Just as I’d hoped, there was a shining gold coin there. I grinned and tossed a green hard candy into my mouth.
That coin was going to buy me a night with a whore at my backup flophouse.
The name of the city was Gray Neighbor, a fortress town located smack in the middle of the ghostlands on the western side of the continent. People also called it the Dungeon City.
The reason for that was apparent: The entrance to the Millennium of Midnight Sun was located right in the center of the city. Or to be precise, the place had been built up around the entrance to the underground dungeon.
In the distant past, there had apparently been many, many such dungeons, and it led to the creation of dungeon cities like this one all over the world. But over the years, such dungeons were conquered, one by one, and the cities built on top of them no longer served a purpose and fell into ruin. This was the world’s last surviving dungeon city.
Every single day, adventurers lined up like little ants to file into the nest of the Millennium of Midnight Sun. That meant there were a plethora of business opportunities in this city. General stores popped up with crucial tools like rations, ropes, knives, and lanterns. People set up inns, weapon shops, armor shops, blacksmiths, pubs, and brothels.
Adventuring was a line of work that put those in the profession in close contact with death daily. Adventurers paid good coin, and if they were unlucky, they paid with their lives as well. Still, they jumped headlong into danger for the chance at some fame and riches.
I had been one of them, too, once.
But now I’m just the kept man of the princess knight.
Once we were done, I rolled over on the bed while the naked woman draped herself lazily over me. She was Cynthia, a whore. My usual was taken, so she was a substitute, and I had to admit that we were compatible. Bonus points for being considerate enough to pour me some water from the pitcher.
“You’re a real oddball, aren’t you?”
“Why do you say that?”
“You’ve got that lovely princess knight in your pocket, but you come to a place like this. Doesn’t she get mad?”
“You’re plenty lovely, too,” I said. Her long black hair, smooth skin, and luscious breasts were entrancing. “She’s a very generous person. She lets me do what I want.”
Right about now, Arwin would be in the dungeon, swinging her sword at a minotaur or ogre or some other beastie.
“But she’s still not enough for you?”
“I didn’t say that. Her Highness is the greatest woman in the world,” I clarified, for the sake of her honor. “In fact, she’s so perfect that I simply can’t match up to her. I’ve got to keep upping my game. It’s the time-honored pursuit of any personal servant.”
“Is that right? I’m just practice for you?”
“I won’t deny it.”
“You awful man.”
She pinched my side. I flinched and yelped, mostly on reflex, causing Cynthia to apologize softly and caress the spot she’d pinched.
“So the princess knight is a wonder in bed, too. How did you two get together?”
I’d heard this sort of question many times since we started living together. Countless times, in fact. How did you do it? How is she? And so on. But I am sworn to silence on these matters. Not that I would tell anyway. So I have a stock answer that I trot out every time.
“There’s nothing special about it. She’s human, like anyone. She cries when she’s sad and eats when she gets hungry. It’s everyone else who acts like she’s some unique, special being.”
“So you wooed her, and it just happened to work out?”
“More or less.”
“Well, well,” Cynthia said with great interest, sizing me up. “So you’re the princess knight’s type, eh?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, you’ve got a nice body, at least. Your face could be better.” She reached for my torso again but traced the groove between my abs with a fingertip this time. “Seems a shame that you’re so well built. Is it true that you’re a coward who can’t fight?”
“Just today, I lost an arm wrestling match to a thirteen-year-old girl.”
“But you used to be an adventurer?”
“That’s right.”
I stroked my finger around her navel in response. Cynthia writhed at the ticklish sensation.
“Why did you quit? You don’t seem like you were crippled.”
“Oh, ogres were absolutely nothing to me. I was getting bored fighting them because there was no challenge. I’ve just decided that fencing with the ladies is more entertaining now.”
“That part, you’re still an expert at,” Cynthia said, smiling suggestively. “So what do you want to do now?”
She glanced at the tray on the side table, apparently bored of our chat. A reddish-purple stick of incense was smoldering there. Each brothel had its own way of measuring time; here, they lit sticks of incense on fire. I could enjoy my time here as long as the incense wasn’t entirely burned out. Apparently, this kind had a euphoric effect. Based on where it was burning now, there was still half my time remaining.
I was just putting my arm around Cynthia’s shoulder, deciding that I could go another round, when there was a shriek outside the window.
I glanced out. There was a man in his thirties out front, holding his head in his hands and wailing. No, that was definitely screaming.
“Oh, it’s Alan,” said Cynthia, shoulder to shoulder with me.
“You know him?”
