacy.

'I feel really old—' Otto was not even fifty, a relatively young age for someone in his position, but all the youth scurrying around made him question why he would hire such young people.

Continuing, he heard a sharp voice ahead, full of authority, "No! You can't take your vacation! I don't care how pregnant your wife is!"

"Melina! You can't do that!"

"I can and I will! You should've thought about that before marrying a third time!"

"Come on! You know how they are!"

"No, I don't! Now, get back to work! We can't afford anyone leaving now!"

He heard frustrated footsteps as a downtrodden ant-kin boy emerged, muttering under his breath as he passed Otto, "Next time, I'll stand my ground, I swear—" He sighed, melancholy evident, "—Who am I kidding? Why did I even think having multiple wives was a good idea? They lied, fuck that bird..."

Otto wanted to enter the room, but the person he sought out suddenly strode out, her steps brisk and determined, 'That must be the head maid—' as he heard her name.

She was of average height, her purplish-black hair pulled back into a practical bun. She wore the traditional attire of a headmaid, accented by a brooch shaped like a small silver spider pinned to her collar.

Nearly colliding with her, he quickly stepped aside and tried to initiate a conversation, "Excuse me—" he began softly.

She turned to him, the spider-like eyes on her forehead turning a shade of red, signaling irritation, "What do you want?" she snapped.

Caught off guard by her brusqueness, he straightened his posture, "I am Otto, and—"

"Otto?—" Her sharp blue eyes narrowed, "—Are you another one of those Paw workers? Listen, you're just being a nuisance. I have no time!"

"I just wanted to talk to you—" he said, momentarily forgetting to correct her assumption.

"Then talk—" she replied impatiently, turning and walking away, "—And keep up! I don't have time to dawdle around!"

He took a deep breath, reminding himself of his purpose, and hurried after her. First, he wanted to make his first impression count, trying to initiate a conversation about lineage and compliment it, "May I ask which noble house you come from?"

She raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering across her features, "You're not from around here, are you?"

"Pardon?"

"Moorgrelians don't recruit their maids and butlers from noble houses, genius—" she smirked, "—You must be someone who wants to become a retainer?"

Otto nodded, not wanting to aggravate her, "Yes, my name is Otto M. Melodias, and I thought we could chat to get to know each other."

"Melina Leonandra. Fine, talk and walk—" she snapped her fingers, showing where she was going, turning right, "—this way."

They entered a room bustling with servants cleaning various tableware, precious metalware, and artifacts made out of diverse metals. Melina stood still, observing every one of the young servants with a scrutinizing gaze, until she stopped at a very young maid, cat-kin, who looked confused at the silverware before her.

"The silverware isn't cheap metal! If you clean it improperly, it will tarnish. Let me show you!—" The young maid flinched when Melina approached her, but she didn't scold her. She simply demonstrated the proper technique while explaining it thoroughly—a little too aggressive, though.

As Otto waited, she glanced back at him, "You wanted to talk, right? Then talk—" she said, turning back to the maid, "Use baking soda to polish it, and make sure you rinse thoroughly..."

A bit perplexed, Otto continued the conversation, "If you're not from a noble house, do you have a maiden name of note?"

She threw her head back and let out a hearty laugh, "A maiden name? Me? I hail from the Northern District. My mother was a poor tailor, and my father was a coachman. Not much to see here—" she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Those around her chuckled, continuing their work. But they sometimes took a peek at Otto, rolling their eyes and sighing.

"May I ask—"

"How did I get this job?" she interjected, "—Because I'm good at what I do, that's why."

"But..." Otto hesitated, "—Isn't it customary for a head maid to come from a more... established background?"

Most servants who served the nobility were from other noble houses. The connections they built were invaluable, often leading to prestigious positions later on. Otto had tried to become one in central Mal-Gil but was not accepted, lacking specific skills. That's why he followed his Father to Moorgrel, seeing it as a better place for some who had become a commoner like himself.

She smirked, "Established background? How quaint. But no—" She sighed, "—You're not the first to think that. But do you really think someone of noble descent could handle a younger Master Alexander? Imagine him as he is now, only more annoying and less refined."

She resumed walking, the other servants laughing with her. Otto couldn't help but chuckle; it was true. Any noble would be driven mad looking after someone like Alexander.

They entered another room where artisans were painting. Melina sighed, "No, no, no! I said Ms. Janina wants to do it herself! It needs to be all white! White!"

Without waiting for an answer, she snapped with her hand at Otto, gesturing him to follow her, leaving an array of frustrated young artisans behind.

"Before me, there was a maid from a good family, a merchant one—" Melina said, sounding a little gloomy, "—Well, let's say—" She gestured quote marks, "—was dismissed because she didn't take the position seriously, endangering Master Alexander when he was an infant. We look for reliable, trustworthy, and loyal workers, and having a good background doesn't mean they have those traits."

