West District, Iron Cross Street, Lower Section.
Beneath a three-story apartment building, a beautiful woman in a black hooded robe waited there.
After spotting Truman and Tris, the woman removed her hood.
Her brown hair cascaded down like a waterfall, and her brown eyes were pure and moist.
The charm of a young matron and the innocence of a maiden were perfectly blended together.
“The person has been delivered.
You two can handle the rest yourselves.”
Truman ignored Madame Sharon’s sultry, beckoning gaze and turned to leave.
If he didn’t want Tris to try to fight him to the death later, it was best to make himself scarce.
The reason he had taken the initiative to meet Tris was also to see his “friend” for the last time.
Tris had grown up on the streets, controlled by gangs, surviving through swindling and deception.
His choice to become someone who reveled in bloodshed and slaughter had nothing to do with Truman.
At least Tris hadn’t sunk to a level that made Truman want to kill him.
“According to our agreement, here are the potion formula and three main ingredients I promised you.”
Madame Sharon raised her hand and handed Tris a book-shaped box.
Her gaze kept drifting backward, revealing a hint of absent-mindedness.
Seeing that Madame Sharon had kept her promise, Tris felt somewhat relieved.
He had seen Truman’s ambiguous attitude earlier and thought his potion formula had fallen through.
“Witch?”
Tris could no longer contain his excitement as he looked at the potion name on the metal casing.
He read out that somewhat unfamiliar Ancient Hermes word with a stunned expression.
“The Sequence 7 of the Assassin Pathway turns you into a woman?”
His face twisted as he looked at Madame Sharon, his chubby little face crumpling like someone who had just bitten into a sour cucumber.
“Haven’t you always wondered why all our high-ranking members are women?”
“This is your answer.”
Madame Sharon handed over the potion formula and ingredients, then eagerly wanted to leave.
She needed to vent the madness accumulating within her through acting.
“Then why did you only give me the Assassin option back then, while that guy Truman got to choose the Apprentice?”
Tris grabbed Madame Sharon unwillingly.
If he were the only one so unlucky, he might have accepted it.
But why did Truman get to escape unscathed?
He wouldn’t stand for it!
“You joined our Demoness Sect.
Truman joined the Theosophy Order.
We both worship the Primordial Demoness.”
Madame Sharon raised her right hand and scattered a cloud of shimmering powder.
Her figure began to fade away inch by inch.
Beneath the crimson moonlight, only Tris remained, frozen in place like a statue.
As the widow of the old Baron of the Khoy family, and the most famous widow in all of Tingen City, Madame Sharon’s bedroom was lavishly decorated—thick carpets, velvet bedding, and jewelry sparkling with various hues.
Throughout the room lingered an inseparable, faint fragrance.
Just one whiff made one’s blood race.
Truman lay on the soft bed, reading a black magic book circulated within the Demoness Sect.
Although he was destined never to become a great witch, settling for becoming a great Trickmaster was still acceptable.
Madame Sharon entered the room in a concealed state.
She looked at Truman lying on the bed reading, her heart burning with desire.
He was about seventeen or eighteen, with silver hair that was soft and lustrous, flawless and handsome features, and gray eyes that drew one’s attention like a vortex.
Madame Sharon silently changed into the flimsy clothing and fishnet stockings draped over the rocking chair.
Her body, supple as a serpent, slithered into the bedcovers without a sound.
Truman glanced down at the matron who had wrapped herself around him.
He pushed her approaching head aside slightly and said casually:
“Hold on.
I haven’t finished reading my book yet.”
He turned another page of the book in his hands.
“What time is it and you’re still reading that worthless book?
How about I teach you hands-on?”
Madame Sharon pouted in dissatisfaction, then pressed herself closer.
“You can keep trying.”
Truman remained unmoved.
He pulled out a pocket watch, swung it a few times before his eyes, then continued flipping through the black magic book.
“The acting of the Demoness of Pleasure isn’t just about that one aspect.
You can try using it to control or influence me.”
“I placed over a dozen negative curse effects on myself before you came back.
I hope my performance will satisfy a Sequence 6 powerhouse like you.”
Madame Sharon looked at Truman, calm and unflappable, then glanced at the ‘Withering Spell’ recorded in the black magic book in his hands.
She gritted her teeth viciously.
“Let me tell you, we Demonesses are the true masters of black magic.”
Madame Sharon embraced Truman, and threads soon spread from her body, enveloping the two of them in a giant cocoon.
Before she could even try to dispel the ‘black magic’ on Truman, she suddenly let out a surprised cry:
“Mmm~”
“You tricked me!”
“Dear Madame Sharon, don’t be so rigid in your potion acting.
Grasp the core essence, don’t stick to the rules.”
Truman’s voice rang out, then was quickly swallowed by a melodic cry.
