Pay Your Debt with Flesh
On my first night, I ultimately did not take a single step out of the room. No, to be precise, I felt no need to.
Within the communal room of the Feast, amidst its damp and decadent air, I quietly caught my breath. And I watched. Like a predator concealed in the shadows, I observed the women of this place—a miniature version of the world I had once ruled.
They were all similar to me. Beings abandoned by the world, dragged here by cruel hands, and ultimately sold off like mere commodities. Yet, even at the very bottom of this despair, they possessed their own order and means of survival. In the way they looked at one another, their unreserved speech, and their casually protective gestures, an unspoken set of rules for survival in this place flowed implicitly between them.
She was a woman who sat cradling a massive alcohol bottle, entirely unsuited to her small stature, as if it were a baby. Her fiery, curly red hair was messily disheveled, and on her sun-bronzed, dark reddish skin, old burn scars were clearly visible across her forearms. Her voluptuous breasts and thighs were packed with firm, well-toned muscle.
Though sparks flew whenever she opened her mouth, with profanity trailing along like a rhythmic accompaniment, she was strangely always the first to speak to me, the newcomer, and the one who tried hardest to break the awkward silence.
"Hey, you bitches! Don't just stare blankly at the newbie, say something to her, fuck! Don't you know that the ones who keep their mouths shut like that are the scariest when they finally snap? I swear, I'll rip your damn mouths open!"
A few girls giggled at her shouting, but no one dared to ignore her words. Bruka. She lived with alcohol and cigarettes practically attached to her mouth, and profanity was her unique way of showing intimacy. She was likely one of the longest-surviving residents here. Rough on the outside and fond of fighting, but surprisingly soft-hearted deep down—a reliable older sister figure who protected her comrades. Or perhaps, she simply enjoyed making noise.
A mature, brown-haired woman who leaned gracefully like a cat against a worn-out but once-luxurious sofa. Her words always flowed as smoothly as silk, but I instinctively sensed a finely honed blade hidden within them. She seemed exceptionally skilled at navigating the interpersonal dynamics within the Feast.
Her plump, deep red lips formed a seductive curve, and her voluptuous breasts and slender waist made for a perfect figure. Yet, wrapping all of this was a misty, inscrutable smile that concealed her true thoughts.
"Oh my, little newbie. Don't let your guard down too much. In this line of work, being pretty is important, but ultimately, surviving is what matters most. Dying might be a skill in its own right, but enduring until the very end is a true work of art. Hohoho."
She uncrossed her legs and threw a wink my way. Miren. She had likely been a noble's concubine, or had lived a similar life. She was the type to adapt most fluidly to any situation, which made her the most dangerous person to let one's guard down around. There was no telling what she hid behind that smile. Though she treated me like a younger sister, her true intentions remained a mystery.
She was mostly silent. Her gaze was always as cold as ice, and her expression resembled a dried-up lake. Her long silver hair, looking as if it had absorbed the moonlight, flowed down to her waist, and her slender, sharp purple eyes never betrayed any emotion. She was the very definition of a pure, cold beauty.
Like an exquisite doll whose emotions had been entirely sealed away, she made her presence felt with the bare minimum of movement. Occasionally—very occasionally—she would sharply observe her surroundings, shifting only her eyes without turning her head. Perhaps she was the one most similar to me. The fleeting thought crossed my mind that while she was clumsy at expressing her feelings, she might actually possess a deep warmth.
"Your eyes. They look like a soldier's. Have you ever killed anyone?"
Those were the first words she spoke to me, staring intently. It felt less like a question and more like a confirmation. An elf. She was likely from a fallen noble elf family. While the typical elven arrogance was nowhere to be found, cynicism and indifference filled its vacancy. I had heard she was currently one of the most expensive commodities in this place.
Ironically, rumors whispered that some of her clients were her fellow elves. Did those proud elves seek to feel superior by witnessing the downfall of their own kind, or was it mere curiosity? She did not mingle deeply with anyone, but she seemed the type to quietly and reliably get her job done.
A tall, physically strong woman with healthy dark brown skin like sun-ripened fruit, possessing a boisterous and wild charm like a beast. Her voluptuous figure, robust muscles, and the fangs slightly peeking from her lips emphasized her raw physical beauty. Though her hands were covered in rough calluses, her ample breasts looked ready to burst from her clothes at any moment.
While she looked rougher and fiercer than anyone on the outside, she was surprisingly more honest and emotionally sincere than the rest. Though slightly slow-witted, she would occasionally speak from the heart or offer casual comfort. She laughed easily at the smallest things and was just as quick to feel sympathy.
"As for me, I don't think this place is half bad! The food is good, and the bed is warm. It's way easier than fighting for my life every single day like before! No one to hit, and no one hitting me—it's so peaceful! Kyahaha!"
She laughed boisterously, slapping her own shoulder with a massive hand. Lahara. She was undoubtedly a former combat slave. The scars etched all over her body were proof enough. I had heard she was now a courtesan trusted by the Madame and enjoyed a decent amount of popularity. Though she seemed simple, she had found her own modest happiness in this hellish place. Perhaps it was the wisest way to survive.
