The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 606: Rumor Reaches the Cities

Far away from the village, the night had a different smell.

Thick smoke and blood.

In a rough stone building that served as a trading hall, several men sat around a low fire. Weapons leaned against the wall. Skins from rare beasts were hung as trophies.

This was Duskspire’s outer trading post, a place where people with no clean hands gathered.

The escaped poacher knelt on the ground, clutching a bowl of hot soup as if it was the most precious thing in the world.

His clothes were torn, and one arm was bandaged with dirty cloth. His face still carried traces of fear.

"I am telling the truth," he said hoarsely. "She was pregnant. Big belly. But she fought like some guardian spirit."

Several listeners exchanged glances.

"Pregnant?" One man with a scar on his chin snorted. "And you let a pregnant woman capture you?"

The poacher’s face flushed with shame.

"It was not just her!" he hurried to explain. "There were strong males everywhere. A cold eyed lion, a snake with eyes like ice, a feathered demon who played with fire, and another one who laughed too much, like he was not human."

Zyran would have clapped if he heard that.

The poacher took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.

"She had an object," he continued. "A strange object. She called the wind like it was her pet. And the beast. Huge. I never saw that kind of beast before. It looked half like a mountain and half like a nightmare. Injured badly, but still breathing."

He shuddered at the memory.

"The villagers called her goddess. They listened to her. Even the king of that village followed her lead. Food, walls, strange things, all better than small tribes I have seen."

A man in a dark cloak sat in the corner, silent.

His hair was tied back neatly. His hands were clean, which was rare in this place.

He seemed like he did not belong here.

When the poacher mentioned the object, his fingers tightened slightly around his cup.

A "pregnant woman with a wind object, a rare beast, and a village of strong males."

He had heard something similar. A report from Fifth City’s outer network, months ago, about a female who was changing a small village.

So she had survived. Not only survived, she had grown stronger.

The cloaked man looked at the rough map carved into a wooden board on the wall.

He silently marked a new point in his heart.

After a while, he stood up and left without a word.

No one stopped him. No one dared to ask who he was.

On the second floor of another building, a different scene unfolded.

A scribe from Fifth City knelt before his master.

Lines of primitive symbols and markings were scratched on a long strip of cured hide. There were circles for cities, triangles for forts, and small marks for routes.

The scribe’s hand moved quickly, adding a new symbol near the area that matched Duskspire’s outer routes.

"Pregnant goddess," his master murmured. "Wind weapon. Rare beast. Strengthening a village."

"Should we send someone to capture her?" the scribe asked.

His master smiled thinly.

"Not yet. Let the First City and other scavengers sniff around first. If they fight, we will watch from afar. For now, just keep eyes on that village. Add it to every patrol’s map."

"Yes."

In a cold stone room in the First City, another conversation took place.

"The escaped man mentioned a name," an informant said softly. "Osiris."

The man he was reporting to did not move.

He sat near a stone window, looking at the distant mountains where snow already lingered.

"Osiris," he repeated.

On the table before him lay a thick bone tablet, carved with old runes. One of the runes had the shape of a soaring bird wrapped in fire.

The informant swallowed carefully.

"He said a male with a phoenix like aura is living in that village," he added. "He did not know what a phoenix is, but his description was close."

The man by the window finally turned his head.

His eyes were calm. Too calm.

"Mark the village," he said. "Tell our watchers in Duskspire and along the illegal routes. If a fire bird shows its wings, I want to know."

"Yes."

Deep in the forest, the trees grew crooked.

The wind there did not sound lively. It whistled past the branches like a long sigh.

Under that wind, a figure moved slowly.

It was a woman.

At least, she had once been one.

Her body was thin, skin folded and wrinkled like old bark. Her face had sunk inward. One leg dragged behind her, leaving a long mark in the mud.

Each step she took seemed painful, but her eyes were full of stubborn light.

"Kian..." she rasped, voice as dry as dead leaves. "I will come back for you."

If Kian saw her like this, he would not recognize the one who had once smiled proudly beside him.

Maybe he would not even believe that this twisted creature had ever been human.

The woman laughed softly to herself.

Her teeth were yellow and sharp. Under the moonlight, they gleamed in a disturbing way.

After a long while, she reached a clearing.

In the middle of the clearing stood a small hut. On the outside, it was made of the same wood and stone as any beastman house.

But the air around it was wrong.

Strange, sweet and bitter smells mixed together, clinging to the nose. Smoke in different colors curled out from small holes in the roof.

The woman stopped in front of the door.

A part of her mind, the last thin string of reason, told her not to enter.

Inside was trouble. Inside was a trade she could never take back.

Her fingers trembled.

She thought of the man with lion eyes.

She smiled, ugly and satisfied.

Who cared about the price, as long as she could stand in front of him again.

She lifted her hand and pushed the door open.

Inside the hut, the air was thick.

Cups made of stone and bone lined the shelves. Some were filled with dried herbs. Some held things that twitched faintly.

Animal skulls were hung on the walls, their empty eye sockets watching from all sides.

An old woman sat by a low fire. Her back was bent, hair white and thin. She stirred a pot that bubbled with a murky liquid, not lifting her head when the door opened.

"You came," the old woman said. Her voice was slow and hoarse, but not surprised.

The twisted woman stepped in, closing the door behind her.

The outside world vanished. No sound of wind, no smell of trees, only this heavy, strange room.

She dragged her leg forward, each step scraping the floor.

"Give me a new face," she said. "Something beautiful."

The old woman finally raised her head.

Her eyes were cloudy, yet something sharp flashed in their depths.

"You want beauty again, Zara?" she asked softly. "You already traded so much for power. Your blood, your flesh, your years. You came to me because no one else would deal with you."

Zara’s mouth twisted.

"What is this face good for?" she sneered. "Kian will not look at me. The world will not fear me. I want both. His gaze and their fear."

The old woman looked at her for a long time.

Then she slowly smiled, revealing her own worn teeth.

"Everything can be changed," she said. "But you know the rules. Beauty is not free."

Zara’s eyes burned.

"I will pay," she said. "Whatever it takes."

The old woman turned back to her bubbling pot.

"Very well," she murmured. "Then let us peel off what is left of you and see what kind of face you deserve."