Chapter 1: The Morning Routine of Hell

My alarm clock didn’t wake me up this morning.
Instead, the sound of breaking furniture and a high-pitched squeal shattered my dreams of peace. I stared at the cracked ceiling of my room in the Crimson Rose Guild Hall where dust motes danced in the shaft of sunlight cutting through the curtains. I just laid there for a second, really, really not wanting to get up—my body felt heavy with the specific kind of exhaustion that comes from babysitting literal monsters.
“Harder!”
The scream echoed through the floorboards.
I groaned and rubbed my face. Most Guild Masters wake up to reports on dungeon yields or maybe a fresh pot of coffee—I wake up to the sounds of felony assault. I sat up on the edge of my bed, joints popping. Being the Guild Master of Crimson Rose sounds cool on paper, sounds prestigious. In reality, it’s basically being a glorified zookeeper for sociopaths.
“Please! I can still feel my legs!”
That was Elara—definitely Elara.
I stood up and dragged a hand through my messy hair. The Guild Association calls me a specialist, says I’m the only one qualified to lead this team. That’s corporate speak for we are terrified of these women and you are the only one who doesn’t die when they get excited. I’m not a leader—I’m a containment unit.
“Pathetic.”
That cold, sharp voice belonged to Valeria.
I grabbed my shirt off the floor, smelling like stale ale and regret. Pulling it on, I walked to the door and paused with my hand on the knob, considering locking it, considering climbing out the window and running away to become a turnip farmer in the countryside. But the Guild Association has my magical signature on file—they’d find me. They always find me.
“Is that really the best you can do, Val?”
And there was Seraphina, pouring gasoline on the fire as usual.
I sighed—a long, deep exhale that scraped the bottom of my lungs. Time to go to work. I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway where the noise was louder now: the sound of metal hitting flesh, the sound of manic laughter. Just another Tuesday in hell.
I walked down the stairs.
The common room looked like a hurricane had thrown a rave inside a torture chamber—tables overturned, chairs splintered, the nice rug I bought last week soaked in something that looked suspiciously like blood but smelled like cheap wine.
“Again! Again!”
Elara was on the floor.
Our High Cleric, the woman responsible for keeping us alive in dungeons, was currently sprawled out on the hardwood. Her blonde hair was a mess, robes torn in strategic places, face flushed a deep, alarming crimson—she looked like she was having the time of her life.
“You disgusting sow.”
Valeria stood over her.
The Sadist Knight lived up to her nickname with black armor gleaming in the morning light, red eyes burning with a mix of annoyance and sadistic glee. She held a heavy, steel-toed boot over Elara’s stomach, then stomped down hard.
The impact echoed through the room.
Elara let out a noise that was half-scream, half-moan—her back arching off the floor, fingers clawing at the wood.
“Yes! Yes! Break me!”
I stopped at the bottom of the stairs, just watching. It was like watching a car crash in slow motion, except the cars were hot women and the crash was a violation of several international treaties.
“She seems to like that one, Val.”
Seraphina chirped from across the room.
The petite mage was sitting on the only intact piece of furniture—a high-backed armchair in the corner—sipping a cup of tea, her silver hair catching the light. She looked like an angel, a wicked, manipulative, chaos-loving angel.
“Maybe try the hilt of your sword next?” Seraphina smiled over the rim of her cup.
Valeria growled, looking frustrated. For a sadist, having a masochist who enjoys the pain too much is like a comedian telling jokes to a deaf audience—it kills the vibe. She drew her sword, the steel hissing against the scabbard.
“I will carve the perversion out of you.”
Valeria raised the blade.
Elara’s eyes went wide—not with fear but with anticipation. She shivered, chest heaving, tongue darting out to wet her lips.
“Cut me deep, Valeria! Let me feel the cold steel!”
Okay, that was enough.
“Hey.”
My voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the room instantly.
Everyone froze—Valeria’s sword hovering in the air, Elara stopping mid-writhe, Seraphina pausing mid-sip. They all turned to look at me in sudden, heavy silence.
“Can we not do this before breakfast?”
I walked into the center of the room, stepping over a broken chair leg, ignoring the weird puddle near the fireplace. I looked at my team—my nightmare, my burden.
“Rian.” Valeria’s voice was low, dangerous. “You’re interrupting.”
“I’m stopping you from killing our healer. Again.”
“She enjoys it,” Valeria scoffed.
“That’s not the point. We have a reputation, Valeria—we can’t just murder each other in the lobby. The neighbors already complain about the noise.”
“Let them complain—I’ll cut their tongues out.”
“See? That right there is the problem.”
I looked down at Elara.
“And you—get up, have some dignity.”
Elara looked up at me, eyes glazed over, a line of drool running down her chin. She looked at me with a mix of shame and intense hunger.
“Guild Master… punish me for being bad?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“Go take a shower, Elara.”
She pouted—actually pouted—then slowly picked herself up, wincing as her ribs probably knit themselves back together with her passive regeneration. She shuffled toward the stairs, still breathing heavily.
