The vibration of the words felt strange in my chest, a low hum that resonated through the nanoweave of my suit. I leaned back against the rough wooden slats of the wagon, feeling every bump in the road. It was a constant struggle; the bodysuit tuned for high-octane combat, not the slow, rhythmic swaying of a merchant’s cart. My "female woes" becoming a literal weight.

  To answer the question of ammo. I glanced down at my obsidian-black arms. A small hatch on the forearm whirred open, revealing a glowing internal forge. I began feeding in the jagged shards of metal we’d scavenged from the orc gear earlier. There was a satisfying clink-grind as the internal processors broke down the crude iron.

  A soft heat radiated from my elbow as the arm’s internal 3D-printer went to work, compressing the metal into dense, high-velocity 9mm rounds. I could feel the mechanical pulse of the machinery through my synthetic nerves, a strange, intimate sensation of creation happening inside my own limb.

  "You okay, Taylor?" Joshua asked, his heavy armor clanking as he shifted his weight. He was still looking at me with that mix of protectiveness and confusion, his eyes lingering just a second too long on the way the suit hugged my curves before he looked away, clearing his throat.

  "Fine," I replied, the word sliding out with more silk than I intended. "Just restocking. I can’t rely on magic for everything."

  The trees began to thin, and soon, the sprawling silhouette of Braeburn’s Crossing emerged from the horizon. It wasn't just a village like Oakhaven; it was a stone-walled juggernaut of a town. Thick ramparts of grey granite overlooked a massive bridge spanning a rushing river. I switched my HUD to thermal, watching the heat blooms of thousands of people moving like a hive. Banners of blue and gold snapped in the wind, and the smell of woodsmoke, roasted meat, and damp stone wafted toward us.

  Once inside the gates, the sheer noise was an assault. We pulled to a stop near the town square.

  "This is as far as I go, folks, I’m off to trade these cheese for weapons and armor, theres a feudal war in the next town over and money to be made by selling those." Barnaby said, tipping his hat. He looked at me, his face reddening slightly. "Good luck to ya... miss."

  I gave him a sharp nod. We hopped down, and I felt the familiar, springy tension in my legs as my high-heeled boots clicked against the cobblestones.

  "The Copper Compass," Eren muttered, checking a scrap of parchment. "That’s the guild. Let's get registered."

  ---

  The guild hall was a massive, two-story structure of dark oak and reinforced iron. As we pushed through the double doors, the atmosphere shifted instantly. It smelled of spilled ale, old sweat, and sharpened steel. This wasn't a place for amateurs. I saw a party of veterans in the corner, their plate armor notched with scars, and a mage whose staff pulsed with a faint, dangerous light. Everyone had a weapon; everyone looked like they knew how to use it.

  The stares were immediate. A group of men at a nearby table went silent as I walked past, my hips swaying with that predatory, feline rhythm the suit forced upon me.

  "Next!" a bored clerk yelled.

  "We'd like to register as a party," Joshua said, stepping up to the counter.

  The clerk looked us over. "Five gold pieces per head for the Copper rank tags. Registration covers the guild insurance and access to the quest boards."

  Alan frowned, reaching into his pouch. "We’ve only got fifteen gold left."

  Joshua looked at me, then at the clerk. "We’ll register these three," he said, gesturing to himself, Alan, and Eren.

  I leaned against the mahogany bar a few feet away, watching the exchange. My HUD had already tried to scan the registration forms, but the "Class" and "Ability" fields were not made for me. My tech didn't exist here; I was a ghost in their system.

  "I'll wait," I said softly. "I don't need a tag to pull a trigger."

  As the guys moved to a side table to handle the mountain of paperwork, I sat at the bar. I felt a presence slide up beside me.

  "Well, now," a voice drawled, dripping with unearned confidence. "A flower like you shouldn't be standing around without a protector. Or a drink."

  I scanned the corner of my eye. He was lanky, wearing a suit of gold-plated armor that was so polished it looked like a mirror. It was heavy, and he was clearly struggling to keep his shoulders square under the weight. No calluses on his hands, no dirt under his nails. This was a adventurer whose daddy had bought his way into the guild.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  "I'm fine," I said, my voice cold.

  "Come on, darling," he leaned in, his breath smelling of expensive wine. He looked me up and down, his eyes lingering on my lack of a sword or even a leather vest. To him, I was just a girl in a tight outfit playing at being an adventurer. "A girl like you... no tag, no steel... you’re just here to find a man to keep you safe, right? Why not start with someone who can afford the best?"

  I ignored him, preferring to watch Alan struggle with a quill. Suddenly, I felt a hand clammy and bold slide down the small of my back. It traveled lower, his palm cupping the firm, latex-wrapped curve of my thigh before giving my butt a sharp, possessive smack.

