Under the gloomy night sky of Glasslovar, a dark figure flickered in and out of sight like a ghost.
The shadow slipped silently into a house. It was a small room, yet five people were crammed inside: a couple lying on the bed and their three sons sleeping on floor mats.
The figure moved slowly toward one of the sleepers.
By the hazy moonlight, the figure carefully identified the man's face. Once confirmed, he reached out. Suddenly, his movements became as fast as lightning—one hand cupped the man's cheek while the other braced his neck.
With a soft "crack," the neck was snapped as easily as a thin twig.
A man was dead just like that, while the others in the same room remained blissfully unaware.
The shadow slowly retreated the way it had come and disappeared into the night...
***
In the camp, the rhythmic clanging of strikes was incessant, occasionally punctuated by a sharp reprimand.
Richie was wielding two heavy shields, parrying a flurry of attacks from Miss Dana that rained down like a downpour.
Compared to when he first started, he had indeed made significant progress. Although his movements were not yet perfectly fluid, he could already counter her moves and withstand Dana’s forceful onslaught—provided, of course, that Dana didn't use any special combat techniques.
It wasn't just about blocking. The shields in Richie’s hands weren't held rigidly; they were slightly tilted.
Every time the staff struck a shield, it would inadvertently dip or rotate. While most of the time this had no effect on the falling blows, occasionally the staff would be deflected to the side.
Richie had begun practicing the "Deflecting Close Strike," though he only dared to practice the deflection technique for now; the "close strike" part was still far beyond his current reach.
Morning training ended at six, and a famished Richie immediately headed for the kitchen.
Miss Merlin, the vice-captain, ran the kitchen; she was the only one in the squad capable of doing so. The others were either too impatient or simply uninterested.
After greeting Miss Merlin, Richie rushed to the stove, where two field pots were simmering.
"It's braised beef brisket."
Richie was exceptionally excited. Even in the Knight Corps, one didn't often get to eat such good food.
"Wash your hands first," Merlin said with a smile.
Richie had always been obedient toward this gentle and kind vice-captain. To be honest, in the entire squad, she was the one who made him feel most comfortable—a feeling he had previously only felt around his mother.
Trays and bread were laid out on the counter. Richie unceremoniously filled a tray with brisket and then grabbed six hard rolls before sitting down at the nearby dining table.
The kitchen also served as the dining area, but he was the only one eating there; the others would take their meals back to their own rooms.
This was hardly surprising. As knights—regardless of gender—their appetites were staggering. This pot of food would have served fifty in other regiments, yet here there were fewer than ten people.
Even someone as aloof as Captain Calli was very conscious of her image, let alone the others. So, when it came to eating, they would all retreat to their private rooms.
The kitchen gradually became livelier as the others came to collect their meals.
Just as Richie was enjoying his rare feast, a stack of papers was tossed onto the table in front of him.
The person who threw them was Captain Calli. This ice-cold woman didn't say a word, turning away to get her own food.
Richie knew what those papers were. He carefully folded them and tucked them into his inner pocket. These were his targets for tonight.
Currently, his life moved to a jagged, exhausting rhythm: by morning, he was the model student; by afternoon, he was a laborer and apprentice in the Knight Camp; and by night, he was an executioner stalking the shadows.
Over thirty souls had already been reaped by his hand. They were the lowest of the low—thugs, rapists, and parasites who fed on the misery of the Old District.
Yet, these vermin were untouchable by the law. They knew exactly how to skirt the edge of a sentence, their crimes often reduced to simple brawling or public nuisance. Even if caught, they’d be back on the streets within days, emboldened by their brief stint in a cell. The police were either powerless or bought, and the city’s elite had long since turned a blind eye.
Richie wasn't a fool. He knew someone high up was moving the pieces. Calli’s intelligence was too perfect—names, faces, habits, even the floor plans of their hideouts.
The High Command wanted the city purged of its filth, and they had found a tool willing to do the dirty work. In exchange for the blood on his hands, they were giving him a future. It was a trade he was more than happy to make.
***
In the captain's office, Miss Dana looked at the captain with some dissatisfaction.
