Krungus and Eugene watched from a shadowed alley as Master Orvec stormed out of the Velvet Veil, his face red with frustration and his voice booming incoherently. A small group of assistants and lackeys trailed behind him, all trying—and failing—to calm him down.
“Do you think he’s figured it out yet?” Eugene asked, glancing at Krungus.
“Oh, he’s figured out something,” Krungus said, smirking. “He just hasn’t figured out how to fix it, and that’s the fun part.”
Orvec climbed into a lavish carriage, barking orders to his driver. The carriage rumbled away, leaving the Velvet Veil oddly quiet in the dusk. Krungus adjusted his robes, his staff gleaming in the fading sunlight.
“Time to meet the ones who really run this place,” Krungus said, striding toward the brothel’s entrance.
----------------------------------------
Inside, the workers of the Velvet Veil had gathered in the main hall, whispering nervously. Seventeen men and women stood around the bar, their faces a mix of confusion and curiosity. Krungus entered with an air of authority, just the way he walked made him appear every inch the powerful wizard he claimed to be. Eugene trailed behind, trying his best to look like he belonged.
“Good evening,” Krungus said, his voice resonating with that ancient timbre. “Which of you is in charge?”
The workers exchanged glances, hesitating. Finally, a squat redheaded woman behind the bar spoke up. Her voice was steady, though there was a note of wariness in her tone. “That’d be me, I suppose. Name’s Brenna. I’ve been here the longest, and...well, most of the others trust me.”
The rest of the employees nodded or murmured their agreement, some even giving Brenna encouraging pats on the shoulder.
“Excellent,” Krungus said, nodding. “Then you’ll speak for them. Tell me, Brenna—tell me all of you—if you didn’t have to work here, what would you do with your lives?”
The question hung in the air for a moment before Brenna answered. “Most of us never had the chance to think about that,” she said quietly. “But...if I could, I’d run a proper tavern. A place where people could feel safe.”
A wiry man near the back spoke up next. “I’d teach. Always wanted to help kids learn something useful, like numbers or how to read.”
A younger woman with short, dark hair added, “I’d open an inn. I’ve got recipes from my grandmother that people would love, and I love the hustle and bustle.”
One by one, the workers shared their dreams—guarding caravans, running an apothecary, healing the sick, farming. Each answer was practical, thoughtful, and noble in its own way.
Krungus listened intently, his expression softening. When they finished, he tapped his staff on the floor, a faint hum of magic filling the room. “Then hear this,” he said. “From this moment forward, you are no longer bound to this place, though you are welcome to live here. You will be my eyes and ears in the city, my enforcers of justice. A paladin is not born—it is forged in the crucible of adversity, and you, my friends, have endured more than most.”
“How do you know that?” Eugene whispered.
“Quiet,” Krungus muttered. “I’m being inspirational.”
He turned back to the workers. “If you accept, I will grant you the strength to protect yourselves and others. But first, I need your trust—and your most treasured belongings. They will be returned, I promise.”
The workers exchanged uneasy glances but began stepping forward one by one. Brenna placed a locket on the bar. The wiry man set down a small notebook. Others contributed simple but meaningful items—a pair of worn gloves, a carved figurine, a silver ring. Krungus nodded approvingly as he arranged the objects in a precise circle around the room.
With the setup complete, Krungus straightened, tapping his staff on the floor. “Now,” he said, “we begin.”
----------------------------------------
Krungus’s transformation into ritual mode was...unexpected. He began to chant in a language Eugene didn’t recognize, his words rising and falling like the cadence of a song. Then he started to dance. It was not the graceful movement of a mystes but a series of jerky, shamanic steps that made him look like an overzealous bird performing a mating ritual.
Eugene coughed to stifle a laugh. “You call this wizardry?”
“This,” Krungus said without missing a step, “is art.”
The workers watched in stunned silence as Krungus moved around the room, chanting and gesturing over the items they had given him. The air grew heavy with magic, the faint scent of rootbeer mingling with the crackle of energy.
Finally, Krungus stopped in the center of the circle and raised his staff high. His voice rang out in a clear, rhythmic rhyme:
“From shadows deep, where hope once died,
To strength reborn, with truth as guide.
