Baston had not argued with Zimus out of impulse.
Every word he spoke earlier had been deliberate, placed carefully like a probe into something hidden beneath the old man's composed exterior. It was not anger that drove him nor was it righteousness. It was his curiosity and it was sharp, quiet, and persistent.
He wanted to see what kind of man that Zimus truly was. From the surface, the answer seemed simple.
Zimus lent the money and people borrowed it. Some failed to repay and when they did, the women were guided or pressured into working at the brothel. It was a crude system, one that reduced their dignity into a transaction.
And yet, something did not align.
Baston leaned back in his chair near the lobby area. His gaze was drifting toward the entrance, though his thoughts remained far away.
If Zimus were nothing more than a greedy loan shark, then everything would have been easier to understand.
However, he was not and that was the problem.
The old man had shown his restraint where the others would not. He did not seize their land and he did not throw the families onto the street.
His interest rates, while it was still a burden, were far from crippling. By all conventional measures, he was lenient and almost absurdly so for someone in his position.
And yet, he insisted on maintaining the brothel. That contradiction lingered like a shadow.
For a brief moment, Baston closed his eyes.
He recalled the expressions of the women that he had seen earlier. Their movements were trained, their smiles were measured, and their voices carried a softness that felt unnatural.
It was not gentleness that was born from their personality but something that was cultivated and refined through repetition until it became a mask.
What unsettled him was not what they did. It was what they did not show.
There was no visible hatred toward Zimus and there was no open resentment. There was no desperate plea for escape.
If anything, they behaved as though the situation had already been accepted long ago. The absence of resistance was more disturbing than the defiance.
Because people who still resisted could still be saved but those who had already accepted their fate were the hardest to reach.
Just like the old woman before. She pleaded for the money to clear her debt more than to escape.
"Kind but wrong…" Baston muttered inwardly.
Even if Zimus believed that he was helping, forcing or cornering the women into such work was not something that he could accept. No matter how it was justified, it left a stain that could not be ignored.
His rational thinking said so, but regarding the problem of their daily lives, he still had no clue to solve it.
Eventually, the old book's quest echoed in his mind.
"Release them from the thugs…"
At first glance, the solution seemed straightforward. By killing the thugs, he could remove the source of the pressure. His action would end the system forever then.
Still, he knew better.
If he simply removed Zimus, the debt would not vanish since the women would still be burdened. Without the protection, however flawed, it would collapse into something worse which were hunger, exploitation, and chaos.
The town itself was fragile. It was the kind of fragility that could not be seen at a glance.
From the outside, the town functioned normally. The shops opened at dawn, the merchants haggled over the prices, and the travelers passed through without noticing anything unusual. Their life moved forward as it always did.
But beneath that surface, everything was held together by something unstable. A single broken link could cause everything to unravel.
If Zimus was removed, the flow of money would stop. If the flow of money stopped, the businesses would collapse. And if that happened, the people who barely managed to survive would fall into despair once again.
This was not a system that was built on strength. It was built on the compromise and such compromise often came with a hidden cost.
The money was not just a convenience here. It meant their own pitiful survival.
Everyone needed it for the food, the shelter, and the stability. Some sought it to improve their lives while the others merely clung to it to avoid losing everything they had.
Borrowing the money was not a sin but failing to repay it, it would become a sin and it would haunt their reputation whenever they went.
Baston exhaled slowly, "I can kill them but that won't solve anything…"
Even if he erased Zimus and his men entirely, the result would only be temporary relief. The women would still have no stable income. Without any protection or opportunity, they would become even more vulnerable.
The outcome would simply change form and it would not disappear.
He considered using his own wealth.
He had enough to help. More than enough to clear some debts outright but that felt like a shallow solution.
It was just a temporary solution and it was very unsustainable.
Once the money ran out, everything would return to the same point or worse. The dependence without protection would only delay the inevitable.
"Unless…" he thought, narrowing his eyes slightly, "There's a way to give them something that lasts."
His mind drifted toward Levan's company.
It was a practical idea which was the employment, stability, and a structured income. But the more he considered it, the more flaws surfaced.
There were too many women and it would surely produce too many variables.
Levan's operations were already burdened with their own responsibilities. Expanding it recklessly would turn it into something unstable which were bloated, inefficient, and ultimately unsustainable.
A sanctuary built without limits would collapse under its own weight.
He already imagined the outcome.
More people would be entering than leaving. The resources would stretch thinner each day. The workers would be losing purpose as the company dissolved into a mere survival.
In time, even the goodwill would erode and the resentment would take its place.
Those who were saved today might become the ones who complained tomorrow. And those who gave help would eventually grow tired of giving.
It was not cruelty. It was human nature in the end.
Baston exhaled quietly, "I can't just act based on what feels right…"
"Being kind without thinking ahead…" he frowned faintly, "That's just another form of carelessness."
He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, "Should I ask help from Panto or Alicia?"
Both names carried much weight in his mind but even that option felt uncertain. Relying on the others meant drawing them into a problem that might not have a clean solution.
By then, a sharp voice broke through his thoughts.
"Ow! Ow! You crazy woman! What are you doing?!"
Baston blinked and turned his head.
The innkeeper had returned and in a matter of few seconds, she had already grabbed Zimus by the ear.
It was not lightly and not playfully but with a grip that forced the old man to bend awkwardly as she dragged him toward the door.
"What am I doing?" she snapped and her voice was sharp with fury, "You dare to scold my guest in my own inn? Do you want to die badly?"
