A persistent, misty drizzle fell from the gray sky, carrying a subtle, biting chill.
The narrow, silent alleyways were slick and wet, pocketed with shimmering puddles of various sizes. Rainwater dripped rhythmically from the ancient, weathered eaves, drumming against the cobblestones. Behind tightly shut, narrow windows, the citizens of Glasslovar sought refuge from the damp cold.
Three umbrellas bloomed in the rain, the droplets pattering softly against their fabric. Underneath stood one young man and four women. Richie held his own umbrella, while the four women huddled closely beneath the remaining two.
To the women, the sight of these familiar streets was comforting, yet it felt painfully foreign after their ordeal. Having survived the horrors of the enemy camp, they were desperate to see their daughters. Yet, as they approached the threshold of the building, they hesitated.
Ingrid, Emily’s mother, took a few steps toward the entrance, only to retreat. Her face shifted from pale to flushed, her breathing shallow.
Richie stood quietly to the side, watching them.
Though he had only spent a short time with these four women, he had already begun to recognize their personalities. They shared a striking resemblance to their daughters—or rather, the daughters had inherited their mothers' defining traits.
Emily was an independent, headstrong girl, and Ingrid was much the same. Though Ingrid had behaved with uninhibited wantonness when they first met in the enemy camp, showing no trace of shame, a fierce resolve had flashed in her eyes the moment Richie promised to rescue them. Throughout their escape, she had remained far calmer than the others, offering him invaluable assistance.
Sophie was the youngest-looking and most delicate of the girls, timid and soft-spoken. Her mother, Teti, was her mirror image—a fragile, petite woman who had barely uttered a word since their rescue.
Ginny’s mother, Christina, was similarly petite, but her temperament differed from her daughter's. While Ginny was a captivating little vixen who knew exactly how to drive men mad, Christina possessed a pure, ethereal quality that made her look like an elf from an old fairy tale.
The true temptress among them was Shaya, Melissa’s mother. Every glance, every subtle smile she gave was loaded with allure. She wasn't the most beautiful of the four, and she was slightly older, but she possessed a magnetic grace that pulled at a man's senses.
When they had been stripped bare in the enemy barracks, crawling on the ground with mock tails inserted into their backs, their individual charms had been obscured by humiliation. But now, dressed in clean clothes and properly groomed, their distinct, alluring flavors shone through.
Seeing their hesitation, Richie easily guessed their concerns. They were terrified of how their daughters would look at them after what they had endured.
He knew he couldn't convince them with words.
He had two choices. The first was to turn and leave, letting them enter on their own. Without him witnessing the reunion, their embarrassment might be lessened. However, there was a high risk that if he left them alone, their shame would drive them to flee.
The second choice was to go in first, head upstairs, and bring the girls down. Even if the mothers tried to run, the girls would easily catch them.
After a brief hesitation, Richie chose the safer path.
Collapsing his umbrella, Richie stepped through the doorway. His movements were swift and silent; utilizing his Aura, he bounded up two or three steps at a time, quickly reaching the upper landing.
Finding the iron grate at the top of the stairs locked, he didn't waste time looking for a key. Drawing his heavy military dagger, he channeled his Aura and severed the iron latch with a single, powerful slash. He pushed the heavy wooden door open with enough force to shatter the lock mechanism.
Inside, the girls jolted in alarm. When they saw it was Richie, their tense shoulders relaxed.
"Quick," Richie urged, his voice low and urgent. "I've rescued your mothers. They're downstairs right now. But they've... been through a lot. Go down and bring them up."
The girls froze in disbelief. The moment the reality of his words sunk in, they let out cries of joy and rushed past him, tumbling down the stairs.
Only Isabella remained in the room with her younger siblings, having no parents left to welcome.
Seeing her standing there with a look of profound loneliness, Richie walked over and pulled her into his arms, gently patting her back. "Don't worry," he murmured near her ear. "You still have me."
Once Isabella’s tears subsided, he pulled a thick stack of banknotes from his pocket and pressed them into her hand. "Take this. If anything happens to me in the coming days, this will keep you and the children fed. Use it wisely, and it should last three or four years. By then, your brother will be old enough to share the burden."
