Faint sunlight filtered through the cracks in the awning, casting long shadows across the dim interior. Outside, the sky was a heavy, leaden gray.
The sharp, medicinal tang of iodine hung thick in the air, yet even its overwhelming presence couldn't fully mask the lingering metallic scent of blood.
Richie glanced around.
He had ended up in a temporary field hospital again. This was his third visit.
As he tried to push himself up, a searing, tearing pain shot through his spine. The agony radiated inward, triggering a wave of nausea that made his internal organs feel as if they were being tossed in a violent storm.
He slumped over the edge of the bed, dry-heaving until his vision tunneled into blackness, and he drifted into unconsciousness once more.
He lost track of how long he was out this time. He only had a hazy awareness of people coming and going, their presence felt rather than seen.
Though unconscious, a part of Richie's mind remained semi-alert. He could hear muffled voices and see blurred silhouettes shifting against the light, but everything felt distant, as if viewed through a thick fog.
The only thing he could perceive clearly was the state of his own body.
It felt like being trapped in a sealed room constructed from frosted glass. Light could penetrate the walls, allowing him to see everything inside with crystalline clarity, but the world outside remained a collection of vague, indistinct shapes.
It was a sensation akin to "Inner Vision."
Normally, Inner Vision allowed a practitioner to sense the flow of life energy and Aura, but not much else.
Yet, Richie could see far more.
First came his heart—far more complex and, in its raw biological state, far uglier than he had ever imagined. Gradually, his other organs came into focus, followed by blood vessels and nerves. The nervous system was the last to become clear, but it was also the most vivid; he could actually see pulses of information racing along the neural pathways.
The speed was staggering, moving from his furthest extremities to his brain in a literal heartbeat.
Now he understood exactly how blood circulated and how sensations were born and transmitted to his mind.
But one thing puzzled him.
How was Aura generated, and what governed its flow?
The pathways Aura took were neither blood vessels nor nerves, though it occasionally merged with both.
If Aura flowed through the body, there had to be a conduit. He could clearly feel the existence of these channels, and he sensed they had limits. If he ignored those limits during training, the channels would suffer damage.
Being able to see Aura directly meant he could also observe how it strengthened and interacted with his form.
He knew that as Aura grew stronger, so did the body—enhancing strength, endurance, speed, flexibility, and reaction time. The specifics depended on the Art one practiced.
But now, he noticed that after a complete cycle, a portion of the Aura would bleed off, dispersing into the muscles, nerves, and internal organs.
Richie mentally ran through the cycles of the three Arts he knew, and the underlying logic immediately became apparent.
The *Stealing Heaven Scripture* was the simplest—a circular loop that ran along two central channels from the front of his body to the back, eventually pooling a few centimeters above his genitals. Consequently, only a tiny fraction of the Aura dispersed into his thigh muscles and sexual organs.
Richie recalled that when he first started practicing this Art, it seemed to offer little benefit aside from a slight boost in speed. It seemed he had found the reason why.
The second Art circulated Aura throughout his entire body. The path was long and complex, and the cycle took significantly more time. The dispersion was vast; at least ninety-five percent of the Aura eventually settled into his organs, muscles, and skin.
This was likely why progress with this Art was so agonizingly slow. The trade-off, however, was immense defensive power and raw physical strength.
The final Art was similar to the *Stealing Heaven Scripture*, but its path was slightly offset, hugging vital organs like the kidneys, liver, heart, and lungs. It also had several branches extending to the limbs, allowing Aura to permeate those areas.
Having grasped the mystery, Richie naturally wanted to see if he could alter the pathways.
He didn't dare touch the *Stealing Heaven Scripture*, nor did he intend to mess with the Art Lina had taught him.
For his first experiment, he needed to be as safe as possible. The most stable candidate was the second Art.
Richie had already identified its flaw: the Aura traveled through almost the entire body, which was incredibly inefficient. He tried sealing off nearly eighty percent of the usual routes, leaving only the paths that looped around his internal organs.
