The cheap tavern reeked of stale sweat, cheap ale, and desperation. The moment Azel and Clad stepped inside, they were assaulted by the heavy scent of perfume masking even heavier sins.Women in scanty outfits danced on creaky tables, swinging their hips and throwing fake smiles at drunken customers. Coins clattered on the floors as men shouted, laughed, and pawed at whatever skin they could reach.
Clad, naturally, looked like he'd just walked into paradise.
"Now this is my kind of place."
He said, whistling low as he admired a dancer who was making an impressive attempt at a full split.
Azel, on the other hand, was unmoved. His hood was low over his head, casting his blood-red eyes into shadow, but his face showed only thinly veiled annoyance.
No matter how many half-naked women danced before him, no one could even remotely compare to Anna.
In Azel's mind, she was the only woman worth thinking about. Everything else was noise.
"We're here for information."
Azel said flatly, grabbing Clad by the back of his collar just as he was about to shove a gold coin down a girl's cleavage.
Clad pouted, throwing one last wistful glance at the dancer.
"You're no fun."
Ignoring him, Azel scanned the tavern. The place was chaotic. Loud. Filled with so much noise it was impossible to think straight. At least a dozen "chambers" lined the walls — private rooms, barely curtained off, where more "intimate" services were clearly being offered.
One gold coin would buy a dance.
Two gold coins bought a special favor, blowjob.
Three gold coins got you foreplay.
And five gold coins opened the way to full service.
Azel wanted none of it.
They began searching, peeking into each chamber. Some doors swung open easily, revealing drunken men slumped over passed-out women. Other rooms earned them shouted curses, demands to get lost, and one thrown beer mug that missed Clad's head by an inch.
Clad just laughed it off, throwing back sarcastic apologies like confetti.
After searching a dozen rooms, they came up empty. No sign of the elf named Paladin.
Finally, Clad spotted a waitress moving through the crowd, balancing mugs of ale on a wooden tray. He sauntered over, flashing his best flirty smile.
"Hey, sweetheart. We're looking for someone. Name's Paladin. Ring any bells?"
The woman paused, shifting the tray to her hip. Her face twisted into a sneer.
"That jackass? "Yeah, I know him. Slimy bastard. Comes here with a single gold coin, says he just wants a dance, then tries to get handsy without paying the full price."
Clad winced dramatically, holding a hand to his heart.
"That's tragic."
Azel, less interested in Paladin's moral failures, cut in.
"Where is he?"
The waitress shrugged.
"Got kicked out not too long ago. Made a mess. Last I heard, he's living like a rat behind the dump area."
Azel gave a curt nod.
"Thanks."
With the new information, they pushed out through the back of the tavern, into the dark, grimy alleys behind it. The "dump area" was generous — it was less a place for trash and more a graveyard for it. Broken crates, rotting food, discarded clothing. Rats the size of cats darted between piles of garbage.
And right in the middle of it, snoring like a dying ox, was Paladin.
The elf lay sprawled across a heap of torn sacks, his silver hair tangled and caked with filth. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, revealing a scrawny chest, and his boots were mismatched.
Clad stepped forward, jingling a small pouch of gold coins.
The result was immediate.
Paladin's head shot up like a dog catching the scent of meat. His bloodshot eyes locked onto the pouch, and he scrambled upright so fast he tripped over himself.
"I'll do anything!"
He barked — literally barked, on all fours, wagging an imaginary tail.
Azel stared, utterly unimpressed. Clad grinned wickedly.
"Good boy."
He knelt down slightly, dangling the pouch just out of reach.
"We're looking for someone. A man called Mr. X. Know him?"
Paladin, still panting like an excited mutt, nodded frantically.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah! Top floor of the Vincent State's concentration cells! Cell number thirteen! Locked up tighter than a nun's— uh, tighter than anything!"
"Details? Security? Guards?"
Paladin bobbed his head so hard it looked like it might fall off.
"Heavy patrols! They got knights stationed at every floor! Magical seals too! No one goes in or out without Vincent family clearance!"
Clad tossed the gold pouch onto Paladin's lap.
The elf snatched it up greedily, clutching it to his chest like a lifeline. He immediately began stuffing coins into every available pocket, still muttering thanks under his breath.
Clad stood, dusting off his hands.
"Pleasure doing business with you."
Paladin barked again in gratitude as they turned away, disappearing into the shadows. W
alking down the alley, Azel couldn't hide the deep sigh that escaped him.
"This is ridiculous."
Clad threw an arm over his shoulders, ignoring Azel's scowl.
"Aw, come on. We got what we needed, didn't we? Sometimes you gotta dance with fools to get to kings."
Azel shook his head, but he didn't argue. Somehow, despite how messy and absurd everything felt, a part of him was... amused.
Maybe because it reminded him that not everything was about perfect battles, holy wars, and grim death. Sometimes, revolution started with a drunken elf digging for coins in a garbage heap.
Clad slapped him lightly on the back.
"Cheer up, dude. We're just getting started."
Azel grunted in response. They had the information now — Mr. X's location, his security details, and the nature of his imprisonment.
Breaking into a concentration camp run by the Vincent family wouldn't be easy. It would be bloody, dangerous, and reckless. But at least now they had a path forward.
"Let's go,."
Azel said quietly. Clad grinned wider.