17. The Morning of Debauchery and New Opportunities

Chapter 17: A Morning of Debauchery and New Opportunities

The scent of greasy bacon, sizzling sausages, and buttered bread hung heavy in the tavern's warm air, a welcome reprieve from the cold morning outside. I sat at a corner table, stuffing my face with a meal hearty enough to fuel a small militia. My plate was stacked with eggs, sausages, and a loaf of bread so fresh I could still see steam rising from it. Beside it, a tankard of ale caught the morning sunlight, glinting like a golden promise of bad decisions yet to come.

As I chewed, my mind wandered to last night. Or rather, her.

Freya.

She'd gone from the composed ice queen who could freeze a man with a glare to a trembling, begging mess underneath me. And oh, she begged. Sweet spirits, did she beg.

"Harder, Kaizen," she'd whimpered, clawing at my back like her life depended on it. "Deeper! Don't stop!"

The memory of her voice sent a shiver down my spine that I quickly drowned with a swig of ale. What threw me off wasn't just the raw need in her voice—it was how completely it clashed with everything I thought I knew about her. Freya wasn't supposed to beg. She wasn't supposed to lose control.

And yet, she had.

For hours, she'd melted under me, responding to every touch like I was some kind of sorcerer casting lust spells. By the time we were done, she could barely speak, let alone walk. And then, just as I was starting to think she might actually like me—hell, she acted like she liked me—she'd slipped out of bed with barely a word and left.

Not exactly the romantic conclusion I'd imagined, but hey, maybe that's just who she was: contradictions wrapped in a pretty package.

Still, it didn't sit right with me. The way she clung to me during, her voice breaking as she pleaded for more… That wasn't just lust. That was something else. Or maybe I was just fooling myself.

"Fuck it," I muttered, stabbing a sausage with my fork and biting into it.

I had bigger things to think about, like finishing this breakfast without choking on the sheer amount of grease.

Once my plate was clean and my tankard empty, I tossed a few coins onto the table and stood. The cobblestone streets of Torak greeted me as I stepped outside, the morning chill biting at my skin. The city was alive as always—merchants hawking their wares, kids chasing each other through the crowds, and the ever-present smell of horse shit wafting through the air.

I fiddled with the spatial ring on my finger as I walked. The plain, unassuming design made it easy to overlook, which was just how I liked it. But inside, it was anything but ordinary.

When I focused, I could see the three-by-three-by-three cube of space it contained. My black sword and enchanted leather armor sat neatly within, their power practically humming in my mind's eye.

The armor was a masterpiece, crafted from some kind of beast hide and enchanted to drink Ki like a drunk at a free bar. The more energy I poured into it, the better it healed itself and me. And the sword? That thing was a goddamn miracle. Light as a feather when I needed speed, sharp enough to cut through steel when I needed power. Both were way too conspicuous for casual wear, which is why they stayed in the ring until absolutely necessary.

The Guild Hall loomed ahead, its stone walls and stained-glass windows catching the morning light. I pushed the door open and stepped inside, greeted by the familiar hum of adventurers going about their business. To the left, the tavern and bar area buzzed with life—people swapping stories, forming parties, and occasionally breaking into brawls. To the right, the massive notice board stood tall, plastered with quests of every kind.

Quests were ranked like adventurers: F to SSS. Torak's Guild only went up to S-rank because this backwater kingdom didn't have anyone strong enough to warrant more. The first floor housed F- to B-rank quests, the second was for A-rankers, and the third for the S-rank elites. Simple enough, though it made me wonder what the hell it'd take to reach those higher ranks.

At the far end of the hall was the reception desk, a long wooden counter manned by women who somehow managed to smile through a constant barrage of idiots.

That's when I saw her.

Gwen.

She wasn't just sitting there. No, she was leaning forward, elbows on the counter, her chest doing a damned good job of defying gravity. Her lips curved into a smirk as her eyes met mine, and then she did it—she crooked her finger, beckoning me over like I was a naughty schoolboy and she had detention waiting.

I raised an eyebrow, sauntering over with my usual mix of arrogance and charm. "What's up, Gwen? Decided today's the day you confess your undying love for me?"

She snorted, unimpressed. "Kaizen, the day I fall for your bullshit is the day the sun stops rising."

"Ouch. My heart." I clutched my chest theatrically, earning an eye roll.

"Shut up and listen," she said, leaning in closer. "I've got good news for you."

My smirk widened. "Good news? Let me guess: I've finally been promoted to the rank of 'Gwen's favorite adventurer.'"

"You're not even on the list," she shot back, though her smirk betrayed her amusement. "No, this is about your rank. You've got a special quest waiting."

Now that caught my attention. Special quests weren't exactly common for someone at my level. "Special, huh? What's the catch?"

"Gods, you're insufferable." She slid a piece of parchment across the counter. "Read this. And try not to make a scene."

