The air was thick with the scent of mold, and cobwebs were everywhere. The dust on the floor was so thick that every step left a clear footprint.
To be honest, Richie found it hard to believe that anything he was looking for could be found in a place like this.
The reason he had come here was because a few days ago, his master, Miss Dana, had helped him unlock his internal vision and planted a aura seed within him.
A knight is a knight not entirely because of their extraordinary physical traits, but more importantly, because they possess aura.
A knight doesn't need to care if they lose an arm or a leg; making a prosthetic limb is an easy task. Although not as flexible as the original, it doesn't hinder combat. However, once a knight loses their aura, they are completely ruined. Thus, for a knight, the most terrifying punishment isn't death, but the destruction of their aura.
Possessing a aura seed meant that Richie finally had a chance to become a true knight. Originally, he had been most worried that, as an Anomalous Knight, he wouldn't be able to have a aura seed implanted.
However, having a seed didn't mean having aura; he still needed a Art to circulate it.
This was no joke. The quality of a Art could determine a knight's strength, which was even more important than the knight's own natural qualities.
Some Arts circulated within the army, but as long as there were other options, no one would practice those widely known techniques. While safe, easy to learn, and full of available experience to draw upon, their flaw was obvious: they had no future.
In the knight squad Richie belonged to, not a single person practiced those public methods.
"No one here is a simple person. Each one has a very impressive background."
This casual remark by the adjutant, Miss Randy, had made Richie understand the mystery behind it.
Despite pleading for several days, Richie hadn't gotten what he wanted.
The reason was simple: any family would guard their inherited Arts with extreme secrecy, never letting them leak to outsiders. Unfortunately, these women didn't know any other methods either, so they couldn't help him even if they wanted to.
Just as he was about to lose hope, the prank-loving Rosa suddenly told him that there was a place where a vast number of Arts were stored.
Richie didn't quite believe Rosa’s words. Lately, he had suffered quite a bit from this woman's pranks. The most miserable time was when he was tricked into the restroom by her, only to find the captain, Miss Calli, and his master, Miss Dana, inside. The result could be imagined...
After hesitating for a long time, Richie finally followed this mischievous woman here. Although he knew he might be being tricked again, for the sake of a bright future, he was willing to try as long as there was a sliver of hope.
This wasn't Glasslovar, but Sava, the provincial capital of Lavor. To get here, Richie had sat in a carriage for nine hours.
Sava was the capital and the headquarters of the Knight Corps. The place Richie had been brought to sneak into was the library of the Knight Corps headquarters. However, while other parts were open, this place was locked.
Being able to sneak in was entirely due to Rosa’s skill. Richie never would have imagined that this prank-loving beauty was so skilled at picking locks. These doors were all fitted with double locks, yet she managed to open them quickly.
"Stay here by yourself. This place contains all kinds of Arts accumulated over centuries. Find what you like and copy it down. I won’t stay here and eat dust with you. I’ll be back before four in the afternoon to take you back."
With that, Rosa hurried away, as if she didn't want to stay for a single moment longer.
Retreating carefully from the room, a strange smile suddenly appeared on Rosa’s face. She was very happy; the little guy had fallen for it again.
She reached out and lightly brushed a sign on the door. The sign, which originally read "Confidential Area, No Entry," instantly changed to another line—"All materials in this storage room are unverified."
Richie had no idea that every provincial Knight Corps headquarters had such a storage room.
Initially, some knights would place Arts they had found by chance inside. Most of these methods were incomplete and couldn't be practiced directly, serving only as reference. Gradually, some knights also threw their own wild, experimental methods into the pile. Some actually made sense, but more were complete nonsense. Over time, many people who loved pranks, like Rosa, simply dumped a bunch of parody methods inside. From then on, no one ever took such a storage room seriously. While treasures might be hidden within, as long as a person was rational, they would make a cautious choice when treasures were mixed with poison.
Because of this, the doors to this storage room were fitted with so many locks. In fact, many high-ranking officials believed the place should be abolished and its contents destroyed.
Richie didn't know all this. At this moment, he was like a beggar who had entered a treasure vault, overjoyed.
He randomly picked up a few booklets, and they indeed recorded Arts. One in particular was incredibly powerful, featuring techniques like dimensional cutting and instantaneous movement, which made Richie’s eyes almost pop out. He couldn't help but imagine how wonderful it would be if he could learn those.
However, after carefully flipping through it, Richie eventually gave up because the very first page stated that the requirements for the knight's own natural qualities were extremely high.
Though it was a pity, Richie didn't linger; there was plenty of what he wanted here.
Richie flipped through booklet after booklet. At first, he looked somewhat carefully, but eventually, he almost just scanned them, putting aside those that interested him and returning the rest to their original places.
Hours passed, and Richie became almost numb. He casually opened a booklet he had just taken down.
Suddenly, his eyes lit up, and his heart raced. He looked guiltily to his left and right. Although he knew no one else could be there, Richie still felt a trace of panic.
The first page he turned to depicted two people entangled—a man and a woman embracing as they sat. The woman was sitting on the man, her long, slender legs wrapped around his waist.
Richie was no longer a child. He knew exactly what he was looking at. For a boy his age, the mystery of the flesh was the most intoxicating subject imaginable.
In the quiet of his room at night, he had often used the girls in his class as fodder for his fevered dreams, imagining them breathless and shivering beneath his own hardening length.
