Entering winter, the air gradually turned frigid, though the incessant, annoying rains finally ceased.
During this period, Richie’s strength continued to skyrocket. He no longer worried about a shortage of feminine life energy; at least once a week, he would surreptitiously spend the night in Lina’s quarters.
Regarding Lina, his feelings were a complex tapestry of affection and trepidation.
At first, Lina had been desperate to extract his seed, but after several attempts yielded nothing but his iron-hard endurance, she eventually gave up. "There’s no helping it, but perhaps this is for the best," she had said, her voice laced with a mix of resignation and a strange, budding delight.
From then on, Lina’s play became even more frenzied and uninhibited.
Since Richie couldn't reach a climax in the traditional sense, his manhood remained relentlessly turgid, allowing them to engage in lovemaking through the entire night, exploring the most provocative and stimulating games.
It was within that room that Richie discovered the various avenues a woman’s body offered for pleasure. Beyond the traditional path and the mouth, there was the third gate. Among the three, back-door intimacy was undoubtedly the most intense.
But the thrills didn't stop there. Once, Lina had requested to be bound, surrendering herself entirely to his ministrations. That had been, without a doubt, his most exhilarating experience.
Richie was not limited to Lina alone; he had also shared several intimate encounters with Miss Rosa during this time. Rosa possessed the temperament of a child—daring and willing to try almost anything—yet the moment she felt the slightest discomfort, she would stubbornly refuse that particular method. For instance, she refused oral pleasuring and showed no interest in bondage games, much to Richie’s silent frustration.
With two women providing him with life energy, Richie’s Aura grew with staggering speed.
It was a blessing, yet also a curse. As his Aura deepened, the fires of lust within him burned ever hotter. Occasionally, during sparring sessions with his mentor, Miss Dana, a thick, primal hunger would inadvertently flare in his eyes. The result was always the same: Dana’s wooden staff would become unnervingly swift and cunning, her strikes landing with increasingly punishing force.
However, what troubled Richie the most was that he no longer dared to spend much time at home.
At home, the complications were even greater than at the camp.
Since the house now sheltered three women, the topics of conversation had shifted heavily toward the feminine. When these women grew animated in their discussions, they treated him as if he were nothing more than thin air.
This seemed to be a symptom of the times. During the war, with the men drafted into the military, homes were filled only with women. Lacking other entertainment, they naturally became far more open. Even the once-stodgy female teachers at school had begun to dress fashionably, and the Rose Society was no longer the "No Boys Allowed" bastion it once was.
Returning home slightly earlier than usual with his satchel in hand, Richie opened the door and was immediately greeted by the sight of his mother, Aunt Ling, and his cousin sitting on the edge of the bed. All three were dressed in thin, provocative lingerie. Another seven or eight sets were strewn across the bed, and a full-length mirror had been dragged to the bedside.
Richie’s throat instantly went dry, and his "younger brother" reacted with violent enthusiasm.
Seeing her son enter, his mother showed a flicker of bashfulness, but it was far too late to scramble for clothes.
"Why are you back so early today?" his mother asked casually. "You must be tired. Go to your room and rest for a bit."
Grateful for the exit, Richie hurried up to the attic. No sooner had he ascended than he heard a chorus of giggles from below, followed by the hushed, conspiratorial murmuring of women.
It was impossible not to be tempted. Richie peeked through a sliver in the door.
The three women below clearly had no intention of dressing. They continued to whisper and laugh in their revealing attire.
It was only then that Richie realized how truly beautiful his mother was—a fact he had somehow overlooked until now.
As sisters, his mother and Aunt Ling were remarkably similar: the same wavy brunette hair, the same pointed chins, and the same slender eyes. While his mother lacked Aunt Ling’s commanding aura, her features were perhaps even more refined, as Aunt Ling often gave off an impression of hardness.
Perhaps he had ignored his mother’s beauty because of sheer familiarity; or perhaps it was because she had never known how to adorn herself before now.
That night, sleep eluded Richie once again.
In the dead of night, hearing his cousin’s breathing grow heavy and rhythmic, he realized she was finally asleep. Carefully, he crept out of bed.