Through bonds of trust, let courage flow,
And in their hearts, new power grow.”
A brilliant light filled the room, and the workers gasped as they were bathed in its glow. The light seeped into their skin, and with it came transformation. Scars faded, bruises vanished, and years of strain melted away. Their bodies straightened, their faces brightened, and their eyes gleamed with renewed vitality.
Each worker now wore sleek, white-bone armor carved with elegant, intricate patterns. Though light and flexible, it gleamed with a faint magical sheen, a clear sign of its protective strength. The armor seemed to mold perfectly to their forms, as if designed specifically for them.
The workers stared at one another, marveling at their transformations. One of them, his name was Rent, flexed his hand and laughed softly. “I feel...strong. Really strong.”
Brenna touched the locket around her neck, which had returned to her. “What is this?” she asked, her voice trembling.
Krungus watched as the workers admired their transformations, their sleek armor gleaming with magical energy. He raised his staff, tapping it on the ground to draw their attention. The room fell silent, all eyes on him.
“Now hear this,” Krungus said, his voice resonant and steady. “This power I have given you is not a gift—it is a responsibility. You are no longer bound to the chains of your past, but you must not squander your freedom.”
He stepped forward, sweeping his gaze across the group. “You are my paladins. Guardians of this city’s future. You will protect the weak, help the helpless, and feed the hungry. You will be a light in the darkness, a shield for those who cannot defend themselves, and a sword against those who prey on the innocent.”
The group stood straighter, their expressions resolute as Krungus continued. “But know this: power is not an excuse for arrogance. It is not a license for cruelty. You will act with honor and integrity, or you will answer to me. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Krungus,” Brenna said firmly, her voice echoing with the conviction of the group. The others nodded, murmuring their agreement.
“Good,” Krungus said, lowering his staff. His tone softened slightly as he added, “This city has forgotten what it means to care for its people. Together, we will remind it.”
The workers erupted into murmurs of awe and gratitude, some tearing up, others testing their newfound strength. Eugene, standing to the side, looked at Krungus with a mix of surprise and motherly concern. “Okay,” he said quietly, “this is wild.”
Krungus smirked. “Oh, and one last thing everyone. I will be leaving this magical ledger here on the bar. Every day I want each of you to leave an entry of what you did good for the city, and if you made any mistakes in trying to achieve that good. Be honest, I will know.”
Brenna stepped forward, bowing her head slightly. “Thank you...Krungus. We won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t,” Krungus said, his voice tinged with the weight of centuries. “Now, go. The city needs its paladins.”
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
----------------------------------------
The newly empowered workers of the Velvet Veil filed out, their armor glinting in the light of the setting sun. Krungus watched them leave, a rare flicker of satisfaction crossing his face. Eugene crossed his arms, leaning against a pillar.
“So, you just made a bunch of ex-brothel workers into a superhero squad,” Eugene said. “That’s...not what I expected.”
Krungus adjusted his robes and smirked. “You’ll find, Eugene, that I rarely do what’s expected.”
----------------------------------------
As they strolled through the chaotic streets of Aelintheldaar, Krungus walked with his tattered disheveled robes, his stick-staff tapping against the cobblestones. Eugene trailed beside him, scanning the city with equal parts fascination and horror. The transformation of the brothel workers into Krungus’s paladins had lingered in Eugene’s mind, and he couldn’t hold back any longer.
“So,” Eugene began, breaking the silence, “you turned a bunch of prostitutes into your personal army. Don’t you think that’s, like...problematic?”
Krungus turned his head slightly. “Problematic?” he repeated, his voice tinged with both amusement and disdain. “Explain.”
Eugene sighed, gesturing vaguely as he tried to gather his thoughts. “I mean, they’re people, not tools. Don’t you think it’s a little...I don’t know, exploitative, to take people who were already in a vulnerable position and turn them into your enforcers? Feels like you’re just swapping one form of control for another.”
Krungus stopped mid-stride, turning fully to face Eugene. His tone was measured but carried an undercurrent of condescension. “Ah, modern morality rears its idealistic head. Tell me, Eugene of Cincinnati, what would you have done? Left them to toil in their misery? Allowed them to continue in a profession that offered no dignity and no future?”