Richie didn't mean to sadden her further, but his recent experiences on the front lines had taught him the terrifying fragility of life. In this war, even the most formidable Ace Knights could be snuffed out in an instant.
Isabella’s eyes welled with fresh tears, and she wept softly against his chest.
Outside the window, the sound of weeping drifted up from the alley. The girls had met their mothers.
Richie suddenly realized that Caroline had no one to comfort her either. Her mother was dead. Unlike Isabella, who had siblings to care for and keep her anchored, Caroline had always been a proud, pampered noble daughter. Now, she was entirely alone. The sudden, brutal drop from high society to a helpless orphan was a burden that could easily drive her to despair.
"Keep a close eye on Caroline over the next few days," Richie whispered to Isabella. "Her situation is even worse than yours. She has no family left. I'm worried she might try to end her life."
Hearing this, Isabella stopped crying. The realization that she wasn't the most tragic soul in the room—that she at least had her siblings to live for—gave her a fragile strength. She dried her eyes and nodded.
Downstairs, the weeping grew louder, gradually moving up the stairwell.
Richie realized he shouldn't hang around. While he harbored a wicked anticipation of seeing the four mothers and daughters together—wondering how the girls would behave in front of their mothers, and whether the mothers would expose the same wanton behavior they had shown in the enemy barracks—now was not the time. They needed privacy to weep and wash away their grief.
"I'm going to get some new locks," Richie whispered to Isabella. "I broke the locks coming in. Go hide the money safely."
Isabella nodded and led her siblings downstairs to join the others.
Richie went down the stairs. Halfway down, he met the girls and their mothers ascending. Every face was a messy tapestry of grief and joy, except for Caroline, who walked far behind the others, looking utterly hollowed out.
"I'm going to get some new locks and cut a few spare keys," Richie announced to the group.
He stepped beside Caroline and whispered, "You are not alone, Caroline. You have your friends. And you have me."
Seeing no response in her deadened eyes, he offered a practical hope. "You must have other relatives. Tell me their names, and I will find them for you. You don't have to be alone."
The spark returned to her eyes, just as he hoped.
"I have an aunt," she whispered, her voice trembling. "She married a wealthy timber merchant named Vincent. I also have a distant aunt who lives in Peines. My parents took me to visit her years ago, and she was very kind to me."
Richie nodded. "I'll start looking into them. We'll find them." Even if he couldn't find them immediately, the hope alone would keep her alive.
Taking an umbrella from the stand, Richie stepped out into the rain.
Acquiring locks was simple enough. He walked to a metal salvage yard where fixtures from abandoned or demolished buildings were piled high, waiting to be melted down. He slipped the guard a couple of coins and went inside to forage.
The salvage warehouse was damp and smelled of rust and mildew. After sorting through piles of junk, he found two relatively sturdy brass locks in good condition. Returning to the guard's shack, he handed over the locks and a handful of blank keys.
"I need twelve duplicates cut," Richie said.
It was a large order, but the guard didn't mind. The machinery and blanks belonged to the military, but the profit from the labor would go straight into his own pocket.
"It will take about three hours," the guard said, setting to work.
Richie didn't want to wait in the damp, trash-filled yard. He told the guard he would return in three hours and departed.
Walking back out into the rain, Richie wondered where to go. Three hours was too short to return to his family's home, and he couldn't go back to the girls' apartment yet. With the city turned into a massive military camp, his options were highly limited.
Then, he remembered the black market. It had been closed since the siege began, but he had nothing better to do.
Navigating the labyrinth of narrow, slick alleys, Richie cursed the weather. The old district's roads were terribly maintained, and the deep puddles splashed mud up his boots and trousers.
To his surprise, when he reached the hidden alleyway, the heavy black-painted wooden door of the black market was half-open. From inside came the steady, rhythmic *thud-thud* of a clever.
Inside, a stout, baldish man was chopping fresh pork on a massive wooden block. The meat looked remarkably fresh.
"Back in business with the outside world?" Richie asked, closing his umbrella.
