"How the fuck did bandits manage to get into Pleasure City?"
There was a damn good reason why I asked that question.
Pleasure City—of all places—wasn't just so border village prone to infiltration.
It was nestled deep within the kingdom's heart, protected on all sides. Getting there unnoticed... well, it was supposed to be fucking impossible.
This city was practically a fortress disguised in luxury.
The kind of place that was so integrated into the kingdom's core that no outsider—especially a goddamn bandit—should've even co close to stepping foot inside without soone noticing.
And let's not forget the guards.
The kingdom had an army's worth of soldiers stationed throughout.
They weren't just standing there looking pretty either as they manned the gates like hawks, patrolled the streets day and night, and monitored every major entry point with brutal vigilance.
It just didn't make sense.
How the hell did an entire group of filthy, unruly bandits slip past that? No way in hell they got in through brute force. That would've been suicide.
Sure, I'd heard of cases where criminals disguised themselves as rchants or low-tier peddlers—muttering polite greetings, hiding blades beneath silks and spices. But even that kind of trickery was risky. The regulations were so tight it was like trying to sneak a torch past a guardhouse made of oil.
Getting caught at the gates... It happened all the ti. A twitch, a wrong word, or a missing paper and you'd be dragged off screaming before your boots hit the ground.
And yeah, there were so hogrown bandits—those born within the kingdom's borders—but even they weren't brazen enough to show themselves out in the open like this. They operated in the dark. Shadows were their hos. Not fucking Pleasure City.
Especially not here.
This place. This place was sacred. A haven.
Pleasure City was built with more than just coin and architecture—it was forged from the desires and peace of the people. A paradise maintained by the will of kings, a place where cri was nearly nonexistent, where everyone ca not for blood, but for warmth, comfort, escape.
It had near-flawless security. Cris here were like ghosts, rumored but never seen.
This wasn't a haven for criminals.
Even the worst scumbags in the underworld knew the unspoken rules of Pleasure City.
You didn't fuck around here.
People ca here not as status or class—but as humans. Man or woman, noble or beggar, all were equals the mont they stepped into this city. You ca for pleasure, for peace—not to cause chaos.
And if soone did stir up trouble, the unwritten rule was simple take it the fuck outside.
So yeah, bandits showing up here? A whole damn group?
Sothing stank.
Sothing didn't add up.
I clenched my jaw. My gut already had suspicions crawling through it like worms.
"What the hell are the royal knights doing, letting these unruly n co here?!" soone suddenly shouted in the crowd.
His voice cracked with fury, his face flushed red. The bystanders around him began murmuring and yelling, their voices layering like a wave about to crash.
"Yeah! The royal knights don't do their job nowadays!"
"This country is corrupted to the core! Can't believe these fuckers still reign while the rest of us rot! This is because of that king! He should get off his damn throne and look at his people for once! All he cares about is won and money. Fucking sickening!"
"Hey! You can't just say stuff like that out loud! You'll get executed on the spot!"
"So what?! The kingdom's been rotting since his reign started anyway! That bastard should just retire already! This place would be better off turning into a republic!"
"She's right! The king has done nothing for his people! So many lives lost because of his fucking greed and debauchery! If anything, he should be the one executed right here and now!"
"The king's dying already, but fuck it—I hope he dies soon. All he's ever brought this kingdom is injustice and greed!"
The crowd was boiling over now. The air itself buzzed with heat, with rage, with the bitter sting of hopelessness.
People weren't just upset. They were literally unraveling right now. The pressure that had built up over years of failed promises and royal negligence was finally erupting.
And honestly?
I wasn't surprised in the slightest.
The king had been sitting on his golden throne for nearly fifty years, and in all that ti, he hadn't done jack shit to uplift the kingdom. Unlike the rulers before him—kings who bled for their people—this one only took. And the people... Well, they were done staying silent.
Their voices had beco sharp, laced with the kind of fury that no guard could put down with a sword.
I turned my gaze back to the bandit.
His body trembled like a leaf caught in a storm. His eyes wide, darting everywhere for a way out that didn't exist.
"I-I didn't know anything... I'm just a bandit! You already killed my boss!" he whimpered, shrinking back like a coward, as if that would save him.
"Is that so?" I replied coldly. My voice was calm, but my fury was coiled beneath it like a blade waiting to strike. "Then let ask you this—why were you trying to kidnap prostitutes?"
