Chapter 8: The Dungeon
The south gate of the city was busier than Eren expected for that hour of the morning. Wagons creaked over packed gravel, pulled by draft beasts with dull eyes and sunken bellies.
Merchants shouted in hoarse voices, pushing wilted fruit, faded cloth, cracked clay pots. The air was an uncomfortable blend of damp smoke, fresh manure, and briny river stink.
Eren paused about thirty meters from the gate, squinting to adjust to the sudden brightness after hours in the wet forest gloom.
Behind him, Nyssa stumbled over a tuft of dry grass, nearly falling. A wet, embarrassed noise escaped her gelatinous lips as she fought to stay upright. The makeshift leaf covering—already wilted and torn in multiple places—shifted badly over her naked body.
She tried to pull a larger leaf over her chest, covering only part of her full, firm breasts that kept slipping out at the sides. Her translucent blue skin didn’t help: even when "covered," the outline of her nipples was visible, the tips hardened from the morning chill.
"Nnh... m-master..." she whimpered softly, trying to adjust the leaves. "I-it’s... showing too much?"
Eren didn’t respond immediately. He regarded her with an analytical, almost cruel look, head tilted slightly like a craftsman inspecting poorly-cut wood.
Insufficient covering. Planning failure. Result: exposure.
He sighed, thumb brushing over the scar on his palm—a fresh reminder of the blood pact that still ached.
City with guards. Merchants. Guild lookouts. Unnecessary attention.
She kept squirming in shame, those huge wet eyes full of anxious pleading. Her thick, translucent thighs gleamed in the light, the color shifting to greenish tones as she shrank back.
"M-master... isn’t there another way?"