The butcher startled, nearly chopping his own fingers. He opened his mouth to curse, but when he recognized Richie, the words died in his throat.
To run a black market during a siege, one had to be extremely well-connected and highly informed. The butcher knew exactly who Richie was, and more importantly, he knew Richie was the legendary Midnight Executioner. He also knew Richie preferred to keep his identity hidden.
"Ah, it’s you!" the butcher said, wiping his hands on his apron. "You've got perfect timing. The meat just arrived. Want a few cuts?"
Richie didn't refuse, but he only took a modest amount so as not to press his luck. In a besieged city, fresh meat was worth its weight in gold, and the butcher was showing him immense respect by offering it.
Seeing that pork was available, Richie figured other goods had smuggled in as well. He scanned the room. The black market operated entirely on the first floor of a dilapidated tenement. On a long table in the corner sat a dozen porcelain bowls, each containing a sample: a handful of green peas, a slice of cured ham, a link of sausage.
Richie pointed out a large assortment, purchasing a bit of everything. In these uncertain times, one never knew when the market would vanish again.
While the butcher's assistant packed the goods, Richie repeated his question about their supply lines.
The butcher didn't hide the truth. A man of Richie's standing would find out soon enough anyway.
"I heard the reinforcements have finally arrived," the butcher whispered. "Six full brigades have broken through the outer lines."
Richie fell silent. The enemy's desperate, near-suicidal offenses over the past few days made perfect sense now. They had known the relief force was coming and had tried to force a victory before the reinforcements arrived.
With this crucial piece of news, Richie had to return to camp immediately to inform Lina.
For the past two days, the squad's barracks had been locked tight. Everyone except Nora had been holed up in Randy's room, indulging in wild, uninterrupted debauchery. They wouldn't have heard a cannon fire outside, let alone a knock on the door. Lina was completely in the dark.
Paying for his purchases, Richie left the goods with the butcher, trusting his impeccable credit, and hurried back to camp.
It didn't take long. When he delivered the news to Lina, her eyes sharpened, and she dashed out of the barracks to verify it. Her networks were vast, but this time, she was gone for hours.
When she finally returned, she was carrying several large, elegant boxes.
Tossing one of the boxes onto Richie’s bed, she grinned. "There’s a grand ball tonight at eight. I’m taking you to see how the upper echelon celebrates."
Richie blinked, then let out an excited shout. He tore open the wrapping of the box. Inside lay an exquisite silk shirt with a finely ruffled collar, complete with a deep rose-red cravat. He immediately guessed what was in the other boxes.
Opening the next one, he found a tailored, royal-blue wool suit with shimmering gold buttons.
Richie knew these garments cost a small fortune, but Lina had never cared about money, and her taste was flawless. A strange mix of excitement and disbelief flooded his chest.
"No need to look so starstruck," Lina laughed, patting his cheek. "It's just cloth. I wanted to get something for Randy too, but she despises these formal affairs. Make sure you're back by six. Dressing you up and styling your hair is going to take time."
She nudged his back. "Go play for now, but move these boxes to your room first. The floor in here is damp."
Richie walked back out into the rain, his heart racing. He almost forgot the groceries he had left at the black market.
Retrieving his food from the butcher and the twelve cut keys from the salvage guard, Richie hurried back to the girls' apartment.
Nearly three hours had passed. The women couldn't possibly cry for three hours straight, and as he climbed the stairs, he heard the faint, muffled sound of laughter—soft, conspiratorial, and laced with an unmistakable, suggestive tone.
Richie smiled. From his own mother, Aunt Ling, and his cousin, he had learned that when women let their guard down, their conversations were far more scandalous than any man's.
Pushing the door open, he froze.
All the women were gathered in the main room, including Isabella and Caroline. The two orphans sat close together, their shared grief forging a rapid bond.
But what made Richie’s jaw drop was the four mothers.
They were completely naked, squatting on the floor.
Seeing the thick, milky fluid dripping slowly from their thighs, Richie immediately understood the cause. It was the horrific aftermath of the muscle enhancement serum, X23.
