Proofread By Thomas F. 9th Feb 2025.
Carla opened the office door, and we walked inside.
The office was located in the tower of the left wing of the mansion and was quite spacious, comparable in size to my uncle's corner office in the firm.
The best feature of the office was its view. The window offered a clear view of the garden and gate, and from my seat, I could easily observe who was entering and exiting the establishment.
I took my seat behind the desk while Carla sat opposite me. The table was neatly organized, with all the necessary files in place.
I took the first file and began to read it.
Even after my father passed away, Carla continued to send me reports, and I had read them all in advance of my arrival. The information in the files was consistent and without any discrepancies.
Thanks to their clear and organized presentation, it took me only a little over an hour to review the files.
"Carla, bring the girls to my office; I need to talk to them about something," I said, putting down the files. She clearly had questions and wanted to ask me but refrained as she eased her expressions.
"Yes, Master Silver." She replied.
As she turned toward the door, I could not help but steal a glance at her, her black dress hugging her tightly, accentuating her hourglass figure and drawing the eye to her round bottom.
After she left, I retrieved the proposal I had made for the girls from my bag.
When I first received this class one month ago, I was angry and felt as if my world had crumbled. It wasn't even the first time that month I felt powerless.
Weeks before, I witnessed my father murdered in front of me, decapitated. I doubt the image of his head falling and the blood showering me will ever fade.
It took me over a week to soothe myself and rationally consider the future, and I realized that things were not as bleak as they had initially appeared.
There are a few issues with my condition, the most significant of which is my base class. It is a permanent fixture in my life—I cannot choose another nor reject it. While modifications are possible, they only allow it to merge with other classes or evolve into a more advanced form.
The second issue is just as challenging—if not more so—than my permanent class because my survival depends on it.
This city, Greltheaven, is named after the prince who founded it. Built within the past two years, it is the creation of the fourth prince. It was established in the newly conquered region of Renwall, taken from the kingdom of Tabes.
Those bastards have vowed to recapture it.
The Renwell territory is massive, equivalent to the size of a kingdom.
However, it is a barren wasteland where nothing grows except for small greenpockets. Despite its inhospitable environment, it is immensely valuable due its strategic location.
This newly acquired region sits dangerously close to the merchant states of western zenid —powers that have long clashed with the Empire in wars both military and economic. Until recently, conflict with them had been an ongoing struggle, shifting from bloodshed to trade warfare and back again.
But that isn't the worst of it.
By claiming this land, the Empire gained more than just contested territory—it gained a new, far more terrifying neighbor. To the west lies Navr, a necromantic kingdom ruled by three supreme undead.
An undead empire that does not sleep, does not tire, and does not forget.
Their undead tides are nightmares given form. The dead know no mercy. In their assaults, there is no hesitation, no remorse—they butcher indiscriminately, sparing neither women nor children.
Three years ago, the Renwall region was ravaged by one such horde from Navr, leaving it a wasteland of corpses and ruin. That devastation was the only reason the Empire managed to seize it from Tabes in a single decisive strike.
But another, even more significant problem looms—not just over this city, not just over me, but over every soul in the Empire.
The Emperor's days are numbered. He has ruled for a century and a half, but time spares no man, not even him. If the whispers in the court hold any truth, he will not live beyond the next five years. And when he dies, the Empire will shake.
The crown prince was incapable of suppressing his siblings, who were also competing for the throne, including the fourth prince who had constructed this city.
Should a conflict erupt within the Empire between its own people and princes, many opportunistic factions would not hesitate to take advantage.
Despite the concerns of the city and the Empire, there is a reason that the fourth prince built this city at significant risk.
The city is in a prime location along the banks of the Trollmouth River, which flows through several merchant states. The Emperor had sent his ambassadors to these merchant-states to improve relations and resolve the trade war.
The trade war will not be resolved overnight; even merchants have limits. However, tensions will ease somewhat, which is beneficial for both parties. Merchants always want to trade, and the Emperor wants to have one less enemy, especially in the upcoming period.
Nevertheless, the slight improvement in relations will significantly benefit this city because there are two ways into the Empire: one by sea and the other by the river. If my assumption is correct, then the first merchant-state to normalize relations will be Meldhorn, a merchant-state also along the Trollmouth River.
