Hacking the Game Didn't Go as Intended
CHAPTER 180: The Brutal and the Benevolent

The man clicked his tongue in disdain, casting a dismissive glance at the used product and the pitiful hound crouched defensively beside it. “You really ought to expand your selection to include sturdier merchandise. I’ve heard quite a bit about demihuman salamanders and wolfkin. It would serve you well to consider adding such races to your inventory.”

The brothel keeper, a middle-aged woman draped in a oriental gown, inclined her head respectfully as the man approached. “Lord Zerbst, we are most grateful for your continued patronage.”

“Valoria,” the man sneered, his gaze sharpening as he eyed her with growing interest. “When will you stop this futile resistance and allow me to sample your wares instead?” He let out a mocking chuckle. “I suspect a woman as busy as you haven’t had a man in quite a while.”

The woman’s smile remained composed and serene, her demeanor unwavering. “I would be more than willing to accept your offer,” she said, her tone cool, “but only if you agree to surrender all your assets to me.”

The man clicked his tongue, a sneer twisting his lips as a dark urge stirred within him. Part of him ached to take her by force, or at the very least strike her down right there, but he knew better. All his assets—including any loans he could wrangle from the guild—wouldn’t be enough to shield him from the consequences of such an act.

With one last contemptuous glance, he relaxed into a confident swagger and turned to leave.

“Tch! Why do we still allow that sociopath to come here?” asked the ‘defensive hound’ as he retrieved a potion from his pocket.

“Unfortunately, Lord Zerbst is one of our most lucrative patrons and we can’t afford to jeopardize that relationship, despite his sadistic nature.”

Milton turned away, his frown deepening. “As much as it sickens me to admit it, perhaps we should take that bastard’s advice and seek out women who are tougher. What about the high-profile ones we’re supposed to receive?”

Valoria turned to leave, holding the man in a sidelong glance. “They’re still being prepared at the facility, and I’m afraid they wouldn’t fare much better either. By the way,” she added, her gaze shifting to the woman still wrapped in the sheets, “how is she?”

Milton held up a glass vial, inspecting the still-bleeding wound as he responded, “She’s just unconscious and missing a nail. Nothing more. A potion should have her back on her feet in no time.”

“Don’t bother,” Valoria interrupted coldly, her voice unwavering and detached. “Prepare her with the others for today’s pickup.”

The man hesitated. “Madam?”

“Potions are costly,” she continued, her tone flat and emotionless. “Don’t waste them on trash.”

Milton bowed his head slightly, his eyes betraying a flicker of sorrow. “Understood.”

***

HISSSS~

The red-light district was usually quiet by day, but with the war on the horizon, countless men sought refuge from their worries, surrendering to the temptation of losing themselves in the embrace of a prostitute.

A large wagon threaded its way through the crowded streets, coming to a stop at a familiar brothel. At the back of the fenced compound, a middle-aged man with a nervous, almost desperate demeanor, hurriedly directed several women into the bed of the wagon. Some were clearly frightened and disoriented, while others wore hollow, ashen expressions—empty echoes of their former selves.

HISSSS~

But their anxiety paled in comparison to the middle-aged man who rushed them along like livestock. Daringly, he stole a glance at the burly man—at least, he assumed he was human—who had accompanied the coachman for the pickup.

The man was dark-skinned and large-statured, the plates of armor augmenting his leather attire dangerous and unnerving. He stood still as a statue, silently overseeing the operation. Where eyebrows should have been, strange reptilian-like protrusions jutted from his face, and his eyelids and lips were sewed shut. But what truly caught the eye was the hourglass that hung from his neck—an odd and unsettling detail.

HISSSS~

The man swallowed hard as his gaze fixed on the pendant, its sands nearly finished slipping to the bottom. He didn’t know the meaning behind it, but the presence of its owner was so foreboding that it didn’t take much to guess the symbolism wasn’t likely to bode well for his health.

A wave of relief washed over him when the last of the prostitutes were ushered into the wagon and the terrifying figure climbed in behind them. With a nervous, strained smile, the man awkwardly waved before turning on his heels and hurrying away. After today’s ordeal, he had finally resolved to seek another job—this kind of stress couldn’t be good for his sanity.

HISSSS~

TSSS-TSSS—

But then, suddenly, the once prominent sound ceased.

The man could clearly hear the last grain of sand fall through to the bottom of the hourglass from where he stood, and in that moment, the world around him seemed to drain of color, turning a cold, lifeless gray. Instinctively, he turned his head, and there—almost as if he had materialized from thin air—stood the hulking man, his imposing presence looming like a shadow.

Saliva dripped from the man’s mouth, dissolving the threads that had sealed his lips shut. With a slow, almost reptilian motion, his long tongue—split at the tip—swept across his eyelids, melting away the last remnants of the stitches that had kept them sealed.

SNAP!