Drawing back the curtain that partitioned the attic, Richie hesitated beside his cousin before gently lifting the covers. He began to caress her.
This wasn't his first time touching a woman. Lina and Isabella had been explored countless times, and Rosa had once stripped bare at his request, allowing him to touch her from head to toe. Yet, in terms of sheer skin texture, his cousin was the most exquisite.
While Lina and Rosa provided incredible stimulation during lovemaking, their skin was somewhat coarse, and their muscles were hardened by training.
Isabella’s skin was tender, but she was too slender.
Suddenly, his cousin’s body shifted slightly.
Richie’s reflexes were lightning-fast; he retreated instantly, slipping back behind the curtain.
After a long silence with no further movement, his courage returned. He crawled back and lay down beside her bed, his hand coming to rest gently on her breast—the part of her that felt the most divine.
At that exact moment, his cousin’s eyes snapped open.
Richie felt a cold jolt of impending doom.
"You little lecher. Not even a man yet, but quite the bold one," his cousin said, a cryptic smirk dancing on her lips.
"I’m not that much younger than you," Richie retorted with a hint of dissatisfaction. Since he had been caught, he abandoned all pretense and began to caress her even more boldly, employing the techniques he had mastered.
The skills he had honed on Lina were no simple matter. It wasn't long before his cousin let out a soft, trembling moan.
His hand gradually slid downward.
As his hand reached her hips, his cousin’s body jolted. She clearly remembered something and caught his misbehaving hand in a firm grip.
"I’m going to tell your mother. Let’s see how she deals with you," she said sharply. However, her hushed tone betrayed her true intent. If she really wanted to expose him, she only needed to raise her voice to alert the two women in the room below.
"I’ll tell them you seduced me. Because you spend all day seducing me," Richie countered, realizing her hesitation. Instead of retreating, he pressed his advantage.
His hand continued its downward journey.
This time, however, he was unsuccessful. Her grip was ironclad.
"I can play with you," she whispered solemnly into his ear, "but we cannot be serious. My virginity is reserved for my wedding day."
"Then how am I supposed to 'play'?" Richie asked, sounding deeply disappointed. He had already forgotten that mere moments ago, he only wanted a surreptitious touch; now, his heart was set on full intimacy.
"Don't worry. Leave everything to me. I’ll make you feel very good," his cousin whispered. "But you must swear: you won't touch my maidenhood."
Resigned, Richie raised his right hand and swore the oath as she demanded.
"Lie on your back. Hands behind your head," his cousin commanded, her demeanor as arrogant as could be.
Richie complied.
He watched as she helped him out of his trousers. When his massive member sprang forth, turgid and straight, he saw the genuine shock in her eyes.
"It’s so... big," she murmured, using her fingers to measure—first the length, then the girth. Finally, she gave it a squeeze, testing its incredible hardness.
"Have you seen others?" Richie asked, genuinely curious. He felt his cousin was far more experienced than him; before Isabella, he hadn't even seen another woman naked.
Feeling slighted, she gave his erect member a sharp flick. "Don't talk nonsense. I was in a boarding school. From the teachers to the students, everyone was a woman."
Richie felt no pain, only more curiosity. "Then how do you know mine is big?"
"I heard things, of course. In school, we talked about these topics constantly. Most of the teachers were experienced, and some of my classmates had their own stories," she explained.
"No way. Your teachers taught you... that?" Richie felt his head spin. Why hadn't his teachers taught such things?
"Privately!" she laughed. "They taught us so we wouldn't be taken advantage of, and so we wouldn't make life-altering mistakes when we were being reckless."
No explanation was as convincing as a demonstration. His cousin leaned over and straddled him, her intimacy grinding against his member through a thin layer of translucent gauze.
"Let me touch you. My hands have nothing to do," Richie said.
"No. I must stay in control. That’s the most frequent warning from our teachers, and something many of my classmates proved through painful lessons," she insisted, refusing to compromise. She feared that in a moment of lost inhibition, this boy would have his way with her, trading a moment of bliss for a lifetime of regret.
Richie didn't argue. He had shared beds with women many times now; with a partner like Lina, finding raw stimulation was easy. Instead, this subtle, lingering tease—this feeling of being on the cusp of intimacy without fully crossing it—was remarkably pleasant.
