Life in the staging camp slowly returned to its routine.
The missing members of the squad returned one by one. Margaret and Rosa, who had suffered the lightest injuries, were the first to report for duty. Two days later, Robin also returned, followed by the second and third sisters, Aileen and Aima. A month later, the most severely wounded—Merlin, Ailie, and Richie's master, Dana—were finally discharged from the medical ward. Their injuries were far from fully healed, but they were out of danger.
Yet, Richie knew this peace was a fragile illusion.
On the night of the heaviest fighting, the enemy had secretly withdrawn their elite divisions, leaving only secondary reserve brigades to mount the furious assault. That relentless, bloody offensive had been a massive diversion, freezing the Republic’s attention for seventy-two hours.
By the time the High Command realized they had been duped, the quiet eastern front had been shattered, and a force of two hundred thousand enemy troops was pouring through the breach. Many of those divisions were the very same ones that had supposedly been besieging Glasslovar.
The city had been saved, yet it was already lost.
With the eastern front broken, the center line was untenable, and the western front was on the verge of collapse. Attempting to hold an isolated city like Glasslovar was both strategically pointless and tactically impossible.
An order to abandon the city was already circulating among the highest echelon, though it was kept strictly secret from the public. Squad 105 only knew of it thanks to Lina’s extraordinary connections.
Richie didn't dare spread the rumor. His mother was a gossipy woman who couldn't keep a secret to save her life, and while his father was tighter-lipped, he was far too soft-hearted.
Richie could only quietly make his own preparations before the situation turned catastrophic.
Outside Randy’s workshop sat a strange, custom-built vehicle. Its frame was welded from thick steel tubing, featuring one wheel in the front and two in the rear. It was an evolution of the passenger cart Emily had designed during their retreat from Morena, though it had been upgraded to a three-wheeled design, and the single saddle had been replaced by two rows of back-to-back benches.
This cart was built for a long-distance migration. The brutal retreat from Morena had been a nightmare, but it had taught Richie invaluable lessons.
His preparations didn't stop with the cart. In Randy's inner workshop hung a very special, customized Magitech Suit. Designing it had cost Randy several sleepless nights, leaving a few silver strands in her hair.
Richie walked over, gently stroking the smooth, flexible surface of the suit.
It possessed no rigid skeleton and no heavy armor plating. The outermost layer was woven from ultra-fine steel thread mixed with soft gold wire, forming a metallic fabric. Randy had layered and forged this fabric, resulting in a material that was incredibly thin and light. When worn, it felt like a second skin. It was exceptionally tough—capable of deflecting standard bullets and absorbing the kinetic shockwaves of a Knight’s ranged attacks.
Beneath this metallic skin lay tightly packed Synthetic Sinews, with a compact power core mounted at the center of the chest.
In a head-on battle, this suit was useless; it possessed zero offensive capability and negligible defense. Richie had designed it for a single purpose: escape.
If they encountered the enemy on the road, this soft armor would allow him to outrun any pursuit and carry his people to safety.
"Don't touch it. I'm still calibrating the joints," Randy’s tired voice sighed as she stepped out of the storage room. Her hands were full of colorful wiring and delicate mechanical parts.
These components were upgrades for Nora’s specialized suit, the *Green Iguana*.
The *Green Iguana* was similarly weak in direct combat, focusing entirely on stealth and reconnaissance. Its stealth shielding was useless to Richie; he had to transport nineteen people and a massive cart, a target far too large to hide. They would have to rely on forests and mountain paths for cover.
What Richie needed was the suit's advanced sensory suite.
The *Green Iguana* could perceive the minutest vibrations in the earth, map wind currents, and capture extremely quiet sounds from kilometers away. Richie didn't need to hear an ant crawling five kilometers away; he only needed to detect approaching patrols and hear conversations at a reasonable distance.
"Are you really not going to bring your parents with us?" Randy asked, wiping the sweat from her brow. "We can easily look after them. With Squad 105 shielding you, nothing will happen."
