Chapter 267: Royal Casino Recon

O’Neer sat back on the couch as he downed a glass of fine Elysian liquor. Abel had given him a recon allowance, told him to see the true face of the city. Not the polished armies or neat barracks. So he decided to do just that, in the best way he knew how.

The place was a strange blend of indulgence and control. Soft, enchanted lanterns cast warm gold and violet hues across the room, their light shifting subtly with the rhythm of the music. Somewhere deeper in the hall, a low, pulsing beat carried through the air, not harsh but insistent, like a heartbeat woven with magic. Card tables lined one side, nobles and officers alike hunched over them, coins and tokens clinking as quiet deals with lady luck were made. Elsewhere, plush couches and private alcoves hosted hushed conversations and lingering touches. Scantily clad women moved through the space with practiced ease, laughter light, eyes sharp, always watching who had coin and who did not. It was refined, expensive, and carefully curated… but beneath it all, O’Neer could feel the same edge he knew from the wastes. Just dressed in silk instead of dust.

He’d heard of this place in the red light district, a haunt called the Casino Royale. Crown-owned, apparently. Hard to imagine that Empress on her throne owning a place like this.

A blonde human woman approached him with a practiced smile, her dress cut to expose more than it covered, pale fabric draped lightly over her frame. It was designed to draw the eye, high along the legs, low at the chest, every line deliberate. O’Neer gave her a brief once-over, noting proportions, posture, presentation. By human standards, she was likely considered attractive.

Nearby, a small raised stage caught his attention. Another blonde stood there, dressed in much the same fashion, pale fabric and bare lines shaped to catch the light. She swayed heavily to the rhythm of the music, hands running slowly along her sides as she sang, the movement deliberate and repetitive. O’Neer watched for a moment, noting the pattern. The emphasis on motion, on drawing attention to the body, was familiar enough. Different in execution, but close enough to what he knew to recognise it for what it was. Human seduction, he assumed.

“Hey, handsome,” she said, sliding into the seat beside him, her eyes flicking briefly to the expensive bottle.

“You find me handsome? Didn’t think you humans liked Vulpus that way,” O’Neer said with a grin.

“Oh, that’s what you’re called. Well, if you must know, I personally find you… wild,” she said, her voice dropping into a husky whisper.

O’Neer laughed, raising a brow. “You saying that because you’re getting paid, or do you actually mean it?”

“Of course I mean it,” she said, putting on a show of mock offense.

“Then again, that’s exactly what I’d say if I was getting paid,” she added with a smirk as she shifted onto his lap.

“You Elysians are wild. Back in the Vulpina Wastes, getting someone to warm your bed takes effort. The girls there will bite your ear off if you piss them off,” O’Neer said with a grin.

Now fully straddling him, she reached for a pair of glasses, poured them both a drink, and handed one to him before taking a slow sip, fixing him with what he assumed were human seduction eyes.

“Didn’t know they paid you girls to drink your customers’ booze,” O’Neer grinned as he looked her up and down. On the surface, interested. Underneath, not at all. Humans were… not his type. Too hairless. It reminded him of a childhood friend who’d been shaved as a prank.

“Hm. No, they don’t pay me to drink. I drink because I take what I want,” the woman said, resting a hand on his chest.

“Sounds like you’d fit right in with the Rangers,” O’Neer said.

“Oh? Are you a military man?” she asked with a smile, tugging at the collar of her already low-cut dress, showing a bit more skin.

“Yes. And as a Captain, I’ll permit you to keep drinking my booze while we wait for my friends,” O’Neer said.

“Friends? Oh, there are more of you?” she giggled.

“Quite a few. Reckless, undisciplined, insubordinate. So I can respect someone who takes what they want,” O’Neer said with a grin as he ran a hand along the outer edge of her thigh.

“Mmm… you really know how to talk to a girl,” the woman said.

“I know a great many things…” O’Neer replied, his hand drifting up to her waist.

“Oh? Like what?” the woman cooed.

“Uh uh… not so fast. First, I want to know more about you,” O’Neer said, gripping her waist and pulling her a little closer.

“What do you want to know?” the woman asked as she took his hat off and ran a hand through his fur.

“How you girls get treated? Good?” O’Neer asked casually.

The woman paused slightly, a flicker of unease crossing her gaze. “Odd question to ask.”

“Not odd at all. When I patronise an establishment, I like to know if the business is in good standing,” O’Neer drawled.

“Hmm, you have a lot of opinions, don’t you?” the woman said with a grin.

“Yeah. We’ve got a lot of opinions. We believe speaking them improves the mood,” O’Neer said.

The woman smiled. “Well, consider the mood improved…”

O’Neer glanced up and saw Wyatt and Gnasher, another Captain, walking in. “There you are.”

The woman turned, smiling as she slipped off his lap to face them. “Friends of yours?”

