L.E. Miranda
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SSR Chapter 13 - The Mire (5)
🕑 Added 2025-01-02 15:00:05 +0000 UTCRylan wore a slimy smile as he waded through the streets. Behind his smirking expression, however, there was a Sword Saint. He accurately grasped his environment, taking note of all the alleys and nooks where an attack could come from. Every person that crossed him was carefully studied. Of course, not many did.
They avoided him like the plague. People walked away from his side of the sidewalk, none of them meeting his eyes. Women with children pulled them away, hastening their steps. Looks of scorn and contempt were aplenty, but nobody approached him. He tried his best to mimic his past self’s movements. It wasn’t difficult; he had spent years doing it. Yet, it was highly uncomfortable. Roland’s memories screamed at him with every unsteady step and lacking movement.
In this fashion, bothered by his own perception of himself and by the people around him, he arrived in front of a tavern. It was one among the many that he frequented. He opened the doors as loudly as possible. As he strode in, the people inside the tavern suddenly went silent. Then, as if afraid of being noticed, they returned to their conversations with shaking tones. Rylan confidently walked to the counter and faced the owner, who was looking with a tired expression that seemed to scream, “As expected.”
He slammed his hands on the counter, making the conversations stop briefly.
“Give me a bottle of the strongest shit you got today, Phil.”
Phil slightly frowned and turned around, before pulling a bottle from the racks behind him.
“Here it is, young master. We saved it for you.”
Keeping his slimy smile, Rylan uncorked it and poured its contents down his mouth. Phil blinked.
“Y-Young master, please drink slowly…”
He didn’t even pretend to listen. He continued to drink. Once the bottle was about half-empty, he pulled it away and looked at it. Then, he spilled some alcohol on his clothes for good measure.
This should be enough.
He spit out the alcohol in his mouth, making sure his breath smelled like it, as his mana revolved within him at unprecedented speed. It burned away the alcohol’s effects, as he had expected it to. Roland’s Aura would have been capable of easily detoxifying him, but that wasn’t the case for mana. He would need more time to completely clear himself of the alcohol’s effects. It was the bare minimum to convince Evenon. He calculated that he would no longer be drunk by the time he arrived. After all, the possibility of a battle was real.
Without thanking the owner or even paying – just like his past self wouldn’t – he kicked the doors open. Whispers entered his ears.
“That wastrel is going to stir some shit up again.”
“His drinking habits seem to have gotten worse.”
“What the hell is that fucker going to do now?”
“Stay away from the brothels and the rest of the shopping district until he returns home.”
They were comments that he expected to hear. He had gotten himself stuck in this mire; it wouldn’t be easy to convince others that he’d left it behind. Intentionally stumbling a bit and clutching his bottle tightly, he continued on his way. Soon enough, the brothels came into view. He had always found them quite elaborate; the velvet curtains and dim pink lighting created a peculiar atmosphere. There were a few prostitutes in front of the building, smiling at the passers-by while dressed in skimpy clothing. As they turned to him, their expressions changed in an instant.
Rylan could see deep distaste, but also greed. He approached them. A blonde, thin woman immediately latched onto his arm.
“Young master! It’s so good to see you again! How about we catch up in one of the rooms?”
A slight frown crossed her face as she seemed to smell the alcohol, but she kept her smile. It was no surprise; Rylan used to be a big spender. Whenever he appeared, the prostitutes chosen by him made as much money in a single night as in the rest of the month. A few women were his go-to's, and he asked for others occasionally. The woman currently holding onto him was one of the occasional picks.
At the same time, two of the prostitutes ran inside as another spoke to them.
“Tell the Lady that Master Rylan is here!”
Another woman grabbed his other arm. She had milky-white skin and long, dark hair. She gave him a sultry smile.
“Master Rylan. Welcome.”
She subtly made her cleavage more visible. He used to pick this one more often. Other women approached him, running their hands over his body while ignoring the clothing wet with alcohol or rubbing themselves against him. Surrounded by prostitutes, a thought crossed his mind.
This, too, is part of my mire.
Now that he had walked out of the estate for the first time after receiving Roland’s memories and other aspects, he was forced to confront the life he had led so far. He tried to give the women his most casual smile. As he was about to speak, the doors to the brothel opened. An old, beautiful woman in black clothing and smoking a pipe walked out. She smiled at him.
“Master Rylan. We’re delighted to see you again.”
Rylan narrowed his eyes. The Lady. In a way, she was similar to Evenon. She exploited young women in vulnerable situations to line her own pockets. It had worked. She owned two of the city’s largest brothels and oversaw their business personally. Rylan had come to this one knowing she’d be here. She continued to speak.
“Who would you like today?”
She pointed at the women clinging to him and to the two others who walked up from behind her with a smile. The two of them were his past self’s prime choices. There was no sense of humanity to the Lady’s actions. She offered him women like a butcher would offer meat in his shop.
Their smell must have clung to me already.
Thankfully, they had tried to attract him using their bodies. The smell alone would suffice. With a carefully-crafted, twisted smile, Rylan spoke.
“I need to talk to Evenon. I’ll come back here afterwards.”
The smiles of the women faltered. Clearly, they had a bottom line; the prospect of dealing with a drugged-up, drunk Rylan didn’t seem to be attractive to any of them, even though he spent a lot of money. The Lady, however, merely smiled.
“We’ll be waiting, Master Rylan. Are you certain you don’t want to take one of the girls right now? We can arrange for something quick.”
He had to keep himself from smiling coldly. He merely shook his head.
“My business with Evenon is important.”
If there was one thing his past self saw as more important than even women and debauchery, it was the drugs. The Lady seemed to perfectly understand that. She nodded and waved at the women.
“Stop clinging to the Master like that. Let him go.”
The prostitutes immediately let go and took a few steps back. There were now more complex emotions behind their smiles.
Now, straight to Evenon.
His mana kept revolving within him as he attempted to get rid of the alcohol’s effects. Stumbling, he dragged himself to Evenon’s doorstep. It wasn’t a carefully hidden-away corner; instead, a wooden building stood proudly in the middle of the shopping district’s busiest road. Of course, beneath Evenon’s philanthropic façade, lay the darkest underbelly of the city.
In this case, it is literal.
Most of the dealings were conducted underneath the building, in a large area that could only be accessed through stairs within the building and was carefully guarded. At the same time, it likely could be cleaned up quickly and efficiently, especially with magic, since Evenon hadn’t been caught by the City Guard’s inspections even once. Although, the Guards had likely been bribed as well.
The Vaard family doesn’t know what to do about Evenon.
Of course, that wasn’t his problem. Right now, getting the heirloom back was the most important thing. He walked closer to the building’s entrance. The guards had been watching him with smiles on their faces. The two Mages at the forefront bowed to Rylan and made way for him to enter. There was no need to exchange any words, but he spoke out anyway.
“I need to see Evenon.”
One of the bowing Mages replied.
“You’ll find him in the usual office, young master.”
Stumbling, Rylan nodded, pushing the doors open, still clutching his bottle.
It was time to put his acting skills to the test.