“You’re no fun, Rian,” Seraphina called out.
“I’m not here to be fun—I’m here to make sure we don’t get disbanded. Do you know how much paperwork I had to do after the incident with the fire spirits last week?”
“They looked cold,” Seraphina shrugged.
“You burned down half the forest.”
“It grew back.”
“That’s not how nature works!”
I felt a headache coming on—a sharp, throbbing pain right behind my eyes. I needed coffee, needed a vacation, needed a different life.
“You’re weak, Rian.”
Valeria turned toward me.
The air in the room changed, got colder—the playfulness was gone. Valeria wasn’t looking at Elara anymore, she was looking at me. Her red eyes narrowed, her grip on her sword tightened.
“Excuse me?”
“You come down here, bleary-eyed and soft, giving orders, acting like you control us.”
“I am the Guild Master.”
“By title—but do you have the strength to back it up?”
Here we go.
Valeria has a thing about dominance: if she doesn’t respect you, she tries to kill you. If she does respect you, she tries to kill you but with more affection. It’s a lose-lose situation.
“Valeria, put the sword away.”
“Make me.”
She grinned—not a nice grin but the grin of a wolf looking at a particularly slow rabbit.
“I’ve been itching for a real target. Elara is too soft, breaks too easily. But you…” She licked her lips. “I wonder what sounds you’ll make when I peel you apart.”
“Valeria, I haven’t had coffee yet—don’t make me do this.”
“Defend yourself!”
She didn’t wait for an answer.
Valeria lunged, insanely fast—to a normal person, she would have been a blur of black steel and death. The air cracked as she swung her sword in a lethal arc aimed right at my neck, not holding back, wanting blood.
I didn’t blink.
I didn’t use mana—I don’t have enough mana to light a candle, let alone block a strike from a High Knight. But I have something else: years of fighting people who are stronger, faster, and way more insane than me.
I stepped to the left.
Just a half-step, minimal movement. The blade whistled past my ear, close enough to cut a few strands of hair. I could feel the wind pressure against my cheek, could smell the steel.
“What?” Valeria’s eyes widened.
She overextended, just a fraction—but a fraction is all I need. I stepped in, closing the distance before she could recover. I was inside her guard now, right where she was vulnerable.
“Too slow.”
I grabbed her wrist.
Not hard, just precise—I found the pressure point near the joint and squeezed. Her hand popped open reflexively and the sword clattered to the floor with a metallic ring.
“You—!”
She tried to knee me in the gut.
Predictable. I shifted my weight, hooked my leg around hers, and swept—simple physics, leverage and gravity doing all the work.
Valeria hit the floor hard.
Before she could scramble up, I was on her—pinning her wrists above her head with one hand, pressing my knee into her thigh to keep her legs still. I leaned down, bringing my face inches from hers, close enough to feel her breath on my skin.
“I told you—not before breakfast.”
The room was silent again.
Dust settled around us and I could feel her breathing—ragged, fast. Her chest rose and fell against her armor, face flushed but not with anger anymore, not with bloodlust.
“Rian…” Her voice trembled.
The murder in her eyes vanished, replaced by something else—something heavy and dark and intense. She looked up at me, pupils dilated, lips parted slightly. A soft gasp escaped.
“You’re so… strong.”
She squirmed beneath me.
Not trying to escape, just squirmed—the friction of our bodies undeniable. I could feel the heat radiating off her, the scent of her sweat mixed with the metallic tang of her armor. It was intoxicating and dangerous, very, very dangerous.
“Are you done?”
I kept my voice steady, didn’t let her see that my heart was hammering against my ribs, didn’t let her see that being this close to her, having her at my mercy, woke something up in me too.
“Make me done.”
She arched her back.
The movement pressed her chest against my arm. She bit her lip, staring at my mouth—she wanted me to hurt her, or kiss her, or both. With Valeria, the line was blurry, practically nonexistent.
“Get up.”
I let go of her wrists.
I stood up and took a step back, brushing the dust off my pants. I needed to create distance—physical and emotional. If I stayed there for another second, I might have done something stupid, something that would have complicated our already messy dynamic.
Valeria lay there for a moment.
She looked disappointed, touching her wrists where I had held her. A slow, creepy smile spread across her face as her fingers traced the marks on her skin.
“So rough,” she murmured to herself.
“I’m going to the kitchen.”
I turned my back on them—rule number one of dealing with predators is never show fear, rule number two is never let them see you sweat, rule number three is always have an exit strategy.
“I’m making eggs. If you want some, clean up this mess. If I see one more broken chair, I’m docking your pay.”
“Yes, Master,” Elara squeaked from the corner.
“Whatever you say, Boss,” Seraphina giggled.
“As you wish… my Lord,” Valeria whispered.
I walked into the kitchen.
My hands were shaking, just a little. I leaned against the counter and took a deep breath, looking at the coffee pot—my savior, my lifeline, the only thing keeping me sane in this absolute circus of a guild.
I survived the morning.
But the day was just starting, and in this guild, surviving breakfast was the easy part.