The results were instantaneous. The Aura retained its mild, supple nature, but the circulation speed skyrocketed.
Since this Art had no limit on the number of cycles, Richie simply let it run over and over. Nourishing his organs would surely accelerate his recovery.
***
"Is he still out?"
"Yes. It's truly bizarre. We've checked him multiple times, and there's no sign of severe brain trauma. Given his injuries, he should have woken up long ago."
"Could it be a neurological issue?"
"I don't think so. I've performed knee-jerk tests, pupil light responses, skin sensitivity checks... everything is normal."
"Other than the coma, is there anything else unusual?"
"Well... maybe one thing. His recovery rate is phenomenal."
"That's not so strange. Many Knights have incredible self-healing capabilities. I've seen guys regenerate an entire palm. They're monsters."
"This patient is different. It's not just self-healing; the medical instruments have an unnaturally high effect on him. The weirdest part is that he doesn't show any signs of drug saturation."
"You didn't use him as a secret test subject, did you?"
"Hehe... Please don't put that in the report. I just found it curious at first, so I experimented a little."
"I won't report it, but I want the truth. Exactly what did you try?"
"I gave him every injection I could find. X23, X29, Z12, B22, H15... I can barely remember them all. Many of those drugs should conflict, but his body absorbed every single one."
"You... that's a bit much. Don't you think the reason he hasn't woken up is because of all those chemicals?"
"I considered that, but there are no adverse symptoms! All his data is perfect. Every drug resulted in a positive enhancement response. No damage, no rejection."
"Forget it. Don't mention this to anyone else, or I won't be able to protect you. Since he's healthy aside from the coma, move him to the light injury ward this afternoon."
"But I wanted to study him more. If I discover something..."
"Idiot, look at the world around you. Even if you found something, who would care? Do as I say. Move him. If not for your own sake, then for mine. I'm the one in charge here, and if anything goes wrong, I'm the one on the hook."
Through the haze, Richie caught bits of the conversation.
Fury surged through him. If he had the chance, he would definitely give those two unethical doctors a piece of his mind.
However, their words had revealed something important.
It seemed that even without Dana to guide him, he could still absorb the psionic waves emitted by medical equipment. He couldn't use them to directly increase his Aura, but they clearly did *something*.
He didn't know the full extent of it yet, but it wasn't a bad thing. At least it meant he'd recover faster in the future. He still remembered the inconvenience of his last minor arm injury.
Since he could hear voices, it meant he was close to waking. Slowly, Richie felt his senses returning.
He chose to remain still, feigning unconsciousness.
In the afternoon, as promised, he was loaded onto a stretcher and carried out. Soon, he was moved into a much noisier environment.
He didn't open his eyes immediately. He waited until he was certain no one was watching before slowly blinking them open.
A quick scan confirmed he was in the light injury ward.
The room was crowded and chaotic. With so many people around, no one paid him any attention.
Richie sat up and stretched, throwing a few test punches and kicks.
He felt good. There was only a slight lingering stiffness in his back when he moved too abruptly.
His injuries were at least ninety percent healed.
"Hey... see you again."
A youthful, high-pitched voice spoke up from nearby, sounding quite excited.
Richie turned and saw a boy even younger than himself lying on a bed at the edge of the opposite row.
It was the kid nicknamed "Kitten," whom he'd met in the field hospital before.
The poor guy seemed to have terrible luck, ending up wounded in every single battle. This time, his injuries looked fairly serious.
Richie didn't mind the kid, so he hopped off his bed and walked over.
"Unlucky to see you here again," Richie said with a half-joke. "It seems we're both destined to get hurt in every operation."
He sat on the edge of the boy's bed. "What was it this time? Don't tell me an Ace Knight sent you here again."
"You think I was bragging last time?" Richie asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice.
"No, I totally believe you," the boy said, though his expression suggested otherwise.
Richie didn't care. He knew anyone would think he was talking nonsense. The kid's polite skepticism was actually quite refreshing.