"Why are you doing this? Are you trying to turn my apprentice into an executioner?"
Captain Calli continued eating. Richie was wrong about at least one thing: these female knights didn't mind being seen eating by their own gender; they only cared about being seen by the opposite sex, even if that male was much younger than them.
"Answer me. What are you and those guys at the top really thinking?" Dana was becoming annoyed.
"Do you really want to know?" Calli glanced at her vice-captain. "It's wartime. An extra knight is always good. The High Command believes that if the lives of a few scumbags can be traded for a single knight, it's a deal worth making."
She looked out the window. From here, she could see Richie walking toward the gate, swinging his schoolbag.
"You've surely noticed as well. Lately, the boy’s strength has been growing at an incredible rate—unimaginably fast. I've seen several so-called geniuses, and not one can compare to him. Do you know what that means?" Calli asked.
Dana remained silent. She knew exactly what the captain was referring to.
The world sometimes showed a fair side: Anomalous Knights often possessed a striking advantage in a specific area.
It appeared that Richie’s advantage was his growth potential.
For a knight, natural talent was important, but growth potential was even more critical. It was like a golden goblet versus a clay jar: the goblet could hold far less than the jar. If one only compared utility, the golden texture and the clay nature became less important.
While Dana and Calli were discussing Richie’s potential, Richie was wondering how he could seduce Miss Rosa into having sex with him again.
Others didn't know the reason for his rapid growth, but he knew it well. The benefit that single act of lovemaking had brought him far outweighed all the hard training he had done recently.
The life energy he had stolen had only recently fully merged into his aura. Two days ago, that energy had been completely exhausted, and he could clearly feel the growth of his aura slowing down significantly.
When it came to Miss Rosa, Richie had something of a headache. This woman didn't play by the rules and was incredibly fickle. She might agree as easily as she had the first time, but she was just as likely to refuse outright. What he feared most was that she would agree but then play some prank on him instead.
With his mind occupied, Richie couldn't fully concentrate on his classes.
Unlike before, after his encounter with Isabella, he had somehow managed to enter that small circle of beautiful girls—apparently because Isabella had put in many good words for him.
While this earned him the favor of many girls, it also drew the jealousy of the boys in class. Unfortunately, no one knew that the current Richie had no interest in any of it. He at least remembered the words the adjutant had told him: "A knight and an ordinary person can never be together."
When school let out at noon, Richie grabbed his bag and ran. As he neared the school gate, he saw several boys significantly taller than him pacing back and forth.
Upon seeing Richie, they immediately moved toward him.
Richie had no liking for these guys. The people who had helped inject him with X23 were his own classmates. While they weren't career criminals, when they turned cruel, they were no better than the scum he hunted at night—perhaps even more ruthless.
Thugs at least feared the law and operated on its edge, knowing how far they could go without crossing the line and when to let go. Thugs also never did anything without profit.
But these students had no such considerations; they cared more about "face." In the heat of the moment, they would do anything—just like the ones he had killed before.
Richie had no intention of stopping. He charged straight ahead, and the two sides collided.
Starting a fight by "accidentally" bumping into someone was their specialty, but this time they hit a brick wall. Richie had bumped into them on purpose. At the moment of impact, he even used the "Deflecting Close Strike" he had been practicing.
With a slight shrug of his shoulder, Richie easily redirected the force of the collision to the side. However, he was no saint; "taking a hit without hitting back" was not his creed.
As he redirected the impact, Richie threw his weight into a sudden lunge, returning the force of the collision tenfold.
The first went down, then the second. He broke through their line with ease.
He cast a casual glance behind him at the guys groaning on the ground. A sense of satisfaction filled his heart; this time, he hadn't used his knightly strength at all, relying purely on technique.
Suddenly, he came to a halt, savoring the sensation from a moment ago.
Those few impacts had felt far clearer than half a day of sparring with his master.
Master Dana’s strikes were too fast, and her control of power was too perfect. These guys were different; their attacks were purely instinctive, their punches had no form, and their speed was as slow as a snail.