I picked it up, scanning the details. A D-rank retrieval quest. The pay was five gold—enough to keep me fed and drunk for a solid month—and the task itself seemed simple enough: head to some ruins, grab the shiny thing, and bring it back.

"Hold on," I said, raising an eyebrow. "This is a D-rank quest. Did you hit your head? I'm still F-rank. You know we're only allowed to take quests one rank above our own."

Gwen leaned in, her smirk widening. "Normally, yes. But the Guild Master approved this as an exception."

"An exception?"

"You survived an E-rank quest that turned out to be C-rank in difficulty. That doesn't happen often, especially not for some smart-mouthed rookie like you. The Guild Master figures if you can pull off this D-rank quest, you'll be promoted straight to D-rank. No stops in between."

I scratched the back of my head, my gaze drifting back to the parchment. Five gold. That was a lot of money for what looked like a straightforward job. "Alright, sounds great and all, but what's the catch? There's always a catch."

"You'll need a group," she said, folding her arms and leaning back. "At least three people. Or two if one of them's D-rank or higher."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Guild regulations and all that. Fine. Five gold is worth the hassle of finding a few warm bodies."

"Good," Gwen said, her tone sharp but amused. "Because if you screw this up, the Guild Master's going to make sure you don't see another quest for a very long time."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Gwen. Really warms my heart."

"Don't mention it," she said with a wink.

I leaned on the counter, waving the parchment lazily in Gwen's direction. "Alright, fine. I'll bite. Who am I working with?"

Gwen's smirk deepened, the kind of look that said she was about to ruin my day for her own amusement. She turned slightly and nodded toward the tavern area.

"There," she said, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

I followed her gaze and immediately felt my stomach drop. Sitting in the corner, loudly berating some poor barmaid for getting their order wrong, were the *twins*.

"*Oh, fuck me,*" I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose.

Lashley and Neralia. I knew those two. Everyone knew those two. Nobles born with golden spoons so far up their asses they practically shat privilege. Lashley, the older one, was D-rank, though how he managed that was a mystery to me. Neralia, his equally irritating little sister, was E-rank and arguably even worse.

I'd had the misfortune of running into them a few times over the last month and a half since I arrived in this godforsaken world. And let me tell you, they were the *absolute worst*.

Condescending, bratty, entitled—take your pick. They acted like the sun rose and set for their benefit and had no problem reminding everyone within earshot of their supposed superiority. The only reason they didn't have a regular party was because no one could stand working with them. Not that they'd admit that, of course.

"They're *always* alone," I muttered, glaring at Gwen. "And if you ask them why, they'll tell you it's because they don't want to work with 'commoners.'" I threw air quotes around the word like it was a particularly foul curse. "Not because they're the most unbearable assholes this side of the continent."

"Kaizen…" Gwen's voice had that tone. The one she used when she was about to drop bad news like a bomb.

I held up a hand. "Nope. No way. Forget it. Anyone but them. Give me literally anyone else."

"I can't," she said with a shrug. "The quest was requested by their father."

"And who the hell is their father?"

"The lord of the town."

Of course. Because the universe hates me.

"Let me get this straight," I said, rubbing my temples. "Their *dad*—the guy who runs this whole town—wants me to work with his insufferable hellspawn on a quest to explore some dusty ruins he's suddenly interested in?"

"That's about the size of it."

I sighed, my shoulders slumping as I turned back to Gwen. "You owe me for this. Like, *big time*. I mean it. Dinner. Drinks. Something."

Her brow arched, unimpressed. "Be professional."

"I *am* professional," I said, gesturing toward the twins, who were now loudly arguing over which of them deserved the biggest slice of pie. "They're not."

Gwen rolled her eyes, leaning on the counter. "Look, Kaizen. I get it. They're a pain in the ass. But their father's influence is important to the Guild, and this quest needs to be done. So suck it up, deal with the twins, and we'll talk about your complaints *after* you finish."

I groaned, leaning my forehead against the counter. "You're killing me, Gwen. You know that?"

"Good," she said sweetly.

Straightening, I glanced back at the twins. Lashley was now gesturing grandly, his booming voice echoing through the tavern as he criticized the décor. Neralia, meanwhile, had cornered another barmaid and was apparently critiquing her hairstyle.

I turned back to Gwen, deadpan. "You're *really* killing me."

"You'll live," she said with a smirk. "Now, go meet your new best friends. The twins will guide you to their father's mansion to get the full details."

"Wait," I said, frowning. "You mean *that* mansion? The giant fucking palace in the middle of town that looks like someone built it just to say, 'Hey, I'm rich, and you're not'?"

"That would be the one."

I stared at her, hoping for some hint of a joke. There wasn't one.

"Unbelievable," I muttered, turning back toward the twins. "This is going to be a disaster."

"Have fun," Gwen called after me, her voice practically dripping with amusement.

"Oh, I will," I shot back. "And when I get back, we're having *words* about this."

Her laughter followed me as I made my way toward the twins, already dreading what came next.