Baston abandoned the thought of returning to his room.
The quiet upstairs suddenly felt suffocating as though something unseen lingered there. Instead, he descended the stairs once more and took a seat near the lobby, positioning himself where he could observe without drawing too much attention.
His gaze settled on the old man which was Zimus.
There was something about him that did not align. The man's presence was too loud and too intrusive yet somehow was tolerated. People responded to him with irritation but never outright hostility. It was a strange balance, one that did not come naturally.
He let his gaze drift across the room, quietly observing the others who shared the space.
A pair of merchants whispered near the window, occasionally glancing toward Zimus before quickly looking away. One of them tightened his grip on his cup each time the old man laughed.
It was not because of the respect. They showed their restraint toward him.
It was as if everyone had learned, through repeated experience, that provoking Zimus would only lead to something troublesome. Even though so, no one left and no one confronted him either.
That contradiction lingered in his mind. The innkeeper soon noticed his return almost immediately.
Her eyes flicked between him and Zimus before she spoke with deliberate intent.
"Look…" she said and her tone was still edged with annoyance, "My guest has just come back from your brothel. He questioned your treatment of the women there. I say you don't have to worry about everyone here. Just do your business and leave people alone."
Zimus let out a rough laugh though it lacked any genuine amusement.
"How can I do that?" he replied, "Who is going to pay my debt then? If I let them go easily, what should I do when they decide to run away?"
"I don't mean that," the woman snapped, "Stop lending money to everyone. If you don't start it, there won't be a trouble. You can do something else for a living."
Zimus waved a hand dismissively, "Alright… alright… I know what you mean… I'll think about it…"
"Think about it?" she scoffed, "You'll forget the moment I leave. You damn old man…"
With a frustrated huff, she dragged a broken table toward the back, muttering under her breath as she disappeared into the warehouse.
The moment she was gone, Zimus turned to him.
His attention shifted to Baston with unsettling precision as if the conversation had only been a prelude. By then, he approached without hesitation.
"Young lad…" he said, stopping just close enough to impose his presence, "Who are you?"
Baston met his gaze calmly, "Greetings, my name is Baston and I'm a student at Prius Academy."
Zimus narrowed his eyes slightly, searching his memory, "Prius Academy… Ah… that is a wizard place, right?"
"Yes…"
A grin spread across the old man's face.
"Ha… ha… ha… then, you must be a rich boy!" he slapped Baston's shoulder with unnecessary force,
"No wonder you can afford the women in my place. Only someone with money to spare would step in there so casually. Tell me, is it your first time?"
"Yes…" Baston replied evenly.
"Ha! Congratulations!" Zimus laughed louder, "You've crossed that line already. Many boys these days grow too fast. When I was your age, I was still running around like a fool. I didn't even think about women until much later."
Baston said nothing, pretending to be an innocent boy so that he did not need to speak.
The vulgarity did not surprise him. What unsettled him was how unguarded the man appeared. It felt deliberate as though Zimus wanted to appear crude and almost exaggeratedly so.
It was like he wore a special mask when talking. And like any mask, it was meant to distract.
The more exaggerated the behavior, the less people would question what lay beneath it. The crude words, the loud laughter, and the shameless remarks would become his impression.
Each one of it pushed the others to dismiss him as nothing more than a vulgar old man. Still, he had seen enough people to know something else.
Those who appeared the simplest were often the ones hiding the most.
"Actually…" Baston said after a pause with his expression that was sharpening, "I didn't go there for that."
Zimus's laughter faded, "Oh?"
"I was looking for someone..."
The shift in tone was subtle but enough, making everyone who heard that to become more curious.
Zimus leaned forward slightly and his interest was ignited, "Who?"
"You could say I was looking for my friend…"
Zimus raised a brow, clearly signaling him to continue so he could know the rest of the story.
"We grew up together," Baston continued and his voice was steady, "But due to financial troubles, her family moved away. We lost contact ever then."
He continued, weaving the lie carefully, "In the beginning, everything was fine. But then, I heard her father's business succeeded. He began to see me as a bad influence. My family wasn't wealthy but I believed money wasn't everything."
A faint smile touched his lips though it did not reach his eyes, "He disagreed to our relationship and the man took his family away to the city."
"And then?" Zimus asked.
"Then, everything collapsed…" Baston replied, "The family experienced losses, debt, and desperation. By the time I learned of it, the man was already dead. His wife and daughter inherited everything he left behind including what he owed."
The silence settled between them. For a brief moment, the noise of the inn seemed to dull.
Even the clinking of cups and the murmur of distant conversation faded into something indistinct. He could feel that Zimus was watching him more closely now, measuring the weight of his words.
It was not sympathy that the old man showed. It was more about the calculation toward a mature boy.
"I thought…" Baston added, lowering his voice slightly, "That in such a situation, they might have no choice but to sell themselves."
Zimus continued to focus on him, listening the seemingly interesting past.
"In the end, I've been searching. I'm visiting many places like yours. It's not to indulge but to make sure I won't find her there."
The old man exhaled slowly, "Hmm..."
For a moment, his expression softened. It was not with the kindness but with something harder to define.
"I can help you look," he said at last, "But it won't be free."
Baston tilted his head, "I thought you might offer it out of kindness."
Zimus snorted, thinking that he was not kind enough to do that, "Who said that I'm kind? If I were, I'd forgive every debt and let those women walk free."
"Then, you're a bad person," Baston said quietly.
