Karin, Friend of the Freemen (1)

The contract I was summoned to the brothel owner’s private room to sign was, from an Earth perspective, an absurdly unfair agreement. It was padded with all sorts of flowery language meant to dazzle uneducated prostitutes, but the wording wasn’t sophisticated enough to fool me.

As I scanned the document, the brothel owner spoke as if driving in nails.

“I’ve added it just now, but the price for selling your virginity is three silver coins each time. Basic fees and hourly rates are separate. It’s cheap for a virgin, but even our top girl only charges four coins for a full night, so we’re being generous. Since you can keep selling it, it won’t be a loss for you.”

Of course, that wasn’t the whole contract.

Contracted prostitutes had to hand over nearly half their earnings to the owner. From what remained, the city took taxes, and the allied denominations—including the Light Denomination—collected a “sin tax.” On top of that, I had to pay monthly rent for the room I lived in.

Every time I read one of those unjust clauses, I shot the owner a reproachful look, but he merely shrugged. The old man had already figured it out. A wandering mage walking in and offering to sell herself could only mean two things: she was sexually twisted, and more importantly, she was desperately short of coin.

When he mentioned paying the city and the denominations, it meant this place—and probably most brothels in town—operated as tacitly tolerated or semi-officially licensed public houses. The empire and the denominations themselves stood behind this exploitative contract.

The denominations. I thought of the pure Azalea.

‘Even if the underside of the world is filthy… the fact that the denominations are involved is still shocking.’

I held the pen the owner had given me over the signature line for a long time. It had been ages since I’d written with a proper pen instead of a charcoal stub—and the thing I was about to sign was little more than a slave contract. It wasn’t funny. Still, this was the path I had chosen.

In the end, my hand trembling, I wrote a false name on the line. The contract between brothel owner Arto and “Karin, Friend of the Freemen” was concluded. As I signed, I couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh. Friend of the Freemen—what a deceitful name.

“So, Karin. What exactly does that magic of yours do?”

Arto, who had waited patiently while I wrote, finally asked the question he’d been holding back. Both he and Alber, who worked the bar, had seen plenty of magic during their adventuring days. Vague answers would only make them suspicious.

“It’s a spell I can use about twice a day. I have to sleep before I can use it again. I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠combined things I learned at the Magic Academy—it heals wounds I receive that day.”

I added the important part with a serious expression.

“Using it more than that causes severe side effects, so I can’t. Originally it wasn’t meant for this… I used it on comrades who got hurt during adventures.”

I hadn’t lied. I’d been honest about both its strengths and weaknesses—only omitting that the magic wasn’t healing at all, but an absurd superpower that rewound time.

“Understood. Karin, I can guarantee you’ll sell well. You won’t be thrown out for failing to pay rent. Your face is pretty, you’re young, and for some reason you smell nice. Most importantly, having a virgin available at all times is an enormous advantage for a brothel. I can’t advertise it openly, but I’ll have Alber drop hints to the customers. The more you sell, the better it is for you too.”

Arto added one more thing.

“There’s also considerable demand for crushing well-educated, intelligent young ladies who’ve fallen from grace. For those who bite, I’ll casually mention that this particular virgin used to be a mage.”

A strategy worthy of a cunning old brothel owner—he understood exactly how to market his goods.

Feeling as though I were doing something wrong—well, it was wrong—I nodded while hesitating, then asked the question I’d been wanting to ask.

“I understand. Thank you for your consideration. But there’s one thing I’d like to ask. Why do even the denominations support the operation of places like this from behind the scenes?”

Arto laughed lightly, looking at me as if a whore asking strange questions was absurd.

“Someone who, starting today, will only have to lie under men she doesn’t even know and moan has an awful lot of questions. Well, I suppose that’s what happens when you’re a mage girl.”

I was a little offended, but I didn’t show it. Right now, he held absolute power over me.

“Have you ever heard the saying that a brothel is like a sewer?”

Did he mean it was where the lowest dregs of society gathered, like me? I stayed silent and listened.