His breathing grew heavy, a familiar, unyielding pressure building in his loins.
Finding himself utterly alone in the dusty silence, he reached into his trousers and freed his manhood. His fingers closed around the warm, pulsing shaft, and he began to stroke himself with a slow, rhythmic intensity.
As he flipped through the forbidden pages, the friction of his palm matched the rising heat in his blood. He was careful, holding back the peak of his arousal for fear of staining the ancient parchment.
The more he read, the faster his heart hammered. A feverish warmth spread from his core to his extremities.
Recorded here was indeed a lascivious, evil, and vulgar Art. The core of the entire piece was how to make a woman climax and then, at the moment of climax, steal the life energy from the woman being made love to.
This was definitely a wicked method of getting something for nothing, yet Richie liked it very much.
Another thing that made him happy was the clear statement at the end of the method: "This method is easy to practice and master, with rapid progress. The increase in strength relies only on accumulation, without any bottlenecks."
Richie read it over several times, his face flushed and his pulse racing, wishing he could immediately find someone to test it on.
He had decided. He would pick this one. Any man would definitely choose this one.
Of course, he also noticed that this method only contained the core part—the method of practicing aura—but didn't mention how to use it. There wasn't a single attack technique, only a brief mention that after practicing this method, the body's perception would greatly improve and endurance would become very strong.
Having been in the squad for a while, Richie knew some things.
For a knight, the most important thing was the strength of their aura, followed by explosive power, speed, and reaction time, which determined their overall strength. Then came raw power, perception, and the ability to withstand attacks. The most useless thing was endurance; on the battlefield, the armor's energy determined the duration of the fight, and beyond that range, even the strongest endurance was useless.
Richie already knew that the method recorded in this small booklet might just be a pile of scrap paper, but he didn't care.
Wasn't he himself no different from a piece of trash?
Although he had chosen this method, he didn't dare take it out so openly. The squad he belonged to was entirely composed of women. If they found out he was practicing such a thing, Richie couldn't imagine the consequences.
Richie had brought a blank notebook for the purpose of copying down the needed methods. He carefully removed several blank sheets from the middle.
The Art wasn't long, so copying it was easy. The diagrams inside were the tricky part. Richie didn't dare make any mistakes, drawing them stroke by stroke exactly as they appeared.
After finishing, Richie folded the copied method to about the size of a palm and tucked it into the inner pocket on the left side of his chest.
However, bringing back a blank notebook would surely arouse suspicion. Richie thought for a moment and immediately began searching through the Arts again.
This time, he wasn't looking for a method that seemed incredibly powerful at first glance, but one that was slightly more advanced than the common ones yet easy to practice.
Richie had a good memory. He remembered seeing a method that fit his needs earlier.
Following his memory, Richie found it quickly.
This was a method very suitable for heavy shield defenders. It was because of this that he had looked at it a few more times earlier and had some impression of it.
The author of this Discipline seemed almost apologetically honest. Right at the beginning, they had listed its primary flaw in bold script: **Slow.** Not only was progress agonizingly gradual, but once mastered, the practitioner would find their physical movements significantly hampered. It made a knight clumsy, grounding them in a way that was antithetical to the usual grace of their kind.
Yet, the author had apparently found a way to weaponize this very sluggishness. At the end of the text were two advanced techniques for channeling aura.
The first was **'The Yielding Strike,'** a defensive maneuver. It wasn't about meeting force with force; instead, it used the knight's own inertia to subtly deflect an opponent's blade, creating a microscopic opening for a devastating close-quarters counter.
The second was a footwork pattern called **'Ghost Glides.'** The essence of the technique was to keep the feet in constant, frictionless contact with the ground, allowing the knight to slide across any surface—mud, ice, or stone—as if they were weightless.
They were simple in concept, but Richie knew the execution would be hell. To deflect a knight's strike, one needed to read the very air before the blow landed. And Ghost Glides required a level of balance and control that most veterans spent a lifetime mastering.
By the time he returned from the capital, Sava, it was late at night. Richie had dozed off in the carriage, but he could still tell that Miss Rosa had touched his notebook. As expected, this prank-loving woman was very interested in what Art he had copied.
Richie touched the pocket on his chest intentionally or unintentionally, and a smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. He was happy that his secret hadn't been discovered.
Rosa was also smiling, her smile carrying a hint of relief. Although she liked to tease the kid, she didn't want him to get into real trouble.
The Art Richie had copied was peaceful and steady, so there shouldn't be any issues with practicing it. Thus, she was relieved.
Returning to Glasslovar, Richie’s knight career officially began.
Every morning, he had to wake up very early to report to the camp. Then, he was forced by his master, Miss Dana, to run along Garden Street while wearing an eighty-kilogram weighted suit. The street was four kilometers long. Initially, he only had to run one round, but after a week, it became two rounds, and now it had increased to five.
What Richie found most painful was that, no matter how many rounds he ran, he had to finish within one hour. If he exceeded the time... Well, he had only exceeded it once, and he never dared to do so again.
For Richie, the weighted run was only the warm-up. Next was parrying training. He used two lead shields, each weighing eighty kilograms.
He had to parry his master Dana’s staff. As long as he showed even a slight gap, the staff would strike like lightning. Getting hit was definitely painful for a long time, but not enough to break bones.
After seven o'clock, Richie had a bit of breathing room. He had to go to class. However, before going, the adjutant Miss Randy would give him an injection of a Muscle Enhancement Serum—the same X23 that had nearly killed him.