"It wasn't an Ace Knight this time, but my squad ran into Franca's Knights. We fought for hours before we finally got the upper hand. Then, suddenly, a few of those guys turned into absolute monsters. Their speed became insane, their strength went through the roof, and their reactions were lightning-fast..."
Richie trailed off as the memory resurfaced.
That terrifying, reaper-like figure. The heavy axe raised high. For a split second, he had been certain he was dead.
In that final moment, everything had been strangely calm. His mind had gone blank, stripped even of fear.
The last thing he had seen was a bolt of lightning—a flash that tore through a chest.
Fortunately, it hadn't been his chest, but the chest of the man trying to kill him.
Richie knew exactly who had saved him. He was intimately familiar with that lightning-like strike; it was the signature technique of his mentor, Dana.
"Instant Burst? You mean the 'Instantaneous Burst' technique unique to the Franca Knights?"
The boy cried out in shock, but his wide-eyed surprise quickly turned back into doubt.
"I know, you don't believe me," Richie said, feeling a bit helpless. He wished he could show the kid the combat recordings, but those were classified. Even squad members couldn't share them freely, let alone outsiders.
"Believe it or not, I didn't even know such a twisted technique existed before that," Richie said, his teeth gritted as he clenched his fist. "If I ever get the chance, I'd love to get my hands on that Art."
"You're joking."
The boy stared at him, starting to wonder if Richie was telling the truth. "Instant Burst forces all the Aura in the body to erupt at once, pushing the physical form far beyond its limits. Regardless of the outcome of the fight, the user is as good as dead."
"It's a great move if you're planning on going down swinging," Richie replied casually.
In truth, he was already wondering if he could improve upon it.
Instant Burst caused damage because the Aura became too fierce and sharp for the body to contain. But Richie was uniquely capable of ignoring such drawbacks.
If he could refine the technique, he would be truly invincible.
The boy's eyes widened, but then he slumped back, looking dejected. He had taken Richie's casual remark seriously.
The Franca Knights' "Instantaneous Burst" was a term synonymous with terror, but it also represented a Knight's ultimate sacrifice.
To be honest, the boy's initial impression of Richie hadn't been great.
Richie didn't seem like a "proper" Knight. He lacked basic Knightly knowledge, and his methods were unconventional. Only his combat prowess seemed legitimate.
But now, the boy felt that Richie might be more deserving of the title than he was.
"What are you thinking about?"
Richie gave the kid a light shove. "I'm just talking. A prize like Instant Burst is kept under lock and key by the Franca military. Getting a copy would be nearly impossible."
Richie sighed, genuinely disappointed.
Suddenly, a cacophony of chattering voices drifted into the room.
The boy on the bed heard it too and struggled to sit up.
"Save your energy," Richie said, gently pressing him back down. "Act like a patient. Is this about being polite, or are you just worried about your image?"
The group of young Knights from before came into view.
Leading the pack was the girl Richie had sparred with. Close behind her was the boy Richie had humiliated. Since that day, he hadn't had a chance to reclaim his dignity and had endured constant teasing. He had been itching for revenge, and his eyes lit up the moment he saw Richie.
However, seeing Richie still in hospital garb drained his excitement. Last time, he'd not only been beaten but also thrown out by the guards and reprimanded by his squad. He'd almost received a disciplinary mark for harassing a patient.
"Why do I keep running into you? Hurt again?"
The girl spared Richie a mocking glance before turning to the boy on the bed. She placed a basket on the nightstand.
It was filled with wild apricots—a rare treat in this season.
"These are for you. I've washed them, so you can eat them right away," one of the boys behind her chimed in.
The boy on the bed didn't hesitate, grabbing an apricot and taking a loud, crunchy bite.
The sound made Richie's mouth water. Since Glasslovar had been besieged, meat, eggs, and fish had vanished from the kitchen's menu. It had been ages since he'd tasted anything good.
Seeing Richie's longing look only made the humiliated boy more irritated. "You didn't answer her question," he growled.
