The sun was already rising behind the mountains when Eren Vale opened his eyes.
He'd spent the night outside the brothel, arms crossed and staring into nothing. It was better there, since he couldn't "sleep" with all that noise inside. Not sleep in the traditional sense—he just entered a state of conscious rest, keeping his senses minimally alert.
When he stood up, his bones protested with dry cracks.
Full simulation. Even joint pain. Sadistic detail.
He ran a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes to bring them into focus. The sky had lightened to an almost artificial blue, and the morning breeze carried the smell of damp earth and wood smoke from distant fireplaces.
The first people were starting to cross the dirt road. Peasants, merchants pulling carts, kids chasing chickens.
Eren began walking slowly, his makeshift boots sinking into the soft mud.
With every step, he thought.
I need money.
He pulled the small leather pouch tied at his waist. Shook it. Two coins. Maybe three, if they accepted the worn-out change.
Not enough for even a dagger. Or food. Or a roof.
He remembered what he'd seen the night before. The tables, sweaty bodies, the screams. How naturally they sold and bought sex, without any shame.
Selling monsters to brothels isn't taboo. It's a market. That didn't exist in the game.
He remembered the old rules of BloodRealm Online: there was no sexual interaction. A childish moral system.
They want monsters? I'll give them monsters. But first, I need to catch one.
He clenched his fist.
And to catch one, I need to get out of this damn starting area.
In the safe zone there were no wild monsters strong enough to be worth anything. Just worms and rats no one would buy, not even for feed.
I need authorization. Quests.
His gaze narrowed.
Then I'll go to the guild.
The building was easy to spot.
In the center of the village, with two badly painted wooden signs creaking in the wind: "Adventurers' Guild."
There was a line at the door. People in cheap leather armor, crudely carved staves, blunt swords. They nudged each other, spoke loudly, laughed at inside jokes.
Eren took a deep breath before stepping in.
The interior had a low ceiling, exposed wooden beams, and a thick counter that looked like it had been hacked out with an axe. Behind it, a middle-aged woman with the face of someone who hated her job was stamping papers with unnecessary violence.
On the wall, a bulletin board with quests pinned up by crooked nails:
Rats in the Cellar — Low Reward
Herb Delivery — Minimal Risk
Boar Hunt — Requires Party
Eren didn't smile, but his eyes lit up for an instant.
Starting point.
He got in line.
The chatter of the other adventurers was a constant background noise. Bursts of laughter, elbow jabs, the smell of stale sweat.
They noticed him quickly.
"Hey, look at that! A newbie!"
"Hahaha, check out his noob face!"
Eren stayed perfectly still.
Bar humor. Ignorable.
A taller guy with pointed ears—an elf, maybe—turned fully to face him, scanning him from head to toe.
"Dressed like a beggar."
"I bet he doesn't even have a class yet!" another one jeered.
Eren took a slow, steady breath.
"Class?" he muttered to himself. "[Status]."
The blue window blinked open in front of him.
[Status]
Name: Eren Vale
Level: 1
Class: Beast Tamer (Class E)
Monster Mastery: 1
He didn't move. Just sighed.
"Haha! Look at his face! He's checking his status!"
"It's the fucking Tamer," said the elf.
The others laughed even louder.
"Beast Tamer? Hahahaha!"
"A shit class."
"What for? To lick a goblin's balls?"
Eren raised an eyebrow.
Interesting. Directed hostility. There's in-game prejudice against the class.
He watched every reaction carefully. The tensed muscles, the way they gathered in a semicircle. Herd psychology. Group confidence.
Social status matters here. Classes have an informal hierarchy.
Another one approached—a big guy holding a sword with no sheath.
"Get out of the line, trash. Let the real ones register."
Eren didn't back down. He just slowly turned his head.
"No."
The word came out dry, almost bored.
"What?"
"I said no," Eren repeated in the same neutral tone.
The laughter stopped. The overall noise level dropped slightly. Everyone heard it.
The big guy's face turned red.
"Ah, I see. You think you're some kind of badass?"
Eren analyzed him like an amoeba under a microscope.
Apparent greater physical strength. Probably low agility. Numerical advantage if they decide to attack. But it's a safe zone. They can't kill me.
He let out a faint sigh.
"No. I'm just here to register."
"A tamer? You're kidding, right?"
Someone further back yelled:
"Throw that fucking tamer out!"
The woman at the counter raised her voice, fed up:
"IF YOU DON'T SHUT UP, EVERYONE'S OUT!"
Silence fell almost immediately, though the hostile looks continued.