The merchant-states are incredibly wealthy, and even if trade from one city-state flowed into Greltheaven, it would change the city dramatically. The fourth prince is counting on this, and so am I.
I have big aspirations, and a prosperous city would greatly aid me in achieving those ambitions.
I made a few adjustments to the proposal and put it back in the drawer. The proposal is for tomorrow; today, they will be given a choice.
I placed a stack of papers on the left side of the desk and coin purses on the right side. The papers were the contracts of all the girls, including Carla's.
A few minutes later, the door opened, and Carla entered, followed by the stunning women of the establishment.
Within a few seconds, the spacious office was filled to capacity as all forty-four women crowded in, their eyes fixed on me, filled with questions.
This time, however, the women didn't greet me with inviting smiles or try to use their charms to influence me. I was grateful for this change, as I wasn't sure I would have been able to resist their allure again.
"My father is dead, and with him, his way of doing business," I said slowly as I moved my gaze between them.
"This establishment is now mine and will work under different rules."
I could see the younger ones quivering, and I felt guilty. The one thing I opposed the most about my father's business was the age of some of the girls.
I had argued with my father about this; I told him it was immoral to employ girls so young. He never listened; he only saw the business they brought in; morals were for the pious.
"But before that, you all have a choice to make," I said, motioning my hands toward the papers and pouches.
"I offer you two choices," I declared. "The first is freedom. If you wish to leave, I will burn your contract before your eyes and grant you a thousand crowns as severance to begin your new life." As the words left my lips, disbelief flickered across their faces.
They might have imagined many things, but not this. No one with a sane mind would do that.
"The second choice is to stay. You will sign a new contract, which I will tell you will be much better than this one." I declared, offering them a life-altering decision.
"Is this some sort of prank, Master Silver?" asked the woman with bright yellow eyes, her tone revealing her growing frustration. "Because I can tell you, it is not funny."
She is Margaux. Carla did not introduce me to them, but I could identify them. My father had kept a detailed record of their information and, in it, were their sketches. Even if I did not see the sketch, I would still recognize her, as among all the girls, only she has platinum blonde hair.
She is also one of the highest earners in her last brothel.
"No, Margaux, it is not a joke," I replied, and I could see a flash of surprise appearing in her eyes as I said her name.
"So we are free to go if we want, and you will even give us a thousand crowns as a farewell?" asked Tara, a raven-haired young woman.
"Yes, you are right, Tara," I affirmed. "What will be the conditions in the new contract?" asked Margaux, who recovered from her earlier surprise.
"Tomorrow, I will provide the contracts for you to read and decide on. However, at that time, you will not be given the benefit of severance pay should you decide to leave." I replied with a smile, and I could see some did not like that.
"Can we have time to think about it?" asked Margaux, her voice more melodious than ever. I was inclined to agree right away and even opened my mouth slightly but quickly closed it, realizing what was happening.
My old man used to use his skills on me, and they were far more potent than the skills of these women, even though Margaux's skill had a much more refined quality to it. That is why it took me a moment to comprehend what was happening.
I smoothly closed my eyes and let a small smile appear on my face.
My father used to get sadistic pleasure in using his skills on me; he called it training, and in a way, it was.
My willpower was honed to the point where I could withstand these skills for a period of time. It also didn't hurt that my profession on earth gave me experience in keeping my emotions under control.
"Of course, you all have until tomorrow morning to decide," I replied, and I could see many of them releasing the breath they had been holding. "Thank you, Master Silver," said Margaux. To that, I just nodded.
"I will expect your answers by eight am tomorrow," I said, and they nodded and left the room one by one, leaving only Carla behind.
"Many of them might take you up on your offer. Especially with severance pay," Carla said. "Then I will wish them luck in their new life," I replied, which seemed to stump her momentarily.
"The offer is not only for them but also for you. I will even increase the severance pay." I said, to which she smiled, and this time, her smile seemed natural, not the business smile, which always had a hint of allure.
"I will give you my answer now, Master Silver. I am not leaving," she replied, and it was my turn to be surprised, as I did not think she would answer so quickly.
"Well then, take a seat. We have a lot of work to do," I said. She smiled and took a seat across from me.
There are many things I have to do, especially before I meet the people from the construction guild. There will be massive changes, from the establishment's appearance to its business model; I even plan to change the name.