Richie ignored the annoying pest and turned toward Margaret, deliberately putting on an air of flirtatious charm. "Getting hurt just means I was fighting bravely!" he said with a grin.
He wasn't actually interested in the cold girl, but he took pleasure in provoking the boy who clearly saw him as a romantic rival.
The boy on the bed decided to join in the fun. He pointed at Richie. "He says he was sent here by a Franca Knight using Instant Burst."
"Anyone can brag," the boy, Mondro, spat out.
But no one backed him up. Mondro's personality was so abrasive that even those who agreed with him didn't want to be associated with him.
Margaret looked at Richie. Unlike Mondro, she had heard reports of Franca Knights appearing on the battlefield. There were even rumors that several squads had been wiped out, though no prisoners had been taken yet.
Given the reputation of Richie's unit, Squad 105—which had reportedly slain an Ace Knight—it wasn't far-fetched to believe they had encountered the Franca military. And if they had, an Instant Burst was exactly what one would expect from a cornered enemy.
She believed him, at least partially, and it only deepened her curiosity about his strength.
"We traded blows last time, but it wasn't a formal duel. Would you be interested in a proper fight?" Margaret asked.
Her invitation was phrased carefully. Duels were technically banned during wartime, and a formal challenge could be refused—or worse, reported to the authorities if the other party was a coward.
Richie considered it. He really did want to know where he stood.
In the months since joining the squad, his Aura had increased several-fold in both quality and quantity due to his sessions with the female Knights. Combined with the experience of a life-and-death struggle against the Franca military, he had learned much. But he still didn't like the idea of dueling for its own sake.
If he agreed to every challenge, he'd be buried in trouble.
Then, Richie remembered the wager between Lina and the three sisters. He glanced at Margaret.
She was cold, yes, but undeniably a beauty. Richie felt a flicker of interest. He reached into the basket, tossed an apricot into his mouth, and said, "I don't do anything for free. If you want to duel, let's make it interesting. What's the wager?"
Margaret hesitated. She wasn't foolish; many had tried to get close to her by challenging her to duels.
Her gaze grew even colder as she calculated her chances.
In her mind, Richie was strong—at least as strong as she was—but his strength lay in defense. A man with such a high defensive capability was surely a Light Defender.
Defenders were the shields of a unit, but their offensive capabilities were usually mediocre.
With that thought, she leaned in close to Richie's ear, her voice a whisper only he could hear. "I know what you want. If you win, you can do whatever you wish with me. But if you lose, you must do anything I command."
Richie nodded without a moment's hesitation.
***
The hospital's security was lax, and Richie had no trouble slipping out.
He followed the young Knights at a brisk pace, using the run to observe them.
By listening to their breathing and watching their footfalls, he could easily gauge their relative strengths.
The annoying Mondro was surprisingly the strongest of the lot after Margaret, which explained his arrogance.
There was also another boy who seemed unremarkable at first glance. He was shorter and sturdier than the others, with a solid, heavy stride. He was likely a shield-and-sword user, focused on a balance of offense and defense, judging by his broad back and thick right arm.
As they crossed Grand Street and passed through Denton Square, Richie began to find their route strange.
"Where are we going? Any further and we'll hit the zoo or the outskirts," he asked.
As a local, he knew the zoo well. It was a cheap way to kill a day.
No one answered. He could feel the hostility radiating from the boys, especially Mondro.
Richie made a mental note of them. He'd have to teach them a lesson when the opportunity arose.
He had guessed right; Margaret led them straight into the zoo, which had been converted into a massive military barracks.
"Are you all stationed here?" Richie asked.
Silence was the only response.
Richie decided then and there that he would definitely have to whip these kids into shape.
It was his first time back at the zoo since the war started, and with all the barracks, he barely recognized it.
The cages were gone, likely melted down for scrap metal to make munitions.
Without cages, there were no animals. The poor creatures had probably ended up in a slaughterhouse.
Richie realized they were heading toward Tiger-Lion Mountain.
It was the largest enclosure in the zoo, even bigger than the elephant house.