“Sewers carry filthy water no one wants to go near, but without them the whole city would overflow with waste. You’re a clever mage, so you’ll understand even if I stop there. That’s what this is.”

I frowned. Just as Arto said, I understood immediately. The denominations had gone beyond tacit approval and actively endorsed brothels because society needed a place to vent lust and corruption—a social trash bin.

Arto seemed amused by my crumpled expression.

“How innocent, for a mage. Did you really think the denominations were purely good? They may look cold, but they’re just part of the social system. Denominations, faith—they all exist to keep the city and the country running. It’s a kind of compromise.”

“I see. I understand…”

At my weak reply, Arto pulled something from a drawer and handed it to me: a few thin, fluttering garments and what looked like clumsily woven leather shoes.

I examined the clothes one by one. There was a thin camisole that reached the knees, a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠large square piece of cloth, and leather sandals of obviously poor quality. Only a few thin straps covered the toes and instep; they didn’t even reach the ankles, let alone the calves.

“Those are the clothes you’ll wear. You can’t sell your body while dressed in a robe. They belonged to the girl who worked here before you, so they’re used, but that shouldn’t matter. Everyone wears clothes like these when receiving customers. And when you’re wearing them inside, underwear is forbidden.”

“The shoes too…?”

I asked, shifting my calves still covered by leather boots.

“Yes. I don’t know if you realize it, but men go crazy when they see a woman’s bare legs.”

Perhaps it was the memory of the middle-aged man from my previous life that made me almost nod and think, Well, that’s true. The image of Arun greedily licking my soles and toes suddenly surfaced, and my face grew warm.

Feeling pathetic, I picked up the square cloth. Though the fabric was low-quality, three vivid red stripes had been crudely dyed into it, visible even from a distance.

“This is…?”

“A shawl. When you go out you may wear the clothes you arrived in, but you must always drape this shawl over your shoulders. It marks you as the property of this brothel—officially licensed by both the city and the denominations. With it, no one will carelessly touch you… well, they might still try. It also signals that you’re not a chaste woman who doesn’t sell her body. But if someone tries to touch you for free outside after seeing the shawl, tell Alber and he’ll handle it. If you go out without the shawl and a customer recognizes you and reports you to the city for violating regulations, it becomes troublesome. So please follow the rule.”

So that was the system.

In the end, prostitutes were treated like the lowest class. Even when going out, they had to wear an obvious mark and were regarded as filthy by ordinary people. It suited my fallen state perfectly. Tears welled up, and my lower body grew slightly damp.

It wasn’t entirely bad. If someone who recognized my face reported me to the city, the real problem wouldn’t be the owner—it would be me, ending up on the gallows. In that sense, the prostitute’s shawl was an excellent disguise, allowing me to masquerade as a whore rather than a witch.

Under the pretext of confirming my obligations, I requested an unsigned copy of the contract, then took the clothes and sandals and climbed to the fourth floor where my room supposedly was.

On every landing sat a chair, and on each chair lounged a large man killing time. They were probably bouncers like Alber, ready to rush in if trouble broke out on their floor.

I gave a slight nod to the man glaring down the fourth-floor corridor and walked to the room assigned to me. The door wasn’t locked. A prostitute without even a home of her own had no private life worth hiding.

The room was… better than I’d expected. It couldn’t compare to Arun’s single room, but it was only slightly shabbier than the one I’d had at the bakery. There was a window overlooking the street, a chest of drawers, a vanity table, and even a wardrobe—everything that should be there. The bedsheets were thick enough to be somewhat soft. Most surprising of all was the precious mirror, something even the Magic Academy hadn’t possessed many of.

Of course. This was a place where people who had to doll themselves up every day came and went, so it made business sense to provide mirrors even at some expense. Even a brothel was a place where customers slept. Complaints about lodging wouldn’t do.

Thinking this, I set down my backpack—swollen and full, though I wouldn’t need its contents for a while—beside a small cabinet. I also took off my robe and tossed it into the wardrobe. The spellbooks that had been hanging inside the robe fell to the wardrobe floor with dull thuds.

