Hacking the Game Didn't Go as Intended

CHAPTER 180: The Brutal and the Benevolent

The man clicked his tongue in disdain, casting a dismissive glance at the used product and the pitiful hound crouched defensively beside it. "You really ought to expand your selection to include sturdier merchandise. I've heard quite a bit about demihuman salamanders and wolfkin. It would serve you well to consider adding such races to your inventory."

The brothel keeper, a middle-aged woman draped in a oriental gown, inclined her head respectfully as the man approached. "Lord Zerbst, we are most grateful for your continued patronage."

"Valoria," the man sneered, his gaze sharpening as he eyed her with growing interest. "When will you stop this futile resistance and allow me to sample your wares instead?" He let out a mocking chuckle. "I suspect a woman as busy as you haven't had a man in quite a while."

The woman's smile remained composed and serene, her demeanor unwavering. "I would be more than willing to accept your offer," she said, her tone cool, "but only if you agree to surrender all your assets to me."

The man clicked his tongue, a sneer twisting his lips as a dark urge stirred within him. Part of him ached to take her by force, or at the very least strike her down right there, but he knew better. All his assets—including any loans he could wrangle from the guild—wouldn't be enough to shield him from the consequences of such an act.

With one last contemptuous glance, he relaxed into a confident swagger and turned to leave.

"Tch! Why do we still allow that sociopath to come here?" asked the 'defensive hound' as he retrieved a potion from his pocket.

"Unfortunately, Lord Zerbst is one of our most lucrative patrons and we can't afford to jeopardize that relationship, despite his sadistic nature."

Milton turned away, his frown deepening. "As much as it sickens me to admit it, perhaps we should take that bastard's advice and seek out women who are tougher. What about the high-profile ones we're supposed to receive?"

Valoria turned to leave, holding the man in a sidelong glance. "They're still being prepared at the facility, and I'm afraid they wouldn't fare much better either. By the way," she added, her gaze shifting to the woman still wrapped in the sheets, "how is she?"

Milton held up a glass vial, inspecting the still-bleeding wound as he responded, "She's just unconscious and missing a nail. Nothing more. A potion should have her back on her feet in no time."

"Don't bother," Valoria interrupted coldly, her voice unwavering and detached. "Prepare her with the others for today's pickup."

The man hesitated. "Madam?"

"Potions are costly," she continued, her tone flat and emotionless. "Don't waste them on trash."

Milton bowed his head slightly, his eyes betraying a flicker of sorrow. "Understood."

***

HISSSS~

The red-light district was usually quiet by day, but with the war on the horizon, countless men sought refuge from their worries, surrendering to the temptation of losing themselves in the embrace of a prostitute.

A large wagon threaded its way through the crowded streets, coming to a stop at a familiar brothel. At the back of the fenced compound, a middle-aged man with a nervous, almost desperate demeanor, hurriedly directed several women into the bed of the wagon. Some were clearly frightened and disoriented, while others wore hollow, ashen expressions—empty echoes of their former selves.

HISSSS~

But their anxiety paled in comparison to the middle-aged man who rushed them along like livestock. Daringly, he stole a glance at the burly man—at least, he assumed he was human—who had accompanied the coachman for the pickup.