When the Serial Killer Next Door Gained Harem System

Mr. Menny slowed the cart and loosened his grip on the reins for a moment. The wheels creaked softly as they rolled over the damp road. He leaned back toward the cargo area, reached for a wine bottle that had been rolling around for the past few minutes, and caught it just before it knocked into the side again. With a quick motion, he popped it open.

I was sitting up front beside him, while Ken lay stretched out in the back of the cart, arms tucked behind his head, hood pulled low over his face as the light rain tapped against the fabric.

"You drink, kid?" Mr. Menny asked after taking a long sip.

"Not really."

"Shame," he said with a grin. "I would give my left ball for a good wine."

"Why not the right one?"

"I already gave that one away for wine," he shot back immediately, laughing as he slapped his knee.

I let out a small laugh and shook my head. "Wow."

The cart rolled forward a little more before Mr. Menny pulled the reins and brought the horses to a stop.

Ahead of us stood the Circle.

The same thick wall of fog stretched across the entrance, dense and unnatural, swallowing everything beyond it. The wooden sign planted near the path creaked slightly in the wind.

BEWARE! THE CIRCLE!

At first, I had thought it was exaggerated, like any other warning meant to scare people off. After everything I had seen, I was not so sure anymore.

Mr. Menny climbed down from the driver’s seat and stretched his legs, letting out a quiet groan. He walked over to the horses and gave each of them a firm pat along the neck, calming them before turning back.

He stepped onto the cart again and opened a small wooden chest fixed at the corner. The black cat lay curled beside it, still asleep, one paw loosely resting against a wine bottle as if it had claimed it for itself. I wouldn’t be surprised if I saw this guy feed his own cat a bowl of wine...

"Of course," I muttered under my breath.

Mr. Menny pulled out a folded letter, checked it briefly, then hopped down again.

"Huh?" Ken stirred, pushing himself up. "We’re... already here?"

"Yeah," I said, glancing back at him.

He sat up fully and looked ahead. "Damn... that fog is something else. We’re actually here."

"Alright," Mr. Menny said, holding up the letter. "I’ll grab the supplies and come back. Should take about half an hour. There is wine if you want it. No food, though."

"Got it," Ken replied as he jumped down from the cart. "We’ll wait here. Be careful."

"I am always careful," the old man said with a faint smile. "Take care of my cat."

Ken watched him for a moment. "You sure you’ll be fine in there? You aren’t carrying anything. No weapon, no shield, no nothing."

"I know the Circle well enough," Mr. Menny answered. "Do not worry."

"I thought the Circle resets every week," I added. "Nothing stays the same, right?"

"It does," he said, turning back toward us one last time. "But the main roads and safe houses remain. That is enough."

With that, he stepped into the fog.

His figure faded almost instantly, swallowed whole as if he had never been there.

I exhaled slowly.

"Either he really knows exactly what he is doing," I said, "or he is completely insane."

Ken rubbed the back of his neck. "I am hoping for the first one."

Silence settled in for a moment, broken only by the faint sound of rain and the occasional shift of the horses.

"Well," Ken said after a while, looking around. "Half an hour. What do we do?"

"Sit and wait," I replied, leaning back against the cart. "Try not to think about what is inside that fog."

The silence settled in, broken only by distant birdsong and the slow, restless shifting of the horses. Dense trees boxed us in on both sides, their branches weaving together overhead and dimming what little light remained. Fireflies flickered faintly to my left, blinking in and out like dying sparks. It could have been peaceful, if not for the wall of fog ahead. It sat there, thick and unmoving, swallowing the entrance to the Circle like a living thing.

The horses clearly felt it too. Their ears twitched, hooves scraping against the dirt, breath coming out in uneasy huffs.

Ken stepped forward and patted one of them along the neck, trying to calm it. He glanced back at me. "Can you grab that thing from the cart?"

"Which thing?" I turned, scanning the clutter. "The sack?"

"Yeah. Grab a few carrots. These guys need it."

I leaned over the side, untied the sack near the small chest, and pulled out four carrots. The rough fabric scratched against my fingers as I handed them over. Ken took them and walked back to the horses, feeding them one by one. The animals settled slightly, their chewing slow and loud in the quiet.

I leaned back against the cart again, listening to the steady crunch of carrots.

"What if something comes out of that fog?" Ken asked suddenly, glancing over his shoulder like he expected something to crawl out at any moment. "Like... one of those teleporting things?"

"I doubt they can leave," I replied. "If they could, the city wouldn’t still be standing."

"You’re way too calm about this," he muttered, climbing back onto the cart and dropping onto his back. "You ever been here before?"

"Just heard stories," I said, keeping my tone flat.

No need to explain that I had been thrown in there once like trash.

Ken stretched out, resting his head against the chest. "Garmonna was something else."

"She was," I said. "And rich."

"She owns the most popular brothel in the city. Of course she is."

We let the silence return.

Minutes passed, but something started to feel off. The kind of feeling that crept in slowly and refused to leave. The old man had been confident, maybe too confident. The Circle was not the kind of place where confidence meant survival.

I pushed myself off the cart. Ken groaned but followed anyway. We walked toward the fog and stopped just short of it. Up close, it looked worse. It was not just fog. It moved, subtly, like something breathing beneath its surface.

"Should we go in?" Ken asked quietly.

Before I could answer, we heard it. Hooves. Fast.

We both turned.