An idea began to take shape in his mind. Perhaps he could use brawling with others as a way to practice the "Deflecting Close Strike." Once he had mastered it on ordinary people, he could then spar with Master Dana.
The more he thought about it, the better the idea seemed. He bolted out of the school gates.
***
After class, Richie always stopped home first. Since both his school and home were in the Old District, he could drop off his bag before heading to the camp.
Just as he reached the upstairs landing, he paused. The sound of women chatting and laughing came from inside.
*Had the women from the three families who bought the lower floors come up for a visit?*
Richie found it hard to believe. Those three families were wealthy and looked down on his family. During the initial transaction, two of them had even had disputes with his family. To this day, they wouldn't even greet each other in the stairwell.
Filled with doubt, he pushed the door open. He saw his mother sitting in a chair, while on the room's only sofa sat two women—a mother and daughter. The older woman was poised and elegant, wearing a deep purple dress, a black hairnet, and a wide-brimmed hat decorated with ostrich down. She appeared slightly younger than his mother.
"Richie, why didn't you knock before coming in? Have you no manners?" his mother complained. This was her habit; whenever outsiders were present, she became stiff and exceptionally strict—likely a manifestation of her strong vanity.
"This is your Aunt Ling and your cousin Catherine. They’ll be staying with us for a while. Mind your manners," his mother introduced them, not forgetting to issue another warning.
Richie knew he had two aunts, but they had married into distant places and rarely kept in touch.
Aunt Ling was his mother's youngest sister. She had married the best—to a leather merchant—but her luck had also been the worst, as she was widowed shortly after her daughter was born.
From what his mother had said, Aunt Ling was a formidable woman. She had managed to sustain the business her husband left behind single-handedly, not only keeping it from collapsing but growing it even larger than when he was alive.
"If I had known you were coming, I wouldn't have sold those lower floors," his mother said politely to Aunt Ling. "Now I have to ask you two to squeeze in with us. There's an attic upstairs where Richie stays. Catherine is about the same age as our Richie, so let them stay together. We sisters will take this room. Richie’s father is in the Reserve Regiment and is rarely home, with only one day off a month."
Richie stole a glance at his newly met cousin. She was half a year older than him. Perhaps due to her wealthy background, she was very well-developed—the complete opposite of Isabella’s slender, fragile frame. Their temperaments were also worlds apart; his cousin gave him an air of being somewhat haughty.
In terms of looks, his cousin was certainly a beauty. Her hair was tightly curled and glossy black, and her skin was a healthy wheat color; she clearly wasn't a sheltered girl who stayed indoors all day.
His head began to throb slightly. Staying in the same room with such a girl would surely provide many opportunities for "wonderful views," but it would also bring a lot of trouble.
The biggest trouble: how was he supposed to sneak out in the middle of the night? He still had his job as an executioner.
Suddenly, Richie found it a bit amusing. Lately, it seemed he was having a streak of luck with women; he was surrounded by them everywhere, as if he had fallen into a kingdom of ladies.
***
Upon reaching the camp, Richie immediately bolted for the kitchen. Since the morning meal had been braised beef brisket, there was bound to be something good for lunch.
Just as he reached the kitchen door, his mouth began to water. The rich aroma of mutton haggis soup wafted toward him.
The kitchen was empty; he was usually the last to eat at lunch. Lifting the pot lid, he found plenty of good food left inside—surely the others had saved it for him. Being the youngest had its perks; he was always given a bit of extra care.
The bread here was help-yourself, almost unlimited, though it couldn't be taken home.
He grabbed two rolls and tossed them into the soup; he loved eating this way. The rolls, soaked in the rich broth, would slowly release their flavor in his mouth—truly delicious beyond words.
Just as he was waiting for the bread to fully soak, the sound of footsteps came from behind as someone entered.
It was Miss Lina. She was wearing a fencing suit for swordsmanship practice. A fencing suit was a thick, tight-fitting garment that, when worn by a woman, perfectly accentuated her curves.
Richie couldn't help but steal a few extra glances. His throat tightened, and his mouth went dry. The internal fire that had subsided for a while suddenly flared up again.