Zimus grinned, "You could say that…"
"He's not bad," a voice interrupted from behind, "He is just a fool…"
The innkeeper had returned briefly and her arms were empty now.
"Mind your own business," Zimus snapped, "Can't you see we're still talking?"
She ignored him entirely, "I'm going out. Watch the place and don't drink everything."
Zimus waved her off, "Bring the ale when you return... I'm kind of thirsty…"
She didn't answer and the door closed behind her.
The silence followed and Baston studied Zimus again. The man was not good but he was also not bad. The contradiction remained.
Killing him would be simple, too simple that he could do it anytime and yet, he wondered the implication.
What would follow?
The debts would be erased but the hunger remained. Without the protection and without even this flawed system, he wondered what would become of those people that was still hard on struggling in this town.
Would the women become the beggars?
Would the women become the thieves?
Or worse, would they do something unthinkable like the dark wizards?
He realized the violence was the easiest answer and perhaps, the most dangerous because such way only removed the surface.
Eventually, it did not solve the problem beneath it.
If something else was sustaining this place, something unseen yet influential, then killing Zimus would only expose the next layer without understanding it.
And that was far riskier than leaving things as they were.
"You know…" Baston said slowly, "When I visited your brothel, I saw something I couldn't ignore."
Zimus's gaze sharpened, wondering what good words that the boy would sprout next.
"The women there… they looked empty. One of them was an old woman. Should someone like her still be working in such a place?"
"BANG!"
Zimus slammed his foot against the floor and the sound echoed louder than it should have.
For a split second, the entire room fell silent and the conversations were halted. Even those who had been drinking turned their heads briefly toward Zimus before quickly returning to their own business.
Their action was resolved too quickly as if they did not want to be seen paying attention.
The dust rose and for the first time, the mask cracked.
"You think I'm cruel," he said and his voice was low.
Baston held his ground, pressuring the old man to speak of his own answer.
"Then, answer me this…" Zimus continued, "If someone borrows the money and refuses to pay it back, what does that make them?"
He didn't wait for the kind answer to rebuke him, "I never force anyone to borrow from me. I lay out the terms clearly and I even keep the interest low. They can go to banks or to the other lenders but they come to me."
His voice hardened, "But when they fail to pay, why they suddenly become the victims?"
Baston frowned, "But forcing them into this…"
"Forcing?" Zimus cut him off, "What choice do they have? Tell me... What work here pays enough to clear their debt quickly?"
Baston didn't answer since he knew the truth. The paying job was always limited but the needs of money was always bigger than the opportunity.
"There isn't any," Zimus said, "This is a poor town. The labor pays little and time is something that the debtors don't have."
He stepped closer, "What is dignity worth if it doesn't keep you alive?"
"What about their families?" Baston pressed, "What about their husbands?"
Zimus let out a bitter laugh, "Most of the debt comes from those husbands. The men who fail and then run or drown themselves in their own despair."
His eyes darkened, "I once caught one, thought about making an example of him but his wife begged me to stop."
He paused, "I listened to her and do you know what happened next…?"
A moment passed before he continued, "The next day, the same husband beat her."
The air grew heavy since the fact was always crueler than anyone wished.
Baston lowered his gaze slightly and his thoughts were turning slower than before.
"That husband…" he said quietly, "He deserved to be punished."
Zimus gave a short grunt as if he was agreeing, "But the woman… She still chose to protect him… In the end, wasn't she a fool?"
Baston frowned faintly, "Love is very hard for someone else to understand..."
Zimus crossed his arms, "There's nothing to understand. She just made a foolish decision based on her current situation."
"Maybe…" Baston replied, "Maybe… she saw something we didn't…"
Zimus scoffed, "What is there to see in a man like that?"
Baston did not answer immediately and he thought about it. About the choice that she made and about the consequence that followed.
He found himself unable to decide where the justice truly stood.
"If people hadn't intervened, she would've died," Zimus continued, "After that, I stopped placing my faith in such men like her husband."
Baston remained silent, considering the next available path for the debt to be repaid.
"I let the women to handle the debt," Zimus said, "At least, they try to survive…"
"What about afterward?" Baston asked.
"They just leave…" Zimus replied, "Most of them… Some even return not for the loans but for work. It was a temporary one. For just a week maybe..."
His tone softened slightly, "They don't want it but they understand the reality."
Baston narrowed his eyes slightly. Their understanding did not erase the fear. If anything, it often deepened it.
Yet, what he saw in those women was not the acceptance that was shaped by the hardship. It was something sharper and more immediate. The kind of fear that came not from the future but from something present.
His thoughts shifted because something still didn't align, "You speak as if you're helping them…".
Zimus didn't deny it, "Maybe I am… In the only way this place allows…"
The answer felt incomplete and it came too easily. The old man spoke as though he had settled the matter long ago.
As though he had repeated the same reasoning so many times that he no longer questioned it himself.
Everyone needed money to survive in this world. People would trade anything they had for a chance to endure their circumstances.
Sometimes, their efforts paid off. Sometimes, they failed and the desperation followed.
When the man who had once been the pillar of the family suddenly collapsed, the women were forced to become that pillar themselves.
In such circumstances, they had little choice. They still had families to feed.
If they gave up, everything would fall apart. If they endured, perhaps their families could stand on their own again someday.
And so, they made the hardest decision of all and sacrificed everything they could.
Because as long as they remained alive, there was still a possibility for things to change.