“Unfortunately,” Wyatt replied dryly, and O’Neer let out a barking laugh.

“Sit down, grumpy. Grab a drink,” O’Neer said, patting the plush couch.

“And you never answered my question.” O’Neer said as he turned to face the woman who plonked herself down next to him.

“Oh, it’s alright. This is Crown territory. The Empress owns the place, so no one ever causes trouble,” the woman said as she shifted slightly, showing a bit more of her thigh.

“Hmm… so you get trouble outside this place?” O’Neer asked, shifting as well, his posture turning just a touch more predatory.

“Oh my… you really are military… but different…” the woman said, this time with a flicker of what looked like real interest.

“Ain’t no one like us,” Gnasher said, a slight slur in his voice, eyes a little unfocused.

O’Neer paused at that and glanced at Wyatt, who just shrugged. Wyatt, as steady as ever, looked at Gnasher and said, “Whatever it is you’re taking, fucking stop.”

“Hrmph,” Gnasher grunted, finishing his drink.

“He’s just drunk,” O’Neer said, turning back as Wyatt let out an audible sigh behind him.

Gnasher got his nickname because it fit too well. He gnashed at leadership, gnashed at the enemy, gnashed his teeth through every problem. He did stupid things, got chewed up for it, and somehow came out the other side with a promotion anyway. As General Abel put it, he didn’t care what brand of madness a soldier carried as long as he kept winning. And to Gnasher’s credit, he did win. A lot.

“You three are mad,” the woman said with a trill of laughter, clearly entertained.

Wyatt glanced over, took a sip of his drink, and said, “Our general often requests madness from us…”

“And that’s why he requires the services of mad men,” Gnasher cut in, slurring his words as he swayed slightly.

“How are you this drunk already? We just got here,” Wyatt asked, exasperated.

“Drank a bit before getting here…” Gnasher muttered.

“A bit?” Wyatt repeated, exasperation creeping into his voice.

“So, if you saw me getting handled out there, what would you do?” the woman asked coyly.

“We’d…” O’Neer began.

“We’d fight!” Gnasher cut in loudly. “Fists and boots… and cutlery!”

“…cutlery?” O’Neer said slowly, turning to look at him. “Where the fuck are you getting cutlery?”

Gnasher, with great effort, dug into his coat and produced several silver forks and spoons, holding them up like trophies.

“Stole… burp … stole ’em from the palace…” he slurred.

“Oooo… the palace… the Empress must see something in all of you,” the woman said, leaning in.

“What makes you say that? You see men like us often waltzing into the palace?” O’Neer asked, pivoting smoothly.

“Well, not men like… this, per se,” the woman said, gesturing vaguely at them, meaning their demeanour.

“Ain’t no one like…” Gnasher began.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…” Wyatt cut in, grabbing him and shoving him into a seat, losing patience.

“So what kind of men?” O’Neer said, ignoring his very drunk, and still very combat-effective, colleague.

“Useful men, of course. If there is one thing the Empress promises us, it is that men and women of merit are rewarded. The strong will have their reward, no matter the field. They say even a whore can bed her way into the palace,” the woman said coyly.

“If there is a need for highly talented whores, I presume,” O’Neer said, running a hand along her arm.

“Of course. This is Elysia. If someone wants something, we can provide…” the woman replied huskily.

“Hm. What can be provided in this city and Empire? Besides beautiful things like yourself, of course,” O’Neer asked.

“A great many things. Magic, power, money… all within reach, if you have the heart to reach for it, and the strength to take it,” the woman said, a hint of pride slipping through despite her supposed station.

“Strange. I never thought I’d hear that from someone like you. Most workers back home are bitter about their circumstances,” Wyatt said, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“Yes, we get that a lot. Hard to believe, isn’t it? Someone like me being happy about all of this,” the woman said, giving a casual flourish over her revealing dress.

“So why then?” Wyatt asked, direct as always.

“’Cause she ain’t forced to be here, ain’t it?” Gnasher slurred.

O’Neer and Wyatt paused, turning to look at Gnasher, who was still swaying slightly, holding a glass that was somehow full again.

“Hate it when people make me do something I… * burp* … don’t wanna do. Bet they pay you good too,” Gnasher added.

“Bingo. You know most girls don’t stay here long. Work a bit, then move on. And here’s the best part… do you know what happens when a customer hurts someone like me?” the woman said with a grin.

“What?” Wyatt asked.

“They get a different version of this… and a tree,” the woman said, gesturing daintily to the silk choker around her neck.

“To be fair, ain’t so different from what we do,” O’Neer said, glancing at Wyatt, who gave a noncommittal shrug.

“Yeah, they hurt our people, we shoot them… * burp* …” Gnasher slurred.

“A bit blunt… but yes, essentially,” Wyatt said with a sigh, taking a drink.