Throughout the morning, Richie would sit in the classroom, listening to lectures while enduring the sensation of his muscles tearing and restructuring—a feeling that was painful, sore, numb, and itchy all at once. it was far more painful than being hit by Miss Dana’s staff, yet he couldn't make a sound and could only grit his teeth and endure.
After school let out at noon, Richie had to head to the camp again. Everyone else in the camp was idle, but he was the busiest because he was both a laborer and a trainee.
He mostly did manual labor, like moving those sets of armor. Even without the outer plating, most of the armor weighed over a ton. He had to move these giants by hand, without using any tools.
Though it was hard, Richie preferred this heavy labor. Compared to working, training under his master was not just hard, but painful.
Every day, he gritted his teeth just to barely pull through.
As soon as he got home, Richie only wanted to lie in bed. The intense training left him with no appetite. Moreover, the meager food rations provided couldn't possibly satisfy his hunger; as a knight, he had a very large appetite.
Every time, his mother had to force him to sit at the dining table and finish his dinner. However, his mother was also very understanding, knowing he was tired from working as a laborer in the knight camp, and always let him rest early.
Occasionally, the mother would feel sorry for her son and think about not letting Richie go to the knight camp anymore, wanting to ask the school teachers to help change his job.
But she only dared to think this and never actually did it because, ever since her son started going to the knight camp, he hadn't gotten into any more fights.
She also knew why her son had been fighting before and regretted showing off her small fortune, which had caused such trouble.
Because of this sliver of guilt, Richie’s mother didn't dare interfere much with Richie’s affairs, so she didn't know that upon returning to his room, Richie would lie in bed and masturbate incessantly.
This was all because of that strange Art.
He had practiced for several weeks, and while his aura had progressed little beyond the seed stage, a persistent heat smoldered deep within him.
Every time he circulated his aura along those deviant paths, a parching, spiritual thirst would grip him. His member would stir with a frantic, unyielding intensity that lasted for hours, a solid weight that seemed to mock his lack of release.
Before, he could find ease in a few minutes of self-indulgence. But now, no matter how much effort he expended, his length remained engorged and stubborn, pulsing with a deep, frustrated ache that refused to break.
Wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, Richie glanced down at the distortion in his trousers. He was as hard as iron.
He had become significantly more formidable. Where before he had been average, he was now something else entirely—the girth of a man's wrist, unyielding and hot to the touch.
A dark, intrusive thought flickered in his mind: what would it be like to use this unspent energy to break the composure of the women in the camp? Even his master, Dana. But while the desire was there, his courage remained a fragile thing. He was still the laborer, and they were the predators.
Trying to go after those female knights seemed unlikely.
Richie sat up abruptly. For several days, he had been thinking about finding a woman. He knew a place where women could be found; as long as you were willing to pay, those women would go to bed with you.
This kind of thing was something he wouldn't even have dared to think about before, both because of his age and because he had no money.
Richie stood up, pulled open a drawer, and took several bills from a gap behind the drawer.
This was a month’s salary, more than what his parents earned. Being a knight was definitely a promising career.
Richie had thought about using the money to help with the household expenses, but his headache was how to explain the source of the money. The most logical explanations seemed to be "stealing," "robbery," or "scamming." Wasn't that just looking for trouble?
Unable to find a way, Richie had to temporarily hide the money in such a place. Now, the money was finally useful.
Richie took several bills, stuffed them into his pocket, and ran out after greeting his mother.
The sky outside was already dark, and the Old District had no streetlights. Fortunately, light shone through the windows of the houses on both sides.
The place where a woman could be easily found was on the eastern side of the Old District, almost right against the city walls. Most of the men looking for women there were soldiers. Richie wasn't sure if his father had ever been there; if he had, it would be a real betrayal of his mother.
The Old District wasn't very large, and it only took about fifteen minutes to walk there.
It was a dilapidated alley, with three-story buildings on both sides—the kind of houses that were divided into many rooms, each as small as a pigeon coop. Dim light shone through the narrow windows of these houses.
This alley actually had streetlights, seemingly fueled by kerosene, as the light was a dim yellow.
Under the streetlights, women dressed in gaudy clothes leaned against the walls. As soon as a man passed by, they would immediately cling to him coquettishly.
Richie’s heart was pounding. He had never experienced such a scene before.
Suddenly, he saw a familiar figure.
In a dimly lit corner stood a girl about his age, with large eyes and chestnut hair that hung loose. She looked dazed and helpless. She had a slender figure, and even in that dim yellow light, her face appeared pale.
Richie stared at the girl in surprise. This was his former dream girl, the most beautiful girl in his class.
"Isabella, what are you doing here?"
Richie couldn't help but ask.
This sudden shout was like a whip lashing down. The girl shuddered, her eyes flying open, and in an instant, her expression became one of extreme terror.
A woman in her twenties, heavily made up, leaned over and said, "The men here are all looking for fun, and the women are naturally all here to sell. Since you're friends, why don't you take care of the business? This little girl is quite pitiful too..."
The woman ended her sentence with a long sigh.
The small and low-ceilinged room contained only a bed made of wooden planks. There wasn't even any bedding, only some cardboard laid out.
Richie’s classmate walked ahead of him. Her expression was wooden, but her movements were practiced. He watched as she took a stack of old newspapers from a box under the bed, quickly spread them over the cardboard, and then began to undress.