  "Quiet ones are always the most fun," he whispered.

  He didn't see it coming. Neither did the guys.

  With the mechanical precision of a hydraulic press, I shifted my weight. My boot lashed out in a blur. The toe of my heel connected squarely with his unprotected shin with a sickening crack.

  The "Golden Knight" let out a pathetic wheeze, his eyes bulging as he crumpled to the floor, clutching his leg and groaning in a pitch higher than mine.

  I didn't even look down. I just turned back to the bar, a tiny, dangerous smirk playing on my lips.

  The bartender, a burly man with a scarred face who had been watching the brat with visible disgust, let out a booming laugh. He wiped a mug and pulled a tap, sliding a frothing pint of dark ale across the wood toward me.

  "On the house," he grunted, nodding toward the groveling noble. "I've been wanting to do that for three months. Welcome to the Compass, lass."

  I set the heavy glass mug down, the last of the bitter, cold ale sliding down my throat with a satisfying burn. Across the room, the guys were finally stepping away from the counter, clutching their new, dull metallic tags.

  Joshua held his with a stoic nod, while Alan was already squinting at the fine print on his registration. Eren, however, was having a much harder time staying professional. As a "Whiskerwitch," her feline instincts were clearly clawing at the edges of her human psyche. She held the Copper, or F-tier, tag by its leather cord, batting at it as it dangled, her pupils dilated into wide, dark pools.

  "Stop it, Eren," Alan hissed, catching her hand before she could pounce on the clinking metal.

  "I can't help it," she whispered, her voice hitching into a small, airy chirp. "It’s shiny and it makes a noise. This body is... disruptive."

  I scanned the room for the "Golden Knight," but the space where he’d been groveling was empty. He’d slithered away while I was enjoying my drink. I remembered the flash of his adventurer tag before he hit the floor, it had been a polished silver, likely a C-tier rank. It was a joke that someone that incompetent could outrank my friends, but in a world where gold bought status, it made sense.

  "Got a lead," Joshua said, walking over and trying, and failing, not to let his gaze travel down the length of my suit. "Quest board had a simple one. Clearing the old sewers near the Earl’s mansion. Some oversized rats are clogging the drainage."

  "Three gold pieces," Alan added, sounding unimpressed. "It’s grunt work, but it’s enough to cover a decent meal and maybe some supplies."

  "Sewers. Lovely," I remarked, my voice a smoky, resonant purr that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards. "Lead the way."

  –

  Stepping back out into Braeburn’s Crossing was a breath of fresh air, literally. The town was surprisingly beautiful, built along the banks of a shimmering river that powered massive, moss-covered waterwheels. The air smelled of blooming jasmine and wet stone. It was a "clean" world, the kind of high-fantasy setting that felt curated, with marble fountains and public benches tucked into flowered gardens.

  But as we walked, I felt the familiar, uncomfortable heat of a thousand eyes. Every step I took felt like a performance I hadn't rehearsed; I was hyper-aware of the way the latex tightened across my chest and thighs with every movement. Joshua walked slightly ahead, his massive shield acting like a physical barrier between me and the gawking locals, while Alan trailed behind, frantically jotting down the names of alchemy shops and blacksmiths we passed.

  Eren, tired of walking, had hopped up onto Joshua’s armored shoulder. She perched there like a gargoyle, her tail twitching with feline curiosity.

  As we moved toward the upper district, nearing the Earl’s mansion, the atmosphere curdled. The clean, floral scent of the river was replaced by something unkempt.

  The architecture grew more grey, more imposing, but the "beauty" here was stained. We rounded a corner into a wide plaza, and I felt a cold knot tighten in my stomach.

  Along the stone walls, men and women stood with heavy iron collars locked around their throats. They weren't just prisoners; they were displays. These were aristocrats’ playthings. I saw women, their faces vacant, dancing slowly on raised wooden poles while men in silk robes watched with predatory boredom. Shop windows didn't hold armor or bread; they held slaves, some bound in intricate, humiliating devices with for sale signs.

  Joshua’s jaw set so hard I thought his teeth might crack. He stared straight ahead, his pace quickening. Alan looked at his boots, his face pale with a mix of disgust and the stark realization that we weren't in a game anymore. This was a reality where human life was a commodity.

  I averted my eyes, the confident strut momentarily replaced by a sickening sense of vulnerability. In this body, in this suit, I knew exactly how these slavers looked at me. To them; I was a prize waiting for a collar.

  Only Eren seemed different. She didn't look away. Her feline eyes were wide, tracking the movements of the dancing slaves with a detached, predator-like interest.

  "Keep moving," Joshua grunted, his voice low and dangerous. "The sewer entrance is just past this... market."

  We hurried through the gilded filth of the slave district, the clank of Joshua’s armor the only sound against the haunting silence of the collared.