Her short blonde hair contrasted sharply with her pale skin, which looked as if it had never properly seen the sun. Her petite frame and light green eyes were always quiet and cautious, like a baby bird. Her small stature, polite manner of speech, and her ability to read the room and gauge people's reactions faster than anyone else—this was her way of surviving here.
Though she gave off a gentle and fragile impression, a sharp intuition was hidden behind it.
"I just... pray that no scary clients come tonight. Since praying is all I can really do... I hope you will be safe too, Luciel-eonni."
She whispered in a soft voice, clasping her hands together. Though a faint trace of fear always lingered in her eyes as she worried for me, calling me "eonni," a strong affection for me was clearly visible within them. I had heard Sia was once a palace maid. Her eyes moved faster than words, and she was quick to assess situations. Despite her constant fear, she endured tenaciously like a fragile blade of grass. It occurred to me that perhaps her very weakness was her most powerful weapon.
Her presence was faint, as if she were constantly hiding in the shadows. She had short, light gray hair, cat ears, and yellow eyes. With the corners of her mouth slightly upturned, she gave off a fox-like impression. She moved soundlessly, much like an assassin. Every time she appeared without a word, the other women would startle in surprise.
Though coy and taciturn, she was the type to observe her surroundings and slip in subtle jokes. Rather than stepping forward directly, she preferred to watch from afar, seemingly harboring a quiet curiosity toward me. I wondered if she might have been a soldier in the past. For now, we maintained an ambiguous distance.
I watched them. Without a word, moving only my eyes, I absorbed everything about them. Every race, every gaze, every posture, even the sound of their breathing. It was all so incredibly familiar.
They bore a striking resemblance to the countless enemies who had once knelt at my feet or fallen to my blade. Just like them, the women here were struggling to survive in their own ways. However, they did not guard themselves against me yet. They showed only a bit of curiosity, sympathy, or indifference.
It was then.
"Newbie."
Along with a gruff voice, a massive shadow blocked the doorway. A giant male orc. Protruding fangs, a crude leather vest, and a rusty dagger hanging from his waist. He seemed to serve as the bouncer and physical enforcer of this brothel. Was his name Goluk?
Though he looked simple and rough on the outside, there was also a certain clumsiness to him. He was merely a loyal servant who followed his master's orders absolutely.
"The Madame is calling for you. Follow me."
His commanding tone carried no emotion whatsoever. I slowly stood up. All eyes in the room focused on me once more, but this time, no one opened their mouth.
As I followed Goluk down the hallway, the scent of cheap perfume grew even thicker. The Madame's room was, both unexpectedly and predictably, luxurious. A thick red carpet covered the floor, and bizarre paintings of unknown origin hung on the walls. A subtle scent of sulfur seemed to mix with the expensive incense in the air.
And in the center of the room, a woman sat upon an ornately carved ebony chair.
She was entirely draped in red. A form-fitting red silk dress boldly revealed every curve of her body, her pitch-black hair cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall, and her golden eyes glowed brilliantly even in the dim light.
Between her cleavage, a faint, old scar resembling dragon scales was briefly visible. Her sharp red nails were perfectly manicured, and an undeniable authority accompanied her every gesture.
"Sit. I heard you were a newbie, but I like you far more than I expected."
Her voice was low and soft, yet it carried an underlying core of steel. However, her gaze harbored both a deep sorrow and a suppressed rage.
"This is 'the Feast,' the finest pleasure house in Kar Belnus, and at the same time, the most brutal slaughterhouse for mere pawns. It is a place where money flows like water, ugly desires swirl like fog, and fragile lives are snuffed out without a second thought."
She slowly and thoroughly scanned me from head to toe. Like a merchant appraising goods, or a child discovering a new toy. Soon, she let out a smirk that bordered on a sneer.
"I don't care what kind of being you were or where you crawled out from. Well, actually, I am a little curious, but there's no need for me to know. However, you are certainly a piece of merchandise that descended directly from a very high place. A highly exalted individual personally handed you over to me, strictly requesting that I 'take good care' of you. Thanks to that, my troubles have increased a bit, but I suppose that only proves your worth."
She stood up, approached me, and lightly tapped my shoulder.
"I heard you have an immense debt. One far too heavy to bear."
Though her voice remained soft, the meaning behind her words was as cold as a blade.
"Until you pay off every last bit of that debt with your body, do not even dream of taking a single step out of this place. Whether with your body, your heart, or whatever else you possess, wring everything you can out of the clients who visit this establishment. That is the only way you will survive here, and it is the price of your life. Keep that in mind."
Tana added.
"Ah, and one more thing. Your body is far too precious a commodity to be given to just anyone. Those who lust after you will have to pay a corresponding price. Only those willing to pay a premium to hold you will be able to buy your nights."
It was a declaration. One that could not be refused.
I closed my eyes for a moment. Without uttering the name of the Emperor who had once commanded this world, without rashly drawing upon the divine power sleeping within me, and burying my burning desire for revenge deep inside my heart for now, I simply offered a faint smile. Like a gentle lamb that had resigned itself to its fate.
"Yes."
Yes, for now, I am a courtesan. But this is not the end. Using this humiliation as a stepping stone, I will surely reclaim everything.
This disgrace, this humiliation, and everyone who made me like this. Without omitting a single detail, I will carve it deep into my bones. Until the day my time comes once more.