“Well, no,” Eugene said, his voice rising slightly. “But maybe—hear me out—you could have, I don’t know, asked them if they wanted to be your paladins? Maybe let them decide their own fate?”
“I did ask them,” Krungus countered, his tone sharp. “I asked them what they would do if freed from that wretched place. Their answers spoke of noble intentions—protecting others, teaching, healing. I merely provided them with the means to achieve those goals. What’s more dignified than turning suffering into strength?”
“Sure, but you didn’t really give them a choice,” Eugene said, crossing his arms. “You swooped in with all your ancient wizard authority and basically said, ‘Hey, you’re my soldiers now.’ That’s not empowering; that’s just a different kind of control.”
Krungus chuckled, shaking his head. “Empowering? Is that what you call letting them wander aimlessly, hoping the world might treat them kindly? The world doesn’t care about intentions or ideals, Eugene. It cares about power. I gave them power—and with it, the ability to carve their own destiny. They are no longer pawns; they are players.”
“Players who answer to you,” Eugene shot back. “You’re still at the top of the hierarchy.”
“And why shouldn’t I be?” Krungus asked, raising an eyebrow. “I am the one who freed them. I am the one who gave them a purpose beyond survival. Leadership is not oppression, Eugene; it is responsibility. Without me, they would have nothing.”
“Or,” Eugene said, his voice firm, “they could have figured it out for themselves. You don’t have to be some Bronze Age philosopher to get this, man. Autonomy matters. People deserve to make their own choices.”
“Choices?” Krungus snorted. “Autonomy is a luxury afforded by those who already have power. They were drowning, Eugene. Would you stand on the shore shouting ‘Swim harder,’ or would you pull them out and teach them to fight the current?”
Eugene rubbed his temples, clearly frustrated. “Yeah, but you didn’t exactly teach them. You dropped them into a whole new system without asking if they even wanted to be in it.”
Krungus smirked, his voice taking on a lecturing tone. “You mistake pragmatism for tyranny. The world is not built on soft ideals, Eugene. It is built on will and purpose. The paladins will not merely serve me; they will serve the city, the weak, the helpless. And through that service, they will find meaning. That is true liberation.”
Eugene threw up his hands. “You sound like one of those ‘greater good’ types. Sacrifice individuality for the collective, blah blah blah.”
Krungus tapped his staff on the ground, the sound ringing out sharply. “I am not some peddler of abstractions, Eugene. I deal in realities. Their reality was a life of exploitation and despair. I turned it into a life of strength and purpose. If that offends your delicate sensibilities, perhaps you should reevaluate your definitions of freedom.”
They walked in silence for a moment, the tension hanging heavy between them. Eugene finally broke it with a sigh. “You’re a stubborn old man, you know that?”
Krungus smiled faintly. “It is a mark of wisdom, Eugene. The world bends to those who refuse to yield.”
Eugene smirked despite himself. “Or maybe it’s just a sign that you’re a pain in the ass.”
Krungus chuckled. “Perhaps both.”
----------------------------------------
As their walk through the sprawling streets of Aelintheldaar stretched on, Eugene found himself needing some space from Krungus. Their debate had left his head spinning, and the old wizard’s unyielding certainty was more exhausting than he cared to admit. When a strange, winding market caught his eye—its maze of stalls teeming with eclectic goods and bizarre trinkets—he seized the opportunity.
“I’m gonna...check this out,” Eugene said vaguely, gesturing toward the market.
Krungus didn’t even glance at him, too busy muttering to himself about the city’s state of disrepair. “Fine, but don’t touch anything cursed. Or too shiny. Or sticky.”
Eugene rolled his eyes and slipped into the crowd.
----------------------------------------
The market was like something out of a fever dream. Booths and stalls lined every crooked path, their wares ranging from the mundane to the surreal. A vendor with an eyepatch was selling jars of glowing green slime he claimed could “rejuvenate the soul.” Another hawked “guaranteed authentic dragon teeth,” which looked suspiciously like regular animal bones. Eugene wandered aimlessly, letting the sights and sounds wash over him.