Isabella was very thin. Richie could tell this was clearly due to malnutrition. In his memory, Isabella hadn't been this thin.
Not only was she thin, but she was also exceptionally pale, without a trace of color and even a hint of blue. Her buttocks were small and tight, and between her legs grew a sparse patch of grass.
Her ribs were very distinct, and her jade-like breasts were only about the size of a fist, slightly protruding with alluring red tips.
While he was lost in thought, Isabella had already taken off her clothes and started helping him undress.
As soon as the buckle was undone, Richie’s member sprang free, thick and pulsing with a desperate need.
Isabella had been the star of his fevered dreams for years, the primary subject of his lonely nights. At the mere sight of her, his erection had surged, held back only by the coarse fabric of his trousers.
A pair of slender, ice-cold hands reached out and gently encircled his length. The shock of the cold against his feverish skin was so exquisite that Richie’s head lolled back. He let out a long, ragged breath, his eyes fluttering shut as he surrendered to the sensation.
He was too far gone to notice the imperceptible shadow that crossed Isabella’s face.
Isabella’s small hands worked with a mechanical speed, her mouth letting out soft, practiced whimpers of mock-pleasure.
These were the tricks of the trade she had absorbed from the older women—seductive noises meant to hasten a man’s climax. At this moment, she wanted nothing more than to be done. The humiliation of being 'bought' by a former classmate was a weight that threatened to crush her spirit.
Richie was oblivious to her internal struggle, drowned in the purely physical rush. The glide of her slender fingers was worlds away from his own rough palm.
But even as the pleasure intensified, he realized something was wrong. The 'fire' coiled in his gut wasn't dissipating. If anything, it burned hotter, and his member throbbed with a mounting, almost painful pressure.
After masturbating for a long time, Isabella’s hand was becoming sore. She knew that she wouldn't be able to make Richie ejaculate with just her hand; she needed a more stimulating method.
Leaning forward, she took his length into her mouth. Her tongue flicked across the glans, swirling around the sensitive ridge and tracing the opening with practiced ease. Occasionally, she grazed him with her teeth, a sharp contrast to the warmth of her throat.
She tried to take the full measure of him, but his sheer size made it a struggle; even as the head reached the back of her throat, a significant portion remained outside.
Richie, a novice to such intimacy, felt his mind begin to fragment. His entire world narrowed down to the sensation of being enveloped, the warm, wet friction threatening to shatter his self-control.
But the fire within him remained unyielding. It pooled in his lower abdomen, hammering against the root of his manhood in waves that sought a release his body seemed pathologically determined to deny.
Isabella felt him swell further, his pulse drumming against her tongue. She intensified the suction, her tongue working with a desperate fever, but fifteen minutes passed with no sign of the expected release.
Richie felt a surge of embarrassment. Though the pleasure was immense, he craved something more—the actual union he had pictured in a thousand lonely hours.
"I understand," Isabella whispered. She released his length and moved to the bed, her voice devoid of emotion. "Do you want to be on top, or shall I?"
Richie couldn't wait any longer and pushed Isabella down. This was something he had done countless times in his fantasies, but this was the first time in reality.
Richie’s lack of experience was obvious. He fumbled, his member sliding harmlessly against her thighs until Isabella let out a weary sigh and guided him to her center.
The entry was seamless. He felt himself sink into her, his length instantly gripped by the hot, yielding pressure of her inner depths. It was a sensation unlike anything he had ever known.
He began to thrust incessantly, and his hands weren't idle either, fondling Isabella’s body everywhere. This was the first time he had ever touched a woman's body, and he had no idea where to start.
Isabella lay on the bed with her eyes closed, her blank eyes staring at the ceiling. She silently endured what might have been sexual pleasure, or the bitterness in her heart, or the endless humiliation. But gradually, all those sensations were submerged by a tingling itch that spread from her very bones.
After all, she hadn't been doing this for long, and business was usually slow, so her body was still very sensitive. As her breathing became heavier, she began to feel dazed, her mouth letting out "Mmm... mmm... ah... ah..." moans. This time, the moans were real, not the technique she used to lure men.
"Don't... so much force... ah... ah... ah..."
Isabella began to plead.
Richie had no technique at all, relying entirely on instinct to pull out and thrust in. However, every time he went all the way to the bottom, and this powerful, solid approach was more effective at stirring a woman's lust than any technique.
He didn't bother to count how many times he had thrust, nor did he notice the reaction of Isabella beneath him.
"Ah... I'm dying... ah... ah... I can't take it."
Isabella’s moans became higher and higher. "Ah..."
With a scream, her body twitched several times, and a stream of heat flowed down between her buttocks.
Richie didn't know what had happened and continued to thrust with all his might.
The passage after a climax is undoubtedly the most sensitive. Isabella, who had just "overflowed" and was already exhausted, soon had another reaction. Her moans sounded again.
"Mmm... mmm... ah... ah..."
Her already pale face became even paler, and her mind was in a daze.
Half an hour later, she gave another cry of "Ah..."
The moans lasted for an unknown amount of time. The screams at climax were high and sharp at first, but gradually, the sound became weak and powerless.
Isabella could only blame her bad luck. At this moment, she was as limp as mud. She didn't know how many times she had "overflowed," and she was even finding it difficult to breathe.