Coming to the kitchen usually meant only one thing. Lina lifted the pot lid to find it empty.
Turning to look at Richie, Lina caught him staring—his eyes scanning that small area between her legs.
"Little guy, you're not very honest, are you?"
Lina sashayed over. This petite, red-haired woman walked with more sex appeal than anyone he had ever seen.
In the camp, Lina might not have been the most beautiful, but she was definitely the one with the most "womanly" charm.
In that regard, the only one who could compete was Miss Merlin.
Miss Merlin’s charm was the kind that belonged in the parlor or the kitchen, but the red-haired woman before him was a quintessential bedroom temptress.
She wasn't too tall or too short, and though not voluptuous, she was perfectly proportioned. Her legs were long and alluring, and her features could only be described with one word... seductive.
Richie quickly lowered his head, not daring to look further, though in his heart, he wished he could see more—ideally, Miss Lina completely naked.
Lina clearly had no intention of letting him go. She sat beside him, her left hand reaching out with a playful, predatory confidence to cup the growing swell in his trousers.
"My, my. What have we here? A little stowaway?" she teased, her fingers tracing the rigid length. Even through the fabric, the heat and pressure were unmistakable.
Lina was a connoisseur of men. A single, expert squeeze told her everything she needed to know about Richie’s potential.
Suddenly, Richie felt a hot, wet sensation against his ear. Lina had leaned in, her chin resting on his shoulder, her tongue tracing the shell of his ear as she blew a warm, intoxicating breath into his ear canal.
"Does that feel good? I bet it does," she whispered, her voice a low, husky purr. "Want to see what else I can do?"
Richie wasn't made of stone. The fire in his blood was a roaring inferno now. He reached out, his hands searching for the curves of her waist.
"Careful now," she whispered, pulling back just enough to tease. "Are you sure you want your master to walk in and find you like this?"
The mention of Dana was like a bucket of ice water.
If anyone—especially the Captain or Randy—saw them together like this in the common kitchen, it would be the end of him. At best, he’d be cast out; at worst, he’d be broken.
Richie immediately withdrew his hands.
To his surprise, Lina didn't pull away. She coiled around him like a silken viper, her voice a sultry lure. "Dana will be looking for you soon. We don't have time for a proper session here."
She gave his earlobe a sharp, playful nip. "I have a better idea. You're assigned to me for 'Swordsmanship Training' this afternoon. That way, we’ll have the whole atrium to ourselves... to study."
She pressed her hips firmly against his hardness, a slow, grinding movement that sent a jolt of pure electricity through his spine. Then, with a wink, she sashayed toward the door.
***
The Swordsmanship Room was on the northern side of the camp. It had originally been the reception hall of Star Square. In there, forget about practicing swords; one could have raced horses without issue.
It was Richie’s first time there. The room was almost exclusively for Miss Lina’s use. In fact, everyone in the squad had their own dedicated area; the square was so vast that there was plenty of space.
He glanced around and immediately felt uneasy. In his heart, he could never accept making love in a place like this.
As a reception hall, it was open in all directions. Furthermore, it was an atrium structure, meaning anyone on the three floors above or below could see everything clearly. Above was a massive glass dome, with sunlight streaming straight down.
What was the definition of "in broad daylight"? This place was its perfect embodiment.
Having sex here felt as if one were inviting others to watch; it was a very strange feeling.
"Could we... find another place?" Richie asked hesitantly.
"Is this place not good?" Lina asked softly. "Don't worry, no one will come to watch. Besides, what's there to hide? You're here to learn swordsmanship from me."
As she spoke, her hand stroked Richie’s crotch. "First, I will teach you how to draw your sword."
"First, I will teach you how to draw your blade," she whispered.
With a sharp *rip*, a seam in Richie’s training suit was torn open, and his manhood sprang free, hot and pulsing with a desperate need.
"You have a fine weapon," Lina murmured, her fingers closing around the warm, veined shaft.
"But it lacks experience," she noted, her voice full of clinical amusement. "A blade like this needs to be seasoned. I think I can provide the necessary... whetstone."