“He used to visit me until about half a year ago. He’s an adventurer. He was pretty powerful, in his own way.”
“Doesn’t look like it to me.”
His sleeves at the elbows were worn away and clearly filthy, even from a distance. And it wasn’t the wear and tear of an adventurer who’d been through danger. I could also make out black spots on his neck and wrists.
“He got badly injured a while back. He survived, clearly, but ever since then, he just wanders around town without going back into the dungeon.”
“Dungeon sickness, then.”
Adventuring was an occupation that came face-to-face with death. One wrong step would send you to your grave.
And dungeons like the Millennium of Midnight Sun were the worst. Monsters would simply appear out of the darkness. Traps were everywhere. Other adventurers would sabotage you, and your party would turn on you. Death was closer than your mother. And even if you were fortunate enough to survive treading the line of life and death, that didn’t mean everything went back to normal. The fear of having one foot set in hell accumulated in the deepest part of your heart. Eventually, you couldn’t go back in there. Not only that, you became unable to do any kind of dangerous, life-threatening work. Eventually, one grew paranoid to the point of being unable to function on a regular basis. That was dungeon sickness—a chronic illness that afflicted adventurers.
“Still, that’s not your typical freak-out.”
“Maybe he ran out of drugs?”
There was no miracle cure for dungeon sickness. If there were, it wouldn’t be available to your average, unremarkable adventurer. So most folks tried to deal with their sickness by taking drugs. The most popular was called Release. It looked like just a nondescript powder, but ingesting it made you feel euphoric, like you were living in paradise. However, once you started, you couldn’t stop. Your emotions would drift beyond your control, causing outbursts of anger, laughter, and tears. Eventually, it led to seeing and hearing things and, ultimately, helpless confusion. The most obvious sign of an addict was black spots on the skin.
“Tri-Hydra used to control the flow around here, but it’s dried up recently. You see more and more folks like him these days.”
Such drugs were illegal in virtually any country on the continent—not just here. But it is human nature to want what you’re not allowed to have. Dangerous groups took it upon themselves to manufacture and sell drugs, distributing them to sufferers of dungeon sickness and other melancholy souls at a great profit. Tri-Hydra was one of those organizations before they’d fallen apart last year.
Outside, Alan was being harassed by some very unsavory-looking men: the security for the brothel. They dragged him helplessly toward a nearby alley. If he was lucky, he’d only suffer a few broken bones, but if not, his corpse would lie atop a pile of vomit and refuse. That’s what this place was like. I pitied the man, but it was out of my hands.
After closing the window, Cynthia gave me a look of pity as well. “Do you have dungeon sickness, too?”
“Heavens, no.”
I wasn’t some small, whimpering child incapable of walking down the hall to the privy in the dark. I just knew I wouldn’t make it back alive. A single goblin would be the end of me. My life was worth less than rat shit, but the last thing I was going to do was kill myself. The princess knight was my reason for living now.
“You’ll see how well I fight,” I announced, and I dived onto Cynthia, burying my face in her chest. In moments, my ears were full of her moans. She was getting the hang of things on our second round, and her reactions got more intense; she clutched the sheets and gasped constantly. She must’ve been close because at one point she spasmed and kicked over the side table with a pale leg. The incense tray clattered loudly on the floor.
“Uh-oh.” I got up and pulled the table upright. Thankfully, the tray hadn’t shattered, but I wanted to make sure the incense didn’t start a fire. “Hmm?”
In doing so, I saw what was under the bed: a basket of women’s clothes, presumably Cynthia’s, with a rather remarkable necklace placed carefully atop it.
“What’s wrong? Let’s continue. Come back to bed,” she begged, lying back. I picked up the necklace.
“Is this yours?”
“Yes, it is. I got it at the church around back. It’s a charm.”
“The church of the sun god.”
“That’s right. Maybe I’ll receive a divine revelation someday, too,” she said piously, sitting up. Some of her ardor had dried up, it seemed.
The myths said that the sun god was one of those who had created the world. He was nearly the strongest of all the gods, which earned him their ire and got him sealed inside his own palace. Because he was unable to move about freely, he would send divine revelations to his believers instead. Those who received them gained miraculous powers: great wisdom, new inventions, phenomenal strength. Many chose to worship him in hopes of earning one of his miracles. There were two churches to him in the city.
“Sol nia spectus,” Cynthia murmured, a frequent prayer in the sun god’s religion: The sun god sees all. The proper way to do it was to quote the ancient language of another continent. “It would be scary if he really did, though. He’d be a peeper!” She chuckled.