Richie wanted to do exactly that, but the risk of his parents discovering his relationship with the girls was far too high. "You don't know my mother," he sighed. "She is incredibly sharp-eyed, and she lives to uncover secrets."
He feared his mother, but he feared his father even more. Like any man married to a beautiful wife, his father was extremely observant and paranoid. Richie had seen his father secretly inspect his shaving blades to ensure no other man had used them. His father could read volumes from a single, fleeting glance between a man and a woman.
"I'm heading to Nora's room," Richie said, shifting the topic. "Do you think she'll teach me?"
He was always slightly uneasy around the silent scout.
Randy chuckled, tapping his cheek playfully. "Nora has her eccentricities, but she’s still a woman. She literally handed you her Medal of Valor; what is there to doubt?"
She reached down, her fingers teasing his manhood through his trousers with a wicked grin. "And if she refuses, don't you have your own... special methods?"
"You've grown wicked," Richie laughed, wrapping his arm around her waist as his hand slid down her belt. "Help me replenish my energy first."
Randy didn't refuse. Having shared his bed for so long, she had indeed acquired a taste for his wanton games. She tossed her tools onto the table and let him lead her into the adjoining bedroom.
***
An hour later, Richie emerged from Randy’s room, his face flushed with vitality.
Nora’s quarters were located in a secluded, dimly lit corner of the barracks. Richie had only visited once before, under his master Dana's guidance.
Pushing the door open, he stepped into near-absolute darkness.
Nora sat quietly in the farthest corner, her figure a mere shadow. She didn't speak as he entered.
"I... came to see you," Richie began, clearing his throat. "Are you doing well?"
Silence met his words. He couldn't even hear her breathing.
"Not glad to see me?" Richie stepped closer.
Still no response.
Richie felt a headache coming on. He was an expert at handling women, but a silent stone wall was beyond his expertise.
He had asked the other girls about Nora, but none of them knew anything of her past. He had initially believed her silence was a side effect of her specialized Recon Aura. But their intimate encounter in the river had revealed a deeper truth.
Her silence was a defense mechanism. She had suffered a profound trauma.
Richie suspected Nora had endured the exact same horrors as the four mothers; she had once been a helpless toy in the enemy camp.
Richie sat beside her on the narrow cot. Nora didn't move.
Abandoning any hope of verbal communication, Richie reached down and unbuckled her belt. He pulled her trousers down to her knees.
Nora remained completely passive, offering no resistance.
Richie reached between her thighs and found her already wet. He let out a soft sigh of relief; as long as her body responded, he could work with it.
He placed his hand over her sensitive core. His index finger teased her clitoris, his middle finger swirled at her entrance, his ring finger massaged her opening, and his pinky traced the highly sensitive bridge between her vagina and anus. He channeled a fine, steady pulse of Aura into his fingertips, letting the energy seep directly into her nerve endings.
This was his signature *Light Plucking and Slow Strumming* technique, also known as the *Nine Revolutions of Hell*. Even the insatiable Lina couldn't withstand it; during one of their wild games, he had driven her to six consecutive climaxes, leaving her so exhausted she had snapped her bounds to escape.
Nora’s body trembled slightly, her internal muscles contracting as moisture began to flow, but her reaction remained muted. Remembering their encounter in the river, Richie realized she was physically incapable of reaching a normal climax.
It was an unnatural state, but he didn't have time to ponder the cause; his own member was throbbing with painful hardness.
Lifting her hips, Richie plunged inside. The moment he entered, a powerful shiver ran down his spine. Her internal muscles clamped around his shaft with incredible force.
Bracing himself, he took a deep breath to master the overwhelming sensation.
He confirmed his suspicion: Nora was actively using her Aura to stimulate his nerve endings.
Her entire vaginal canal was packed with highly focused Aura, concentrating at her cervix. It felt like a warm, flexible mouth that tightly gripped the crown of his penis, massaging him with invisible, Aura-formed teeth.