Unlike Isabella or Rosa, Lina had no intention of using her hands or mouth. She was a woman who took what she wanted.
"The most critical move in swordsmanship is the lunge. We shall focus on the point of entry today."
As she spoke, she reached for her own crotch. With a violent, practiced tug, she tore her suit open from the pubic bone to the small of her back. The opening was vast, leaving her entirely exposed from the waist down.
She wrapped her arms around Richie’s neck and hooked a long, muscled leg around his waist. Without a moment's hesitation, she lowered herself onto him.
Richie let out a ragged gasp. The sensation was unlike anything he had ever known. Lina’s core was alive—a hot, pulsing depth that didn't just receive him, but actively pulled him into her.
As he seated himself fully, he felt a powerful, rhythmic contraction at her very center, a ring of muscle that gripped his glans with a predator's intensity.
It was as if her body possessed a hidden mouth, one that was already beginning to suck and grind against him with a mechanical, relentless hunger.
"Why the hesitation?" Lina laughed, her breath hot against his neck. "Don't you want to learn the art of the blade?"
Richie’s mind was reeling. He tried to thrust, to take control of the rhythm, but he found himself anchored. Lina’s internal grip was so powerful it felt like iron; despite his knight-enhanced strength, he couldn't move an inch.
She giggled at his struggle, her abdomen rippling as she subtly adjusted her hold. "I'll give you an opening. Show me your strength."
Even as she loosened her grip, the friction was immense. He pulled back, the heat between them almost unbearable, and as he lunged forward again, she whispered, "All the way out, then all the way in. Your form is sloppy, recruit. You need more... discipline."
Richie had nothing to say; he could only follow orders.
Sex with Lina was undoubtedly the most comfortable and stimulating. Her passage was incredibly tight and would slowly ripple, the surrounding ring of tender flesh feeling like a brush that groomed his glans to the peak of pleasure. The "meat sieve" at the opening would grip him tight, but the most powerful part was the very depths, where a "small mouth" was hidden.
Rosa also had a small mouth deep inside—actually her cervix. Only when she reached a climax and her body convulsed violently would it produce a suction force, gripping the glans like a mouth.
But Miss Lina, through some unknown method, kept this "small mouth" open at all times, not only sucking but slowly rippling. The feeling was beyond description.
Richie impatiently began to unbutton Lina’s jacket; the buttons were on the right side of the suit.
Lina giggled and let him work, her hips gently rising and falling to allow Richie’s penis to penetrate as deeply as possible.
The thick jacket of the fencing suit was unbuttoned, but it couldn't be removed, as it was a one-piece with the pants. In desperation, Richie could only pull the top down to her waist.
Lina’s upper body was immediately exposed. Her figure was undeniably beautiful—though petite, she was perfectly endowed where it mattered. Her breasts were like two large spheres, standing high and firm with prominent red tips.
Lina’s nipples were small, the areolae the size of copper coins and a delicate pink.
Richie had always been fascinated by breasts. He cupped them with both hands and gave a light squeeze; the two breasts, which his palms couldn't even fully enclose, were squeezed into a bundle. They were so soft, so elastic, and when kneaded, they felt perfectly smooth without a single lump.
Richie leaned his head in, wanting to take a few sucks, but before he could get close, he was lightly slapped away by Lina.
"Play all you want, but keep your mouth away," Lina warned.
Richie’s hand found the entrance to her depths. Lina’s anatomy was a masterpiece of lethal beauty. Despite her history, she remained a vibrant, healthy pink, her mons pubis covered by a neat, fiery-red patch of hair that looked like a fallen maple leaf against porcelain skin.
The focal point of her desire was her clitoris—a pearl-like gem that stood prominent and sensitive, a testament to her high libido.
Richie began to apply the techniques he had memorized, his fingers working with a desperate, focused intensity.
"Mmm..." Lina’s reaction was instantaneous. Her voice dropped to a sultry, dangerous growl. "You started this, little recruit. Now let me show you what a real knight can do."
She took a sharp, indrawn breath.
