My Xianxia Harem Life-Chapter 407 Controversy
Riley sold their worn-out carriage and beasts of burden as soon as they stepped inside the city gates.
The merchant who bought it haggled stubbornly, claiming the wheels were nearly falling apart and the wood was already rotting, but Riley still managed to squeeze a few extra gold coins out of him with a calm smile.
With that money, he secured three rooms at a modest inn—not luxurious by any stretch, but far better than camping on the roadside.
He took one room for himself, while the remaining two were shared by the girls, two each.
For Evelyn, Ivy, Sarah, and Grace, even a cramped inn room felt like paradise after weeks of sleeping under the open sky, afraid of bandits, beasts, and the cold.
After washing the dust off their faces, they all gathered around a sturdy wooden dining table near the back of the inn.
The place was loud with evening chatter, mugs clinking, travelers exchanging stories, and the smell of roasted meat drifting in the air.
"I still can’t believe how expensive rooms are here," Evelyn muttered as she rested her chin on her hand. She poked her spoon into her bowl of stew, the worry on her face plain.
"How are we supposed to keep this up, Riley? We don’t exactly have much money left."
Riley leaned back in his chair, confident as ever, and flashed a reassuring smile.
"Don’t worry about that. Some people are going to give us some money later on."
Sarah’s head shot up instantly. "Really, Master Riley?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with childlike innocence and trust.
Ivy, more collected but no less curious, nodded thoughtfully. "Master Riley probably has connections here in the city," she said, as though she understood everything. "Maybe people he helped before?"
Grace wasn’t thinking that deeply—her admiration was simple and pure. "Master Riley is the best! He can do anything!" she declared proudly, earning a giggle from Sarah and a fond smile from Riley.
The girls talked among themselves, the conversation growing lively and cheerful.
They spoke about the soft beds waiting upstairs, about the warm bath they would take later, about how different city life was from the wilderness.
For a brief moment, they allowed themselves to relax, to forget how dangerous their journey had been.
But not everyone shared their joy.
In the dimly lit corner of the inn, partly hidden behind a pillar, a man sat with his hood drawn low over his face.
His table remained empty except for a half-filled mug that he had not touched.
His gaze was sharp, focused entirely on Riley and the four girls.
He watched how the girls leaned toward Riley, how comfortably they seemed to rely on him.
He noticed their clothes—dusty but well-maintained.
He noted their expressions—especially Riley’s unconcerned confidence, as if he had everything under control.
The man’s fingers tapped slowly against the wooden table.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
A rhythm of quiet suspicion.
Around him, the noise of the inn faded to a dull hum. His attention never wavered.
The hooded man leaned back in his chair, his lips curling faintly as though he knew something they didn’t.
If Riley sensed the danger, he didn’t show it.
If the girls sensed anything at all, they were too busy laughing to notice.
But in the corner, the man continued watching, waiting, studying.
Because in this city, nothing was ever as simple as paying for a room.
And people who arrived looking naïve and unguarded?
They were opportunities.
One way or another.
***
The Night Watch gang did not move until long after midnight.
They had patience—cruel, practiced patience.
Men like them preferred the hours when the world was wrapped in darkness, when even the bravest souls slept deeply.
The witching hours were their territory, their kingdom, and their chosen time to do wicked things.
When the cracked hallway clock struck three, its faint, metallic echo rippled through the silent inn.
That sound seemed to summon them.
One by one, more than a dozen hooded figures slipped through the front door without knocking.
Their presence sucked the warmth from the room.
The inn’s lanterns flickered as if shivering at their arrival.
The leader stepped forward, face partially hidden beneath a shadowed hood.
His eyes—hard and cruel—locked onto the innkeeper, who had been roused from sleep by their arrival.
"Where are they?" the leader asked, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.
The innkeeper stiffened.
He had been dreading this moment from the instant he saw Riley and the beautiful girls.
He knew the Night Watch gang’s reputation well: murderers, extortionists, women-stealers... men who delighted in cruelty.
Riley and the four girls had only been here for one night—tired, polite, grateful for even a small room—and now fate was dragging them into darkness.