Richie wasn't doing this on purpose. He was just wondering why he hadn't stolen any life energy even though he was following the Art. Every time he used the method to suck with all his might, besides making Isabella climax more and more severely, to the point of nearly dying, it had no other effect on him.
Similarly, he didn't feel any sense of release; instead, his abdomen felt increasingly stuffed, and his penis grew tighter.
Seeing Isabella’s body gradually stop moving, Richie finally stopped. Although he lacked experience, he knew that if he continued, he might actually kill her.
Pulling his penis out of Isabella’s body, he saw the newspapers underneath were completely soaked. Where Isabella’s legs met, it was wet and dripping with a slightly sticky substance that had flowed out from inside.
This didn't provide any sense of conquest, or even satisfaction.
It seemed that ordinary people and knights truly found it hard to be together; the difference in strength, endurance, and persistence was simply too great.
There was a water bottle at the head of the bed. Richie didn't care if the water was clean and took a sip before pouring some on himself. He let his "little brother" soften a bit, at least enough to put his pants on.
Looking at the unconscious Isabella, Richie could only smile bitterly. He had really lost out this time; not only had he not released, but he also had to carry Isabella back to her home. He couldn't just leave her here.
Isabella’s home was also in the Old District. Richie had passed by several times but had never gone in.
This block was a lower-class area of the Old District, consisting entirely of single-room bungalows. The front door led straight to the kitchen, and behind that was the living area, which served as both the bedroom and living room.
Just as he reached her door, a chaotic sound of footsteps came from inside, and the door opened immediately.
Two boys and two girls, four little ones in total, ran out. Among them, the oldest was about ten, and the youngest was probably only three or four.
"Sister, sister, you're finally back! I'm hungry, we're all hungry!"
The youngest little one at the back kept shouting.
These children were stunned to see a stranger standing at the door, but the stranger was carrying their sister.
Finally, a slightly older girl reacted first and asked in a thin voice, "Are you sister's classmate? What happened to her?"
Richie was suddenly tongue-tied. He didn't know how to answer. He couldn't say he had sex with their sister and fucked her into unconsciousness.
Fortunately, he was quite clever. His mind raced as he said, "Did your sister not eat today? She fainted from hunger."
"Yeah!"
The youngest child said. "We haven't eaten either. So hungry."
Being stared at by four pairs of pitiful eyes, Richie immediately felt powerless. He finally understood why Isabella was doing that kind of thing.
"Alright, I'll go buy some food for you. What do you like to eat?"
Richie’s question was met with a chorus of hungry cries. The two oldest, perhaps ten years old, and the youngest, a toddler of three or four, looked at him with hollow, pleading eyes.
"Chicken legs!" "Steak!"
The children's demands were a testament to their long-denied cravings, making Richie’s heart ache with a mixture of pity and frustration. It wasn't the cost—his new salary was more than enough—but the sheer weight of the responsibility he felt suddenly thrust upon him.
Because of the war, strict rationing was in place. However, as long as you had money, you could still buy any food. After making that small fortune, his mother had bought some ham and sausages to treat the family, so Richie knew where to get these things.
When Richie returned with bags and bags of food, it was already 8:15. He knew he had to be quick; a curfew would be imposed on the entire city after nine, and he didn't want to spend a night in a detention center.
Just as he reached the entrance of the alley to Isabella’s house, he heard a piercing sound of shouting, accompanied by the crying of a group of children.
He saw a guy about seventeen or eighteen with a crew cut, his collar open and a belt waving in his hand, blocking the door to Isabella’s house and cursing loudly.
Everyone around naturally heard the commotion. Richie clearly saw many faces hidden behind windows, watching with indifference.
Many were watching, but not a single person dared to stand up, not even to open a window.
This fear and panic made the shouting man even more proud and arrogant. From his curses, it could be heard that he was Isabella’s "protector."
Richie had heard of these so-called protectors—a group of thugs, shameless vampires. What was most annoying was that these people were like a pack of mad dogs; even if they knew they were outmatched, they would cling on and fight to the death.
Richie suspected that the classmates who had bothered him before were also manipulated by a similar group of people.
The small amount of money his family had received wouldn't interest real gangsters; only these most greedy and shameless minor characters would care about such money.
Thinking of this, Richie suddenly felt a sense of shared bitterness. He casually broke off a walnut-sized piece from the nearby wall.
Practicing during this time might not have yielded many other gains, but his strength had increased significantly, and his hand-eye coordination far exceeded what it used to be.
Just like skipping stones, Richie threw the brick shard flat. The shard hissed through the air. With a soft "thwack," it hit the knee of the guy who was cursing. Unsurprisingly, the leg broke on the spot.
A soul-wrenching scream instantly rang out in the night. The pain of a broken knee was simply not something an ordinary person could endure.
The scream immediately attracted the police.
Richie didn't want to be involved in such a thing. He looked at the food in his hand; it seemed he would have to wait until tomorrow to give it to Isabella for her siblings.
Suddenly Richie remembered that he hadn't given her the money yet! Isabella had been "played" by him for free. Although they were classmates, it didn't seem right.
It seemed the money would also have to wait until tomorrow.
Returning home, Richie took a cold shower, barely managing to suppress the fire within him.
Before touching a woman, one doesn't know their beauty; after touching one, the situation becomes even worse.
After enduring for a night, Richie had already thought of a countermeasure. During class tomorrow, he would go straight to Isabella.