Calli and Nora had only been injected once, yet their bodies had been rendered hyper-sensitive, their skin burning with arousal from the mere friction of their clothing. These four mothers had suffered far worse.
Sophie’s mother, Teti, and Melissa’s mother, Shaya, had surrendered quickly to save themselves, but they had still been injected six times. Christina had resisted initially and had been injected three times, nearly losing her mind.
Ingrid, Emily’s mother, had been the most stubborn. The enemy soldiers had singled her out for "special treatment," injecting her dozens of times with double doses.
Now, their bodies were in a state of constant, agonized arousal. Even the lightest touch of fabric against their swollen intimate parts was a source of unbearable sensitivity.
When a woman's spirit was thoroughly broken by such torment, her transformation was beyond belief.
Ingrid, Emily’s mother, didn't hesitate. With a fluid, practiced motion, she dropped to her hands and knees and crawled toward Richie, her eyes wet and dilated with need.
A soft sigh echoed behind her. Shaya, Melissa’s mother, followed suit, crawling close behind.
Both women were highly intelligent. They had easily deduced the intimate relationship between Richie and their daughters. Their modified bodies desperately required a partner, and only the potent Aura of a Knight could satisfy their unnatural cravings. Richie was their only hope.
Sharing a young man with their own daughters, surrounded by their daughters' friends and friends' mothers, was a crushing psychological weight. Rather than fighting the shame and risking their daughters' disgust, they chose to lay bare their lowest, most depraved desires from the very start.
By exposing their utter debasement immediately, their daughters' shock would turn to pity, eroding any lingering resentment. Within a week, they would drag the girls into the same web of pleasure. Once the door was closed, they would all be the young Knight's playthings, and no one would have the right to judge another.
With this calculated desperation, the two mothers performed with frantic, expert devotion.
They deftly unbuckled Richie’s trousers and freed his hard length. Ingrid opened her mouth and drew the crown of his shaft inside, while Shaya leaned down to tease his lower sensitivity with her tongue.
Their styles were completely different.
Ingrid was intensely focused, her technique flawless. Not a single girl in his harem could match her mastery; even Lina would have to yield. Only Nora, with her mysterious Aura control, might surpass her, though Richie had never experienced oral pleasure from the silent scout.
Shaya's technique was less refined, but she kept her gaze locked onto his eyes, reading his every twitch and gasp. She adjusted her pressure with expert precision, maximizing his pleasure. Her expressive, dark eyes seemed to possess a life of their own, standardizing a seductive pull that left Richie’s mind spinning.
Richie suddenly recalled that Shaya, his mother, and Aunt Ling had graduated from the same academy. He resolved to sneak into that school one day to discover what kind of curriculum produced such exquisitely wicked women.
"Oh... yes... Ingrid, use that trick again," Richie groaned, his hips twitching in her mouth.
The moment the words escaped him, he felt a jolt of panic. It wasn't because he was being too loud for the girls in the room—at this point, shame had ceased to exist. He was worried about his family's attic next door; his mother, Aunt Ling, and cousin might be listening.
But the pleasure was too overwhelming to stop. Ingrid rolled onto her back, knowing exactly what he wanted.
Shaya yielded the front but immediately slid behind him, her long, flexible tongue teasing his lower entry. She felt a brief pang of jealousy toward Ingrid’s signature technique, but she was determined to show she had her own deadly arts.
Ingrid drew his massive length deep into her throat, swallowing him down to the root, her tongue swirling with intense, rhythmic suction. The vacuum of her throat massaged his shaft, sending waves of heat straight to his core, driving his arousal to a fever pitch.
After several minutes of this dual torment, Richie could no longer contain himself. He pulled back from Ingrid's lips, grabbed Christina by her slender waist, and rolled her beneath him. With a powerful thrust, he buried his throbbing member deep into her body.
He had chosen Christina for a reason. She was spectacularly beautiful—easily eclipsing the other mothers, and even surpassing many of the female Knights in his squad. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.
Her aura was one of pure, untouched grace, which only inflamed Richie’s desire to desecrate it. In the barracks, he had been gentle with her, only thrusting a hundred times to purge the worst of the serum from her system so she could walk. But now, he wanted to claim her completely.