The innkeeper swallowed hard. His fingers trembled.
"I... upstairs," he whispered, voice shaking. "The first four rooms on the left."
He hesitated, eyes pleading, but the leader merely narrowed his gaze.
The innkeeper stepped back, defeated, guilt crashing over him like a wave.
"I’m... I’m sorry," he murmured, more to himself than to them.
Then he turned away quickly, retreating to his room.
He shut the door, locked it, slid down to the floor, and pressed his palms over his ears.
He didn’t want to hear the screams that he believed were coming.
He had seen enough tragedy in this city.
He had no strength left to watch another unfold.
The leader jerked his chin toward the staircase.
The men moved with practiced silence, climbing step after step like predators stalking easy prey.
Their boots creaked on the wood, but softly, just enough to signal confidence.
They expected this to be simple—quick, violent, effortless.
But darkness upstairs was thicker... heavier.
The hallway beyond the staircase was dimly lit by a single dying candle.
Shadows swallowed everything else.
The gang moved to the designated rooms on the left.
They didn’t get that far.
"What—?" one man breathed, but the rest never heard his full thought.
In the space of three heartbeats, the air changed.
A whisper—like steel kissing steel.
A blur—faster than any of them could track.
A faint thump—soft, final.
Then chaos.
"Ahhh—gghh!"
A man tumbled violently down the stairs.
His body flipped helplessly before slamming into the wall and collapsing at the bottom.
The blood streaming from his perfectly slit throat glistened under the lantern light.
For a moment, the entire gang froze.
Eyes widened. Breaths caught. Muscles tensed.
"W–what the hell was that?!" one whispered.
No answer came.
Only the creaking of a floorboard... somewhere above them.
Then another body fell.
This one came halfway down the staircase before catching on the railing, leaving crimson streaks on the worn wood.
His head lolled unnaturally. His sword was still sheathed. He never even had time to react.
Fear rippled through the gang like a wave.
"Who’s up there?!" someone shouted, voice cracking.
But the only reply was silence.
Dead, suffocating silence.
The leader’s expression—once smug—darkened with unease.
He drew his dagger slowly, eyes scanning the shadows. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
They came expecting to prey on weak travelers.
Instead, it was clear now—they were locked in the same building as a monster.
"Fuck!" The rest of the men ran down the stairs in fear.
A few of the gang members exchanged terrified glances.
Sweat beaded on their foreheads despite the cold.
"Fan out!" the leader barked, trying to reassert control.
Something dropped again.
A body.
Headless.
The thud made several men stumble backward, choking on their own screams.
"Impossible..." one whispered.
But the truth stood clear:
Someone—or something—was playing with them.
Cutting them down silently, methodically, like prey.
Upstairs, a shadow shifted.
A figure stepped into the pale candlelight for the briefest moment.
The gang realized the truth far too late.
They hadn’t walked into a hunt.
They had walked into a slaughterhouse.
Riley stepped down the staircase slowly, as if he had all the time in the world.
The air was thick with fear, the remaining gang members frozen at the bottom, staring at him with pale faces and trembling hands.
They had thought some phantom assassin was lurking upstairs.
They had imagined an old veteran, a mercenary, a monster in human skin.
But instead, a young man barely into his twenties appeared—dusty boots, relaxed posture, hair slightly messy from sleep.
His face was handsome, almost gentle, the kind of face that belonged to a traveling scholar or a merchant’s son... not someone capable of silently slaughtering their fellow gang members.
Yet the truth couldn’t be denied.
The short knife in his hand glistened dark red, still dripping warm blood.
Each drop hit the wooden steps. Riley stopped at the bottom step and looked around.
Every pair of eyes locked on him.
Every throat swallowed hard.
Riley tilted his head slightly, a pleasant smile forming.
"Let’s do this quickly, shall we?" he said lightly, as though suggesting they finish chores before bedtime. "I don’t want to disturb the girls’ sleep."
His voice was calm, almost soothing.
But to the gang members, it sounded like death whispering.