The sensation was agonizingly intense, threatening to draw a groan from his throat.
Through their physical connection, he felt her mind.
Though her face remained hidden in the dark, he knew she was smiling—a cold, mocking, and deeply detached smile. It was her true face. She had locked herself away in the absolute depths of her own mind, a state of extreme, self-imposed autism.
Suddenly, the suction inside her tightened. Her cervix dilated, swallowing the tip of his penis completely.
"Oh... not again..." he gasped.
With a sudden, intense spasm in his lower back, Richie lost control, his semen erupting into her womb.
Nora’s silent, mocking smile widened. Her internal suction redoubled, vacuuming every drop of his release, pulling his vital energy and the residual power Randy had filled him with straight into her core.
Her Aura pathway was remarkably similar to his second manual. Both traversed the entire body, but while Richie’s Aura flowed through his sub-dermal muscles to build defense, Nora’s flowed through the outermost surface of her skin to enhance perception. Consequently, both paths were incredibly slow to cultivate.
Richie’s energy swirled through her meridians.
After several minutes, a refined portion of the energy flowed back through his member into his own body.
Richie felt a brief tightness in his chest. His total Aura volume had decreased significantly, but since he had recently broken through his bottleneck, his overall combat strength remained stable.
Aura volume was difficult to increase, but recovering lost energy was relatively easy.
As he wondered how many dual-training sessions it would take to restore his reserves, Nora suddenly rolled over, facing him. She pressed her lips against his.
At the same moment, a delicate, pulsing thread of Aura flowed through their connection.
It was the *Mutual Refinement* technique Lina had taught him. He was certain no one had shared it with Nora, yet she executed it flawlessly.
Richie quickly merged his remaining Aura with her thread. The unified energy swirled through his body before returning to hers. Once the cycle was established, the energy flowed naturally along the path without requiring their active focus.
Richie lay back, letting her set the pace.
She swallowed his entire shaft, drawing even his testicles into her entrance. As her internal muscles massaged his groin, Richie experienced a level of pleasure that transcended simple release—a state of continuous, exquisite sensation.
Remembering his goal, Richie hesitated. Was it the right time to ask?
Before he could speak, Nora’s flat, telepathic voice echoed directly in his mind. "What do you want?"
Richie startled. Her lips hadn't left his.
Nora answered her own question. "Telepathy."
Richie recalled his breakthrough on the battlefield. He hadn't realized he had broken through until Nora told him, and she had guided him to ground his Aura. It had indeed been a form of mental connection.
Having his thoughts read so easily was unsettling, but he couldn't afford to offend the mysterious scout.
"Can you teach me the Recon Scout arts?" Richie projected his thought back. "I only need to enhance my sight and hearing for the journey."
No answer. Nora remained perfectly still.
Richie wondered if his mental projection had failed. But then, a highly refined, foreign thread of Aura flowed into his body.
It felt identical to the pure, concentrated energy seed he had received when taking a virgin Knight's maidenhood. But Nora was no virgin.
This *Seed of Power* was incredibly precious. It didn't merge with his existing Aura; instead, it took root, altering his own energy to inherit its unique properties.
The seed traveled along a highly unorthodox path: it flowed across the surface of his skin, weaving through his eyes, ears, nose, and tongue, before consolidating at the base of his brain and settling into his pineal gland.
It was a bizarre manual that didn't form a closed loop, explaining why it was so difficult and slow to cultivate.
With this new addition, Richie had now learned seven or eight different manuals. To any ordinary Knight, this would mean academic ruin. Knights focused on a single manual; a rare few cultivated a second as a utility, and almost no one attempted a third. A foreign pathway was like a leak in a pipe, causing one's primary Aura to bleed away.