After a while, she lay gently against him, her center pressing against his tip, occasionally thrusting down or rotating in a circular motion. Her full breasts rubbed against his chest.
Richie savored it all. The thin gauze was soon soaked through, making it feel as if there were no barrier at all. Even more exquisite was the sensation of her nipples brushing against his chest—a localized itch that seemed to seep into his very bones.
Soft moans began to escape her.
Time blurred. Richie felt his cousin’s body grow rigid against him, her movements becoming frantic. Her breath came in ragged gasps.
With a final, sharp cry, she stiffened, trembling uncontrollably as a thick surge of her essence erupted, completely drenching her already-soaked lingerie.
"You did well. Now, crawl back into your own covers," she said, instantly reverting to the haughty young lady.
Though he hadn't reached his own peak, Richie felt immensely satisfied. It led him to a new realization.
Relieving the fires of lust didn't have to follow a single path; psychological satisfaction could also quench the flames.
It was perhaps the sweetest night of sleep he’d had since his cousin arrived.
The next morning, as usual, he left home early. His cousin was still deep in sleep. For some reason, in Richie’s eyes, the cousin he had once found annoying now seemed incredibly precious.
Arriving at the camp, Richie intended to grab his weighted suit, but he was intercepted at the entrance of the equipment room by Adjutant Randy.
Inside, he found not only Randy but also Captain Calli, Mentor Dana, and Miss Merlin.
Richie was momentarily stunned by the gathering, but his eyes were quickly drawn to an object on a nearby table.
At first glance, it looked like a human skeleton—slender limbs, a segmented spine, a cage of ribs, and a pelvis that looked like a seat.
But the skeleton bore components he recognized: synthetic sinews, directional axes, shock absorbers—all parts used in Magitech Armor.
"Is this... Magitech Armor?" Richie asked uncertainly. If it was, it was the most pathetic-looking suit he had ever seen.
"It’s a Training Suit, prepared specifically for you," Randy explained, sensing his doubt. "A Training Suit is essentially a simplified version of battle armor. It has fewer synthetic sinews, so the boost to strength and speed isn't significant. The core can only sustain the suit's operation and cannot power offensive techniques. However, it will allow you to familiarize yourself with the controls."
Beckoning him forward, Randy pushed him toward the Training Suit.
It was much smaller than standard armor, just a size larger than himself. It was clearly custom-tailored.
The pelvis area was indeed a seat. As soon as Richie sat down, his legs were secured by two steel rings that snapped shut, locking him into the seat.
"Put your feet and arms in," Randy commanded. She produced a helmet from somewhere; its faceplate was movable, with two pieces of pale blue glass for eyes.
Following Randy’s instructions, Richie "wore" the Training Suit—or rather, he squeezed himself inside it.
The sensation was bizarre. When he was still, he felt no weight at all. But once he moved, he felt a strange resistance, as if he were underwater. Every gesture was met with a dragging force, and the faster he moved, the greater the resistance became.
"First, adapt to the feel of the upper body. Then learn to walk and run. Once you can perform any movement in this suit, the formal training will begin," Dana instructed.
"So, no more weighted training?" Richie asked.
"Correct," his mentor replied, bringing a momentary surge of joy to Richie—until she added: "From now on, you will run while wearing this Training Suit."
She pointed to a corner of the room where a stack of lead plates sat. "These are for counter-weighting. Each plate weighs sixty kilograms. The total is about four tons—exactly the weight of the Heavy Defensive Armor you will eventually wear."
A demonic smile touched Dana’s lips. "In one month, you will carry all the weights and complete five laps within one hour."
Richie staggered, nearly falling over. This was infinitely more brutal than his previous weighted training.
"I believe you can do it," Randy added dismissively. "Your rate of improvement is the fastest I’ve ever seen. I have high hopes for you."
Richie could only force a smile, though it looked more like a grimace.
Gritting his teeth, Richie refused to be looked down upon by these women. "What should I do?" he asked, chest out.
The answer caught him off guard.