Madame Sharon’s body pressed tightly against Truman’s inside the cocoon.
Her full curves molded against him, her ample breasts pushing into his chest as her fishnet stockings rubbed against his legs.
She tried to take the lead, grinding her hips down.
Truman remained calm.
He placed one hand on her waist, feeling the soft flesh there, and the other continued holding the black magic book for a moment longer before setting it aside.
“Are you still holding that book?” Madame Sharon complained in a low voice, her brown eyes moist.
She leaned down and kissed him, her mature charm fully on display.
Truman did not refuse.
He responded directly, his movements steady and precise.
He reached up and cupped her breasts, squeezing them firmly as Madame Sharon let out another soft cry.
Her threads tightened around them both.
The faint fragrance in the bedroom grew thicker.
“You… you really placed so many curses on yourself,” she said between breaths, her voice carrying a hint of dissatisfaction and pleasure.
“Of course.
How else would I experience the acting properly?” Truman replied casually.
He flipped their positions slightly, causing Madame Sharon to gasp.
Her supple body trembled as she clung to him.
He thrust upward into her, one hand moving down to grip her ass.
The melodic cries continued without pause.
Madame Sharon’s brown hair scattered across the velvet bedding.
As a Demoness of Pleasure, she tried to influence him with every movement and every touch, her hips rolling to meet his.
But Truman’s gray eyes stayed clear.
A mere Sequence 6 was not enough to shake him.
He turned her over onto her hands and knees for doggystyle.
Madame Sharon arched her back, presenting her curves to him.
Truman grabbed her ass with both hands, spreading her as he entered her from behind and began pounding steadily.
Her melodic cries grew louder with each thrust.
“Truman… ah~” Madame Sharon moaned, her body shaking.
The madness accumulated from her potion acting released bit by bit through these actions.
Truman did not speak much more at first.
He simply matched her rhythm, his hips slapping against her ass.
Then he pulled out, flipped her onto her back again, and lifted one of her legs over his shoulder.
He pounded into her deeper in this position, his free hand kneading her breast and pinching the nipple.
Madame Sharon’s supple body trembled violently, her fishnet stockings stretching with the movement.
The cocoon shook slightly with their movements.
The jewelry in the room seemed to sparkle brighter under the dim light.
Madame Sharon’s cries became more urgent.
“Harder… like that…” she gasped, her hands gripping the bedding.
Truman obliged, thrusting with controlled force.
He leaned down to bite lightly at her neck while continuing to drive into her.
Her brown eyes half-closed in ecstasy, the blend of young matron and maiden charm completely unraveling under him.
After some time, Madame Sharon reached her peak.
Her body arched, letting out a long melodic cry that echoed in the bedroom.
Her inner walls clenched tightly around him.
Truman followed soon after with a controlled breath, releasing inside her.
The threads of the cocoon slowly loosened and turned into shimmering powder that scattered away.
Madame Sharon lay on his chest, breathing heavily.
Her face still carried the blended charm of a young matron and a maiden.
“You really are hard to deal with,” she said with a pout, though her voice sounded satisfied.
She shifted slightly, her curves still pressed against him, one leg draped over his.
Truman glanced at the pocket watch on the side.
“It was a good performance.
You should have vented enough of the madness.”
The two remained entangled in the bedding for a while longer.
The faint fragrance in the room had now mixed with the scent of their activity.
Madame Sharon traced a finger across his silver hair, looking at him with eyes full of lingering desire.
Her hand wandered down, brushing over his chest as if ready for another round.
Truman checked the time again but did not push her away immediately.
The night was still long enough for a Demoness of Pleasure to seek more acting.
1349, July 9, Monday.
The next morning, Truman woke up on time, changed into some plain clothes, put on a cat-face mask, and headed to Tingen Technical School.
Truman was nearing the completion of his potion digestion.
Based on his own summary, the core of the Trickmaster’s acting lay in the two words: “Performance” and “Tricking.”
“Tricking” was to some extent equivalent to “Deception.”
As someone who had once controlled a Deceiver Ghost, he had easily completed that part of the acting.
For the remaining part, Truman chose not to join a circus or perform on the streets.
He had digested his “Apprentice” potion at Tingen University’s History Department.
Although that Instructor Azik didn’t particularly like him and favored a civilian student named Klein Moretti instead, he had still fairly approved Truman’s early graduation application.
After digesting the Apprentice potion and advancing to Trickmaster, Truman would often perform acrobatics at Tingen University.
Unfortunately, too many familiar faces often disturbed his performances.
Tingen Technical School was different.
The students there were generally younger and more interested in these acrobatics—to put it simply, they were easier to fool.
It was graduation season, and Tingen University graduates were busy looking for jobs.
His performances there would have been much less effective.
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T/N: How could I not make a ‘tasting the Demoness’ scene, right?