Richie’s eyes widened. The walls of her core suddenly clamped down with a violent force. The rippling grew frantic, and the single 'ring' of muscle became three, sliding along his length with the precision of a master’s fingers. The hidden depth within her began to grind and suck with a power that threatened to shatter his very aura.
He refused to yield, pouring all his burgeoning energy into his thrusts.
The atrium echoed with their ragged breathing and the wet, frantic sound of their collision.
"More... yes... break me... deeper..." Lina’s cries were no longer playful.
Richie thrust with a manic fervor, his member feeling as if it were about to burst from the waves of pleasure. Yet, no matter how close he came to the precipice, the release remained just out of reach.
"Wreck me... use that rod to crush my core... if you can break this bitch... I'm yours!"
Lina was lost to the fever now, her red hair a wild halo as she thrashed against him. Her words became a stream of frantic, obscene demands, driving him to the very edge of his endurance.
After an eternity of friction, Lina’s screams reached a high, glass-shattering peak. She bucked against him like a wounded animal, her expression a chaotic blur of pain, ecstasy, and total surrender.
Richie was pushed to his own limit, his mind a white-hot void. He sensed the moment of her climax and immediately triggered his Art.
A moment later, he was astonished: he was unable to steal any life energy from Lina’s body. Her energy was incredibly pure and condensed, completely unshakeable.
"Not bad. You made me climax. I haven't felt that in a long time."
Unbeknownst to him, Lina had returned to normal. Her face showed no trace of exhaustion; if anything, she looked more radiant than before, her cheeks flushed with a delicate crimson.
"Keep it up. Let's see how many times you can make me reach the peak. If you do well, I’ll reward you," Lina said with a giggle, her hips beginning to sway again.
Richie had nothing to say; he could only resume his thrusting.
Throughout the afternoon, Richie received her "guidance." They changed positions over a dozen times—first standing, then leaning against a pillar, and finally lying on the floor.
Sex with this woman was stimulating, but also exhausting. Not only was the thrusting physically demanding, but her stamina was incredible. It took a long time to make her reach a climax, and once she did, she’d be back to life in an instant, forcing him to continue.
Richie was out of energy; he simply lay on the floor and let Lina take the lead. He finally understood why Miss Lina was known as the "Juice Extractor"—she wouldn't stop until her partner was bone dry.
But Richie also felt frustrated; he was at the peak of stimulation, yet he couldn't ejaculate. Every time it felt like something was about to burst out, it simply wouldn't.
Lina was equally frustrated. She had met the strongest of men, and none had lasted this long. If she couldn't handle even this little guy, wouldn't it disgrace her title?
She glanced upward; it was about time.
Lina reluctantly pulled Richie’s penis out and stood up. "That's enough for today. Training continues tomorrow."
Hearing this, Richie felt his body go limp. "I still have my regular training..."
"Don't you worry. I’ll speak with Dana." She suddenly gave a mischievous smile. "Maybe I’ll just tell her I want you as my apprentice."
"You already asked before," Richie reminded her.
Lina didn't care, tapping Richie on the forehead with a laugh. "If I tell them I’ve already slept with you, I’m sure they won't object anymore."
"Don't..."
Seeing Richie’s panicked look, Lina was quite pleased. "Don't worry, I’m just teasing. I have no interest in teaching an apprentice; it's a thankless task. All that time is better spent improving my own strength."
She gave a long stretch and then frowned, saying after a while, "Today was a bit much. Sex with you is surprisingly tiring, though it’s very satisfying. How about you stay at my place tonight?"
"That’s probably not a good idea," Richie said, breaking into a sweat.
"I know what you're afraid of." Lina’s mind raced and she found a solution. "I’m on duty once a week. On that day, you head home first, then come back after eight. No one will notice."
Richie was somewhat tempted by the suggestion, but Lina’s next words nearly knocked him over.
She clenched her fist and said angrily, "I’m incredibly annoyed that I couldn't make you come this time. Next time, I’ll make sure you blow—six times in a row!"
Looking at Lina’s serious face, Richie felt as if the end of the world had come.