Tiger-Lion Mountain was a massive, semi-natural pit carved into the earth, filled with artificial rock formations, ponds, and patches of grass. There were bushes and several trees, though the trees were now mostly broken stumps.
Seeing the scars all over the enclosure, Richie's expression soured. "Do you use this place as an arena?"
Again, no answer.
On one side of the mountain were the dens. During the day, the beasts would be let out for display, and at night, they were herded back inside.
They descended the stairs into the dens, which had been converted into storage rooms. Most were filled with Magitech Armor parts, but one room held a row of training suits.
Margaret walked up to one and pointed to the others. "Take your pick."
Richie realized she was being clever.
A suit you were familiar with was a huge advantage over one you were using for the first time.
Besides, his Mirror Shield was a unique weapon, and there was nothing like it here.
As Richie considered his options, something in a neighboring storehouse caught his eye.
In a corner sat several shields. They weren't standard tower shields; they were more like bucklers, but instead of being woven from vines, they were made of barbed wire.
Richie walked over and carefully lifted one.
It was much lighter and thinner than a tower shield, with a springy, flexible quality. The edges were lined with serrated blades.
In the center was a rotating axis, much like his Mirror Shield.
"That's an Autumn Thorn Shield," Margaret warned. "If you don't know how to use it, you'll end up cutting yourself. Think carefully."
Despite her tactical maneuvering, she wanted a real duel. Winning because of a weapon malfunction would hold no satisfaction.
"It's perfect. It's very similar to my own weapon," Richie said, tracing the central steel disc. It wasn't as smooth as his Mirror Shield, but it was flat enough. The center was the only part made of solid steel, clearly designed to protect the user's hand.
Weapon in hand, Richie picked out a training suit that fit him.
Attaching two Thorn Shields to his hands was easy, but he wanted two more for his elbows. After some thought, he used some wire to lash them into place.
When he was finished, Richie looked bizarre. The other young Knights stared in bewilderment.
By comparison, Margaret looked much more elegant in her training suit.
She used dual swords. Her suit had been custom-fitted; it was slimmer than standard models, with slightly longer limbs.
Richie wasn't surprised. His captain, Calli, also used a one-handed sword. Those who practiced ice-based Arts usually lacked raw strength and explosive power, making heavy weapons impractical.
But he wouldn't underestimate her. Practicing such Arts often made a person emotionally distant but incredibly sharp and calculated.
He had seen Calli fight. Her precision and ruthlessness were terrifying.
The two stood facing each other, about fifteen meters apart.
Margaret moved first. She raised her twin blades, and a faint, shimmering aura of prismatic light began to coalesce around her.
Richie didn't understand what it was at first. Then he realized the air around her was distorting the sunlight due to the extreme temperature drop.
He had seen something similar with Lina, though in her case, it was heat distortion.
Suddenly, a blur of steel flashed. Margaret was in front of him before he could blink.
The speed caught him off guard.
Thankfully, he had just faced the near-impossible speed of a Franca Knight's Instant Burst. Compared to that, Margaret was manageable. He reacted instantly.
His left arm shot up, the Thorn Shield blocking her line of attack. In a single fluid motion, Richie's hand executed a rapid push-and-pull.
*Mirror Reflection* wasn't a total success this time—he only managed to bounce back about sixty percent of the force.
But sixty percent was more than enough.
With a sharp *ting*, a layer of frost instantly bloomed across her lunging blade.
Margaret knew something was wrong immediately.
It was lucky for her that she wasn't a full Knight yet and couldn't use specialized strike techniques. That had been a simple thrust, and only the Aura imbued in the blade had been reflected. Had it been a true combat skill, she would have lost right then.
On the battlefield, countless enemy Knights had fallen because they didn't know Richie's secret.
Though she was unharmed, the encounter shook her. She had never heard of Aura being reflected. She realized Richie was going to be a difficult opponent.
Both of them became more cautious.
When they engaged again, Richie's style shifted. He was no longer just defending; he kept his twin Thorn Shields spinning like frantic windmills, pushing forward in a relentless rhythm.
