Due to his wild indulgence in drinking and gambling, Micah had squandered nearly all his money.
There were two types of brothels in Linden City. One was the mid-to-high-end establishments backed by lords, complete with song and dance performances and fine dining amenities. The other kind, now that the Beima Principality was in decline, were basements run by local thugs - not even worth mentioning.
Micah couldn't afford the first type, but also looked down on the second.
With his experience, he knew these troubled times had spawned many streetwalkers. If someone was selling flowers for thirty copper coins on the street, nine times out of ten they were pimps making connections.
An old woman led Micah through the dilapidated outskirts of Linden City, winding through buildings crammed tightly together. Micah was growing impatient as a light rain began to fall.
Finally, the old woman brought Micah into a dark alley, through a narrow passageway, and up a rickety staircase that creaked with each step to the second floor.
Micah sized her up - about thirty years old, decently attractive features, somewhat thin but otherwise acceptable, with the brown hair he preferred, wearing only sleepwear.
After paying five copper coins to the old woman, Micah entered.
Unexpectedly, there was already a man sitting on the floor smoking. Micah thought he'd been set up and reached for the short-handled axe at his waist, ready to fight. But upon closer look, the man had one empty sleeve - missing an arm.
Noticing the newcomer, the man hesitated briefly before tactfully grabbing his crutch and limping out of the room, closing the door behind him.
The space was tiny - just a bed in about ten square meters, no bathroom or kitchen. The walls were thin, clearly a larger room partitioned with wooden boards for rental.
Only Micah and the woman remained in the dim light of an oil lamp.
Micah sat on the bed and removed his wide-brimmed hat. He had a short beard, curly hair showing streaks of white, a prominent nose, deep-set eyes, and his gray-blue eyes roamed over the woman.
"Let me get you some water."
"No need." It wasn't discrimination, but knowing the previous customer had been like that made him uneasy. "Who was that man?"
"My husband. Sorry you had to see that."
Micah was silent for a moment.
"You're decent-looking. That can't be true."
Micah knew this business well - whether important or trivial matters, there were never truths spoken. A man missing an arm was completely useless in these parts, destined to die on the streets soon without care.
"Well, don't judge by how he looks now. He used to be impressive - served in the navy until pirates took his arm. Now he limps, so I support him."
She said it as casually as discussing the weather, already removing her top completely under the flickering oil lamp, creating an alluring scene.
Micah was silent for another moment.
"I just remembered something urgent."
Putting his hat back on, Micah left thirty copper coins on the bed as payment. Before the woman could speak, he was already out the door.
The disabled man sat smoking on the stairway landing, his one-armed silhouette in the dim corridor looking like a ghost come to claim lives. He looked surprised to see Micah leaving so soon.
Micah couldn't meet his gaze, fleeing the building as if escaping.
Micah returned to the ship. Seeing the deck empty and light coming from the navigation room at the stern, he knew they were having a meeting.
He opened the door and scanned the room - most were present but no one noticed him.
Ren was in the middle of dramatically recounting the day's events with such flair it was a shame he wasn't a professional storyteller. Everyone listened intently.
"I was fucking almost dead, I shit you not! That swordsman had skills - his blade came like lightning from the west, swift as a desert storm. Just a flash of cold steel filled the sky.
My mind shook! I immediately activated the Peerless Heavenly Technique - peerless through eternity, manifesting divine might! This is the invincible method! At the peak of immortals, overlooking the mortal world - where there's Ren, there's heaven!"
Ren puffed on a hand-rolled tobacco leaf, gesturing animatedly, though his greasy, tangled hair and body odor were distracting.
But everyone knew the "Peerless Heavenly Technique" was just bullshit Li Site made up about some supreme emperor's skill - sounded impressive but never actually used in fights. In reality, Ren just swung his hammer yelling "eighty! eighty!" and relied on the evil artifact inhabiting his left arm.
"Can you be serious?" Shadi sighed helplessly.
Micah noticed several were missing - the captain, first mate, and the new tiger-man were probably discussing matters elsewhere.
Ren continued his tall tale.
"Anyway, when he realized he was screwed, he called for backup. But Ox showed up carrying two halves of a corpse! If his buddy could come back to life, he'd write 'tragedy' on his own leg. The guy lost all hope right then! While he was stunned, I ripped his arm clean off with one crunch! Totally wrecked him.
Ox tried to interrogate him, but the bastard... had some balls, wouldn't talk no matter what.
So we gave him the cold steel special - straight through the heart, farewell to this mortal coil."
Ren took a drag and added with a grin, "I shit you not!"
Haywood, the low-level demon and ship's model worker, had already packed all the loot, ready for distribution.
Ship rules were simple: under 300 gold dragons total, 50% to common funds, rest split evenly. Over 300, 200 to funds, remainder split. Common funds covered everything from supplies to crew wages to ship maintenance - keeping a pirate vessel running. Any extra expenses or recruitment required crew voting - Li Site got two votes, others one each.
Fen kept the books, available for verification anytime.
Morrison glanced at the door where Micah lingered awkwardly. "Our virtuous, upstanding ship doctor has returned."
Morrison always sharpened his throwing knives with a whetstone, speaking with a sarcastic smirk.
Micah forced a laugh and found a seat.
The table was loaded with hearty dishes - clearly the ship's cook Archer, knowing about the feast, had slaughtered a goat from the ship's pen to prepare a whole roasted goat banquet with dried meats and dips, no vegetables in sight. Plus the ship was never short on alcohol - even Archer drinking constantly couldn't finish the stock.
This spread would be hard for even low-ranking nobles to enjoy monthly - truly extravagant.
Archer's life could be summarized in four words: cooking, killing, drinking, sleeping. Plain and simple. He was already nearing the sleeping phase, thoroughly drunk.
Micah was observant. Though this was a loot division feast, several looked troubled - Ox, Ren, Shadi, and Wolman all had murderous glints in their eyes, clearly hiding something.
"So?" Wolman asked meaningfully, closing his copy of The Arcania Travels.
"So what?" Micah was confused.
"The whore, obviously. What kind? Worth it?" Wolman teased.
"Same old thing. Nothing special." Micah brushed it off.
Ox suddenly turned serious, his greatsword leaning nearby. "I don't know what's coming later, but you should know which side to stand on."
Ox thought it time to address Sven's situation openly. After two months of giving Fen face without requiring blood oaths, now that a big job was done, explanations were due. With Li Site, Fen and Sven all absent, they were likely discussing the matter.
The mood in the room turned grim.
Except for the thoroughly drunk Archer and Morrison.
Micah grew uneasy. Ox was one of the few reliable men aboard - no nonsense, no bad jokes, always serious.
"What's going on? Is it that serious?"
As a veteran crew member, Micah had only seen this atmosphere a handful of times.
"People... might die tonight." Ox's tone brooked no argument.
In this room now, only Morrison's words carried real weight.
"Don't be so tense. Li Site's got brains. More likely we'll be popping champagne." Morrison glanced at Ox, thinking serious people shouldn't be pirates - always paranoid, living by the blade was exhausting.
"Let's hope so." Wolman remained noncommittal.
Li Site entered, looking uncharacteristically solemn.