"The answer is only for you to find. Do you need us to teach you how to run and jump?" Dana said, giving his helmeted head a sharp tap.
"I do have a suggestion," Merlin added kindly, smiling. "Today’s breakfast is beef and potato stew. Why don't you handle the peeling? I’d appreciate the help."
With time pressing and the terrifying prospect of Dana’s punishment looming if he failed to meet her requirements in a month, Richie felt a chill.
His mentor’s punishments were legendary.
In desperation, Richie made the ultimate choice... skipping school.
Since it was wartime, the school wasn't particularly strict. Skipping was easy, and he had a perfect excuse. A small note from Dana in the name of the Knight Squad was more than enough to handle the administration.
He spent nearly the entire morning peeling potatoes. He was practically buried in a mountain of them.
At first, Richie suspected that the ever-gentle Merlin was playing a prank on him. But after half an hour of peeling, he realized it was indeed a form of training.
The task seemed simple, but performing it in the suit was another matter entirely. He had to bend down, pick up a potato, use the knife to peel it, and then place it in a basin. This involved bending twice and extending his arms twice, while the rest relied on the coordination of his fingers and hands.
The beauty of it was that success or failure was immediately visible.
No matter how standard his movements appeared, if the potato looked like it had been gnawed by a dog or was crushed into a pulp, it was a failure.
For three consecutive days, he peeled potatoes, and for three consecutive days, the camp ate beef and potato stew. Consequently, on the evening of the third day, he was dragged into a room by the tomboyish Robin and given a thorough thrashing.
Fortunately, on the fourth morning, the mountain of potatoes was gone, replaced by a pile of leafy greens.
Picking greens was much easier than peeling potatoes, but doing it in a Training Suit was a different story. Too much force and the greens became mush; the wrong angle and the wilted leaves wouldn't come off, or he’d tear the good ones.
This time, Richie had learned his lesson. He didn't seek speed but rather focused on the 'feel.'
His heightened perception was crucial here. In just one day, his movements became fluid. Before Robin could turn green with rage at the menu, Richie passed the test perfectly.
A week later, the kitchen floor was piled with bean pods.
Richie felt like weeping at the sight. These had to be shelled by hand, relying entirely on the sensitivity of the fingers. While the Training Suit could transmit sensation, it was nowhere near as accurate as his own fingertips...
Returning home exhausted, Richie felt like his fingers were on the verge of cramping. What troubled him more was that Robin had been eating beans for two days straight. Nine consecutive meals of the same thing would surely drive her mad. Tomorrow, he was guaranteed another beating.
With that thought, the image of Merlin as a gentle and kind soul completely shattered.
This was the perfect definition of "killing with a borrowed knife."
The moment he entered the house, Richie’s "younger brother" snapped to attention once more.
Just like before, the three women were lounging around in provocative lingerie. Richie was almost certain this was intentional this time.
Last time he had happened to come home an hour early; today, he was right on schedule.
Furthermore, the lingerie this time was far more revealing. The previous sets had been tight but covered more; the bottoms had at least reached the thighs and the tops covered the breasts. This time, however, half their backsides were exposed, and the front was merely a small scrap of cloth. Their breasts were half-bared.
Worse still, they had cinched their waists, making their curves even more pronounced and blood-boiling. Combined with garter belts and stockings, it was enough to drive any man mad.
"I... I’m going up!" Richie shouted before scrambling into the attic.
As before, he peeked through the gap, watching them below. The three women were indeed covering their mouths and giggling, whispering amongst themselves.
As they spoke, his cousin suddenly began to gesture. She used two fingers to indicate a length, then circled her thumb and forefinger to show a girth.
His mother and Aunt Ling gasped, their mouths falling open in shock. Then the three huddled together for another long whisper session. His mother kept shaking her head, her face flushed crimson, before suddenly grabbing Aunt Ling and tickling her mercilessly.
Watching the three women play, Richie felt his member grow as hard as a steel rod. A long-absent fire flared up within him.
The women played until eight before his cousin finally ascended to the attic.
Richie was already lying on her mattress. He knew that tonight, he would enjoy her service again—and perhaps, there would be new tricks to play.
