[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-saya-and-the-dragon":3,"chapter-saya-and-the-dragon-saya-and-the-dragon-chapter-222":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"english","Saya and the Dragon",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},1705031,2177,"Chapter 215: Dwarfwhore","saya-and-the-dragon-chapter-222",222,"\u003Cp>Chapter 215: Dwarfwhore\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I shoulder the door open with my hip and let the tavern’s stink of sweat, beer, and wet dog slap me in the face like a long-lost debtor. It’s still early enough the whores aren’t moaning yet, but late enough the drunks have started pissing in corners.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>There. Back booth. That beard. That mug. That dwarf.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I flop down beside him like a sack of drama and sigh the sigh of a woman wronged by at least five men in the last forty-eight hours and none of them worth the regret. Or the chafing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He doesn’t look up. Just grunts and pushes a fresh cup my way.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I take it. Sip. Gag. “Gods, what is this?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Fermented pine sap,” he says, deadpan.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fair enough.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>We sit a while in silence, like two war veterans who only survived the brothel by chance and bad decisions.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then I mumble it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Why do I keep doing this?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He squints. “Drinking?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“No. Sleeping with random idiots who smile pretty and talk like they’re not full of swamp water.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He shrugs. “You’re a whore.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I open my mouth to argue. Close it. Think.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“...Fair.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I take another sip. It doesn’t get better.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“But,” I say, swirling the cup like it’s a glass of overpriced Toemachan brandy, “why do I keep choosing obviously terrible ones? Like not even ‘fun for a night’ bad. I mean 'this one’s going to steal my boots and cry about his ex mid-thrust' bad.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He grins under his beard. “At least I paid you.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I glare into my cup. “You paid me in wooden tokens from a pirate-themed tavern in Seebulba.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Still currency,” he says, smug.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I grunt.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And drink.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I slam the cup down with unnecessary drama. “Ok. Let’s number them. Number one: Greg.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“The demon?” the dwarf asks, raising a brow without looking up from his mug.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I nod. “Greg.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He snorts into his ale. “He once tried to trade you for a goat.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I wince. “That was a joke.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He gives me a flat look. “He brought the goat.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I groan. “I hate when you’re right.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Two,” I mutter, dragging the word like it owes me money. “Sir Odran.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The dwarf coughs into his drink, nearly chokes. “The paladin? The one who chained you to a fountain and then wrote you poetry about your ‘warrior’s thighs’?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Don’t remind me.” I bury my face in my hands. “He’s so stupid. Like aggressively stupid. His abs have more strategic insight than his brain.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The dwarf nods sagely. “But he looks good holding a sword.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Exactly!” I shoot him a finger. “That’s the problem. He draws his blade and my legs just—bloom open like cursed lilies.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He shakes his head. “You're a menace.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“He is the menace. I’m just weak for pretty morons.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He leans back, steepling his stubby fingers. “So. Greg the goat-broker. Odran the ornamental idiot. Who’s number three?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I hesitate. Long enough for regret to start whispering under the floorboards. “Bollo.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The dwarf grins. “Ah. The bull-man.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I sigh like someone recounting war crimes and great sex. “He had this thing he did with his hips—”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Say no more.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“—and he used to nuzzle me after. Like some oversized pillow with a six-foot dick and emotional support issues.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Didn’t he get married?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I nod, mournful. “To a milkmaid. They have a calf now. I saw them. All… domestic. Like a walking painting of things I can’t have.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You’d eat the wallpaper within a week,” the dwarf says flatly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Yeah,” I admit. “But I’d look great doing it.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The dwarf shrugs, drains his mug in one go, and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “Wanna go upstairs?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I blink. “That was subtle.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I’ve got coin.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I sigh. Loud and theatrical. “Fine.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He raises a brow. I cut him off with a finger pointed like a dagger.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“But no foot job this time.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He looks vaguely wounded. “It was culturally significant.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“It was weird,” I say, standing. “And I got a cramp in my arch. I’m not flexing like that again unless there’s gold leaf involved.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He stands too, groaning slightly as his back pops. “I’ll throw in a honey cake.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I pause.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“…One with dates?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Two.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I nod solemnly. “Deal.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>We head up the stairs like condemned prisoners, except one of us is already half-hard and the other is just tired of thinking.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>***\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The ceiling had a crack shaped like a rude gesture. I lay there, naked, sweaty, sprawled across scratchy linen like a well-used deity, and seriously considering theft of at least one pillow. Maybe the blanket too.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The dwarf sits at the edge of the bed, bare-assed and hairy, stuffing tobacco into his pipe with all the ceremony of a monk lighting incense. He strikes the match. Puff. Slow exhale. That musky, spicy scent coils through the air.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You’re my favorite harlot,” he says, “you know that.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I stretch like a cat with no shame. “Pleasure doing business with me,” I purr, swiping the pipe and taking a drag. Burns like bad karma. Perfect.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He chuckles, rough and warm. “But seriously, girl.” Another puff. “Stick to that reptile of yours.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I blink. “You mean the actual dragon?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He nods, dead serious now. “He’s a keeper.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I exhale a ribbon of smoke and stare at the ceiling crack again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“…That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s said to me all month.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He snorts. “Gods help you if that’s your bar.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“It is,” I say, passing the pipe back. “Somewhere between ‘nice tits’ and ‘I’ll pay extra if you pretend to be my dead wife.’”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He coughs. “That last one real?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Real enough,” I mutter, rolling onto my side, letting the sheet drape just so. “He tipped well. And cried after.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Men are a tragedy.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You’re included.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I'm the comic relief,” he says smugly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I grin. “You’re the punchline.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He puffs, unfazed. “Still. That dragon of yours. I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you’re not looking.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I freeze, just for a breath. Then scoff. “He looks at everyone like they’re a badly written tax law.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Nah,” he says. “He looks at you like he’s already memorized every line and still can’t make sense of it.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I hate how quiet that makes me.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He keeps talking. “You make him nervous. That’s rare for creatures with a death toll.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I reach for the cup of half-warm ale, sip, then say too casually, “He still thinks I’m gonna leave.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Well,” the dwarf says, tamping down the pipe with a calloused thumb, “aren’t you?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I don’t answer. Because I don’t know. Because it’s complicated. Because my answer changes every godsdamn morning.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He nods like that silence says everything.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>We sit there, him smoking, me pretending not to care, while the room fills with pipe smoke and the echo of things I won’t say.\u003C\u002Fp>",1139,"2026-06-06T14:39:25.900Z",1,"novelbin.me","c4c51e7de312be9f6a1a62419cb0314cff67fd6621894218636e2fbc764792bf","saya-and-the-dragon-chapter-223","saya-and-the-dragon-chapter-221",228,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fsaya-and-the-dragon-cover.jpg"]