Richie plunged into her, driving his shaft home. The crown of his member breached the soft, yielding barrier of her cervix.
He had noticed before that women injected with X23 possessed highly modified anatomy. Their cervixes became incredibly soft, acting like a second set of lips that tightly clamped and sucked the tip of his penis, while their vaginal walls developed countless sensitive folds that ribbed against his shaft. This biological modification was necessary; without it, an ordinary woman's body would be torn apart by the relentless, Aura-fueled lust of a Knight.
Richie thrust with wild, unrestrained force, burying himself to the hilt with every stroke. His hands roamed over her pale flesh. In the barracks, the female Knights rarely permitted such rough handling, but here, he was the sole master.
His hands were a source of magic. As his Aura grew stronger, his control over his touch became incredibly precise. By channeling raw Aura directly into a woman's nerve endings, he could produce pleasure a hundred times more intense than simple physical friction.
He had believed this was a unique trait of his irregular *Secret of the Stealing Heavens* manual. But after his encounter with Nora in the river, he knew other Knights possessed similar arts—and Nora was far more proficient than him.
Spurred by the thought, Richie accelerated his pace. He gathered his Aura at the tip of his manhood, trying to project it directly into the highly sensitive walls of her womb. The internal sensitivity of a woman was vast, and the direct stimulation of her core was an experience of pure ecstasy.
"Ah... ah... no..." Christina gasped, her body locking up. The psychological conditioning of the concentration camp made her terrified of making noise, and she stuffed her fist into her mouth to muffle her screams.
A heavy, wet splashing sound echoed through the room as her body convulsed, releasing a massive flood of fluid. Under the dual onslaught of his physical thrusts and Aura stimulation, she reached a shattering climax.
These modified women reached high peaks easily, but their recovery was incredibly fast—another biological side effect of the serum.
Richie’s relentless thrusts drew a thick lather of moisture from her, coating her thighs and leaving her buttocks slick and gleaming.
Watching the scene, the young girls in the room were crimson-faced, their eyes wide with shock and arousal. They had all shared Richie’s bed and knew his formidable stamina, but this savage display of dominance was beyond anything they had imagined.
Richie continued his furious assault until Christina’s limbs went limp, and she lay gasping on the floor, completely spent.
Shifting his focus, Richie pulled Ingrid toward him. She was his favorite.
He brushed his hand against her thighs and found her already dripping wet. He withdrew from Christina and plunged deep into Ingrid’s welcoming heat.
Ingrid let out a sharp gasp, her brow furrowing slightly as his thick girth stretched her.
Standing nearby, Emily’s entire body tensed. A complex mixture of embarrassment, anger, and grief warred in her chest, yet beneath it all, a strange, unbidden expectation bloomed. She couldn't tear her eyes away.
Richie began to move. Unlike his wild assault on Christina, he slowed his pace, savoring the exquisite contractions of Ingrid’s highly trained vaginal muscles.
He remained entangled with the four mothers until twilight, when the distant chiming of the city bells reminded him of the grand ball.
The mothers had collapsed into unconsciousness several times, yet their modified bodies recovered with terrifying speed. After a short rest, they were eager for more.
During the final hour, Richie had simply remained buried inside Ingrid, enjoying the gentle, rhythmic squeezing of her internal muscles as she pampered him with her deadly arts. He held the pure, beautiful Christina in his arms, playing with her delicate breasts and the swollen, sensitive flesh of her mons.
He had also enjoyed Shaya’s tireless tongue and her devastatingly seductive glances. The woman was a true master of sensory allure.
The only one who remained somewhat reserved was Teti. Like her daughter Sophie, she was fragile and meek, lying beneath him like a delicate log. Yet, she possessed her own charm; her skin was as smooth and white as fresh milk, and her bones felt incredibly soft, making her feel like a plush, living pillow.
By the time the five o'clock bells rang, Richie finally pulled himself away from their exhausted, slick bodies.
"What a pity I can't stay the night," Richie grinned, giving each of the four mothers a parting caress on their wet thighs. The gesture was normal to the seasoned women, but it made the young girls look away in embarrassment.
