Novel Full Chapter 323: Brothel
Chapter 323: Brothel
The air carried less tension, though none of its inhabitants consciously understood why. Market stalls bustled beneath winter canopies. Vendors called out prices with renewed vigor. Snow was shoveled from cobblestone streets in steady rhythm, scraping against stone in a strangely comforting cadence.
People walked lighter.
They did not know they had been suffocating.
Bruce moved through the streets with quiet purpose, his presence blending seamlessly into the winter crowd. After several turns, he paused beside a middle-aged merchant adjusting crates of dried fish near a frost-covered awning.
“Where is the number one brothel in Eiskar?” Bruce asked plainly.
The merchant froze.
Slowly, he turned his head.
His eyes traveled from Bruce’s face to his posture, to the refined coat draped over his shoulders, to the calm authority in the way he stood. Then back to his face.
“…Excuse me?”
“The number one brothel,” Bruce repeated evenly. “Location.”
The merchant coughed into his fist and scratched his cheek, clearly buying time.
“It’s, ah… three streets down. Take the left by the crimson lantern posts. Large building. Gold trim.”
His gaze lingered a second too long.
Half disbelief. Half judgement.
Bruce did not react. He nodded once and continued walking.
Near an intersection, two young guards stood beneath a frost-dusted archway, spears resting against their shoulders. They straightened slightly as he approached.
“Excuse me,” Bruce said. “Number one brothel?”
The younger of the two nearly choked on his own breath.
The older guard cleared his throat and pointed stiffly toward the northern entertainment district. “Straight ahead. You’ll see the lights.”
Their expressions were unmistakable.
They were not expecting someone like him, young, composed, dignified, to ask so openly.
Most men lowered their voices. Some pretended they were asking for a friend. Others circled around the subject in awkward half-sentences.
Bruce had simply asked.
Directly.
Naturally.
That unsettled them more than the question itself.
He did not care.
Their assumptions were irrelevant.
He just needed to find Duke.
The atmosphere shifted as he entered the entertainment district. The air grew warmer despite the winter chill, music spilling from open balconies. Laughter rang freely, unrestrained. Crimson lanterns swayed gently above doorways, casting golden red light across snow-dusted streets and melting frost into glistening rivulets.
The building was impossible to miss.
Three stories tall. Ornate gold detailing across its façade. Silk banners cascading from upper balconies. The sign above the entrance shimmered faintly, mana infused script dancing subtly beneath the lantern glow.
Bruce stepped inside.
Warmth enveloped him instantly.
Perfume lingered thick in the air, sweet, layered, carefully crafted to intoxicate without overwhelming. Plush carpets muted footsteps. Soft stringed music drifted from deeper within the establishment, weaving through murmured conversations and the occasional bright laugh.
And eyes turned toward him.
He stood out.
Not because he looked inexperienced.
But because he did not look desperate.
His posture was straight. His expression composed. His gaze steady.
Confidence without hunger.
Two women near the entrance straightened almost immediately and approached with graceful ease. Their smiles were practiced, but not entirely hollow.
“Well,” one of them said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, “you don’t look like you belong out in that cold.”
The other tilted her head slightly. “First time here?”
Bruce’s expression did not change.
“I’m looking for someone.”
The two women exchanged a glance.
“Oh?” the first asked lightly. “Already have your eyes on someone?”
“A man,” Bruce replied flatly. “Name’s Duke. Did he come here within the past hour?”
The warmth in their smiles faltered.
Subtly.
The second woman crossed her arms loosely, her playful tone returning. “It’s hard to survive in the first gate of Eiskar. Information isn’t free.”
Her voice teased.
Her eyes did not.
Bruce sighed inwardly.
He already understood the exchange.
Without hesitation, he reached into his coat and placed two gold coins onto the nearby polished table.
The soft clink of metal shifted the atmosphere instantly.
Both women’s gazes flicked downward.
Gold.
Not silver.
Their expressions sharpened.
The first woman smiled again, wider this time.
“No,” she said.
Bruce’s brow knit slightly. “No?”
“No Duke,” she replied smoothly. “Not in the past hour.”
Silence lingered.
Bruce’s frown deepened faintly. He and Duke had parted less than an hour ago, before the purge began. That discrepancy was not small.
Then, almost imperceptibly, something shifted.
A faint pulse of pressure slipped from him.
Not enough to harm.
Not enough to injure.
Just enough.
An S Ranked aura brushed across the room like the edge of an unseen blade.
The temperature seemed to drop.
The air thickened.
The two women stiffened instantly.
The first woman’s smile shattered completely.
Sweat beaded along her brow despite the warmth. Her breath hitched as instinct screamed at her in primal warning. She had dealt with nobles, drunk commanders, wealthy merchants swollen with arrogance.
This was none of those.
This felt like standing before a predator wearing human skin.
Her harlot mother had taught her how to be clever. How to redirect. How to extract extra coin from naive men.
She had never imagined that being clever would bring her face to face with something that felt like death wrapped in calm.
“I, I’m sorry, sir,” she stammered, voice trembling. “I’m telling the truth. There really is no Duke.”
Bruce’s gaze remained cold. Steady. Unblinking.
She swallowed hard.
“Although, in the past hour there was an elderly man,” she rushed to add. “He called himself the Traveller. He’s a regular. He’s the only one who came in during that time.”
Bruce’s eyes narrowed slightly.
The Traveller.
Of course.
So Duke had shifted back into that eccentric persona.
A faint flicker of contemplation passed through Bruce’s mind. He wondered briefly whether Isolde knew of this other identity.
He retracted his aura at once.
The suffocating pressure vanished as though it had never existed.
The girl staggered slightly, catching herself against the table, lungs drawing in greedy breaths.
Bruce nodded once. “Where is he?”
“Third floor,” she whispered, still shaken. “Private wing. End of the hall. The moonlit suite.”
Bruce turned without another word.