***
Leaving the camp, Richie still felt a trace of fear; Lina was truly terrifying.
But he was also deeply puzzled. This time he was certain: the inability to ejaculate wasn't due to lack of stimulation. If even the Juice Extractor couldn't pull it off, the problem was definitely with him.
The only possibility was that the Art he practiced was flawed. But it was too late for regrets; once a knight had cultivated their core Art, it couldn't be changed.
Although he knew two Arts—one of which was compatible with any other—he had been practicing that highly inclusive one only as a supplementary technique. To swap them would require destroying his current aura and re-implanting a seed. That was out of the question.
Richie focused his mind for a quick internal scan. As expected, his aura had strengthened significantly.
After an afternoon with the Juice Extractor, he had reached the peak of pleasure countless times. If it hadn't been for his inability to ejaculate, he’d likely be too weak to crawl right now.
"To kill ten thousand, one must sacrifice three thousand." Lina herself had reached at least five or six climaxes, and each time he had stolen a significant amount of life energy.
The energy stolen from Lina was extremely pure—five or six times purer than what he had taken from Rosa—and the quantity was much larger.
He vaguely remembered that on the day he slept with Rosa, she had an immediate reaction when she stood up, even staggering a bit. This time, Lina’s loss must have been far greater, yet it hadn't affected her at all.
Richie had a feeling that the Juice Extractor was far from simple; her strength was much greater than she typically showed.
***
Returning home, his mother, Aunt Ling, and his cousin were busy at the table.
Since selling the lower three floors, they no longer had a kitchen. Fortunately, there was a fireplace in the room, which was more than enough for cooking.
Dinner was clearly roasted meat pies. In these times of strict food rationing, it was a luxurious meal—either a celebration for Aunt Ling’s arrival or a thank-you gift for taking them in.
Richie didn't care about the reason; he only cared about eating.
He pulled a chair over and sat nearby.
Watching others work was sometimes a pleasure. Three pairs of hands moved with incredible speed, flattening dough, adding the meat filling, brushing the edges with egg white, and then pressing them together into a crescent moon shape.
Richie’s eyes gradually drifted to the bowl of egg whites—that sticky substance...
His mind was still on Lina.
He’d surely be sleeping with her again. That woman wouldn't stop until she saw results. If all else failed, he’d just have to fake it.
*Could egg whites fool her?*
As the two women worked, Richie’s mind was entirely on semen. The result was that when the meat pies were served, he felt nauseous just thinking about the egg whites used to seal them.
He forced down two pies and then, suppressing the urge to vomit, crawled up to the attic.
Upon entering, he froze.
*Was this still his room?*
Where his floor mat used to be, there was now a pink one. His own mat had been moved to the corner, and a curtain divided the already small attic in two.
Richie looked at the layout and immediately understood: two-thirds of the space had been given to his cousin, while his own space occupied only a third.
Seeing this, Richie was instantly furious. *This is going too far!*
Just as he was about to lose his temper, a soft, sweet voice came from behind him. "Cousin, while you were out, Auntie helped me rearrange the room. I’m so sorry for the trouble."
The words were pleasant, but they pointed out the key fact.
Knowing his mother had approved, Richie’s anger vanished instantly. He knew exactly what his mother was like—she valued "face" above all else.
"It’s nothing, really," Richie said. As soon as he turned around, he wanted to slap himself; it seemed he had inherited his mother's obsession with face.
Just as he was wondering how he’d get along with this cousin, he turned his head and nearly had a nosebleed. His cousin was right there, undressing.
She had been wearing a rather conservative floral dress, but underneath she was wearing a tight set of lingerie—the kind with lace cutouts.
The lingerie was like a second skin, revealing her curves perfectly. Her figure was exceptional, full and slender in all the right places without a trace of fat. The color was a youthful, provocative pink, and even more unbearable were the lace details at the breasts and crotch, which faintly showed two red tips above and a hint of grass below.
Richie had seen Isabella’s naked body, and that was already a sight that set his blood on fire. He hadn't expected this "now-you-see-it, now-you-don't" look to be even more stimulating than complete nakedness.