His face twisted into sothing pathetic. His lips trembled, spit flying as he stamred.
"T-To make them our sex slaves, of course! You're a man, you get it, right?! What's wrong with it?! It's literally their job to pleasure n anyway! What's the difference between us using them as playthings and them getting paid to do it?!"
Fucking hell.
No.
I couldn't—wouldn't—wrap my head around that kind of twisted thinking.
Why the fuck couldn't they just pay like everyone else? Why resort to violence and chains when all it took was a coin and respect?
But no.
They had to take.
Had to ruin.
Had to degrade.
"Because unlike you shitheads," I snarled, spitting the words like acid in his face, "they're doing a more respectable job than your sorry ass ever could. They're working to feed their families, while you fuckers only destroy."
These prostitutes weren't doing this out of choice.
Not really.
So of them had been deceived and tricked by clever words, fake promises, and predatory scams that left them drowning in debt.
And when there was no way out, this beca their only path. To sell themselves just to repay what was stolen from them.
Others, they turned to this life not because they wanted pleasure or money for luxury, but because there was no other way to survive.
They had mouths to feed.
Families depending on them.
They endured this hell just to put food on the table.
anwhile, these worthless bandits?
They did whatever the fuck they pleased. Pillaging. Killing. Stealing. Destroying. Taking everything they laid eyes on with no remorse.
These bastards didn't want jobs. They didn't want to contribute or build anything. All they cared about was getting off and filling their greedy pockets.
Honestly, the prostitutes—those won forced to trade their dignity for survival—had more honor than these scumbags ever would.
I turned to the bandit, rage swelling in my chest, my voice low but venomous.
"You honestly sicken ," I spat, each syllable dripping with disgust. "You think with your dick, right? Then how about you die without it?"
Without a mont of hesitation, I stood up straight, the mana in my body surging toward the soles of my feet like a rushing flood. A sharp hiss of energy echoed beneath as my boot glead with glowing power.
Then—BAM!
I stomped down with bone-crushing force, directly onto his crotch.
"Gyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!"
His scream ripped through the air like a tortured animal, echoing off the air. It was an agony that pierced through every eardrum around. His entire body jerked, limbs flailing wildly like he was having a seizure.
But he didn't die.
Not yet.
I raised my foot again, mana flaring hotter than before, and slamd it down once more.
CRACK.
His eyes bulged, almost popping from their sockets, and thick white foam began to spill from his mouth. He looked like he was choking on his own screams.
Still, I didn't stop.
Over and over, I crushed down, until my boot was soaked—dripping with his cock blood. The thick, dark liquid stained the ground beneath us, and the stench—coppery and vile—burned my nose.
I stared down at the broken body.
He was twitching still. Limbs spasming in jerky, dying movents. Maybe he was technically still breathing. Maybe his heart was still clinging on.
But there was no coming back from that.
The only thing he could pray for at this point… was death.
But my mind wasn't on him anymore.
No, sothing else was beginning to surface. A bigger picture. A dangerous pattern.
Sothing about this entire situation—this chaos, this infiltration—it reeked of sothing deeper.
Sothing... political.
I was beginning to see it.
This wasn't random.
This was about stirring unrest. Spreading fear. Inciting chaos.
This was about lighting the match... and starting a revolution.
To throw out the king.
To burn down the fucking throne.
But the question was... Who would be insane enough to do this?
Only one na echoed in my mind.
"Moriarty..."
Yeah.
If there was anyone behind this, it was him.
That bastard had been a thorn in my side from the beginning.
Maybe... it was ti to face him again.
But the problem was—I didn't know where the fuck he was.
Marie wasn't talking either.
I visited her cell more tis than I could count. Pressed her. Questioned her. Talked with her to tell sothing. Anything.
But she never gave a single useful answer.
Only that sa smile.
"I don't think I can tell you much, honestly," she said in that soft, infuriating voice. "I don't even know myself."
Bullshit.
I knew she knew sothing.
But until she cracked, I had no lead.
Just suspicion. And anger.
While I was still standing there, hearing the growing unrest of the crowd—their voices loud with rage, calling out the monarchy's failures—my phone buzzed in my pocket.
A sharp, vibrating jolt that broke my thoughts.
I yanked it out and glanced at the screen.
Myrcella.
Without hesitation, I answered.
Her voice ca through fast, panicked, and strained.
"There's a huge trouble!"
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