Emily, Melissa, and Sophie were utterly overwhelmed. The sight of their mothers—who had always been figures of authority and respect—behaving like helpless, begging pets beneath their classmate was a profound shock to their minds.
Only Ginny seemed entirely unfazed. A wicked spark gleamed in her eyes; she looked as though she wanted nothing more than to climb onto the bed and join her mother in Richie’s arms.
After washing up, Richie replaced the broken locks on the apartment doors and hurried back to the barracks.
The moment he stepped through the gates, he found Lina and Randy waiting for him, their arms crossed and expressions grim.
Before he could speak, two hands clamped onto his ears. Lina leaned close, her nose twitching as she sniffed his collar. A dangerous smile spread across her lips. "Smells like you've been playing with some very obedient pets. Was the mother-daughter combination to your liking, little lecher?"
She didn't wait for an answer, immediately twisting his ear.
Richie didn't dare resist. He looked up at her, wondering if she was actually jealous. The thought made him secretly pleased.
"Let him get dressed," Randy sighed, though she kept a firm grip on his other ear. "We're running late."
Randy gave his ear a final, warning squeeze before letting go. She knew Richie all too well; if they didn't keep a tight leash on him, he would eventually try to turn the female Knights of the squad into his obedient harem pets. She had to nip those thoughts in the bud.
The two women chuckled and set to work. For the next hour, they prodded and pulled him. Styling his hair took thirty minutes, and then they insisted on applying makeup. Richie felt utterly miserable.
If this was the price of high society, he would gladly remain a commoner.
When he finally stood before the full-length mirror, his jaw dropped in horror.
The boy in the reflection had flawless, rosy skin. His eyebrows were plucked and shaped like elegant crescent moons, and his lips were painted a deep, ruby red. He looked undeniably beautiful, but there wasn't a trace of masculinity left on his face. He looked like an effeminate aristocratic dandy, far worse than the sissies he had despised in school.
A shiver ran down his spine. He raised a hand to wipe the makeup off, but the cold, murderous glares from Lina and Randy behind him frozen his fingers.
From outside, the rhythmic clatter of hooves and carriage wheels signaled their ride had arrived.
***
The grand hall of the city hall was bathed in the warm, brilliant light of massive crystal chandeliers. Elegant waiters in pristine uniforms glided through the crowd, carrying silver trays laden with fine wines and delicate hors d'oeuvres.
Along one side of the hall stretched a massive banquet table filled with cold delicacies. At one end, a large iron grill crackled with charcoal, where several chefs were preparing hot dishes on the spot.
Richie stood directly beside the grill, his eyes locked onto the chef.
The poor chef was sweating profusely under Richie’s intense, unblinking glare, his hands shaking as he flipped the skewers.
Richie had ordered a mountain of food: half a dozen grilled oysters, a selection of thick beef and pork steaks, and half a leg of roasted mutton.
Among all the elegant guests in the hall, he was easily the most shameless.
But Richie didn't care. His dignity had already been forfeited the moment he looked in the mirror. Since his face was already lost, he might as well fill his stomach.
Besides, the food was spectacular. Most of these dishes were items he had only heard of but never tasted. It would be a crime to let them go to waste.
He noticed other guests stealing sideways glances at him, their mouths watering, but their noble pride kept them from approaching the grill. Richie felt a surge of smug satisfaction, looking down on their foolish vanity.
There were several youths his own age in the hall, but Richie dismissed them. They were either posturing desperately in front of the adults or looking completely lost.
To his relief, most of the noble boys were also heavily made up. Some looked even worse than him, their faces caked in white powder and heavy blush.
"I'm starting to regret bringing you here," Lina’s voice sighed from behind him.
She glided over, looking like a vision of pure royalty. She wore a stunning, off-the-shoulder gown of brilliant yellow silk, the fabric draped in elegant folds around her waist. She wore a delicate set of diamond jewelry that sparkled under the chandeliers, accentuating her bare collarbones and ample cleavage.