Lord's Pleasure seemed too tacky for me.
….
"Oh, look! She has finally descended, and she looks tired," hollered a woman in her early thirties as Carla came down the stairs to the basement floor where the girls lived.
Nearly all of them were seated in the small common room, half sitting on the laps of others, talking and laughing. It was the only place they could do such things.
"Oh shush, Ina, be polite to Madam Carla, or she will not tell you all the juicy things she has done with Master Silver," said another woman in a totally serious voice, but everyone could sense the teasing, and even Carla rolled her eyes.
Carla came down and sat on the only empty chair there was. It was kept for her. It is a chair for the Madam, and as was the custom, nobody sits on the Madam's chair.
"My dear friends, I was working, not wrestling under the sheets," she said as she laid back in her chair.
"The whole afternoon and evening?" asked Ina. "Yes, the whole afternoon and evening." She replied, but nobody seemed to believe it.
"He had thousands of questions. Now I know how Madam Charline had felt when he asked her all those questions," she added, massaging her head.
Madam Charline was her old boss back in Redfawn. About a year ago, he invited her and asked many of these questions. She still remembers how annoyed she had been when she returned.
She said she would rather fuck a hundred men in a day than answer more of the boss's son's stupid questions.
"What sort of questions did he ask?" asked one of the younger girls named Lyra. "All sorts, from embarrassing to serious; he even gave me the list of questions that you all will also have to answer, at least those who choose to stay," she said and pulled out a stack of papers, but nobody looked at them.
She had said the words that had been hanging on everyone's mind since the morning. The critical choice they have to make.
"Were you able to find out anything, Carla?" asked Margaux, to which she shook her head. "No, he had been very tight-lipped about it," she replied, and silence descended for a few seconds.
"What do you think about his offer? Do you think it is the truth or some cruel joke?" asked the woman, Rena.
She did not answer the question immediately, as she was also unsure about it, but in the end, she decided to listen to her heart as it was the only thing that gave her the proper counsel.
"I think it is true. As far as I can tell, his offer does not conceal any deception," she replied, and she could see many women relieved by her words.
"Though, I would suggest not taking the offer," she said, and the whole room quieted down.
"It is freedom, Carla. You might not value it, but we do, and we are even getting a thousand crowns, which will be enough for us to last a year if we are frugal in spending," said Lola angrily, voicing the thoughts of many other women.
"Exactly," she affirmed, and the women's gazes became confused at her answer.
"You will get a thousand crowns when you leave, and with a little bit of savings that you have, you all will be able to live one year, two at most."
"But then what?" she asked as she looked at all the girls. "Nearly all of us have a base class related to prostitution, which easily blocks us from working at any other place; even the skanky bars will not take us."
"As for returning to families, most of us know how that will end," she said, and a mirthless smile appeared on the faces of a few girls.
Half of them don't have families, and those who do have them did not have a good experience. Many of them were sold into prostitution by their own families or sold themselves into prostitution for their families.
Many of them had gained freedom and returned to their families, but they did not receive the welcome they hoped to get.
Forget an opened-armed embrace. They did not even get to step into the boundary of their homes before being thrown out.
It is said that once one becomes a prostitute, they are a prostitute for life; there is no escaping that fate.
It is not far from the truth. Those who left the business always came back to it. Carla herself had done that a few years ago when she served her contract but returned to the life shortly after.
Her condition was not bad at all, but she found how hard it was for a whore to live outside, and compared to life, the whore house, the den of exploitation, felt easy, familiar, and comfortable.
"I will be taking the offer. With my savings, I will be able to live at least a year without worry," said Lola.
"I am sure, at that time, I will be able to find something useful for myself to do."
"Then I will wish you good luck and offer you a suggestion if you are willing to listen," replied Carla. She had known Lola for more than a decade, and she was someone she was proud to call a friend.
"I hope you will read the new contract before you make a decision to leave," she advised. "Do you know something about the new contract?" asked Lola, whose eyes lit up hearing the suggestion.
"No, I do not, but I feel like you all should only decide after reading the contract," she said and could see disappointment clouding the eyes of many women.
"You're asking us to walk away from a thousand crowns, Carla," said Lola softly. "Yes," replied Carla.
Carla did not say anything further; she had told them what she knew and felt. The decision is now theirs to make.