He wanted to ask Isabella if she was willing to let him "take care" of her. If she agreed, he could help her raise her siblings and provide protection.
This had once been his dream, and he hadn't expected it to be realized in this way.
Waking up in the morning, it was again hard morning training. Richie, with his mind full of worries, almost exceeded the time during the weighted run, and his parrying practice was also full of mistakes, resulting in many hits from the staff.
After finally enduring until class time, he was stunned the moment he walked into the classroom.
Everyone else was there, but Isabella was nowhere to be found. By the end of the first class, Isabella still hadn't arrived.
Richie immediately knew that Isabella must have been in trouble.
Richie approached the class monitor. She was a beauty in her own right, her features sharp and refined, and she had certainly occupied her fair share of his nocturnal fantasies.
But a future with someone like her was a distant dream. Unlike Isabella, the monitor came from a family of status. Her father was a junior manager at one of the city’s major banks, and they lived in a prestigious garden apartment on Wenden Street—a world away from the cramped alleys Richie called home.
She looked at him with a cool, detached curiosity. "You're late, Richie. Is there a problem?"
"It’s Isabella. She didn't come to class today," Richie said, keeping his voice low and urgent. "I passed by her door yesterday and... something was wrong. I didn't think much of it then, but now I’m worried."
The monitor’s expression softened, the mask of the banker’s daughter slipping for a moment. Isabella was one of the few people she considered a friend. They belonged to the 'Rose Society,' an informal circle of the school’s most notable beauties.
"I’ll cover for you," the monitor whispered. "Go. I’ll follow as soon as the lecture is over."
Richie felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted. He didn't even take his things and ran out of the school.
It was a short distance from the school to Isabella’s house, and he arrived in a flash.
The moment he reached the door, Richie knew something had happened. The door was crooked, and the nearby windows had broken glass. Richie stepped in and heard a sobbing sound from inside.
Following the sound through the kitchen, Richie saw Isabella’s siblings crying by the bed, each of them having injuries on their faces.
Entering the room, the children immediately noticed him. The look of terror and unease in their eyes already told him what had happened.
Richie looked at the bed and saw Isabella lying there with a pale face, covered by a sheet. The sheet over her knees was constantly being soaked with blood.
Seeing Richie enter, Isabella’s face immediately showed a look of helplessness and deep shame.
"You... why are you here?"
Isabella asked with a face full of misery.
Richie didn't answer but instead lifted the sheet. As expected, Isabella’s legs had been injured.
A surge of anger rose in Richie’s heart, but he remained rational. He knew that the first thing to do was to save Isabella’s legs.
Like a gust of wind, he rushed out of the house and ran toward the camp.
Arriving at the camp, he went straight to the equipment room without a word. "Miss Randy, can you help me? A friend of mine is hurt. She... she might have been hurt because of me."
Richie simply took the blame, as it was the only thing he could do at the moment.
The adjutant Randy looked at Richie suspiciously. From his eyes, she saw deep anxiety and intense murderous intent.
The Captain stepped into the room, her presence instantly lowering the temperature. "I was wondering why our new recruit was so eager to skip his duties."
"Sir, a friend is hurt," Richie blurted out, his voice thick with a mix of desperation and a burgeoning, lethal anger. "I think... I think it might be because of me."
The Captain’s gray eyes searched his, looking for the lie. "In principle, the Knight Corps does not interfere in civil disputes. The law is quite clear on that."
Richie’s heart sank, the cold weight of the military code threatening to crush his hopes.
"However," the Captain continued, her voice like cracking ice, "if the incident involves a knight, the rules of engagement change. The dignity of the Corps is not to be trifled with by common thugs."
She turned to Randy. "Take the medical kit. Rosa, you go too. I want a full report."
And so, the four of them returned to the Old District. Randy moved with a clinical efficiency, while Rosa immediately took charge of the children, her usual prankish energy channeled into keeping them distracted. Watching her, Richie wondered who was actually the child—the knight or the four siblings she was regaling with stories.
"Richie, take the little ones out for a meal," Randy ordered from the bedroom.
He remembered the bags of food he had left in the kitchen. The children didn't need a second invitation; they swarmed the food like a pack of starving wolves.
As they ate, Richie’s mind was a storm of dark intent. He didn't just want to protect Isabella; he wanted to cleanse the city of the vermin that had crawled out of the shadows. But he was just one boy, and the thugs were legion.
When Randy and Rosa finally emerged from the bedroom, their expressions were a complex tapestry of professional concern and something else—something almost... amused.
"Your friend is lucky," Randy said, wiping her hands. "The bones are intact, but her left patella was severely dislocated. I've reset it, but she’ll need weeks of absolute rest."
She sent the children back to their sister’s side, then turned to Richie. A faint, uncharacteristic blush touched her cheeks. "I understand that boys of your age have... impulses. But you must remember, Richie: a knight and an ordinary person are not cut from the same cloth. Their bodies cannot always withstand what yours can."
Richie felt his face burn with a sudden, intense heat.
Randy seemed to regret the words as soon as they left her lips. She hurried toward the door, her composure momentarily shattered. "I have reports to file. I'll see you at the camp."
But Rosa remained. She leaned against the doorframe, a wicked, knowing smile playing on her lips as she watched him. "Shame, shame, shame," she whispered, her finger tracing a slow line down her own cheek.
"I didn't... it wasn't like that," Richie stammered, his defense feeling pathetic even to his own ears.