Eren shifted his weight to his other foot. Calmly.
They hate Tamers. Cultural reason. Probably an oversupply of monster slaves. Or some recent law that forced brothels to buy them. Prejudice by association.
He memorized every insult.
"Useless trash."
"Not even good for killing rats."
Eren Vale showed nothing. Inside, his brain was running models. Variables.
Irrational hatred is weakness. It says a lot about the local economy. If every Tamer is trash, there's no competition. Almost empty market. Extremely high profit margin if I'm efficient.
The others spat on the ground near him as they moved forward in line. Eren wiped his boot against the other, ignoring the spit. When it was his turn, the woman at the counter didn't even look him in the eyes.
"Name?"
"Eren Vale."
"Class?"
"Beast Tamer."
She snorted. The clerk raised her gaze with silent hatred, recognizing him. But said nothing—just jerked her chin toward the mission board. He went over without hesitation.
Avoid useless conversation. Direct objective.
The missions were pinned on crudely cut wooden boards, written in smudged ink:
Rats in the Cellar.
Herb Delivery for the Healer.
Wild Boars. Party Recommended.
Retrieve Escaped Chickens. Symbolic Payment.
Eren raised an eyebrow.
"Symbolic?"
He pulled the paper down, reading the bottom.Repeatable.
In the game, this quest was a joke. But it had an exploit: infinite XP if you had patience. I'll test it.
He yanked the quest sheet and brought it to the counter. The woman looked at him with disdain.
"You're really going with that one?"
"Yes."
"Sign here."
He took the filthy quill and wrote carefully.
She stamped it violently.
"The chickens belong to Madam Hae-in. House on the other side of the village."
He took the paper, ignoring the sarcastic tone.
First quest.
"Done. Registered."
He folded the paper with precision.
Registration complete. First step.
Before leaving, he turned for a moment to look around the hall. The people in line were still whispering. Some laughed out loud. Eren Vale let his gaze drift over each face, memorizing features, evaluating posture, equipment, speech patterns.
Eren Vale was still holding the stamped paper between his fingers as he moved away from the counter, his expression firm and impassive.
The line had shortened a bit, but the same faces were there. Watching him with that mix of scorn and easy laughter.
He took the first step—and didn't swerve. Walked right through them like they were crooked walls. The first to speak was the big guy with the sword with no sheath:
"Look at the little shit all registered. Off to tame chickens now?"
Eren turned his head silently. But as he passed, his eyes fell on the sword. The edge was uneven. The blade dull.
"You should have picked an axe, not that sword."
The brute blinked.
"Huh?"
Eren took a deep breath, almost like a patient teacher.
"Your shoulder build indicates more brute strength. An axe transfers torque better. Thin sword just loses impact."
The man frowned, a vein pulsing in his forehead.
"You mocking me?"
Eren just kept walking.
"No. I'm explaining."
The second guy, the elf with pointed ears, widened his eyes, looking like he was about to laugh again—but froze when Eren stared right at him. Eren analyzed his skin tone, his slimmer frame.
"And you." He pointed without hesitation. "Even worse mistake. Picked a magic class without racial compatibility."
"What do you mean?"
Eren gestured calmly with his hand.
"Your lineage isn't high-elf. You're mixed. These traits" he indicated the freckles, the duller hair "give you a political debuff in the capital faction. You won't get into noble halls. Diplomatic buffs stay locked."
The elf paled.
"How did you..."
"Not to mention your maximum mana pool is reduced by 12% because you don't have a pure elven core. Should've gone thief or scout."
The laughter that had filled the hall shriveled away. Now there was a heavy, awkward silence. The others exchanged glances. A third guy, bald with a badly done tattoo, cleared his throat.
"Think you're the kingdom's wise man or something?"
Eren didn't answer immediately. He looked at the tattoo—crooked runes that didn't connect.
"Your tattoo is crooked. Doesn't activate the courage buff. You just paid for badly mixed ink."
The bald man cracked his knuckles.
"YOU SON OF—"
Before he could finish, the woman at the counter slammed the stamp so hard it cracked the wood.
"ENOUGH!"
The back doors opened, and a tall man appeared—skin covered in moss, beard braided with dried flowers, light-green eyes shining like emeralds.
A druid.
The branches on his arm moved, alive. He didn't say anything. Just walked forward slowly, exuding presence. The bald guy immediately backed away. The brute lowered his sword. The elf swallowed hard.
Eren remained motionless, standing straight. The druid looked at them all, expressionless.
"Out."
That was enough. The crowd of adventurers squeezed out through the door. Whispered curses filled the air:
"Fucking bastard..."