But Richie didn't care; his Aura came easily from his harem. The girls didn't care either; except for Lina, most of them had cultivated three or four different manuals to enhance their utility. Lina had only resisted because her family manual was of the absolute highest tier, and she refused to dilute it with lesser arts.
Richie remained buried deep inside Nora, their bodies perfectly aligned. The exchange of energy was seamless, achieving a level of efficiency that rivaled a single person's training.
"Join us in Randy's room tonight," Richie projected.
Nora fell silent.
"Are you shy?" Richie probed gently. "Or does it bring back bad memories?"
Nora’s expression remained flat and unreadable.
"I'll take your silence as a yes. I'll carry you over tonight," Richie said dominantly.
Nora finally responded. "A mix of too many different Auras will dilute my sensory purity. It is not good for me."
Her logical, flat response left Richie with no argument. A Recon Knight's value lay entirely in their senses, not their combat strength; maintaining that purity was paramount.
***
As the days bled into weeks, the rumors of the city's abandonment grew too loud to ignore.
The public was gripped by panic. The horrific memories of the Morena massacre were fresh in their minds, and many declared they would rather stay and submit to the enemy's occupation than risk being slaughtered on the road.
Richie ignored the panic; his own plans were set. He had secured a safe position for his father at the quartermaster depot in the suburbs of Peines through Lina’s influence, and his own leave of absence had been officially approved.
His focus was on helping his girls break through their bottlenecks. Merlin, the three sisters, and Rosa were all on the verge of advancement. Only Rosa remained lazy, frequently skipping their nightly dual-training sessions to Richie's immense frustration. He often joked about injecting her with X23 to turn her into an obedient, helpless pet who couldn't live without his touch.
Richie visited the girls' apartment. The living room had been transformed into a chaotic tailoring workshop, filled with scraps of heavy canvas.
A massive cauldron bubbled over the fireplace, filled with a thick, yellow-green paste made from green pea flour and lard. It smelled strongly of onions, ginger, and black pepper. The mothers were busy scooping the paste onto trays, shaping them into durable survival cakes.
On the window sill, bamboo mats held drying cakes and thin strips of salted meat.
When Richie entered, the girls and their mothers paused their work. Isabella’s younger siblings ran over, begging for treats. Richie slipped them each a sweet and sent them away.
"Are we leaving soon?" Shaya, Melissa’s mother, asked. She had naturally assumed the role of leadership among the mothers.
"Not for a few days," Richie said, tasting a bit of the pea paste. It tasted terrible, but it was highly filling and wouldn't spoil on the road.
"Where are the clothes?"
Isabella reached under the bed, pulling out a stack of heavy, slate-gray garments.
The survival suits were custom-designed: a one-piece jumpsuit with an integrated hood and adjustable straps to seal the cuffs. The heavy double-layered canvas was lined with thin steel plates. They weighed nearly ten pounds each, but they could deflect a bullet at two hundred meters.
"They're too heavy," Ginny complained, pouting.
Richie glared at the little vixen. Everyone else had worked in silence, yet she was the only one complaining.
The mothers had spent a week hand-sewing these suits for everyone in their group, including Richie's family.
"Where are my parents' suits?"
Isabella and Caroline sorted through the pile, locating four suits with name tags sewn into the collars.
Richie gathered the suits, preparing to leave.
"Leaving so soon, handsome?" Ginny purred, swaying her hips provocatively. "Aren't you going to punish us today?"
With a sharp *smack*, Christina swatted her daughter's head, glaring at her.
Richie hadn't intended to indulge, but the sight of the mother and daughter—sharing identical, stunning features yet radiating completely opposite energies—ignited his lust.
He tossed the suits onto the floor, scooped both women up in his arms, and threw them onto the bed. Within seconds, their trousers were stripped away.
Richie freed his massive member and plunged straight into Ginny's heat.
He had expected her to be tight and dry, but to his surprise, she was already incredibly wet. His shaft buried itself to the hilt with ease.
"Oh... yes... rub me... use that massive thing to break me..." Ginny cried out, her moans uninhibited and wild.