"I was just giving my opinion!" Zimus protested while wincing, "Hey, stop! My ear is going to…!"
"Do you think I won't throw you out just because you're bigger than me?"
The scene unfolded so quickly that Baston found himself momentarily stunned.
The difference in their physical build was obvious. Zimus could easily overpower her if he chose to but he didn't.
Instead, he allowed himself to be dragged, grumbling and complaining until he was unceremoniously pushed out of the inn.
The event was strange and incredulous. For a moment, no one would believe the story if they didn't see it directly.
Before leaving, Zimus shot Baston a glare, "This is your fault!"
"Get out!" the innkeeper snapped, slamming the door behind him.
The silence followed and Baston stared at the closed door for a while before slowly turning back.
"This treatment is kind of unexpected," he murmured.
Zimus was not a man without pride. From the way he spoke earlier, it was clear that he held strong convictions about his actions. A person like that would not easily submit to humiliation, especially not in front of the others.
And yet, he did eventually. He made everyone believes he was weak in front of a woman.
There was no anger behind his resistance. There was only annoyance as though this kind of exchange was something he had grown used to.
Baston's gaze lingered on the door after it was slammed shut, "Their relationship isn't simple either…"
The innkeeper exhaled and her anger was fading as quickly as it had appeared. She adjusted her posture, then turned toward him and bowed her head slightly.
"I apologize for that…"
"It's fine…" Baston replied, "I may have provoked him."
She hesitated then, after a brief pause, she sighed, "You spoke about the women, didn't you?"
Baston nodded, "I disagreed with him. Even if he claims it's for their benefit, I can't accept that he's forcing them into that kind of work."
The innkeeper's expression shifted. It was subtle but noticeable. For a moment, she seemed unsure how to respond.
"From your perspective, that's only natural," she said quietly, "But things here are not so simple."
Baston tilted his head slightly, "Then, explain it to me…"
She glanced toward the window as if she was gathering her thoughts.
"This town wasn't always like this," she began, "There was a time when people here had nothing. There was no capital and no opportunities. Everyone wanted to start something but no one had the means."
Her voice was steady but there was a weight beneath it, "Even if we combined everything we owned, it still wouldn't be enough to build anything meaningful."
"And then, Zimus appeared…?" Baston said.
She nodded, "He offered loans openly and honestly. He even warned us, telling us that he was a loan shark and that he wouldn't hesitate to collect what he was owed."
Baston let out a quiet breath, "At least, he was honest about it."
"He was too honest," she replied with a faint and humorless smile, "Some thought it was a trick while the others thought he was mad."
"And yet, people still borrowed from him?"
"We had no other choice..." her gaze lowered slightly, "I was one of them."
Baston listened without interruption. Eventually, there was more that his eyes could not see.
"I wanted to turn this place into an inn," she continued, "But when I asked for a large sum, he refused. He said I had to prove that I could manage a smaller loan first."
"That's surprisingly reasonable…"
"That's what confused us… He didn't take my house as collateral and he didn't trap me in a contract. He simply observed me first when doing my own business."
"And when you succeeded?"
"He lent me more..."
He studied her expression carefully and there was gratitude in her voice even though it was not pure.
It was layered and mixed with something heavier. Perhaps, it was respect or obligation. He had seen this kind of expression before.
It was the look of someone who had been helped at the right moment but at a cost they could never fully repay. A brief silence settled between them before the conversation continued.
"He gave us a chance," she added softly, "A real one."
Baston could not deny that. From everything he had heard, Zimus had played a role in stabilizing the town yet it didn't mean he was a kind person.
"Is that why he open the brothel for the business? Even though it was such a lowly job, the money was considerable…"
The innkeeper's expression darkened, "No… it did not end up like that in the beginning..."
She looked away toward the empty stairway that was leading upward, "There should be no such place but everything changed slowly..."
"What do you mean?"
"At first, no one agreed to his proposal. When he suggested that the women could repay their debts through that kind of work, everyone rejected it."
"As expected…"
"But then, things changed when the men began to disappear one by one."
Baston's gaze narrowed, "What do you mean by disappear?"
"They left…" she said, "They ran away after having a big failure on their business."
"And they never came back?"
"No..."
There was a silence before the woman continued. It was such a cruel reality.
"The debts remained…" she sighed, "And when the hope begins to disappear, people stop thinking about the fairness. In the end, they only think about their own survival."
Baston did not respond because he knew she was right. He felt a subtle tension form in his chest.
"Is that why they become used to it?" he asked quietly.
The innkeeper did not answer immediately. Instead, she took a slow breath.
"You've seen them, haven't you?" she asked, "The women in the brothel."
He nodded, confirming to what had been expected.
"They don't resist," she continued, "Even when they should."
His mind flickered back to their expressions.
There had been no defiance and no anger. There was only acceptance and something else. Something faint but unmistakable.
"Resignation…" he murmured.
The innkeeper's fingers tightened slightly, "It's not just resignation…"
Her voice dropped to a near whisper, "They feared they could do nothing after they had paid the debt. They feared they will become useless because their men left them. They feared that they would depend too much on Zimus."
The room fell quiet once more and Baston did not speak immediately.
He let her words settle, turning them over in his mind.
There was a fear of debt, a fear of abandonment, and a fear of becoming useless. All of them were real and all of them were valid.
He understood the explanation. In the end, it would become love-hate relationship.