"This isn't over."
"I'll get you outside, fucking Tamer."
Eren just raised an eyebrow.
Empty threats. But useful to gauge hostility levels.
The druid turned to him, those green eyes gleaming like blades.
"You. Out as well."
Eren nodded.
"Understood."
────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────
Outside, the sun was higher now, burning down on the muddy street. The sounds of merchants, carts, and children filled his ears again.
Eren took a deep breath.
Information gathered. They get offended when I mention racial flaws. Because here, that's fate, not choice. They're not players. They're NPCs born that way.
He walked slowly, thinking.
This world doesn't forgive design flaws. But I can exploit them.
With every step, he was scribbling mental hypotheses.
If the guild won't respect me, maybe I need visible feats. Something big. A rare monster. Some exploit.
He turned down a narrow, damp alley. The smell of mold and sewage was strong. At the end of the alley, a strange sound. A wet, guttural rhythm. He stopped. Wrinkled his nose.
What is that?
The sound was unmistakable. Wet slaps. Muffled moans, but loud enough to echo.
Eren Vale approached carefully. His nose twisted slightly at the smell of mold, sour alcohol, and the sickly stench of unwashed sex.
He saw the sweaty silhouette of a man in torn clothes, gripping tightly the wide waist of a creature.
A monster.
Grayish skin, covered in warts and lumps, crooked jutting teeth. Yellowish eyes glazed and unfocused, mouth hanging open and drooling eagerly. With every thrust, the huge breasts bounced heavily. The sound of flesh hitting flesh was wet and insistent.
"Hhhh... nnghhh... more..." the creature moaned, tongue lolling out.
The man panted, his patchy beard dripping with sweat.
"Yeah, you filthy sow... squeeze tighter!"
He yanked her toward him roughly, hips smacking against her broad ass. The smell got worse as he sped up. Eren narrowed his eyes.
"[Status]."
The light-blue window blinked open in front of him.
[Status]
Name: Borak
Class: Beast Tamer (Class E)
Monster Mastery: 4
Skills: None
No skill. No buffs. No active techniques. This isn't system. It isn't mechanics. It's pure deviance.
Borak bit the creature's shoulder, making it howl with a strange, guttural pleasure. The sound was a mix of slobbering giggle and animalistic moan.
"Go on... go on... fill my filthy cunt..."
The man groaned in response:
"Swallow it all, you fucking mutant!"
Fluids dripped, spattering onto the stone floor. Eren felt no arousal. He just evaluated. The monster panted, grabbing the man with short claws, scratching his back. The sound of their bodies was wet, repulsive. Eren watched the pattern.
He had no fear or shame. He simply made a diagnosis.
This is why they hate Tamers. They think we're all like him. Degenerates with no control. No purpose.
Borak didn't even notice he was being watched. He just grunted like a rutting pig, squeezing the monster's ass hard.
The creature moaned:
"Mmmngh... shove it deeper! I want your cum!"
The sound hit Eren's ears like white noise.
The man let out a raspy groan, pulling the creature closer before spinning her around with a clumsy, brutal motion.
She laughed, drooling, as he turned her completely upside down—her feet trembling in the air, claws scraping the wall.
Her head pressed against his cock, which bobbed wet and throbbing. She immediately took the tip into her mouth, moaning far louder than seemed normal.
He gripped her deformed thighs tight, burying his face between her legs. His mouth pressed into that monstrosity, licking with disgusting, slurping noises.
"Hrrgh... you filthy bitch... I'm gonna eat you whole..." he mumbled, voice muffled against grotesque lips.
The creature screamed, the sound warped with her throat full:
"Nnnghh! Mmmmhh! More... swallow it all!"
Every time he sucked, an obscene, wet noise reverberated. Saliva and fluids dripped down his chin. Eren didn't blink.
Brave of him to put his mouth on that.
He assessed coldly. The rhythmic sound of thrusting and sucking continued, echoing like a degenerate chant between the damp alley walls.
"Educational," Eren said.
He closed the [Status] window with a mental gesture. Without another word, he turned away. He walked slowly out of the alley, hearing the moans fade with distance. The cold morning breeze slapped his face like a welcome shock. He closed his eyes for a moment.
If I want anything here, I need to use the system differently. Not like they do.
The image of the alley stuck in his mind. Not with visceral disgust—but with an almost clinical detachment.
They use monsters as toys. Without discipline. Without strategy. Without contract.
He opened his eyes.
The difference between them and me will be simple.
A hint of a smile appeared.
I'm going to do it right.
His step firmed on the road.