CHAPTER 60: DADDY, WHY ARE YOUR SWIMMERS DEAD?

Finn looked at the receptionist with mild confusion.

"So, uh... where is the room, exactly?"

He prayed—begged—that it was inside the building. The last thing he wanted was to carry Majestria across this festering, diarrhea-stained town just to find a place to sleep.

It still didn’t make sense how the inside of this building looked like a respectable medieval Jenny’s, while the outside looked like God spilled a septic tank.

The receptionist pointed up to the balcony overlooking the dining hall—left from Finn’s point of view, but technically the right side if you walked in from the entrance.

"Take the spiral staircase, walk straight, and look for the number carved on your key. It should be right above the door. I hope you enjoy your stay here... and if you need anything," she scratched nervously at the counter, "please talk to me. I’m always happy to help."

"Thanks," Finn replied with a small, genuinely happy smile.

He turned to check on his party—only to see Majestria aggressively jiggling her breasts in front of Lickthorn, who was sobbing like she’d just lost a custody battle.

Finn’s smile faded. But he was also... a little aroused. He glanced at the receptionist, then back at his party. His expression fell flat with tired dismay.

’Why can’t the girls be normal like her? Nooo, I get stuck with a gang of degenerates and clinically unstable women. It’s just like Earth... except with worse more screws loose.’

He knew he was contradicting himself—but he also didn’t care. And that was his God-given right as a man with a penis.

"Daddy."

"Don’t call me that."

Chestelle tilted her head, then casually reached down and gave his balls a light squeeze, like she was checking a fruit for ripeness.

"Why are you infertile?" she asked, genuinely curious.

Finn smacked her hand away like she’d touched a holy relic. "DON’T TOUCH ME THERE!"

He covered his jewels protectively, letting out a squeak somewhere between a child about to cry and a dying chipmunk.

The receptionist blinked. Then her eyes widened. "Oh, that’s right—you’re infertile!"

"YOU DON’T HAVE TO REMIND ME," Finn wailed, face flushed with shame. "AAAGH!"

"Oh—sorry, sorry." She reached for a notepad. "I believe I mentioned this before, but there’s a man on the outskirts of town who brews potions that can help with, uh... that. One sip, and your kids’ll be swimming again."

Finn’s eyes lit up like he’d just found a golden ticket in a box of trauma.

’So this... this is what it’s like to get a government disability check...’

The receptionist handed him the note. "Just give this to him and say the guild recommended you. He should take good care of you."

Finn held the paper like it was sacred scripture. "Oh sweet—thank yo—wait..."

"If you’re wondering, his name is..."

She paused dramatically.

"...Incubus Midwife."

"Heh... good one," Finn chuckled, brushing it off—until he looked down at the note.

And saw it.

Incubus Midwife.

His smile died on the spot.

He closed his eyes, trying to hold it together. There’s no way. That can’t be real. I’m hallucinating. I’m dreaming. Yeah. That’s it. A dream. A horrible, unwashed fever dream.

"Chestelle."

She perked up. "Yes?"

"Pinch me."

She walked up behind him and pinched his ass with alarming precision.

"STOP TOUCHING MY ASS!"

He staggered forward in horror, clutching the note.

Nope.

Not dreaming.

The name was real.

Incubus Midwife was real.

Finn stared into the middle distance, soul visibly leaving his body.

He was ready to end it all.

Finn looked up at the ceiling, eyes shut, a single tear running down his cheek like a dramatic soap opera widow.

"...Are you okay?" the receptionist asked gently.

Finn lowered his head and stared at her with glossy eyes. "I’m completely fine... Again... thank you... for everything..." His voice trailed off like he was giving a farewell speech before getting executed.

"You sure you want to give us the coins?" he sniffled.

"Yes," she said, softly but firmly. "You can keep them. I... I hope it helps."

"...Okay," Finn whispered, sniffing again like his soul had just been taxed.

He turned to Chestelle and the others. "Let’s go," he muttered, in the tone of a man who knew damn well he was marching straight into hell, and didn’t even have the energy to scream about it anymore.

He began his walk of shame toward the balcony—head down, shoulders slumped—passing through the crowd of drunk adventurers who were too busy partying and slapping each other’s backs to even notice his descent into emotional ruin.

Ardin’s party was the center of it all. Laughter. Cheers. Drinks flying in the air.

Meanwhile, Finn moved through it like a background extra in a Shakespearean tragedy—haunted, slow, dramatic. Like Spoder-Man: Web of Shadows when Mark walked through the roof top with the people fighting, except sadder. And partying instead.

Chestelle followed behind him immediately, like a loyal puppy who’d accidentally joined a funeral procession. It took Majestria and Lickthorn a few extra seconds to even realize he was gone.

Majestria finally stopped jiggling her boobs in front of Lickthorn—who had been practicing her dramatic sobs with way too much enthusiasm—and both girls jogged to catch up.

As Finn passed the guild hall’s main party area, Seraphina glanced at him with slight confusion. Just a blink. But before she could say anything, Ardin wrapped his arm around her, pulling her back into the party’s bright, golden orbit.

She smiled at him.

Finn didn’t even flinch. He just kept walking.

When Majestria and Lickthorn caught up to him at the base of the spiral staircase, Majestria raised a brow. "So you know where you’re going?"

"Obviously I do," Finn muttered without looking back.

And with that, he began ascending the creaky wooden spiral staircase, like a man climbing toward his own emotional obituary.

Behind him, the steps creaked louder with every footfall—like the building itself was mocking his life choices.

Somewhere below, someone cheered for Ardin.

Finn didn’t look back. He just muttered,

"Incubus Midwife... I’m gonna die a virgin."