Among the books, a pocket watch was visible. A precious graduation gift I hadn’t touched since arriving in Valdenheim. The goblin owner had said it was broken, but…

I closed my eyes and rewound the pocket watch’s time. The past the watch had experienced flowed through my mind. Every story contained within it streamed through my head like a book.

Every story has a beginning and an end. The end was now; the beginning was… I rewound the watch to the very limit of its history. Before it broke, before I graduated from the Magic Academy, even before Professor Apryon had handled it—back to the moment it had just been completed by the craftsman’s hands and was waiting to be sold.

I didn’t need to be careful about not returning it to its component parts. Instinctively, I could sense where the story contained in this watch began and ended. It was the same sensation I’d felt once while repairing Arun’s bed. My ability had blossomed—another step upward.

‘Have I grown mentally somehow…?’

I slipped the now brand-new, sparkling pocket watch into the inner pocket of my robe.

“Hoo.”

Only after unpacking in the room did the reality of having sunk to the bottom truly sink in. I stripped off the undyed dress made of plain cotton and the still slightly damp underwear, then stared blankly at the mirror.

‘This won’t work…’

Arms and legs thin as sorghum stalks, a body with no curves to speak of, ribs protruding sharply beneath nearly nonexistent breasts, only a few faint strands of hair between my legs, and hair cut crudely short by Mervin’s sword.

It was a body that looked like a child’s ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠awkwardly enlarged to adult proportions—completely lacking feminine charm. I understood why Alber and Arto had hesitated at first, saying “the face is pretty, but…”

As Arto had said, there might be customers who sought exactly this kind of body, but they wouldn’t be the majority.

‘In the end, the only real selling point is that I’m a perpetual virgin.’

Thinking that, I let out a small laugh at how pathetic I was.

I put on the camisole Arto had given me and stood before the mirror in the sandals.

Though the fabric was slightly see-through, the excessively slender figure was somewhat hidden by the thin cloth, making me look a little better than before… and considerably more lewd. I understood why everyone worked in clothes like these. It was easier to seduce men this way, easier to squeeze money from walking wallets.

Whether Arto had shown consideration because it was my first day or simply because no new customers had arrived yet in the early morning, no guests came for a long while. Exhausted, I collapsed onto the bed still wearing the camisole and fell asleep. Just before waking, I had a nightmare.

A nightmare in which I found Mother.

Mother, returned to the form of a girl by my hand, was locked in a basement like a prison cell in some brothel, her limbs severed and eyes gouged out. I broke into the cell to save her and was captured.

I struggled and screamed, trying to rewind the time of my captors and kill them. But nothing happened. They laughed and stabbed a knife into my stomach, then cut off my lower body.

In the dream, I moaned in pain and desperately tried to touch my own body with what little consciousness remained as it faded from blood loss. I tried to rewind time and restore my severed lower half so I could kill these demons and save Mother.

But no matter how many times I cried out in my mind to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠rewind, my body’s time wouldn’t return. Red blood stained my vision as death’s terror and rage drove me mad, and consciousness cut off.

“Mother… Mom… ma…?”

Pale sunlight filtered through the window facing the street.

‘It was a dream…’

Relief washed over me as I realized I had returned to reality and that the horrific end I’d seen in the dream wasn’t my true fate.

Yet even though I’d woken, a sharp pain—like being poked with a piece of wood embedded with glass—spread upward from below.

‘Ugh, no… Is it… still a dream…?’

The autumn morning breeze that slipped through the window and stirred the thin camisole I wore seeped all the way to my bones. If a dream could reproduce even this sensation, my imagination must be quite something…

I slowly opened my eyes. I wanted to see what kind of dream it was.

“Ah… ugh, eh…?”

The moment the scene before my eyes registered in my brain, sleep fled completely. I widened my eyes and tried to understand the situation.