At that moment, two more ladies approached. One had frizzy red hair, the other straight black. Both shared the same build, generous chest, narrow waist, wide hips. Their dresses were thin and flowing, cut to suggest far more than they revealed, yet the fabric never seemed to slip or fall out of place no matter how they moved. O’Neer noted the control in it, likely some form of advanced tailoring or enchantment keeping everything exactly where it should be. He also noted they looked to be about the Empress’s age. He could only assume this was what humans found attractive.

They each sat beside Wyatt and Gnasher. Wyatt let out a small, resigned huff as he poured drinks for the two of them.

“Never seen you pour your booze for others,” Gnasher slurred as the redhead grabbed his arm.

“When in foreign lands, do as the foreigners do,” Wyatt said in a clipped tone. O’Neer glanced around and saw he was right. Drinks flowed freely between patrons and the women.

“Plus, it’s not my booze. It’s O’Neer’s,” Wyatt added with a small grin, casting a wry glance at him.

O’Neer rolled his eyes as he turned his attention back to the blonde. “Never got your name, miss,”

“Charlotte,” the woman replied, tugging lightly at the collar of her dress to reveal a little more skin as she tilted her head coquettishly.

“Captain O’Neer,” he said, raising his glass with easy confidence, that rascal charm firmly in place. She smiled demurely and clinked her glass against his.

“And what about you ladi…” O’Neer began, turning, then pausing mid-sentence before letting out a sigh.

The redhead was already straddling Gnasher, who had his snout buried firmly against her chest, muttering something about how she smelled nice. Knowing Gnasher, he probably just thought she was a warm, soft thing to hold that happened to smell good, rather than anything resembling actual attraction.

Wyatt was staring at the scene with the blank expression of a man burdened by too much stupidity, then simply faced forward and took a deeper than usual drink from his glass.

O’Neer sensed her moving before she did and turned just as she climbed onto his lap, grinning down at him. She was close enough now that he could smell her clearly, the perfume layered over something warmer beneath it.

“Like what you see?” Charlotte cooed.

O’Neer, playing the part, grabbed her waist and pulled her closer, a low growl in his voice. “Very.”

“You all must be treated very well to look like this,” O’Neer said as he ran a hand along her hip.

“Well, we take great pains to look the way we do. Can’t charge high if we look sloppy, can we?” Charlotte said, guiding his hand more firmly against her waist.

“Great pains, you say?” O’Neer asked, raising a brow.

“Well… cosmetics, diet, hydration, the right kinds of exercise so we can… keep up with nightly exertion…” Charlotte said, placing a touch of emphasis on the last part.

“I’m surprised half the city isn’t round with a diet like that,” O’Neer said with a grin.

“As the Crown says, wine at every table, full bellies in every bed… which gives people like me the strength to keep going for a very… very long time…” Charlotte whispered into his ear.

O’Neer glanced at Gnasher, who was now being idly petted by the frizzy redhead, and resisted the urge to throw something at him. Not much longer…

“CAPTAIN!” a familiar voice shouted as a commotion broke out across the room.

There it is. His exit.

The old Ranger recon special. Send in a few officers to gather intel, have an NCO start a fight somewhere with worse curtains, and the Lieutenant comes running for help.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…” O’Neer muttered as he turned, and sure enough, the Lieutenant pushed through to his table. Charlotte was still close enough that he could feel her breath. Time to sell it.

“Get out, Enckle. Walk out the door and keep walking… then keep walking some more,” O’Neer growled.

“Sir, it’s Sergeant Rikerd. He started a fight with six mercenaries. It’s just him and Vee!” Enckle half-shouted.

“O’Neer…” Wyatt said, glancing at him.

O’Neer made a small show of hesitation, his grip tightening slightly on Charlotte’s waist before he let go.

“Gnasher, get your muzzle out of her chest,” O’Neer snapped.

“Wot?” Gnasher blurted, his snout popping free.

“We need to go pull some idiot out of a fire,” O’Neer said as Charlotte, catching the cue, slipped off him. Wyatt finished his drink in one go and set the glass down with a firm tap as he stood.

O’Neer rose, his muzzle curling into a faint snarl.

“Oh, we fighting now,” Gnasher said, grinning wide, a few too many fangs showing as his gaze snapped from hazy to razor sharp.

“Come on,” O’Neer grunted, striding forward, then stopping at the sharp clink of glass behind him.

He turned. “Put the bottle down, Gnasher.”

Gnasher stood there gripping it by the neck, ready to swing.

This was meant to be a distraction, not a massacre.

“Right…” Gnasher muttered, setting it down before following.

O’Neer pushed out the door and immediately spotted the commotion spilling into the street. As he walked, he spoke over his shoulder in a clipped tone.

No cutlery, no stabbing, fists and boots only…