Pioneer Lord: I Have Conquering System

In Gonda, there was a brothel known as the Red Velvet. Its name, like its sign, was vibrant and alluring, a flame burning in the darkness of night.

Pushing open the heavy oak door, one was met with a smell that was a mixture of cheap perfume, sweat, and alcohol.

In the dim, flickering candlelight, silk draperies mingled with the stench of cheap liquor, and gold and silver vessels were juxtaposed with shabby wooden tables.

The line between noble Knights and street thugs blurred here. Prostitutes clad in colorful silks and sheer fabrics wove through the crowd, their makeup vivid and their figures seductive.

Whispers circulated in the corners. Knights boasted of their military exploits, merchants secretly discussed smuggling deals, and spies exchanged intelligence.

The men sat gathered around wooden tables, chugging ale and slapping the firm, round, barely-concealed buttocks of passing prostitutes. They laughed and joked loudly, and every so often, a man would pull a woman into his lap, whisper a few words, and lead her away into the shadows upstairs.

The proprietress of the Red Velvet was a woman named Margery. A former Court Maid, she was now past thirty but still possessed a mature charm, like a ripe peach whose flavor only deepened with age.

Her eyes were sharp and shrewd, as if she could see right through every customer's intentions.

The Red Velvet wasn't merely a place for pleasure; it was more like a miniature Kingdom, filled with power, desire, and betrayal.

Here, everyone had their own agenda and secrets, and the Red Velvet had been established for the very purpose of uncovering them.

After all, no man could keep from spilling his deepest secrets in the hands of a prostitute skilled in her various arts.

As for who was behind it all, she cast an impassive glance toward the Royal Palace.

Margery sat behind the wooden counter, a glass of rum in her hand. Her gaze swept across the crowd and soon landed on a short, skinny old man.

Sam was sitting at a corner table, cradling a mug of the cheapest, lowest-quality ale. He watched with avid interest as the prostitutes, like butterflies flitting among flowers, weaved through the crowd.

He had never seen so many beautiful and seductive women before. They were like delicate, vibrant flowers on the roadside, waiting to be plucked.

To a country bumpkin like him, straight from the Wilderness, it was all exceptionally novel. He cursed his empty pockets, which meant he could only feast his eyes.

Still, he would occasionally copy the other men, reaching out to slap a passing prostitute on the behind, leaving a distinct, grimy handprint.

When the prostitute shot him a furious glare, he just grinned, revealing a yellow-toothed mouth, missing two teeth.

'A broke country bumpkin.'

Margery quickly averted her gaze. The Red Velvet saw plenty of his kind every day.

They would come in, order a glass of the cheapest ale, and sit in the corner, their eyes practically undressing every prostitute in the room. In reality, though, their empty wallets meant all they could do was get a handsy thrill.

However, the Red Velvet's policy was to serve nobles and commoners alike, so she couldn't very well throw him out.

Suddenly, the sound of an argument erupted from the top of the stairs. It was a burly Knight, flanked by two Attendants.

The Knight roared, "I paid you double! Why did you only let me enjoy myself for the span of a few dozen heartbeats!" His booming voice drew the eyes of everyone around.

The prostitute sneered, her voice sharp as she retorted, "You paid for two rounds, and both times you only lasted ten heartbeats! Even the stray mutts on the street have more stamina than you."

"My time is precious, and I have other clients to see. So unless you pay up again, you can forget about fucking me!" Her voice was shrill and grating, dripping with mockery.

Evidently, knowing she was in the right—and counting on the backing of her powerful master—the prostitute was utterly fearless.

The Knight's face turned purple with rage as he clenched his fists. The surrounding onlookers began to whisper amongst themselves. Someone couldn't help but laugh out loud—it was Sam.

'Ten heartbeats. That's just insulting to dogs.'

Margery recognized the Knight. He was Captain Crow, the Security Captain under Beidoye Hall tasked with maintaining order in Gonda. She could smell the alcohol on him. To keep the situation from escalating, she stepped forward and said, "Captain Crow, if you are not satisfied, then I can find you a better girl, though the price will be steeper."

"However, if you insist on making trouble, I suggest you remember just who it is that runs the Red Velvet." Her voice took on a warning tone at the end.

"Damn whores, damn the Red Velvet! I'm never coming back here again!" he snarled, then stormed straight for the oak door.

Just when everyone thought the Knight was about to leave in humiliation, he stopped in front of Sam near the door. He leaned in and growled, "You filthy dirt-leg, what were you just laughing at?!"

"I wasn't laughing," Sam denied hastily, shrinking back.

Though he was a Shaman, a noble Caster, his Magic was entirely focused on self-enhancement.

This hulking man before him was as sturdy as a black bear; Sam figured he could probably knock him flat with a single punch.

"Lowly cur, you dare laugh at a nobleman?" The Knight's eyes were utterly cold. He seized Sam by the collar with one hand, yanking him up from the table. "I'll have you strung up on the gallows and flogged to death!"

With that, he hoisted Sam into the air, preparing to give him a couple of hard slaps to vent his frustration.

Margery merely watched with a cold detachment. He was just a country bumpkin. If his death appeased the Security Captain, then so be it.

Countless paupers died in Gonda every day.