They never went all the way, but her repertoire was vast, not much inferior to the "Juicer" Lina.
But what she played was ambiguity—a relentless tease.
"You’re certainly ready," his cousin chuckled. Her hand appeared from behind her back, holding a nightcap.
"Is this for me?" Richie took the cap, but something felt off. "It’s a bit too large, isn't it?"
When he put it on, it was indeed massive; his entire head fit inside.
"Mm! Big is good," his cousin purred, swaying her hips as she approached. She sat gently on his chest, her soft buttocks squeezing slightly, igniting his imagination.
She pulled the edge of the nightcap down until only his nostrils and mouth were exposed.
It was only then that Richie realized the eye area was covered by thick layers of cloth, and there were muffs over the ears. Wearing this, he could see nothing and hear nothing.
Having done this, his cousin began to move, sliding her body down bit by bit.
Deprived of sight and sound, Richie’s sense of touch became incredibly acute.
Suddenly, he felt something different. His member was gripped tightly by her hands, but the sensation against the tip was unlike before.
The lips were thicker than hers, more elastic, and the opening pulsed rhythmically, like a small mouth sucking gently.
The grinding and thrusting continued for fifteen minutes before the intimacy was withdrawn, only to be replaced by a nimble tongue circling the tip.
Richie felt as if every pore on his body had snapped open. This exquisite sensation was beyond what his cousin could provide; while she had many tricks, she lacked true technical skill.
If it wasn't his cousin, then was it Aunt Ling? Or was it... Richie didn't dare think further.
Just as he hesitated over whether to peek, his hand was suddenly seized. It was his cousin. She curled his hand into a fist, leaving only his middle finger extended.
While he was still puzzled, he felt his finger press against something—but there was little resistance. His finger plunged inside.
The tight, narrow, slightly pulsing sensation immediately told him what it was.
He didn't know if this counted as another form of back-door intimacy.
The sensation of thrusting a finger into a woman’s rear was divine, but even more so was the faint sound of moaning. "Oh... ss... ss... ss... oh." Through the thick cap, the moans were muffled, but he could tell the woman was desperately trying to stay silent, her breaths escaping in those sharp "ss... ss" sounds.
Richie was dying of curiosity. He desperately wanted to know who was teasing him.
From the beautiful moaning, he couldn't tell if it was his mother or Aunt Ling. He had never heard either of them moan.
His thumb pressed down gently, and he felt a pang of frustration. A thin layer of cloth blocked the traditional path; it seemed only the rear entrance was available. What a pity.
With a little searching, he found the nub. He flicked and caressed it alternately.
This was a routine he had practiced countless times on Lina and Rosa; it was the ultimate weapon against women.
Sure enough, the moaning grew louder and more frantic.
"Ah... ah... oh... oh..."
The woman lost all control. Her voice became louder, more rapid.
After an indeterminate time, Richie felt his finger being sucked tight. The nub swelled significantly, and her center spasmed in a violent tremor. A thick surge of essence erupted, drenching his hand.
The finger was withdrawn, but soon another replaced it. This time, however, there was great resistance. This was definitely his cousin; he could feel her trembling in pain.
"Ah... it hurts... no more... I don't want it..."
Clearly, it was her first time experiencing such an intrusion. That pain was far harder to endure than the loss of maidenhood—something she hadn't even experienced yet.
Just then, he faintly heard a woman whisper: "Just endure a bit and it will feel good. Once you taste that flavor, I’m afraid you’ll be the one sneaking around to do it even if we don't let you."
Sure enough, after a few minutes, his cousin began to feel it. Her hips began to sway lewdly, and moans finally escaped her. "Ah... mm... hurts... ah... ah... but it really is a bit good... ah... I can't take it... ah... ah... it’s too intense..."
The moans grew louder until she was speaking in delirium: "Ah... ah... faster... harder... help me down there too... oh oh oh... too intense... I can't take it... I’m going to die..."
The stimulation of the back door seemed too much, especially for a first-timer like her. Under Richie’s ministrations, she proved quite weak, collapsing in a total release within five minutes.
Then the person changed again. This time, Richie couldn't be sure if it was the same person as before, given there were three women in the house...