He couldn't help but imagine what Rosa or Lina would look like in such lingerie...
Richie didn't know what to say. After a long, awkward pause, he remembered the grim task awaiting him in the shadows. "I have... business in the city. I'm going out."
His exit was a clumsy, stumbling mess. As he closed the door, a chorus of laughter followed him down the stairs. It wasn't just Catherine; his mother and Aunt Ling were joined in a shared, conspiratorial mirth.
***
He slept fitfully that night. The proximity of a girl like Catherine—vibrant, beautiful, and just a curtain away—sent waves of unspent desire through his body.
Before, he might have been able to ignore it. But now he was a predator who had tasted the finest prey.
To calm his racing heart, he turned to meditation, only to find a terrifying paradox. The more he practiced the Art, the more his lust flared. And the hotter the fire in his blood, the faster his aura circulated.
This was the dark secret of his Discipline: desire was the fuel. If he ever surrendered fully to his base instincts, his power would grow to unimaginable heights.
It was a path paved with poison, but Richie was already walking it. He spent the entire night in a state of feverish focus, using the phantom heat of his lust to drive his energy through his veins until dawn broke the spell.
He arrived at the camp an hour before the first bell, his mind a chaotic whirl. Unable to settle, he instinctively headed for the kitchen.
***
He found himself staring at a bowl of egg whites. After the encounter with Lina—the 'Succubus' of the squad—he was obsessed with his inability to climax. He needed a substitute, something to fool her if she ever realized he wasn't releasing.
He was whisking the whites, lost in a daze of flour and desperation, when a voice pulled him back.
"Experimenting with a new recipe, Richie?"
The voice of Miss Merlin came from behind him. Richie jumped, not knowing how to answer. He certainly couldn't tell her he was unable to ejaculate and was trying to fake a substitute to deal with the Juice Extractor.
"That’s not how you make a cake," Merlin said, seeing Richie’s hands covered in egg whites and his face in flour. She was amused, guessing that Richie was trying to make a cake using the Knight Corps' ingredients.
As for who the cake was for, she couldn't be sure—perhaps a girl from class, his parents, or even Lina.
Everyone in the squad knew exactly what had happened during yesterday’s swordsmanship class. Previously, they had viewed Richie as a child, but after Randy treated Isabella, they all knew this little guy was a man in at least some respects.
"Let me teach you," Merlin said with a smile.
Richie silently stepped aside. Even if he didn't want to learn cake-making, he had no choice now.
But he soon found that making a cake was actually quite interesting; there was a lot of science behind whisking and foaming.
"You have a keen eye, Richie. It’s strange; given the Discipline you've chosen, your perception should be... clouded," Merlin noted, her expression turning serious.
She pulled him aside, her gaze searching his. "You're not practicing the Art Calli gave you, are you? You found something else."
Richie froze. He didn't know how she had seen through the lie, but he remained silent, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Merlin’s eyes darkened with concern. "There is a truth you must understand, Richie. One that is common knowledge among the Corps. Every Discipline a knight practices eventually reshapes their soul. Look at Calli, at Nora, even Rosa. Their personalities are the direct result of the energy they cultivate."
Richie felt a cold shiver crawl down his spine. He had seen the madness in Lina’s eyes, the ice in Calli’s soul. He feared that if he continued, he would eventually lose himself to the very lust he used as fuel.
"I had hoped you would choose a standard military Art," Merlin sighed. "They are stable. Boring, perhaps, but they don't break the person. Any Art is powerful if you reach the summit."
She saw the fear in his eyes and her expression softened. "Starting tomorrow, you will spend your morning and evening duties with me. My Art focuses on the cultivation of the Spirit—on finding calm within the storm. While I cannot teach you my core secrets, I can show you how to guard your mind."
"But... why the kitchen?" Richie asked, confused.
"Because the Art I practice is about the perfection of perception. And there is no place on this earth where perception is more vital—or more frequently tested—than right here."
Merlin pointed to the bubbling pots and the finely chopped herbs. "A master chef and a master knight are closer than you think."