Richie lacked explosive burst, so he relied on a continuous, overwhelming assault.
Having felt the sting of his reflection, Margaret didn't dare clash with him head-on. She relied on her superior speed, darting in and out with rapid-fire strikes.
The fight became a stalemate.
In terms of technique, Richie was outmatched. Margaret had spent over a decade perfecting her dual-sword style. Her movements were seamless and fluid.
In terms of speed and footwork, she also held the advantage. A layer of thin ice coated the soles of her boots; she wasn't walking or jumping so much as skating across the ground with incredible speed and agility.
And in terms of sheer unpredictability, Richie couldn't compare. Every one of Margaret's strikes had six potential variations, each concealing six further hidden follow-ups. It was a dizzying array of possibilities.
Normally, her opponents couldn't last three exchanges. Even if they did, she would break their rhythm and dismantle them.
But she was fighting Richie.
Richie didn't care about her fancy techniques. He simply raised his shields to block, neutralizing every follow-up and variation. Every time he pushed his shields forward, she was forced to retreat.
But Richie's true strength lay in his raw power and the sheer volume of his Aura. He poured his energy into the shields, swinging them like heavy axes in broad, devastating arcs.
Furthermore, whenever he pulled his arms back, the spinning Thorn Shields created a powerful suction. If Margaret's blades got caught in the rotation, they were nearly wrenched from her hands.
Tiger-Lion Mountain was being torn apart by their duel.
After a thousand exchanges, Margaret began to feel the tide turning against her.
Usually, she excelled in battles of attrition. Her Aura was cold and aggressive, but its most dangerous trait was its ability to seep into an opponent. The longer they fought, the more her cold energy would numb their limbs and slow their reactions.
But Richie was immune to this, because he kept reflecting the energy back at her.
The duel became a contest of sheer stamina.
Endurance wasn't Margaret's forte. While she couldn't identify Richie's specific Aura type, she knew that "Defenders" were legendary for their bottomless stamina.
A sense of impending defeat began to gnaw at her.
She thought of the wager. She thought of the humiliation that would follow. Panic began to set in.
Suddenly, she lunged with both swords, her speed increasing dramatically. Just as she was about to clash with Richie's left shield, she twisted her body mid-air, dropping to the ground and sweeping her blades in a wide, vicious arc.
It was a desperate, high-risk maneuver. In a sanctioned duel, an arbiter would have intervened and disqualified her for using a forbidden technique.
But there was no arbiter here, and the other young Knights didn't have the power to stop them.
In that heart-stopping moment, Richie also reached deep into his reserves. He slid his feet back, his body shifting a foot in the blink of an eye. As he evaded the sweep, Margaret's body twisted again, and then a third time in mid-air, her swords flashing in a series of over twenty lightning-fast thrusts.
They came from impossible, unpredictable angles.
But Richie had his own ultimate defense. He pulled his arms and elbows together, the four Thorn Shields forming a solid, impenetrable wall of steel.
Two heavy clangs echoed through the enclosure as sword met shield.
Margaret, with no solid ground to brace against, was sent flying backward by the sheer force of the impact.
Before she could land, she felt her ankles being seized. The world spun violently as she was slammed into the ground.
But it was only the beginning. No sooner had she hit the dirt than she was hoisted up by her feet and swung again.
This time, she was slammed down even harder, face-first into the soil.
If not for her helmet, her face would have been ruined.
Before she could struggle, her arms were pinned behind her back, and a heavy foot pressed into the small of her spine.
"It's over. You have nothing left to say," Richie said, disarming her.
He took her twin swords and plunged them deep into the ground on either side of her helmet.
Margaret lay motionless, her spirit crushed.
***
Glasslovar was full of empty buildings, especially in the outer districts, where entire blocks were deserted.
Star Garden had once been one of the city's most exclusive residential areas, but now it was a ghost town. The entrances had been boarded up with bricks and stones, but they were no obstacle for Richie.