"I don't see anyone else complaining," Richie muttered, not breaking his gaze from the sizzling meat. "Look at that fat little noble boy over there. He's been staring at my plate for ten minutes. If his mother weren't holding his collar, he'd have charged over and ordered twice as much."
Since the siege began, food had become heavily rationed. Even the wealthy couldn't easily source fresh beef, let alone a grand feast. This spread had been brought in with the reinforcement brigades, and the High Command had thrown this ball to welcome the officers and boost morale.
Since the nobles were too proud to eat, Richie was happy to do it for them.
"If you keep embarrassing me, I’m never taking you out again," Lina threatened, though her tone was light.
"Fine by me," Richie grumbled, though he finally stepped away from the grill. "Dressing up like a circus monkey isn't my idea of fun anyway."
Despite his complaints, he was thrilled to be here. He had always listened with intense envy when his cousin and Aunt Ling spoke of the grand balls they had attended in their youth. He had pretended to be indifferent back then, but his heart had construct with longing.
As Richie took a bite of a juicy steak, he felt the heavy, measured step of a Knight approaching. Even without turning, his trained senses told him this was a formidable combatant.
The newcomer stopped beside them, staring at Richie with a highly amused, mocking expression.
He clearly wanted to laugh but didn't dare, knowing Richie's ridiculous appearance was undoubtedly Lina’s handiwork.
"Well, well," the tall Knight chuckled, turning to Lina. "I never thought I’d hear the fearsome 'Empress' lecturing anyone on decorum. Have you forgotten who shattered a wine bottle over an ambassador's head in Baltimore? Or who sent a young noble crying home with a ruined crotch at his own birthday party?"
The tall Knight was clearly an old acquaintance of Lina's.
Lina’s face instantly flushed with anger. Her right hand flew to her hip, her brow furrowing dangerously.
Seeing the "Empress" shift into her battle posture, the tall Knight immediately took a step back, crossing his legs and subtly shielding his groin. It was a reflex shared by many young men in the capital who knew of the unfortunate noble who had been kicked so hard by Lina that he was permanently unmanned.
In the capital, this defensive stance was jokingly referred to as "the audience with the Empress."
"Calm down, it was just a joke," the tall Knight raised his hands defensively.
"It wasn't funny," Lina snapped. "What are you doing here, anyway?"
"What else? We're here to rescue you," the Knight said proudly. But seeing Lina’s hand begin to twitch, he quickly dropped the bravado. "Alright, alright. The High Command decided the enemy is overstretched. They want to draw them into a major engagement and chop off one of their primary divisions."
He didn't worry about secrecy; he knew Lina’s family connections meant she could easily uncover these plans herself.
"Ah, so you've come to pluck the low-hanging fruit," Lina sneered.
The chef presented a plate of perfectly grilled oysters, the sharp scent of black pepper mixing with the rich, briny aroma of the seafood.
Without a trace of her previous lecture on manners, Lina snatched a plate, pointed at the oysters, and took four for herself. She tapped Richie’s cheek playfully. "Be grateful I left you two. Don't eat like a pig."
With that, she glided away with her plate.
Richie watched her go, utterly speechless. He had never met a more hypocritical woman.
"Must be tough, dealing with her," the tall Knight remarked, watching Lina's departing figure.
Richie focused on his remaining oysters. "I've had worse. She's actually one of the gentler ones."
He spoke from experience. Compared to the brutal training sessions with the three sisters or the agonizing lessons under his master Dana, Lina’s antics were a walk in the park.
Richie took a proper look at the tall Knight.
The man was handsome, standing nearly six-foot-three with a perfectly proportioned, athletic build. He had short, curly brown hair and a friendly, boyish face that radiated a warm, confident energy.
Richie was an expert at reading people—a survival skill forced upon him at his rough public school. He could tell this Knight was direct and free of malice.
Without asking, the tall Knight grabbed a clean plate and pointed at the remaining steaks on the grill. "Give me those."
Richie rolled his eyes. Lina’s friends were exactly like her—completely shameless.
The clever chef quickly sliced the steaks in half, serving both of them with a polite smile. "Please enjoy, gentlemen. I'll have more ready in a moment."
