After leaving the inn, I took the main road to an alley that led me behind the constable’s post to a certain establishment. Standing in front of the entrance, I wrapped around my wrist the chain that would grant me access to the Goddesses of Slumber and Fertility Parlor, an elegant, tasteful brothel. I gathered up my courage, then pushed the steel doors open. A quiet, relaxed atmosphere unlike what I’d experienced last time met me inside; even the aroma of burning incense seemed fainter. This shop did most of its business after dark, so only a few clients awaited their turns. Young, seemingly inexperienced female and male employees milled about.
“Welcome. Ohhh, good morning, sir.”
“Oh, hello,” I greeted the middle-aged beastman who’d been hurled through the walls and into my room last time.
“You must be here for Tutu. And what impeccable timing you have. She has been desperate and wanting customers lately. It’s good you stopped by.” No, not good. Not good at all.
“Actually, today I just—”
“Souya!” Something crashed into me and bound me to the spot. “When are you gonna stop stringing meow along?! Just how long do you think I’ve been waiting since you prrromised you’d come?!” the feline beastmaid complained after throwing herself at me. Petite and lithe, she had wavy long blond hair, pointed ears, and a voluminous tail I’d recognize anywhere. Like all the employees, she wore a collar around her neck and revealing lingerie. I’d thought I could avoid running into her if I came by in the morning, but here we were.
“Sorry, Tutu, I’m not here today for—”
“Stop making excuses already! I don’t know how much more rejection my dignity can take!”
“Now then, sir, if you’ll follow me upstairs,” the beastman said, and I almost gave in. Shit, if I let them drag me along, I seriously doubt my self-control will hold out. How can I think of laying my hands on another woman if I haven’t even gotten to that stage with my wife yet?!
“Not so fast.” Tutu’s voice took on a cold tone. She started sniffing intensely around my neck. “Souya, I smell the scent of another beastmaid on you. Who is she?”
“Argh!” Tutu’s nails dug into the nape of my neck. I see. So other beastmaids are off-limits, huh? Good to know. Hopefully, that’ll come in handy next time. If I live to see a next time, that is.
“Oh, just someone who recently moved in and has been helping me around camp.”
“I said, WHO. IS. SHE. MRAH?!” she demanded. Her claws clenched my bum in their viselike grip. Ow! Quit it with the nails. All right, fine. Not like I’m trying to hide anything.
“A beastmaid named Lanceil.”
“What? Lanceil? As in the Lanceil? King Remlia’s illegitimate daughter, the silver-haired foxmaid?”
“Yeah, exactly.” I guess she’s famous? Makes sense—legitimate or not, she is the king’s daughter, after all.
“My, my.” The manager nodded for some reason.
Tutu stumbled backward and collapsed into a despondent heap, catching herself with both hands against the floor. “I’ll never compare to the woman flying on every flag,” she wailed, but then a second later, she jumped back to her feet and threw her arms around my waist, flinging herself at me. Much like the majority of beastmaids, Tutu had a lot of love to go around or, rather, took a very proactive approach in sharing it. It wasn’t even midday, and she was already getting frisky.
“Please! I’ll do whatever you want; just don’t throw me awaaaay!”
“I’m not! Don’t give people the wrong idea!”
“Oh, I know, I’ll make it a party! I know the purrfect girls who are free right meow!”
“What’s with all the noise?” asked a middle-aged man who appeared from a back room. Raven-haired, black-eyed, and with rough stubble, the man looked sleepy, his left eye perpetually closed shut. He wore a loose kimono-like robe and, in one hand, carried his sheathed longsword.
“Sorry, Pops. I wanted to see you about something,” I said to the man also known as the father of adventurers.
“Right. Come on back.”
“Souya! What about meow?!”
“I’m real sorry, Tutu,” I apologized. “I really am. I’ll make it up to you soon, I promise.”
“I’ll take that promise to the next life, you heeear?!”
Somehow managing to peel Tutu off me, I followed Pops to the back of the shop and into a large, one-window room that seemed to serve as some sort of storage space. In a corner was a neat pile of weapons and pieces of armor, along with a few other adventuring essentials. Sparsely furnished, it had only a bed on one end and a long table bookended by two sofa chairs. It felt as if only items related to dungeon explorations were allowed to take up space here.
Pops plopped down onto one of the sofa chairs and lit a rolled-up cigarette. The smoke had accents of a peculiar, sweet, leafy scent, as if fragrant or medicinal herbs had been mixed in with the tobacco. “So you were saying?”
I joined the gruff adventurer across the table and sat in the chair. It was very comfortable—must’ve cost a fortune.
“Yesterday, my party and I made it to the fifteenth floor, and tomorrow we embark on a mission to reach the twentieth. We’re going to try to push through in one go.”
“So you mean to test your fate on the Deranged Stratum, do you?”
“The Deranged Stratum?” The term didn’t sound at all familiar.