The next morning, when Richie went downstairs, he saw his mother and Aunt Ling brewing coffee. They greeted him naturally, and his mother gave him her usual forehead kiss. "Go on, son. Come back early."
Richie felt a sense of bewilderment. Had nothing happened last night? Was it all just a vivid dream?
He scratched his head, looking at his poised mother and aunt.
For some reason, a sense of relief washed over him, and the awkwardness he’d felt upon waking vanished.
He convinced himself that nothing had happened; even if it had, everything had returned to normal by morning.
His mother was still his mother; his aunt was still his aunt.
Running all the way to the camp, his face fell the moment he saw the pile of bean pods in the kitchen.
Donning the Training Suit, Richie crouched before the pile.
Picking up a bean pod, he suddenly felt a lapse in focus. The pod in his hand felt like those fleshy lips; purely by reflex, the two thick fingers of the suit pinched the pod and gave a gentle twist. The pod snapped open, the round beans inside reminding him of that swollen nub.
With a gentle flick, the beans fell perfectly into the black palm of the suit. As they rolled in his palm, Richie felt something click in his mind.
Savoring the sensation, he slowly closed his eyes. He raised his hand and tapped his helmet, cutting off all sound.
Just like the previous night, losing sight and sound made his physical perception incredibly sharp. He could even feel the beans rolling in his palm through the thick Training Suit.
He bent down, searching the floor like a blind man. Previously, he would have crushed the pods, but this time, the suit's iron hands brushed over them as lightly as a butterfly landing on a blossom, without even disturbing them.
He picked up another. This time, he didn't even use his other hand; with a gentle squeeze, the pod opened, and a flick of his thumb sent the beans into his palm.
Richie smiled and stood up.
He knew this kitchen well; even with eyes closed, he knew where everything was.
He opened the cupboard, carefully taking out six eggs, then basins and baking sheets. The secrets of cake-making Merlin had once taught him flooded back.
A sixteen-inch, two-layer cake was placed in the center of the kitchen table.
The rest of the squad gathered around it. Dana, Merlin, and Adjutant Randy wore faint smiles. Lina remained noncommittal, while Rosa critiqued its flaws. Captain Calli remained as cold and indifferent as ever. Robin, who was green after two days of beans, was delighted, but then she paused and asked, "Who is this tiny piece of cake for?"
By then, Richie was long gone. Shelling beans no longer held any meaning for him, and if beans were on the menu again today, he’d surely be beaten by Robin. He slipped away, leaving the problem to Merlin.
Having missed school for a week, Richie found that his classmates seemed to have forgotten him. Even the thugs he’d beaten up hadn't appeared.
But by the end of the second period, word of his return had spread.
"If you have the guts, follow us outside."
The messenger was a classmate of Richie’s. Since the previous bullies had died in the infirmary warehouse, he was now the 'boss' of the class.
If this were before his bloodline awakened, Richie would have run as far as possible. If it were before today, he would have laughed it off. But now, he felt an itch for action.
Beside the school was a dim alleyway where students settled their disputes.
When Richie arrived, he found them ready. A dozen people surrounded him.
The leader was a fellow called "Tiger." Richie only knew he’d been held back twice and was a target of the teachers' contempt, but for the students, he was a nightmare.
"Quite the big shot, aren't you? Injured my friend and then hid for a week. I thought you’d never come back!" Tiger said, brandishing a wooden club the thickness of an arm.
The dozen others were all armed—some with clubs, others with belts. Richie had heard they used to use iron pipes and chains; it seemed the war had some benefits, as metal had been requisitioned for smelting, downgrading the thugs' arsenal.
But to him now, there was no difference between a pipe and a club.
"I heard you were still wetting the bed in primary school," Richie said, intentionally provoking him.
"Get him!" Tiger roared. He lunged forward, swinging his club toward Richie’s head.
With a gentle hook and a lead, the club was diverted. He had come back to school for a fight, so he didn't intend to use his Knight’s strength. What he lacked wasn't power, but technique...
When Richie walked out of the alley, the second period was over. Returning to the classroom, every student stared at him in shock.
"Are you okay?" the class president asked, genuinely concerned. When he was called out, she had reported it to the dean, but the school refused to intervene.