He stopped in front of a particularly strange stall. Arranged on a rough wooden table were rows of shrunken heads, their leathery faces frozen in grotesque expressions. Eugene frowned, leaning closer to inspect one. He could already hear Krungus’s voice in his head: “Fake, of course. A crude attempt to impress fools with no understanding of proper enchantment.”
As he reached out to pick one up, a voice behind him made him jump.
“Special,” it rasped. “You’re...special. I can tell.”
Eugene spun around to find a hunched figure standing behind him. The man’s face was obscured by a dark hood, but his wild, bloodshot eyes gleamed from the shadows. His hands, thin and bony, trembled slightly as he gestured toward Eugene.
“Uh...thanks?” Eugene said, stepping back instinctively. “Who are you?”
“Doesn’t matter,” the man said, his voice shifting between a whisper and a growl. Then, without warning, he shouted, “UNICORN IN THE BUTT!” Several passersby glanced over but quickly looked away, apparently accustomed to such outbursts in a city this size.
Eugene blinked. “Okay. Uh...are you all right?”
“Right? WRONG!” the man shouted, jabbing a finger in the air. “Dragon wombs! Sweet mercy, they BURN!”
Eugene opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. What could he even say to that?
The man took a step closer, lowering his voice again. “You need this,” he said, producing an ornate copper fanous—a lantern of intricate craftsmanship, adorned with tiny red jewels that glimmered faintly in the dim light. “It’s for you. I feel it.”
Eugene hesitated, eyeing the fanous. It was beautiful, sure, but something about it made his stomach twist. “I don’t think—”
“TAKE IT!” the man bellowed, shoving the fanous into Eugene’s hands. “Shove it in your pocket before the unicorns come! You’ll thank me later.”
The fanous was much heavier than it looked, its weight pressing into Eugene’s palms. He turned it over, noticing the strange runes etched into the metal, their edges worn but still legible. Reluctantly, and mostly to stop the man from shouting again, he nodded. “Fine, thanks. I guess.”
The man cackled, the sound unnervingly high-pitched. “You’ll see. Oh, you’ll see! Donkey shame—GLORIOUS!”
Before Eugene could respond, the man scuttled away, disappearing into the crowd. Eugene stared after him, then at the fanous in his hands.
“This city is so weird,” he muttered, tucking the fanous into his pocket. It barely fit, the weight pulling awkwardly at his coat, but he managed.
----------------------------------------
When Eugene finally found Krungus again, the wizard was in the middle of berating a merchant whose stall was filled with colorful vials and powders.
“Guaranteed pure!” Krungus said, reading the sign aloud with disdain. “Pure as what, exactly? Rat urine? Because I see at least three stabilizing agents in that so-called alchemical powder, and none of them are natural.”
The merchant, a nervous-looking man with a patchy beard, stammered. “It—it’s just a marketing term, sir. Most people don’t—”
“Understand chemistry?” Krungus snapped, his staff tapping sharply against the ground. “Clearly not, or you’d be in shackles for fraud. I should hex your tongue to taste nothing but vinegar for the rest of your miserable life.”
Eugene cleared his throat, stepping closer. “Hey, uh, maybe don’t curse random people? We’re trying to keep a low profile, remember?”
Krungus turned, adjusting his glasses with a sniff. “This man has committed a crime against alchemy. He deserves to be humiliated.”
“He’s just trying to make a living,” Eugene said, glancing apologetically at the merchant, who looked like he was on the verge of fainting.
Krungus waved a dismissive hand. “A poor excuse. But fine. I’ll spare him. For now.”
The merchant let out a shaky sigh of relief as Krungus turned away. Eugene, deciding not to mention the copper fanous—or the bizarre man who had given it to him—followed Krungus as they continued deeper into the city.
“So,” Eugene said after a moment, “what’s next?”
Krungus smirked, his voice tinged with a mix of excitement and menace. “We find out just how far this city has fallen—and then, we start dragging it back up.”
Eugene glanced at the bulge in his pocket where the fanous rested, a strange weight pressing against him. He said nothing, but a nagging feeling told him this wouldn’t be the last strange encounter he had in The City of Cities