THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

David exhaled deeply, gathering his scattered thoughts. "I'm… not feeling well," he admitted, his voice carefully neutral. "I think I might've forgotten a few things." He observed the woman's reaction as he spoke, hoping for some clue about his current predicament.

The woman raised a perfectly arched brow, stepping closer to him. Her amber eyes narrowed as she scrutinized his face, tilting her head slightly. "Forgotten?" she echoed, her voice tinged with suspicion. She leaned closer, her gaze locking onto his. "You do seem… different." Her tone softened slightly as she continued, almost thinking out loud, "You're maintaining eye contact with me, too. Usually, you're blushing and stammering like a lovestruck puppy when I tease you."

David forced a small, awkward smile, unsure of how to respond. The woman's expression shifted, worry flashing across her features. Without warning, she began examining him, her hands brushing over his arms and shoulders as if searching for bruises or injuries. "Did one of the customers harass you again?" she muttered under her breath, her voice laced with anger. "I swear, if anyone's been rough with you, I'll—"

Her movements froze, and her nose crinkled as she leaned closer. She sniffed the air around him, and her eyes widened. "Wait a minute… is that—" Her expression darkened, and she slapped David lightly on the side of his head.

"Ow!" David flinched, actually feeling the light sting of her hand.

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"You've been sneaking drinks again, haven't you?!" she scolded, crossing her arms in exasperation. "Stealing the alcohol and drinking in secret! You know that stuff isn't meant for you!"

"I'm sorry," David mumbled, more out of necessity than guilt. His head throbbed slightly, and he realized there was no use trying to argue with her—especially when he didn't even know the rules of this place.

The woman sighed, still glaring at him. She bent down, sliding open the drawer beneath the desk. "Never mind," she muttered, pulling out a bundle of plain candles. "You know the drill. When the customers come in, take their names, write them down, and give them a candle each. Got it?"

Before David could respond, a melodic voice called from somewhere behind them. "Brendah!"

The woman straightened immediately, her demeanor shifting from frustration to panic. "Shoot! I was supposed to be in my room by now!" She hastily shoved the drawer shut, grabbed the candles, and spun toward the voice. Another striking woman stood in the hallway, her expression impatient. Brendah rushed to her side, grabbing her hand. "I'm coming! Just give me a second!" She turned back to David. "After my shift, I'm coming to your room. Don't think you're off the hook!"

And with that, she and the other woman disappeared upstairs in a flurry of whispers and hurried footsteps, leaving David alone. He sat there, stunned, trying to piece together the fragments of information he'd gathered. So, my name is Winter, he thought, running a hand through his messy white hair. I'm in someone else's body, working at… an establishment that sells candles? For what, exactly?

His musings were interrupted by the sudden creak of the entrance doors. David's attention snapped to the front of the hall as men clad in leather armor, their swords strapped to their hips, began streaming in. Their rough demeanor and fierce auras immediately set him on edge.

One of the men approached the desk, his sharp eyes narrowing at David. "Two candles," he barked, his voice gruff.

David nodded, quickly reaching for the candles. He handed them over, but the man didn't move. Instead, he leaned closer. "Stainfold," he said firmly.

David blinked in confusion. "Stainfold?" he echoed, unsure of what the man meant.

The man's face darkened with irritation. "Stop wasting time, boy! Write my name down. I'm hungry, and I don't have all day!"

Realization struck as David recalled Brendah's instructions. Suppressing a sigh, he grabbed the quill and dipped it into the ink. As if by instinct, his hand moved fluidly across the paper, writing the man's name with ease and how many candles he took. Muscle memory, it seemed, had kicked in.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

The man snatched the candles and stomped off, shouting over his shoulder, "Get me a mug of ale in my room!" David watched him disappear down the hall, muttering to himself, What kind of place is this?

The minutes stretched into hours as David took names and handed out candles to the endless stream of men entering the establishment. Each patron barked their name and the number of candles they required. The rhythmic scribbling of the quill on parchment became second nature to him, his hand moving almost mechanically as he fulfilled request after request.

As the establishment grew more crowded, the sounds from upstairs grew…distinct. David's ears twitched as faint moans and murmurs drifted down through the wooden floorboards above him. At first, he thought he might be imagining it, but the noises only grew louder and more frequent as the night progressed. His hand froze mid-air, the realization dawning on him like a bucket of cold water. This is a brothel.

The candles, he now understood, weren't for mere decoration or ambiance. They were timekeepers, measuring how long each client had with their chosen partner. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he dragged a hand down his face, a mix of exhaustion and sheer disbelief settling in his chest. "What in the world is the System thinking?" he muttered under his breath. "How am I supposed to grow stronger working here? What's the point of this… mission?"

Resigned, David swallowed his frustration and carried on with his work. Name. Candle. Repeat. The hours bled into one another, the monotonous cycle broken only by the occasional visit from the brute woman, who would stomp by to check on him. Her imposing figure and piercing glare ensured he stayed on task, though he noticed she carried a faint, almost motherly concern for the workers.

By the time the candles were completely gone—a feat he hadn't thought possible—David slumped back in his chair, feeling drained. He stood and stretched, his muscles stiff from sitting for so long. A glance toward the entrance confirmed what he had hoped: no more customers were coming in.

Deciding to get some fresh air, David stepped outside, only to be greeted by a sharp, icy breeze that bit into his skin. He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. His breath hitched at the sight before him.

The entire village was blanketed in a thick layer of snow, the white expanse shimmering faintly in the starlight. Buildings, rooftops, and streets were all coated, their edges softened by the frost. But what struck David most wasn't the cold or the serene beauty of the snow—it was the sky above. The night stretched on endlessly, darker than he'd ever seen.

There was no moon.

His heart skipped a beat as he stared at the abyss above. "No moon," he whispered, the weight of the realization settling over him like the snow itself. What kind of place is this?

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A/N: Hey everyone, don't forget to check out Lucky 21 and share your thoughts with me!