Her loud, desperate cries drove Richie wild. He had many beautiful women in his harem, but few of them knew how to make such delicious noise. He thrust with frantic speed.
"Oh... yes... you're so good to me... ah... I'm going to leak..." Ginny gasped, her body locking up as her vaginal muscles clamped around his shaft. A massive release of fluid soaked the sheets.
"You're a wild one," Richie laughed, giving her bare buttocks a sharp smack that left a deep red print.
"More... break me... I want to die under that massive rod..." Ginny whimpered, her eyes dilated with pleasure.
Richie thrust a few more times, savoring the intense contractions. Then, he paused.
The internal muscles felt remarkably different. They were tighter, far more elastic, and lined with dense, sensitive ribs.
He turned to Christina, who lay nearby. "What did you do to her?"
Christina’s face turned crimson, her eyes darting away in embarrassment.
"Isn't it obvious?" Shaya walked over, leaning against the bedpost. "Your member is too massive for our daughters to bear safely. You've been careful, but a single moment of lost control could tear them apart. So, we gave them a small dose of the serum."
"Where did you get it?" Richie asked, stunned.
"The soldiers left five vials in our survival kits. We found them after you rescued us," Shaya explained.
Ginny crawled close, her voice dripping with mock distress. "It was so painful! They had to inject it everywhere—my breasts, my clitoris, my entrance... it was torture!" She pointed a finger at Emily. "She’s the one who distilled the sterile water. She’s an accomplice; you have to punish her!"
Richie grinned. He was always happy to oblige. He walked over, scooping Emily up, and dragged her mother Ingrid along with them.
The bedroom was soon filled with a symphony of gasps and moans. Emily was the most stubborn of the girls, always refusing to cry out or beg. Breaking her pride and forcing her to yield beneath him was an exquisite pleasure.
He noticed Emily's body had also responded beautifully to the serum. Her internal muscles contracted with near-Knightly strength, and she possessed a remarkable sensitivity. More importantly, she had clearly learned some of her mother's legendary techniques; her internal muscles massaged his shaft like countless tiny lips.
Richie gave Emily’s hip a sharp pinch, muttering, "You stubborn little genius. You act so cold, yet you've been secretly practicing these wicked arts."
Ingrid had undoubtedly taught her in secret.
A dangerous realization dawned on him: the girls were beginning to compete for his favor, their jealousy fueling a quiet war within the harem. In peacetime, this would be harmless, but in war, internal friction could be fatal.
He couldn't stop them from being jealous, but he could ensure they lacked the energy to fight.
He flipped Emily over, raising her legs to his chest, and began to pump with ruthless, rhythmic force.
Within minutes, Emily’s pride shattered, and she began to beg. "No... stop... I can't... I'm going to break..."
Her eyes rolled back, her body trembling violently as a flood of moisture escaped her. The sheer intensity of the pleasure proved too much, and she fainted in his arms.
Ingrid immediately moved in, her delicate hands massaging his testicles and anus, her touch a silent invitation to spare her daughter.
Richie obliged, sliding his hard length into Ingrid’s welcoming heat.
***
By the time Richie left the apartment, twilight had fallen. He had thoroughly satisfied every woman in the harem, ensuring they would remain compliant for the journey.
He slipped down the narrow alleys, finally returning to his family's home.
As he reached the door, he heard muffled voices and frantic rustling from within.
Unlocking the door, he stepped inside, only to hear his father's panicked shout: "Who's there? What do you want?"
Richie froze in embarrassment.
The room was dim, the curtains drawn. His father was kneeling naked on the bed, while his mother huddled beneath the sheets.
It was obvious what they had been doing.
His father's face turned crimson. "This... this is all because of the noise next door..." he stammered, trying to defend his dignity.
"Don't worry about it. I'm heading up," Richie said, darting up the attic stairs.