The tall Knight chewed his steak, staring at Richie for a long moment before speaking. "I heard you caused quite a scene at the Military Committee. You actually laid hands on an officer?"
Richie met his gaze. "Are you military police?"
The Knight blinked, startled, then shook his head.
"Then why do you care?" Richie said coldly. "And stop trying to look intimidating. It doesn't suit your face at all."
The Knight felt a headache coming on. In Richie, he saw the unmistakable, prickly attitude of the girls from Squad 105. He had heard that squad was entirely comprised of troublesome, razor-sharp women; spending too much time around them had clearly rubbed off on the boy.
"The military police is none of my business," the Knight said, maintaining his serious expression. "But you shouldn't have used the name of the Junior Army."
To his frustration, Richie didn't show a hint of guilt. He simply looked up at the ceiling, pretending to think. "Did I?"
"Don't deny it. I have witnesses," the Knight growled.
But his earlier display of fear before Lina had already exposed his soft core, and Richie didn't care. "If you say so."
Richie shrugged. "What a pity. I was planning to form my own little group and wanted to use that name. I guess I'll have to change it... maybe to the Youth Brigade." He adopted a posture of absolute, shameless indifference.
The Knight stared at him, speechless. He wondered who had taught the boy this masterclass in dodging accountability.
"Alright, let's speak plainly," the Knight sighed, realizing he couldn't outmaneuver the kid. "When I first heard about it, I was furious. But after looking into the details, I actually found myself admiring you. Are you interested in truly joining the Junior Army?"
Without a second thought, Richie replied, "Not interested."
He shot the Knight a dismissive glance. "Lina told me about your group. She said you're a bunch of disorganized rabble—some seeking attention, some with hidden agendas, but mostly just fools who lack brains."
He scanned the tall Knight up and down. "Which one are you?"
The Knight’s face froze, utterly humiliated. He wanted nothing more than to drag the brat outside and thrash him, but the thought of the violent Lina shielding the boy kept him in check. Lina’s protective nature and complete disregard for rules were legendary.
More importantly, he had investigated Richie's background.
A late-awakening Knight was rare, and they usually possessed terrible talent. Yet, Richie had risen to the verge of becoming a formal Knight in just over a year. Such progress was astounding.
He had also reviewed Richie's combat records. Richie’s kill count wasn't high, which was why he had been ignored by the High Command. But to anyone who truly understood combat, his records were fascinating. His bizarre *Mirror Reflection* technique was decent in a duel, but on a chaotic battlefield, it was a terrifyingly effective asset.
He desperately wanted Richie in the Junior Army, so he didn't dare push too hard.
"How is Lina doing? I heard she's close to breaking through."
"Your information is outdated," Richie said, not bothering to hide the truth. "She already broke through. She’s an Ace Knight now."
The Knight’s eyes widened. "Impossible. I haven't seen her name on the registry."
"She hasn't bothered to take the formal test, of course her name isn't there." Richie took advantage of the Knight’s shock to swiftly transfer the newly grilled steaks onto his own plate.
The Knight could only offer a bitter smile.
"Besides, isn't it better this way?" Richie added. "Hiding her strength means she can catch the enemy off guard on the battlefield."
He didn't mention the real reason: Lina simply couldn't be bothered with the paperwork. She had already set her sights on a much higher realm.
Suddenly, a low, resonant rumble vibrated through the hall.
Richie and the tall Knight froze, their brows furrowing simultaneously. In unison, they turned and ran toward the exit.
As they reached the doors, Lina came rushing over, her elegant gown held high as she sprinted with surprising speed.
"Does she always run like that in a dress?" Richie nudged the Knight.
The Knight stared blankly, lost in some childhood memory. "She’s been doing that since we were kids..."
Richie barely heard him. The thunderous roar of artillery grew deafeningly loud. This was no minor skirmish; the sheer scale of the bombardment signaled a massive, all-out offensive.
Though Squad 105 was currently undergoing recovery and wasn't scheduled for deployment, a major assault meant all hands had to be ready.
Without waiting for carriages, they plunged directly into the pouring rain, leaving the grand ball behind.