"No big deal. Don't forget where I work as a handyman. Those Knights taught me a few moves—more than enough to leave those guys crawling on the floor," Richie said, half-truthfully.
"That’s fantastic!" a girl cheered, clapping. She was one of the class beauties many coveted, and also a member of the Rose Society. "Come be our Knight! We’ve already thought of your title: 'The Rose Knight'."
Richie remained noncommittal. He didn't care about being their knight.
He’d heard of such 'knights'—essentially, they stepped in when someone bothered the girls, and in return, they could attend all their parties.
For other boys, this was a dream opportunity, but it didn't interest him.
"I’m already Isabella’s Knight," Richie said. "Find someone else."
"Stingy," the girl huffed, but a moment later she leaned in. "Be my Knight. I can give you things Isabella won't."
Richie remained unmoved by her flirtatious winks. In terms of playing with ambiguity, his cousin was the true expert. To be honest, he really wanted to visit that extraordinary boarding school to see how they cultivated someone like her.
What he found even more disdainful was the idea that Isabella wouldn't give him things. Forget sex—they had played with back-doors and bondage several times already. Every inch of Isabella had been explored by him. He knew her sensitive spots better than she did.
Of course, these things couldn't be told. Isabella was perfectly obedient, her only request was his silence. He regarded her as his private treasure; how could he let rumors spread?...
After school, Richie headed to the camp with a hint of trepidation. Honestly, he wasn't sure what was waiting for him.
As he reached the entrance, he heard shouting from within.
One voice was definitely the "Juicer" Lina, while the other—actually others—sounded unfamiliar.
Entering, he found everyone had come out, even the taciturn Nora, who rarely left her room.
In the center of the square stood four people. Besides Lina, the other three were strangers to Richie.
The three women looked young, no more than twenty. They all had the same brown hair and eyes, and similar facial structures—clearly related by blood—though their temperaments differed.
The one arguing most fiercely with Lina was clearly the leader. Her aura was remarkably similar to Lina’s—fiery and defiant—though she lacked Lina’s seductive charm and wantonness, possessing instead a touch of arrogance.
The other two were also fiery, though to varying degrees. One was exceptionally hot-tempered, gesturing with her fists as if ready to strike. The other was sharp-tongued—the youngest of the three and the quietest, but her words were venomous.
Richie quietly slipped beside Dana and whispered, "Mentor, what’s going on? Who are those three?"
"They’re newcomers, formerly belonging to a frontline main Knight Squad. They were reassigned to our second-line unit, so they feel slighted. They want to establish dominance right away. Ostensibly they’re targeting Lina, but they’re actually watching for the Captain’s reaction," Dana explained.
Merlin, who had been standing slightly further away, walked over as she saw Richie. "You’re in luck. Open your eyes wide and see how a true Knight fights."
"They’re going to fight?" Richie asked in alarm.
"Of course." Dana patted his shoulder. "Duels are a part of a Knight’s life. Eventually, someone will challenge you too."
Richie looked at Dana’s face, wondering if his mentor had ever duelled. Then he looked at Merlin; surely she wouldn't duel?
"Will people... die?" Richie asked.
Dana frowned. "It’s hard to say. While most duels only seek to determine a winner, it’s still a dangerous affair. Accidents happen, and people are often crippled or killed."
"Doesn't anyone intervene?" Richie found it hard to believe. Every Knight was a nation’s most precious resource; he couldn't imagine allowing their blood to be shed in duels.
"Unless it’s a malicious duel, no one cares. Accepting a challenge is a Knight’s honor. If you hope to become a true Knight, you must get used to this," Dana said in a low voice. She knew that for Richie, who had long been a commoner, the Knight’s world was entirely different from his own.
"There are good Knights and bad ones; some follow morality and order, while others challenge them and embrace chaos. But all Knights hold one thing above all else: honor. You can run on a battlefield—that’s called a retreat—but you cannot run from a duel. That is cowardice."
Dana took the opportunity to instill the principles of the Knight’s world into her pupil.
"Must every challenge be accepted?" Richie wanted to be sure.