In the attic, his cousin and Aunt Ling sat on the mattress, their faces flushed and sweat beading their noses as they pulled the blankets to their chins.
Richie knew they had also been indulging in their own private pleasures. The boarding school they had attended had clearly left them with a lifelong craving for intimacy.
A few minutes later, his father knocked on the floorboards. "You can come down now."
The living room had been tidied, the bed made, and the curtains drawn.
His mother stood by the fireplace, her face still red but radiating the warm, mature beauty of a satisfied woman. She stirred a pot of stew that had been simmering all afternoon.
An awkward silence hung over the table. His father busied himself with the chairs to hide his embarrassment.
"Dad, why are you home?" Richie broke the ice.
"The hospital is overflowing with casualties. Since my wounds are mostly healed, they discharged me," his father explained. "I've been home for two weeks. I was supposed to report back to my unit, but the military is in such chaos that no one has noticed my absence."
"The city is going to fall," Richie said directly. "When are you planning to evac?"
The three women froze. The horrific rumors of the road had left them terrified of leaving the safety of the city walls.
His father sighed, touching his old wound. "I'll go when the orders come. But..." He trailed off. He had heard the reserves might be disbanded, leaving them to fend for themselves.
"Dad, I’ve secured a position for you at the military quartermaster depot in Peines. It’s a busy job, but it offers double hazard pay and a private villa for the family in the suburbs."
"Really?" his mother gasped, her lifelong dream of living in the capital suddenly within reach.
"It sounds wonderful, but the road is far too dangerous," Aunt Ling snorted from the corner.
His father glared at her. "Some people just hate to see others succeed."
Aunt Ling sneered, turning her back.
Richie felt a headache coming on; these two couldn't stop bickering for a single second.
"Is the road truly that dangerous?" his mother asked, her excitement cooling.
"I made it back safely once, and this time, we have a custom three-wheeled passenger cart. No one will have to walk a single mile," Richie reassured her.
"A carriage?" his mother’s eyes lit up.
"Can we travel with your Knight division?" his cousin asked.
Richie spun his pre-prepared lie. "The Knights travel across mountains and forests where no carriage can follow. We would never keep up."
"And who else is traveling with us?" his mother asked.
"A few of my classmates. We're grouping up for safety."
"How many?"
"Nineteen in total, including us," Richie said honestly.
"Nineteen people in one carriage?" his mother scoffed.
"It's a massive cart, Mother. You've never seen anything like it." Richie knew her vanity; she hated to be called ignorant, especially in front of Aunt Ling.
"Of course I've seen it!" she snapped, picturing a massive funeral hearse. "I just wondered how you secured one during a siege."
"You all go," Aunt Ling declared. "I'm staying here."
"Mother..." his cousin tried to argue.
"Staying is a wonderful idea," his father sneered. "I heard the Varedin soldiers separate the men and women. The men are worked to death, and the beautiful women are kept as naked pets, crawling on the ground with collars and tails..."
"Shut your filthy mouth!" his mother snapped, pinching his father's ear. "Where did you hear such disgusting lies?"
Richie watched his father suffer, secretly laughing. He would never tell his mother that those stories had originated from his own mouth.
Once his father’s ear was thoroughly red, Richie chimed in. "It’s not a lie, Mother. When we overran the enemy command camp, we found a massive barracks filled with those naked women. They wore collars and had mock tails inserted into their backs..."
Before he could finish, his mother let go of his father's ear and clamped her fingers onto Richie’s cheek.
"Like father, like son," she huffed.
"He's lying," his cousin sneered.
"I swear it's the truth! I even brought one of the tails back!" Richie cried.
His father’s eyes lit up with sudden interest before he quickly looked down at his fingers.
The three women fell silent, their curiosity piqued. If his father hadn't been in the room, they would have demanded a full demonstration.
But Richie's words had achieved their purpose. Aunt Ling looked thoroughly terrified, her stubborn resolve to stay in the city completely shattered.