How to Get Girls, Get Rich, and Rule the World (Even If You're Ugly)-Chapter 42: How to get to a city that wants you dead (2)

Antoril didn’t look like a city at first glance. It looked like a display. An urban theater meant to impress — maybe even deceive. ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

The wall was tall, yes, but elegant. Adorned with carved columns and symmetrical patterns that looked more like decorative runes than defenses.

The entrance gate opened in a double curve, like the wings of a stone eagle, constantly watched by men in armor that was way too clean for anyone who actually patrolled dusty roads.

And the moment we passed through the arch, the contrast hit like a wet slap.

It was... beautiful. Too beautiful. The houses had bright roofs, the streets were wide, paved with smooth, carefully placed stones.

Sculptures stood on every corner — some of heroes, others of mythological figures with breasts and theological expressions — all staring down with a touch of disdain. There were trees pruned with surgical precision, crystal-clear fountains with coins resting at the bottom, and even street musicians who were actually in tune.

"Is this a city or a storefront?" I muttered.

Thalia elbowed me.

"Walk straight. Stop looking like a goblin at a ballroom."

"Sorry. The ground’s not trying to kill me for once. I got nervous."

The soldiers marched ahead with us, synchronized steps, spears at rest — but not far enough for comfort.

The patrol captain, a guy with white sideburns and a face trained not to laugh, kept exchanging glances with his men as if calculating the best moment to actually leash me.

One of the guards turned discreetly to Thalia:

"Are you sure he doesn’t bite?"

She smiled like a poisoned flower.

"Only when he’s hungry. But I already fed him."

The guard’s eyes went back to me. I smiled. Showed teeth. He swallowed hard.

We passed some vendors who paused what they were doing just to stare. A cobbler dropped a leather sole. A kid with a kite froze mid-step and looked at me like I was a mangy dragon. Even a dog backed away with a whimper.

But it wasn’t like Ashveil. No one was afraid of me here. They looked at me like I was an odd character in a serious play. Like... a drunk extra who wandered onto the wrong stage.

Thalia cleared her throat.

"Gentlemen," she said, raising her chin and voice. "From here on, we can handle ourselves. We’ve already disrupted your route too much."

The captain raised an eyebrow.

"But the city may still be dangerous."

"’Dangerous’ is a word he uses as a compliment," she replied, thumbing toward me.

I gave a vague gesture. Something between a military salute and a shoulder scratch.

"Besides," she added, "he’s been leashed for too long. Might give him some kind of rash."

The captain blinked. Looked at his men. Then shrugged.

"If your... your excellencies insist... Good luck."

They slowly walked off, though a few kept looking back. Once they disappeared into the side streets, I took a deep breath.

"There," Thalia said. "Now you can stop walking like someone’s got a spear aimed at your kidney."

"Did you see the size of those swords? I watched my entire childhood flash before my eyes. Like a film."

"What’s a film?"

The city felt less enchanted once we were walking without an escort.

Now that there were no guards as a visual buffer, we could see who else roamed the streets. In a side alley, two kids shared a stale piece of bread.

A barefoot man slept against the wall of a pharmacy, his foot swollen like a forgotten wineskin. A few women, hollow-eyed and in worn dresses, sold copper necklaces like they were gold.

"Doesn’t match the statues, huh?" I said.

"That’s Antoril. Pretty on the outside, cracked on the inside. Still the best place to find what we came for."

"How do you know that? I thought you’d never been here, girl."

"Everyone’s got secrets," she laughed.

"I recommend dropping your secrets and finding a bath. You stink."

"Oh, please. Like you smell like roses," she shot back.

I smiled, despite everything.

We walked the streets, trying to find an inn, a corner, a shelter. Anywhere that didn’t reek of too much perfume or too much neglect. Because in Antoril, apparently, both came in the same bottle.

The city felt more crowded now that we walked without a guard. At every corner, some new piece of urban language poked at us with eyes, smells, or voices. Drunks sleeping under market awnings. Well-dressed women dodging beggars like puddles. Tiny children throwing rocks at a cursed-looking post — because no one could hit it.

"You sure you know where we’re going?" I asked, dodging a street vendor trying to sell me a fake map.

"I grew up hearing that a lost woman only looks lost," she said without slowing. "Trust me."

"Trust you? Not exactly my strong suit."

"Well, smelling good isn’t yours either."

"I thought we were on a mission, not a date. You come here often?"

She smirked sideways, the kind of smile that acknowledged a decent provocation. And kept going, determined, cutting through the narrower streets of the city — streets that now smelled more like mildew than myrrh.

We passed an alley decorated with underwear hanging like war flags. Then through an arch tagged with symbols that honestly looked like runic sexual threats. A bit further, a man was singing in a language that could only have been invented by someone with three throats.

"So... this is the place?"

"Yes, this is it. It’s a republic. Safe. Discreet. And no one asks questions."

"Hmm. Paradise for the innocent and the guilty alike. And do you know which one I am?"

"I know you’re annoying in either category."

We turned one last corner. And then she stopped in front of a rusted door with a badly painted lotus flower on it.

"Here."

"Here? This looks like the kind of place where ’lodging’ is immediately followed by ’police report.’"

"Trust me," she said again, pulling a thin key from her bag.

The door creaked as it opened. The smell of stale tobacco, peeling paint, and forgotten soup slipped out like a rude yawn.

We climbed a flight of stairs. The walls had cracks that looked like battle maps. A woman snored behind a curtain. A rat ran along the banister and ignored us entirely.

Thalia stopped in front of a wooden door marked with claw marks. Literal claw marks.

"Our room."

"This is a room? I thought it was a hideout for bankrupt vampires."

We stepped inside.

The room was small. A bed. A desk. A window that refused to open. And a bookshelf that looked more like an intellectual barricade. In the corner, a false panel hid what was clearly the real reason for staying: an improvised newsroom, with maps, documents, drafts, and jars of dried ink.

"Welcome to the Republic of the Invisible," she said, tossing her bag onto the bed. "Journalists, travelers, broke students. And me."

"I thought it’d be... I don’t know, nobler."

"You really need to stop building expectations based on my diction. I work with words. Not gold."

I sat on the edge of the bed — which creaked like it regretted existing.

"This is gonna be fun," I muttered.

"I promise it’ll be... educational."

She shot me a look. Curious. Challenging. Full of promises that weren’t sure they wanted to be kept.

And I couldn’t help but smile. Because even in that hole disguised as a temporary home, I knew something big was about to begin.

Something that might explode more than just the ink on the walls.

"So is this the part where you sleep with me?" I said out loud.

Even I was surprised I’d said it. I stared at her, shocked. She stared back, absolutely horrified.

I figured I’d be sleeping outside that night.