A man was on top of me. He didn’t have a body carved with solid muscle, but neither was he flabby—just an ordinary build with sun-browned skin that suggested long travels, a middle-aged man. My ankles were gripped by him, my legs spread wide in an unsightly manner. Dark blood had stained the camisole and bedsheets.

“Ugh… eh… um, excuse me…?”

To the man who had been thrusting into me since early morning, raping me, I asked stupidly.

“Oh, you’re awake? You were talking in your sleep. Did you sleep well?”

“Wh-who… are you…?”

I asked the man who was shaking his hips and raping me from early morning.

“Huh? I’m a customer, obviously. Are you still half-asleep or something?”

……Only then did I understand my situation. How foolish to forget even momentarily what position I was in because of a cruel dream. I spoke silently in my mind.

‘I’m a prostitute now, aren’t I…’

I had been prepared, even somewhat hoped for it, but realizing that I now had no time to myself at all, not even the freedom to sleep peacefully, still left a bitter taste. But there was nothing to be done. Since I had fallen this far by my own will, I had to act according to my station. I spoke hurriedly.

“I-I’m sorry… I should have been ready to receive customers, but I fell asleep…”

“Huh? No, it’s fine. I already took your virginity, and I like doing it to girls who are sleeping without a care in the world.”

How perverted, the words rose to my throat.

“I came from the east carrying cargo, drove all night, and unloaded as soon as the morning market opened. So I was looking for a place to stay, and the owner recommended a new arrival. Said she was a virgin, well-educated, and learned. She was more expensive than most women, but still cheap for a virgin, so I came up half-doubting—and found a pretty girl sleeping, so I just went ahead and did it.”

Whatever the man said, moans escaped my body on their own as it heated up from being violated. The pain from my torn hymen still outweighed any pleasure.

“Ngh… ugh…”

While shaking his hips, the man added,

“You smell nice too, miss. Like hardtack you bite into at the hungriest moment during a long, boring, dangerous journey.”

“B-because I’m… a baker’s daughter…”

After answering reflexively in a daze, I blushed bright red and deliberately stammered to stimulate his lust.

“Um… still, the sight of losing my virginity… you probably wanted to see it, but I was asleep… I’m sorry…”

“Oh?”

I could feel his manhood, buried deep inside me, grow even harder.

“For a virgin, you know how to handle a man well. They said you were a smart girl who graduated from the Magic Academy, so that’s why?”

Well, because I used to be a man. I knew that men’s tastes were the same whether on Earth or in this world.

That brothel owner, though. Arto, eager to sell his new merchandise quickly, had apparently already revealed my former profession to lure customers.

I wasn’t entirely pleased that my identity might be exposed, but I had no right to object if the owner wanted to do it. Now that it was known I was a mage, perhaps I could be a little more proactive in seducing.

“Hngh… ah, ngh… um, th-that’s right. Um, I… know a sleep spell… If you like doing it while someone’s asleep… I can cast it so I fall asleep again… Would you like that…?”

I deliberately used a hesitant voice to tempt him.

“No. It’s fine.”

The customer unexpectedly refused. Even while being violated below, I tilted my head slightly.

“I do like it when they’re asleep, but talking with a girl who’s awake like this isn’t bad either. You’re cute.”

“Ugh…”

This time I blushed honestly. It was only between a prostitute and a customer, but still, being called cute made something warm from deep inside—a kind of instinct honed from living as a woman for over twenty years. Seeing that innocent reaction, the customer seemed even more excited.

And so was I. The pain of rupture that had woken me was already slowly fading. In its place came waves of pleasure flowing in like a pastel-colored dream. Only then did I realize that, without knowing it, I had already begun to move my hips little by little.

Realizing I was putting on a shameful display, I apologized to the customer in vain.

“Ugh… ngh, s-sorry… This… somehow, it feels… good…”

“No. Keep going. This, ugh, feels good for me too.”

With the customer’s permission, I moved my hips more vigorously. He wasn’t particularly handsome enough to arouse sexual desire, nor young enough to want to converse with—just an ordinary middle-aged merchant. Even with such a man, I vulgarly shook my hips.