The houses had been stripped bare. Even the wooden floorboards had been pried up for fuel.
Richie searched several rooms but couldn't find a single bed, let alone blankets.
Left with no choice, he led Margaret to a window.
The windowsill was thick with dust. Richie hesitated for a moment before stripping off his uniform jacket and spreading it out as a makeshift mat.
Margaret showed no gratitude. She stared at him with eyes full of cold, murderous intent.
Yet, despite her hatred, the ice-cold girl had no intention of breaking her word.
Richie didn't mind her wooden stance. He placed his hands on her waist, slowly unbuckling her belt and sliding it out with agonizing slowness.
Margaret closed her eyes, her lips trembling as she fought back tears.
Richie knew he should probably be gentle, but he also knew that now wasn't the time for tenderness. He needed to make her his first, then he could show her his softer side.
He slowly pulled down her trousers, taking his time to admire her half-naked form.
Even from their first meeting, he had noticed how pale her skin was—almost translucent. It was a common trait among those who practiced ice-based Arts.
Like all female Knights, her body was lean and toned, without a hint of excess fat. Her muscles were firm, her skin taut. Whether from fear or anticipation, a fine layer of goosebumps covered her porcelain skin.
He sat her on the windowsill and pried her legs apart, taking in the sight of her most private area.
Margaret was completely hairless, her mound perfectly smooth. All he could see was a delicate, pink slit.
Richie leaned in, his tongue tracing the line of the slit. As he pushed past the outer lips, the soft, inner petals were revealed.
They were small and thin, crowned with a tiny, seed-sized bud.
He began to lick her.
At the first touch, Margaret's entire body jerked. She tried to clamp her legs shut, but Richie's head was in the way.
He had expected this reaction. He extended his right hand, his middle finger pressing against the sensitive bud of her anus. That delicate area had never been touched before, and it was incredibly responsive, clenching tight at the contact.
He didn't push inside yet. He wanted to savor this girl, taking his time to consume her completely.
He applied steady pressure with his finger, slowly inching inward, while his tongue continued its rhythmic dance around the tiny bud of her clitoris.
Margaret had never experienced anything like this. The mounting itch in her groin and the confusing mix of pain and pleasure from behind were driving her to the brink of madness.
"Can't you just... hurry up?" she pleaded, her voice trembling.
Richie looked up at her. "You said I could do whatever I wanted. Whatever you feel, you'll just have to endure. And I should warn you... your juices are already flowing. You'd better try to hold it together."
Margaret wished for death. But this time, it was from sheer embarrassment. She could feel the moisture pooling between her legs, and in her inexperience, she had no idea what it was. She assumed she had lost control of her bladder under the intense stimulation.
Mortified, she covered her face with her hands, her head lolling back. But the sensation became too much to bear. She reached up and gripped her own hair, trying to use the physical pain to drown out the unbearable pleasure.
Richie, meanwhile, was leisurely working through every seductive trick he knew. He focused a sliver of Aura into his fingertips, letting it roam inside her to find her most sensitive spots.
Suddenly, her body went rigid. Her slender legs clamped tightly around his head as she began to shudder violently.
Richie quickly pressed his thumb against her perineum. This wasn't meant to overstimulate her, but rather to dampen the intensity of the climax.
It was a technique designed to prolong the pleasure, making the peak less explosive but far more enduring.
It was a considerate move, one he hadn't often used before, not even with Merlin.
Margaret felt like she was going to faint. She had never known such heights of pleasure, nor such depths of humiliation. She wanted to cry but couldn't; she wanted to scream but feared it would only deepen her shame.
Just as she was struggling to find her bearings, she felt something large and burning-hot pressing against her entrance.
She knew what it was. Her body stiffened for a moment, but she quickly forced herself to relax. She knew there was no escaping this.
With a firm thrust of his hips, Richie's thick member slid into her narrow passage.
As he entered, a shiver ran through him. He felt a wave of icy energy—a bone-chilling cold that seeped from her body into his own.