Dana and Merlin both chuckled. "Of course not. Many challenges are for absurd reasons; you can simply ignore them. Likewise, if the terms are too harsh, you can refuse. There’s a lot to learn here; I’ll tell you more later."
Just then, the four in the center separated.
Dana hadn't heard the argument and turned to Merlin. "What are the terms? What’s the penalty for the loser?"
"To be at the disposal of the winner," Merlin said with a smile.
"Haha!" Dana’s reaction was exaggerated. "Those newcomers are going to have to suffer a bit before they learn. How dare they agree to such terms?"
"It only shows they have confidence in their strength," Merlin said, offering a fair assessment for the newcomers.
Patting Richie’s cheek, Dana said with a hint of ambiguity, "You’re in for a treat, little one."
In the center of the square, Lina faced the three newcomers. She held a six-foot-long Knight’s Sword. The newcomers stood in an equilateral triangle. The leader held a strange, double-pointed spear; the one on the left held twin hatchets, and the one on the right held a Knight’s Sword.
"You still have a chance to surrender. If you do, I won't subject you to private punishment," Lina said, shaking her sword with total confidence.
"We’ll see who punishes whom," the leader sneered.
With no more words, the clash began.
Lina swung her sword so fast it became a blur. Only a sphere of red light could be seen moving across the square, accompanied by a constant whistling sound. Occasionally, a crescent-shaped arc of blue light would flare out. Wherever the arc went, not only did the newcomers dodge, but even the spectators scrambled to move away.
"That’s Lina’s secret technique, 'Azure Tide.' She has another called 'War Wave' that’s even more powerful," Dana explained to her pupil while dodging.
"Is three-against-one even fair?" Richie shouted. He did it intentionally, hoping to distract the newcomers and help Lina.
Even if Lina hadn't shared a bed with him, he’d been with her for so long that he would naturally side with her over three troublemakers.
"Don't talk about what you don't understand. Those three practice a very specific art called 'Trinity.' It’s a type of formation. If they aren't sisters, they’re descendants of families that have fought together for generations," Dana said, her eyes fixed on the fight. She had never seen such a Trinity combination before.
The three were indeed from a main squad. Under Lina’s hurricane-like assault, they didn't retreat but instead fought faster.
The spear-wielder was exceptionally cunning. Her weapon was double-ended, and she struck with incredible frequency. The spearheads were wreathed in a strange, spiraling Aura. While it didn't look as fierce as the blue arcs, its power was formidable; several times she met Lina’s 'Azure Tide' head-on and tore through it. The hatchet-wielder and the sword-wielder were clearly the main attackers; their weapons were heavy, one producing arcs similar to Lina’s, the other using thrusts that sent out six-meter-long shockwaves.
"They do have reason to be proud," Dana praised softly. She mentally swapped places with Lina and realized that under such a siege, she would likely have to resort to a mutually destructive strike.
In the whole squad, only Lina could fight those three.
Almost everyone was doing the same mental simulation, for in the world of Knights, strength was everything.
The fight lasted about fifteen minutes before Lina’s sword emitted a piercing hum.
The squad members, knowing the power of this move, scrambled to dodge. Richie was hoisted into the air by Dana. Rosa and Captain Calli also jumped.
Below in the square, a ripple spread out from Lina, the result of air being forcibly distorted.
Everywhere in the camp, the sound of things shattering could be heard—glass exploded, porcelain cracked, and even the ground and walls showed new fissures.
Richie gasped, staring in disbelief at Lina standing in the center.
This woman, who frequently shared his bed and even let him use her back door, was actually this powerful.
Looking over, the three newcomers were unconscious, their weapons thrown far away.
"Dana, let me borrow your apprentice," Lina said, beckoning Richie.
It felt somewhat insulting, but Richie looked around and didn't dare complain.
"Ask him if he’s willing," Dana said coolly.
"Help me carry these three to the infirmary," Lina commanded directly.
Richie obeyed. On one hand, he didn't dare defy Lina; she was terrifying. On the other hand, he had already guessed what would happen next. Not just him—everyone knew. Even Dana had guessed this outcome when the duel began.
For a moment, Richie felt his face flush crimson.