Because that was what I had to do. What I had to… do.

No, it wasn’t just out of a sense of duty.

‘It feels good. It feels… so good…’

My mind, engulfed in the pleasure of corruption, melted and couldn’t endure.

For the man who had taken my virginity in a dream without my knowledge, who had used my exhausted, sleeping body like an object, for this man who would pass by like the wind and whom I would never see again, I was… moving my entire body.

Vulgarly, seeking only vivid carnal desire, without caring about the consequences.

“Am I… doing it properly…?”

I asked on purpose even though I knew I was doing it properly—to further stimulate the man’s lust. I knew it. Being able to think of even this question meant I had already become a prostitute beyond any excuse.

“Ugh… yeah, this… is really… something… You, really, ugh, a v-virgin… right…?”

The man seemed a little flustered. Even though he had confirmed the virgin blood with his own eyes, it must have been hard to believe that such a girl was tightening around him like an experienced woman and shaking her hips of her own volition.

“Yes, heh… Not anymore, though… Ugh, ngh… It, it feels good. Mister, it feels… good… hngh…”

I deliberately mixed moans and nasal sounds to speak seductively, then wrapped both arms around the man.

“Haang, hngh… ugh, hngh…?!”

I felt it. The sensation of the man twitching inside me. The fact that the pain of losing my virginity still remained when I woke, and that I hadn’t felt the stickiness of semen in my stomach, meant this was probably his first ejaculation. My sleeping body probably hadn’t tightened around him very actively either.

Sensing that the man was about to climax, I lifted both legs and wrapped them around him tightly so he couldn’t pull out.

“Kgh…!!”

I felt a pulsing sensation from his cock, tightly gripped inside me. An unpleasant… no, to me now, not unpleasant at all—sticky foreign sensation.

The man looked down at me with a bewildered expression, perhaps having come to his senses after climaxing. At my face, which must have been a mess, melted in pleasure despite having been a virgin, wrapping my legs around him and accepting his creampie without any resistance.

“Ahaha… Th-this… is… happiness…”

Whatever he thought, it wasn’t enough. Far from enough. A woman’s climax wasn’t as short and sharp as a man’s. I didn’t want him to stop here. Without releasing my legs, I muttered words I thought he would like while my tongue was tangled in a mess, then pressed my lips to his face.

“?!”

I could feel the customer’s surprise, but I paid it no mind and slipped my tongue between his lips. His lips opened without resistance.

“Chup… ngh, churup… hah, chup, chup…”

As our two tongues entwined, lewd sounds mixed with moans filled the room. The chirping of birds from beyond the window and the footsteps of busy people on the morning street didn’t reach us. As if only he and I existed in the world, I devoured only the customer before me, and his manhood, which had lost some strength… granted my request.

The more lovingly I embraced the man who had taken my sleeping virginity, the more the realization that I had completely fallen, the despair that I could no longer escape this quagmire, swirled through my body. My body, addicted to the feeling of turning despair into happiness, heated up and tightened even more each time.

“Kgh…!!”

“Ah, haang… hngh… eheh… Just a little… more, just… a little more…”

Clinging to the customer as if begging, I received three more ejaculations after that. The merchant, exhausted from traveling all night, fell asleep in my arms after spilling his seed one last time. Embracing the not particularly handsome uncle lovingly, still holding his gradually softening member inside me, I too fell asleep with him.

That was how I received my first customer as a prostitute.

The moment I sent the customer away, a desolate feeling of having truly fallen this far, emptiness, self-loathing… all mixed together into a ruinous excitement that flowed down my spine. Enough to make me climax lightly from that alone.

“Ngh…”

Immediately, I began touching myself while making lewd sounds alone.

“Ngh… ugh… hngh… ah, ugh… ah… ang…”

Like someone possessed. Until the next customer opened the door and entered. The customer who had looked at me mockingly while I masturbated pounced on me without giving me any rest. On the first day, I sold my virginity to two men and received five customers.