The shock of the cold nearly made him go limp. He had to take a sharp breath and focus to maintain his erection.
He was amazed at how twisted her Art was. He began to thrust slowly.
Margaret was incredibly tight. It wasn't the "about to tear" tightness of Sophie, or the "constricting" tightness of Lina. It was a hard, unyielding tightness. Entering her took effort, yet pulling out was strangely easy.
Richie knew that rapid, shallow thrusts wouldn't work on a woman like her. He needed to drive all the way in to truly break her resistance.
He pulled her legs up to his chest and stepped onto the windowsill, using his height to drive into her like a pile-driver. Deep, powerful thrusts followed by a slow, deliberate withdrawal.
After fifty or sixty strokes, he felt her passage suddenly tighten even further.
Margaret's eyes were glazed over, her primal instincts finally overriding her pride and reserve. Shame was forgotten, her mind consumed by the waves of pleasure radiating from her core.
She felt as if she were flying—climbing higher and higher with no idea where she was going or when she would fall.
Her first time was exceptionally long. It took over a minute for her rigid body to finally go limp.
This time, it wasn't because of any special care from Richie.
Richie himself was struggling. He was shivering uncontrollably—not from pleasure, but from the cold.
Moments before, as she peaked, a flood of "yin essence" had erupted from her, followed by a surge of incredibly cold Aura. The energy had raced through his body in an instant, leaving him feeling as if his internal systems were being flash-frozen.
He gritted his teeth and forced the icy Aura through several cycles until he finally began to feel some relief. He was still cold, but the bone-chilling intensity had faded.
He turned his focus inward, performing a thorough Inner Vision to understand the nature of her Aura.
Margaret's Aura was as sharp as ice crystals. It didn't just have edges; those edges were jagged and crystalline. Even more impressive was that these crystals didn't wear down; they simply shattered into smaller, equally sharp pieces.
Richie realized this was a problem. He couldn't digest this kind of energy easily.
He looked up and saw Margaret staring back at him, her eyes vacant and lifeless, carrying a faint hint of despair.
That wasn't good.
His heart softened.
After a moment's thought, he leaned in and whispered in her ear. "A few months ago, when we first fought, you had the slight upper hand. Don't you find it strange that my strength has increased so much in such a short time?"
He knew this stubborn girl cared about strength above all else. It was her only pride. He bet that the secret to rapid advancement would be the one thing she couldn't ignore.
Sure enough, the moment the words left his mouth, a spark of life returned to her eyes. Her expression didn't warm—it remained as cold as ice and as hard as steel—but she was listening.
"Isn't it obvious? You were holding back last time," she spat out, her voice full of bitterness. "You were probably planning for this day even then."
Richie clutched his chest dramatically. "I swear, that wasn't it! My strength really did explode during this period."
"Impossible."
Margaret didn't believe a word of it. The difference between their two encounters was staggering; Richie's power had nearly doubled. She couldn't believe anyone could progress that quickly in a matter of months.
Richie knew she wouldn't buy it without proof. "It's my secret. And it's a secret that can help others grow just as fast. If you swear never to reveal it, I can tell you... and I can prove it to you."
The offer of proof changed everything. Margaret's eyes brightened. What interested her most was the claim that he could help *others* improve.
"You're not lying?"
Richie shrugged. "Why would I? And even if I were, I couldn't hide it for long. You'll know the truth the moment we try."
Margaret sat up abruptly. Her despair vanished, replaced by a sudden, desperate hope. It was as if she had been pulled from the depths of hell into a sudden paradise.
Since childhood, she had possessed a singular obsession—one born from the blood in her veins and the legacy of her ancestors. She sought the pinnacle of Knightly power.
She had worked several times harder than anyone else to achieve it. Her *Frost Aura* was notoriously difficult to master, and even with her superhuman effort, she only managed to keep pace with her peers.
She knew that the further she progressed, the slower her advancement would become. She might be elite now, but in a few years, the others would surely catch up.
But now, Richie's words offered her a glimmer of hope she hadn't dared to imagine.