Pupils in the shape of a fiery “X” flitted about terrifyingly before locking onto their target with chilling precision. Then an ear-splitting grin revealed a row of razor-sharp teeth. The middle-aged man’s lips trembled, and he let out a scream of terror. But his wail was cut short as the sound of cracking bones and tearing flesh echoed through the air.

***

Fay didn’t need to be psychic to understand why she’d been summoned to the private room by Lefahne and Zurrel; their faces said it all. Now that their daughter had made a full recovery, it was clear that she no longer had a place in their lives. It was understandable. Until now, Silvestia had been bedridden, hidden away in the basement with little hope of revival. But now, she had returned to claim her rightful place—in both her room and her parents’ hearts.

Fay understood completely, but that didn’t make the reality any less painful. After opening up to them and growing used to the warmth of a home, she was now being cast aside. Clutching her chest, she forced her anguished expression into something resembling a smile.

“…Thank you for everything,” she whispered through her tears. “I’ll never forget your kindness. I-I’ll get going now.”

The mother and father shared a tense glance before returning their focus to the grief-stricken girl. Then, without warning, something extraordinary happened—something so unexpected that it left Fay frozen, her breath catching in her throat.

Lefahne’s body began to glow, her entire form bathed in a soft, otherworldly light. Her dark brown eyes shimmered, brightening into a striking gold that seemed to radiate warmth and life. Her short black hair lengthened in an instant, cascading down to her ankles in a cascade of mint-green curls, each strand resembling the lush, vibrant foliage of a thriving tree. From her head, wooden horns began to emerge, twisting and branching like the limbs of an ancient oak. Leaves of varying hues unfurled along the ridges, while delicate flowers blossomed from the tips.

“Fay…,” said the beautiful dryad, crouching in front of the girl so as to caress the cheek hidden within the hood. “We just wanted to thank you for healing Silvestia…”

“And let you know,” added Zurrel with a warm smile, “…that you’re not alone.”

Like his wife, Zurrel had undergone a stunning transformation. His previously round, human ears had elongated into graceful points, and his auburn hair had grown longer, now gleaming with a luminous snow-white sheen. His eyes shimmered with an emerald green, and from his brow rose antler-like horns that were festooned with winding vines that seemed to pulse with life.

Fay’s eyes quivered. “What—?”

Lefahne smiled gently, her eyes full of patience and warmth. “We are both spirits—I’m a dryad, and Zurrel is a druid.”

The man gave a subtle nod. “We disguise ourselves as humans to blend into human society and lead a more peaceful, comfortable life.”

“That’s what we wanted to speak with you about, Fay,” Lefahne continued. “We wish to offer you the chance to live a life full of happiness and success as well. Zurrel and I have decided to teach you the spell that grants us the ability to transform, should you wish to learn it.”

“Wh-Why?” Fay stammered, her voice trembling. “Why would you… do this for me?”

Lefahne looked away, her lips pressing into a thin line as discomfort washed over her. “Sometimes… it feels like our family is cursed.”

Zurrel’s gaze darkened at his wife’s sorrowful words.

“…Like some otherworldly force is determined to tear us apart. First it was me, then my husband, and now our child.” Lefahne’s eyes, once full of life, seemed to cloud with a heavy sadness as she gently cupped Fay’s cheek once again. “If anything were to happen to either of us… I pray someone would look after Silvestia in our place. Fay, I’m certain your mother would’ve wanted the same.”

Fay’s eyes widened, fresh tears gathering in them as the weight of the words sank in.

Zurrel’s lips quivered. “Silvie’s illness was hereditary; I can’t help but feel responsible for our little girl’s suffering. Her case was so severe, and the potions that worked for me didn’t have the same effect on her. Watching her suffer has been unbearable.”

“Honey,” Lefahne whispered sympathetically, her kind voice conveying the reassurance that it wasn’t his fault.

Zurrel’s expression remained conflicted, his words heavy with regret. “I know a genetic disease is beyond anyone’s control, but part of me still believes I’m to blame for Silvie’s pain. After all, it’s my bloodline. This is partly why I agreed to Lefahne’s wish to take you in. It wasn’t just because it was the right thing to do; it’s because, as a father, I would hope someone would show kindness to my child in return if we weren’t there to protect her.”

“Once again, Fay,” Lefahne said softly, her voice warm with gratitude. “I know it was a sacrifice, but thank you from the bottom of my heart for bringing our little girl back to us.”

Zurrel’s gaze shifted tenderly from his wife to Fay, his expression earnest. “Please, allow us to repay your kindness by teaching you this spell. It’s the least we can do.”

The little girl remained silent, her only response a slow, deliberate pull of her hood to reveal her face. Lefahne’s eyes widened in astonishment, momentarily transported back to the day she first glimpsed what lay beneath Fay’s cloak upon rescuing her from the streets. A gentle squeeze from Zurrel’s hand pulled her back to the present, her expression softening. Then, a tender, compassionate smile began to form on her lips.

Moments later, there was an urgent thud on the door and Silvestia stormed in with a critical expression etched on her face. “Mom! Dad! We have an emergency!”

Moral Support & Exposure:

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