Otto gulped, sensing a sensitive topic, "I understand—" he said, trying to steer the conversation to a more professional note, "—And you manage all of Mr. Alexander's servants? He seems to have quite a lot."

Melina chuckled, "Manage... let's call it that—" She shrugged, "—I'm responsible for everything that happened at the estate under Master Alexander's name, ensuring it all runs smoothly."

They entered the kitchen, which was a hive of activity, "I noticed—" Otto began, but Melina laughed, cutting him off, though her eyes flashed with irritation, "Haha, that's true, Otto! You know what?—" She fixed him with a sharp gaze, "—I don't know what position you're aiming for, but I'll welcome you with open arms."

She sounded almost vindictive, and Otto realized he might have struck a nerve, "I apologize if I offended you."

Melina sighed, "It's fine—" She stopped and looked at him thoughtfully, "—So, you come here to criticize my background and work?" She smirked, "—Since you're not afraid of getting poisoned, your new position might be that of a jester?"

Otto ignored the implied threat, "I want to become the archivist, but I'm most interested in your perspective on Mr. Alexander's thoughts and ideals."

She eyed him skeptically, "You mean the charity work? The Helping Paw? Yes, it's commendable. And?"

"I thought there might be more to it," he said gently, analyzing her reaction.

She sighed, her shoulders relaxing, "Listen, you obviously don't know much, so let me enlighten you."

She stepped closer, meeting his gaze with unwavering intensity, "We've had plenty as you come through—people from good backgrounds looking for prestige. But this place isn't about that. We all do our work and then some because we believe Master Alexander is worth serving."

Otto felt a pang of defensiveness, "I didn't mean any offense..."

She held up a hand, "Master Alexander's goals are admirable, his mindset ambitious to the point of insanity, and his aspirations nearly unreachable. If you want to be a retainer, your burden will be to fulfill his goals, not to seek personal glory."

"I... I see—" Otto replied, words failing him.

She shook her head, "No, you don't get it. This isn't about noble prestige and empty titles. We actually do things here—change lives—and we're proud of it. Sometimes, Master is a bit... much, but so what? We know his goals and ideals and follow them because it feels right. Do you understand?"

He swallowed, considering her words, "I think I'm beginning to."

She studied him briefly before softening her stance, her tone changing to a similar one when she taught the maid how to clean the silverware, "Look around you; look at all the people here. Did you notice something?"

Otto didn't need to think long before responding, "They're very young." His thoughts aligned with his earlier assumption that youth are more susceptible to idealistic visions, which might explain their decision to serve Alexander.

"Yes, and they are orphans. They know what it means to sleep hungry for days, feel the hopelessness of having no future, and fight daily just to survive."

He scanned the kitchen, observing the staff closely. Many bore the marks of arduous lives—squad tattoos, scars from past altercations, and accents characteristic of the lower districts. Yet, there was a spark in their eyes, revealing a deep pride in their work.

Her expression softened, "I understand this; my husband does, too, and so do many others. Once you give them a chance, they work their hardest—" She chuckled, her tone becoming almost motherly, "—once they have all the necessities, they will also realize that they have become part of something much greater."

Otto could see that she was pragmatic but became adored by everything Alexander strived for.

She sighed, "We can't be picky and work for hopes and dreams, but fortunately, Master Alexander knows this, too. He gives us all we need, and once we see that jewelry and silk clothes don't make us happy, we will look for something more—a purpose."

Otto looked at her intently, thankful for the perspective she provided, "This is quite inspiring."

Melina nodded, "I hope it resonates with you, but if not, don't waste our time and look for another position. Most of us come from tough backgrounds or are locals who want to see Wolfsteeth thrive."

"Thank you for your honesty," he said earnestly.

"Yeah, yeah—" she replied, waving a hand dismissively, her tone turning back what it was before, annoyed and distressed, "—By the way, there's no space in the mansion, so don't think about moving in."

"I understand," Otto said, a hint of confusion.

"Good—" she said, returning to her work, "—Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a luncheon to prepare."

He watched as she walked away, issuing orders with practiced efficiency. Despite her rough demeanor, her dedication was evident.

Otto left the mansion feeling conflicted. He had gotten the perspective he wanted but not the desired answer, 'There are still others to meet.'

Before forming an opinion, he knew he needed to visit others within the estate. Yet he felt increasingly out of place, his desires seeming shallow, 'Calm down, no need to rush things.'

Otto was a man who didn't like to hurry. Gathering all the information was crucial for forming an accurate opinion about Alexander and whether he genuinely fit in as a retainer.

The sun was high in the sky now, casting dappled light through the leaves overhead. Birds chirped merrily, oblivious to his inner turmoil. He paused momentarily, taking in the serene surroundings before moving on, calming down before continuing.