"Don't lie to a knight, little one. Randy found more than just a dislocated knee. Your classmate is quite... sensitive. And you, it seems, are quite rough."
Rosa’s eyes dropped to Richie’s waist, a familiar, predatory smile playing on her lips. She reached out a slender finger and traced the prominent ridge that had begun to strain against his trousers.
Richie’s internal fire roared to life at the contact. A few casual strokes were all it took for his pants to tent outward, the fabric pulled tight by his sudden, violent erection.
"Want some help with that?" Rosa whispered, her finger tracing small, teasing circles at the very tip of the swell.
Richie almost groaned out loud; it was so comfortable.
It wasn't that Rosa’s technique was particularly superb. Compared to the tricks Isabella had played last night, Rosa’s movements were far less sophisticated.
However, Richie only needed to think of Miss Rosa’s identity as a knight to feel exceptionally excited.
For several weeks, those women in the Knight Corps had all been high and mighty figures in his heart. Now, one of them was actually fiddling with his penis.
"Is it really okay?"
Richie blurted out, his heart full of expectation.
Rosa was stunned. She opened her enchanting large eyes. Richie’s answer was definitely beyond her expectations.
She had originally been joking, but she didn't mind actually doing it once. She viewed sex as something trivial, something that was optional.
Maybe she could try? Rosa frowned as she unbuckled his belt, and Richie’s manhood sprang free, hot and thick.
It was the first time she had seen a man’s anatomy up close. She peered at it with a clinical, almost detached curiosity. In her eyes, it was a strange, somewhat grotesque organ—veined, pulsing, and reminiscent of a gnarled root.
She reached out to inspect it, and Richie, driven by a sudden surge of adrenaline, thrust his hips forward. The blunt head of his member brushed against her lips.
The contact startled her, but it also piqued her interest. She was a knight; she lived for discovery, no matter how visceral.
She wasn't someone who had never had sex before. When she was thirteen, out of curiosity, she had tried having sex with a partner slightly younger than her. The feeling of tasting forbidden fruit wasn't great; she only remembered it hurting a bit. During that sex, she hadn't used her mouth.
Similarly, Rosa hadn't heard that sex required the use of a mouth. At least when her circle of friends mentioned such things, none of them did it with their mouths.
Temporary curiosity made Rosa not refuse and let Richie do as he pleased.
Richie was still a bit worried at first. He was afraid Rosa would refuse, and even more afraid of her pranks. This woman could do anything; what if she took a bite...
After thrusting a dozen times and seeing that Rosa didn't react, he gradually let himself go.
Richie didn't hesitate. He placed his hands firmly on either side of Rosa’s head and guided his length deeper into her mouth.
The difference between a knight and a commoner was immediately apparent. When Isabella had tried this, she had gagged the moment he went too deep, her body rejecting the intrusion.
Rosa, however, was unfazed. Richie felt the head of his member slide past the base of her throat, encountering no resistance. He thrust with a newfound confidence, the sensation of her slick, warm interior driving him to the brink.
But just as he felt his control beginning to slip, Rosa suddenly pulled away, coughing slightly as she pushed him back.
"Not playing anymore. This isn't fun at all. I'm very uncomfortable."
Rosa shouted. At this moment, she didn't look like a mature twenty-two-year-old woman at all, but rather a little girl throwing a tantrum.
"It'll be comfortable soon, I promise."
Richie grabbed the hem of Rosa’s clothes and reached out to unbuckle her belt.
Because of his panic, Richie’s movements were a bit too fast. After unbuckling the belt, he pulled down Rosa’s pants along with the underwear inside to her knees.
After taking off the pants, Richie hesitated. This was a kitchen, and he couldn't even find a stool, let alone a bed.
Looking around, Richie picked up Rosa and put her on the water vat. The vat had a lid, which could barely serve as a bed for their tryst.
Rosa let Richie do as he pleased. Although it wasn't pleasant just now, it was novel. To be honest, she did want to see what kind of strange tricks this little guy could play.
She was very interested in all new things.
Richie, having last night's experience, was now something of a veteran. He gently spread Rosa’s legs. Her legs were very strong and powerful, without a trace of fat on them. Under the thin skin were hard muscles, which was a characteristic of almost all knights.
Richie aimed himself at the slick, inviting center of her heat and thrust his hips forward. As he seated himself fully within her, they both let out a low, involuntary whimper.
The entry was tight—almost impossibly so. He felt himself being squeezed by a series of powerful, rhythmic contractions, as if her very body were trying to claim him. It was a pressure far more intense and focused than anything he had felt with Isabella.
Richie’s feeling was that the place he inserted into was tight and narrow, almost forced in. It felt like a pair of hands were tightly gripping it, yet it was countless times softer and more delicate than fingers.
What was even better was that the tight little cave moved on its own. The tender flesh on both sides squeezed from time to time, and these layers of flesh also twisted occasionally.
Richie began to thrust. Last night he had been purely relying on instinct and manual labor; this time he had experience.
The Art he practiced only allowed for stealing life energy when the woman was at her climax, so it naturally included ways to make a woman reach her climax.
Although Richie couldn't use most of the techniques, he could use the simple ones.
Both his hands were constantly searching for Rosa’s sensitive spots. That small booklet recorded more than two hundred sensitive spots on a woman's body, most of which were on the surface. For each sensitive spot, there were specific aphrodisiac techniques.
