As the Madam led him into the main hall, Baron couldn’t help but recall some of the less-than-savory things he’d read about in his past life.

Brothels, also known as "live-action romance sets" and "seafood markets."

In the far East, they were anciently called "green mansions" or "spring pavilions," terms that evoked idyllic courtyards of green-bricked, blue-tiled lofts, where one might enjoy fleeting moments of romance and poetic dalliance.

Compared to those "green mansions," however, European brothels were more utilitarian, lacking their "refined culture."

There were few artistic pursuits like poetry, song, or dance. The focus was squarely on the transaction of sex itself. On the way in, Baron had already seen no fewer than five girls who started to follow a man the moment he pulled out his banknotes.

Some of them, with their shoulders bared and pretty faces, didn’t even look like they were of age.

Baron frowned imperceptibly. He could have understood if this were the Middle Ages.

After all, most cities in medieval Europe had legalized brothels, viewing them as a necessary societal "safety valve."

Governments managed them by issuing licenses and levying a "prostitute tax," which at times even became a primary source of municipal revenue.

Though the Church condemned prostitution, it was influenced by the ideas of Saint Augustine and generally believed that brothels prevented rampant lust from endangering society. They were like "a sewer in a palace; take it away and you will fill the palace with pollution." Thus, the Church tacitly permitted their existence.

But this was 1987. With economic and technological progress, humanism was no longer just a slogan, and the social structures of the Middle Ages had long since evolved.

And Britain wasn’t some outrageous country like Lithuania, which had once forced 30% of its female population to register for the sex industry to be taxed, thereby promoting the commodification of its own people.

’So why are there still so many young prostitutes on the Inner Side?’

As if sensing Baron’s thoughts, Jack said in a low voice,

"Mixed-bloods are even less welcome on the Inner Side than the Bloodless. Merchants won’t hire them, and on top of that, every Foggy Day, their houses get destroyed by Beasts because they can’t afford the protection fees..."

Jack didn’t finish, but Baron understood instantly.

Discriminated against, unable to find work, short on money, forced into sex work... Take away the fantastical element of the Foggy Day, and it was a classic vicious cycle. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

It was similar to what he knew from his past life about immigrant women from Africa and Eastern Europe who couldn’t find jobs in Europe. Since generous welfare policies only benefited citizens, most were eventually forced into sex work to survive.

"But the Dwarf mixed-bloods are different," Jack added.

"How are they different?"

"They genuinely like... that sort of thing," Jack said with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

"Like how Black people like music and sports?"

Jack scratched his nose. ’The Constantine Brothers truly live up to the name Dragon Knight,’ he thought. ’Always so knightly.’

Bypassing the main hall on the first floor, the three continued deeper into the establishment.

The Madam explained that the hall was divided into an outer and inner section. The outer hall was cruder and more straightforward, frequented by a coarser clientele.

The inner hall, by contrast, was more exclusive. It was less crowded, better decorated, and the background music wasn’t wild punk rock, but languid blues.

Baron and Jack were led to a table in the inner hall.

Just as the Madam had said, the layout of the inner hall was completely different from the concert-like arrangement of the outer hall.

Only a dozen or so people were seated at their own tables, drinking. Occasionally, a tall, pointy-eared Elf mixed-blood, draped in crimson gauze, would nestle up to a guest, delicately plucking a grape and placing it in his mouth.

The Madam called over two Elf mixed-bloods to accompany them.

Baron noticed they were both draped in red gauze. Though their faces were caked in powder, it couldn’t hide the telltale signs of aging.

Their figures were still slender and their faces lovely, but their eyes were shrouded in a weary sort of decay.

’Weren’t the Elf and Dwarf Races supposed to be long-lived? Or are mixed-bloods not even granted the most basic boons of their people?’

Jack called both Elf mixed-bloods over to his side. As they snuggled up to him, Baron froze for a second. But just then, the Madam tiptoed over and whispered in his ear,

"Your friend, he’s here for Miss Cuicui, isn’t he? The one Mr. Zophie usually sees. Her ownership for the evening hasn’t been sold yet. If you’d like her company, just raise your placard during the auction."

The Madam then handed him a tall placard with the number "7" on it.

"Highest bidder wins," she purred, her face a mask of flirtatious desire.

’Seriously? Since when do you have to bid on pussy in a ’seafood market’?’

Baron complained internally but took the placard anyway. How could a millionaire possibly fail to buy a girl?

Just then, his gaze shifted. On the other side of the room, a group of short, stout Dwarves was laughing and slapping their table. It was the Dwarf soldiers and the captain who had extorted them at the city gate that morning.

The coachman was there too. ’So they were all in on it,’ he thought.

Just as Baron saw them, they saw him.

Baron was using the Chain of the Imitator, so he didn’t have to worry about the Dwarves recognizing him.

Unfortunately, the Elf mixed-bloods had pulled off some of Jack’s clothes, and his iconic golden hair and burly figure were too eye-catching. The Dwarf Captain quickly identified the guest at the opposite table as the same "coward" they had extorted that morning.

He raised his own placard, number "6," and made a throat-slitting gesture at Baron. His broad, square face was full of provocation.

The meaning was unmistakable.

Baron ignored him. The auction was starting.

One after another, Elf and Dwarf mixed-bloods were brought on stage, with the Madam who had led them in now acting as the auctioneer, introducing the girls’ "styles" and "techniques."

Baron noticed that the Elf mixed-bloods were mostly beautiful and tall, but rather flat-chested.

The Dwarf mixed-bloods, on the other hand, though lacking in height, were mostly stacked and baby-faced...

’Aren’t these just lolis and onee-sans?’

As the final girl took the stage, Baron was shaken. ’So they even cater to those with exotic fetishes!’