Chapter 1 – Futile Escape

The great Byrenhag, at the forest near Orphadame brothel.

Gris Benedict was running away with all her might. She had to flee for life if she didn’t want to be killed, or to live in the brothel all her life, or even worse, to be sold as a slave to be a stranger’s toy. It was a fortunate night that the full moon aided her, giving a clear view of the forest.

But it must be known that Gris was Grandia’s princess—and unknowledgeable of the geography of Byrenhag’s forest.

Moreover, it was the first time in eleven years that she had step foot out of the brothel, so she was blind on where to run. The only thing she had heard was that a cliff was situated near it. Which side is it? she thought frantically. If she is looking to escape another demise, she must find a path connecting to another village!

Trees towered ominously over her, stretching across all directions in same likeness. Gris pleaded to the fates in her mind, please, please. She was in a hurry, but her sense of direction was lackluster; it was hard to find the right way.

She breathed heavily, “Ha, ha, please.”

The pursuers on her tail rushed to seize the fleeing Gris. An eager voice devoted to catching her could be heard within a horrifyingly close distance.

“There it is! Left! Grab it!”

The torches held by the men came towards her like a vengeful ghost. Where should I go? Gris almost tripped over own feet in confusion. In that moment, a dark face appeared beside the torch.

“Cowardly b*tch!”

It was Billton, the owner of the brothel, his evil voice resounding in the forest.

“Did you pay me back for the kindness I showed you, for the food you ate and the bed you slept in?!”

A slap flew towards her face without a moment’s hesitation. Gris fell sideways from the harsh force, her back bumping into hard wood.

“Ahh!”

She heard ringing her ear. Dull ache was present in her abused cheek and the back of her head that had collided with the tree.

This would be the beginning of the assault. Her legs shook in the terrible premonition that she would be beaten more mercilessly than usual.

Perhaps even until her last breath, a passing stranger would still be wary of extending a hand. Such was the fate of most women trapped in a brothel; they live only to be consumed till their death.

At the mere thought of it, Gris felt beyond miserable that her eyes began to burn. There was no mercy in Billton’s eyes, rather, only the irateness that had reached its peak.

“Follow me, you f*cking bitch!”

He dragged her wickedly with his rough hand by the scruff of her neck. When they had arrived in front of the brothel, Gris was already profusely bleeding, and she sobbed near the branches of the bushes.

With fearful eyes, Gris looked towards the four-story building that loomed over her like an iron fortress. Her escape must have already caused a commotion inside. Her eyes went dark at the thought of being dragged back to a prison.

Locked in her grievances, a nobleman had also got off a carriage that had just recently arrived. He donned a robe free of dust, a masquerade mask resting on the bridge of his nose and hiding traces of his identity.

When Billton looked over and saw the tall man, he was given a startle. The man was eyeing the crying Gris, who was sitting on the ground looking filthy and bloody. If the guest were to mistake the women in the brothel to be like her, then it would be devastating on his part.

Billton slammed Gris’ calves with his heels, as if to kick her out of the way. Despite the pain, in her heart, Gris also didn’t want to be seen by a man.

She sprang to her feet and rushed into the fortress. Upon reaching the corridor where a torch hanged on either side of the wall, she saw the guard standing in front of it.

As she neared, the melodies of the lute played by vagabond musicians grew louder. When she was able to hear the voice of women mixed with it, Gris hid inside the warehouse in revolt.

It was shortly a time after people had died of a plague. It was not yet clear to her whether she survived merely due to luck or because she was cursed.

Ten minutes later, dreadful news came. The nobleman Gris encountered in the front yard just a while ago bought a night to be with her.

Billton didn’t waste his time and threw her a new dress. To give her such luxury meant that the man probably had given him a good sum of money. After that, the women around her quickly ushered her to a bath and donned the dress on her frame.

Gris, who realized that her blatant defiance only led to Billton’s appalling anger, was staring blankly into space. Three women were dressing up Gris, but the room was quiet as if no soul were present. Finally, Marie, who seemed most upset of the trio, sighed.

“That’s why you should have just eaten well. How can you run away on thin hope?”

Gris had initially gone out to draw water. When she saw that the security felt slack today, she felt it was the moment to escape. So, she threw the bucket and ran.

If I had just quietly drained water, I wouldn’t have been hit like this… she was filled with regret, but the moment has passed. Gris closed her eyes and blamed herself instead.

“I’m sorry…” she started. “Because of my actions, security might be tighter in the future.”

Another tired sigh came from Claren, who had been sparing her a lecture with her words.

“It’s going to be more difficult to get out in the future. Therefore, you’ll have to hang on to the mercy of good man these days. Perhaps if you tell him a sad story, he would be willing to take you out of this place. You can tell him it’s your first time and… just hang on Gris, all right?”