Demonic Dragon: Harem System

The stone road winding through the open fields led Cristine and Yennifer to the entrance to Filgram. The reinforced wooden gate stood open, flanked by guards who hardly seemed to notice who entered or left. The smells arrived first: spices burning in braziers, meat roasting, the stench of fresh fish mixed with that of spoiled fish, human sweat, horse dung, and cheap wine. Cristine paused for a moment, squinting.

"So… this is Filgram." Her voice held a restrained calm, as if she were absorbing every detail.

Yennifer adjusted her dark cloak around her shoulders, partially covering her face. Her eyes, however, scanned the crowd in every direction, eager, curious, suspicious. "It's a living city," she said quietly, almost reverently. "Chaotic, noisy, smelly… but alive."

They passed through the gate without being stopped. Inside, the city revealed itself as a pulsating organism. The streets were wide, but filled with vendors setting up makeshift stalls, pushing wares and shouting prices as if their lives depended on it. Sweaty men carried sacks of flour and salted fish on their shoulders, while women balanced baskets of colorful fruit on their heads. Barefoot children ran among the passersby, some laughing, others pulling bags from unsuspecting passersby.

Music blared from a street corner, where three men beat drums and a woman in a green dress twirled in a sensual dance. Further ahead, two men argued in front of a stall, almost coming to blows over the price of a piece of fabric.

Cristine took a deep breath, feeling the pulse of the city. "A perfect place to hide," she murmured with a small smile.

"And perfect to start with," Yennifer added, pulling her by the arm into the crowd.

They let themselves be carried along by the flow of the streets. Every corner seemed to change the scenery: noisy taverns, discreet brothels with red silk curtains at the entrance, blacksmith shops that vibrated with the sound of hammers striking red-hot iron. Hooded men whispered in alleys, women offered perfumes and amulets in seductive voices, and beggars held out their hands with empty eyes.

"Filgram doesn't have a heart," Yennifer said, almost philosophically. "It's as if the whole city were a market. Every face, every corner, every secret… everything is for sale."

Cristine smiled, that cold smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Then we just have to buy what we want."

Their goal was clear: find the information guild Scarlet had mentioned. A small but well-structured place. A perfect starting point to devour from the inside out.

They spent a few hours wandering the city, observing, listening. Yennifer had a gift for sniffing out rumors, and she soon found a thread to pull. An old carpet seller, his tongue too loose, mentioned a "House of Whispers," where wealthy men went not just to drink but to buy secrets.

"Looks like we found it," Cristine murmured, her eyes narrowed.

Following the directions, they reached a narrower street, where the traffic was less intense. The houses were tall and narrow, made of dark stone, and the windows had iron bars. At the end of the street, lit by stained-glass lanterns, stood the House of Whispers. At first glance, it looked like just another tavern—a discreet wooden facade, heavy curtains blocking the view inside, and a sign bearing an enigmatic symbol: a mask split in half, half smiling, half silent.

"Beautiful," Yennifer said wryly. "Discretion that screams to those who know how to look."

Cristine simply nodded. "Let's see how they breathe."

The two entered.

The air inside was heavy, heavy with sweet incense and pipe smoke. Tables spread in a semicircle were occupied by well-dressed men and women, some laughing, others chatting in low tones. Servants circulated, carrying trays of dark wine and roasted meats. But it wasn't the tables that mattered.

Behind the counter were shelves filled with books, scrolls of parchment, and small iron boxes. It was a scene unlike the ambiance of a common tavern. And in a corner, two hooded men were writing something on paper, discreetly exchanging information with passing customers.

"Of course," Yennifer whispered, her lips still still. "This place is more than a tavern."

Cristine walked to the counter. Her steps were quiet but firm, and when she approached the man serving, her presence made him look up immediately. He was middle-aged, with a trimmed beard, his eyes too shrewd for a mere barkeep.

"What do you want, ladies?" he asked, his voice velvety but attentive.

Cristine leaned slightly against the counter, resting her hands on it. "Job."

The man arched an eyebrow. "Job?"

Yennifer pulled back her hood slightly, revealing her beautiful face, marked by the coldness of her eyes. "We're good at finding things. People, objects, secrets." She let the sentence hang in the air, charged with intent.

The innkeeper didn't answer immediately. His eyes darted from one to the other, assessing them like a merchant assesses precious stones. Then he leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Many come here looking for this. Some want to sell, some want to infiltrate, some simply want to steal." He gave a slow smile. "And how do I know you're not the latter?"

Cristine remained still, but her voice was low and lethal. "Because if we were, you'd already be dead."

There was a brief silence. Then the man laughed, a brief but sincere laugh. "Very well." He picked up two glasses and filled them with wine, sliding them across the bar toward them. "Drink."

Cristine didn't touch. Yennifer, on the other hand, raised her glass and took a sip, looking him in the eye the entire time.

"Strong," she said. "As it should be."

The barkeep laughed again. "You have sharp tongues and courage. That's good. But here, it's not the tongue that rules... it's the silence." He straightened, raising his hand. Two hooded men emerged from the shadows, approaching them. "If you want a job, you'll have to prove it."

Cristine narrowed her eyes. "Prove how?"

"Simple." He leaned his elbows on the bar, clasping his hands. "A name. A man who owes us information but has been hiding. Deliver him to us. Dead or alive." His smile widened. "If you can... perhaps there's room for you in the House of Whispers."

Yennifer exchanged a quick glance with Cristine. They didn't need to speak aloud to understand each other. This was perfect. A test. An opening. A first step toward infiltration.

Cristine turned to the man. "The name."

He picked up a small wooden token and slid it across the counter. Engraved on it was: Merrin Dovak.

"He hides somewhere in the artisans' district. A talker who has now decided to shut up. Bring him. And if you survive, perhaps we can talk more."

Yennifer pocketed the token. "Consider it done."

The two of them walked away, walking out of the tavern. As soon as the door closed behind them, the noise of the street swallowed the silence once again.

Cristine adjusted her cloak and looked at her sister-in-arms. "Let's go hunting."

Yennifer smiled, and there was something predatory in her eyes. "That's how you begin to devour a city."