However, Richie hadn't been able to remember that many yet; he only remembered the thirty or so main ones.
With Richie doing this, Rosa soon had a reaction. Her body trembled in waves, the space between her legs was a mess of moisture, and the small hole was filled to the brim. Every thrust was so powerful that she felt as if she were about to be pierced through.
This was simply incomparable to that first time she tasted the forbidden fruit. As Lina had described, it was truly comfortable and stimulating.
Of course, besides being comfortable, it was also a bit uncomfortable. Rosa felt as if something were scratching at her heart, an indescribable irritability. What was even more uncomfortable was the pants pulled down to her knees, which were like a pair of shackles, locking her legs so tight she couldn't even move them.
Rosa wanted to take her pants off, but Richie, whether intentionally or unintentionally, suddenly held her legs and pressed them against her chest.
Now she was even more unable to move. At the same time, she felt Richie’s thrusts becoming more powerful, like a pile driver, lifted high and then slammed all the way to the bottom.
Suddenly an unbearable soreness and itchiness came from the deepest part. Rosa let out a soft groan of "Ah..." and tried to straighten her waist. Unexpectedly, her body was tightly locked by Richie, and her struggle only made Richie’s penis go deeper.
"Mmm... ah... ah... ah..."
Rosa began to moan. She didn't like this damn sound, but she couldn't control it. It seemed she couldn't help but make this sound.
"Let me go, I'm being squeezed too hard."
Rosa complained.
She felt that Richie indeed loosened up a lot, but the thrusts beneath became even faster and more intense.
"Oh oh oh..."
She cried out in a series, her moans becoming faster and faster.
Richie’s waist also moved faster and faster, his penis likewise thrusting faster and faster, making a "pah pah pah" sound. Waves of pleasure also made him hum in a low voice.
Rosa’s passage was full of layers, with grooves and ridges inside. Thrusting through it felt wonderful, and the faster the thrusts, the stronger the sensation.
Suddenly Richie let out a low roar, and at the same moment, Rosa screamed high-pitched. Rosa’s climax was a violent, earth-shaking thing. She felt herself suspended between agony and ecstasy, her vision blurring as her body was racked by a series of electric tremors. Her inner walls spasmed around him, and a flood of her own warmth spilled over his length.
Richie felt her muscles clamp down on him with a predator's grip. His member throbbed in time with her contractions, the pressure reaching an unbearable peak. He felt a sudden, surging warmth—not a release of his own seed, but a literal flow of energy from her body into his.
It was the 'Life Energy' the Art had promised. It tasted of salt and summer rain, a vibrant, intoxicating stream that poured through his glans and into his very soul.
That warm stream, carrying Miss Rosa’s scent, gathered into his aura, nourishing it. The aura that had been only a tiny bit suddenly sprouted and shot up.
The fire that had accumulated in his body also rapidly dissolved into the aura.
This wonderful state lasted for half a minute. Both of their bodies were tense, and they didn't move at all.
When the passion receded, the warm stream finally stopped flowing, and both of them let go at the same time.
Rosa suddenly felt a surge of panic and couldn't help but feel a trace of shame. She glanced at the door. The door was half-crooked, and someone outside seemed to be peeking in this direction.
She only liked pranks, but she wasn't a loose woman like Lina. Doing this kind of thing with Richie was fine, but she couldn't stand being watched by others.
A bit annoyed and a bit resentful, Rosa frowned. She pushed away Richie, who was pressing against her, and got off the water vat lid.
Pulling up the pants that had fallen to her knees and putting them back on, Rosa’s face suddenly turned bright red. She clearly felt that between her legs it was wet and sticky, but she couldn't care about it for the moment.
Just as she was about to take a step back and keep some distance from Richie, Rosa suddenly felt dizzy. Her waist felt a faint soreness, and a sense of laziness spread from her bones, as if she were so tired she couldn't go on and wanted to rest.
A sudden wave of exhaustion washed over her. Her limbs felt heavy, and a deep, lazy warmth spread from her bones, as if she had just fought a marathon on the front lines.
She tried to circulate her aura, the standard method for a knight to purge fatigue, but the result left her stunned. Her internal energy had actually... diminished.
She looked at Richie, her confusion warring with a new, strange respect. She knew that sex could lead to children, but she had never heard of it draining a knight's very essence.
"You didn't release," she whispered, her hand instinctively touching the slick heat between her legs. There was no sign of the expected seed.
Richie nodded, his own heart hammering with the realization that the Art had worked.
Rosa reached out and traced a slow, provocative circle over the ridge in his trousers. "You're a dangerous one, aren't you?"
"Can I... can I see you again?" Richie asked, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.
Rosa laughed—a bright, genuine sound that held a hint of her usual mischief. "You still want more? You're certainly ambitious, little recruit."
She pulled a strip of bright yellow cloth from her pocket—a military warning banner. With a flick of her wrist, she draped it across the doorframe of Isabella’s house.
"This will keep the local vermin away," she said, her voice turning hard for a moment. "No one in this city is foolish enough to cross a Knight Corps seal."
She turned back to him, her emerald eyes dancing. "Now, back to the camp. You have a long day of training ahead of you. And if you’re good... maybe I’ll show you a few more tricks."
Richie followed her, his mind a whirl of magic, blood, and the promise of a power he was only beginning to understand. He was no longer just a laborer; he was a predator in the making.