In the medical bay, three women lay on a narrow cot, their lower bodies stripped bare. Their limbs were bound tightly with raw cowhide—the kind used to steady soldiers during battlefield amputations. Their heads faced outward in a perfect triangle, bound arm-to-arm and leg-to-leg, leaving them utterly immobilized despite their Knight-tier strength.
Richie stood over them, his gaze sweeping across their forms. They were closely related by blood, sharing the same firm, bronzed physiques and curvaceous frames. His eyes were drawn to their chests—bowl-shaped and heavy, with large, dark areolas flushed with a feverish red.
The three high-propped bottoms were firm, sculpted by years of rigorous training. To Richie, they lacked the pillowy softness of more mature women, but the sight of their crimson-hued folds exposed to the ceiling was enough to make his pulse hammer. Their intimate hair was thick and dark, adding to the raw, primal energy of the scene.
A surge of carnal hunger flared in Richie’s gut, an impulse to claim them right then and there. Yet, the three women met his gaze with glares of pure, unadulterated hostility.
They had been awake since Lina stripped them. They knew what was coming. Though tears shimmered in their eyes, they refused to let them fall, clinging to the stubborn pride of their caste. In the world of Knights, if you issued a challenge and lost, you paid the price.
"Extrajudicial punishment has its own code," the leader of the group hissed through gritted teeth. "You cannot use a third party. If you have the gall, bring in a squad to take us, and we’ll see how we settle the debt later."
Lina walked over with a smug grin, playfully pinching the woman's nose. "Helping my man have his way with you doesn't violate a single rule, darling."
"Your man? Prove it," the woman challenged.
"Watch and learn," Lina beckoned to Richie. She unbuckled her belt, letting her trousers pool at her knees. "Show these sisters what a real man looks like."
Richie felt a heat rise to his face. He had never performed before an audience, but Lina’s word was law.
There was no need for foreplay with Lina. He moved between her legs and drove his manhood deep inside.
Lina’s taste was for the violent and the deep. She preferred him to withdraw entirely before slamming back in to the hilt, relishing the heavy impact. Today, she was putting on a show. She didn't constrict him, allowing his shaft to thrust with rhythmic speed. The sound of their pelvises colliding echoed through the room like the sharp crack of a paddle.
She feigned a look of fragile vulnerability, her moans becoming melodic and lingering.
"Ah... Ah... Mmm... Oh..."
Her expression—a masterful blend of agony and ecstasy—turned the medical bay into a furnace of eroticism.
"Oh... I can't take it... Ah... I'm dying..."
With a sharp cry and a series of violent tremors, she reached her peak. She lay there for a moment, catching her breath, looking utterly satisfied. But she didn't let him stop. With a subtle shift of her hips, she guided his length toward her anus.
This time, she became truly frenzied. Her hands clawed through her fiery red locks, leaving them wild and tangled.
"Ah... Ah... It's too good... This is heaven..."
After a hundred more punishing thrusts, Lina let out a soul-stirring scream. Her body convulsed, her head thrashing as she reached a breaking point.
When Richie finally withdrew, Lina appeared drained, her limbs weak. Standing to the side, Richie marveled at the performance. He knew that for her, this was barely an appetizer, yet she had sold it perfectly.
Still panting, Lina braced herself against the bed. "Originally, I only wanted to teach you a lesson," she said lazily to the three captives. "Now, I think I’ll up the ante. What I just experienced, you will all share."
"I'll help clean them up," Richie offered, a sudden spark of excitement in his eyes. Anal sex was a discipline Lina had taught him, and it required careful preparation. She usually handled the enemas herself, never letting him assist.
A heavy thwack to the head was his only reward.
Lina narrowed her eyes, her irritation plain. "Women have dignity, even here. Sex is natural, even when it’s wild. But there is a line. Crossing that line isn't sex—it’s violation."
Richie was shooed out of the room. He muttered to himself as he waited by the door. *Isn't this technically rape? Does that not count as crossing the line? Will they have any dignity left after this?*
Twenty minutes later, he was called back in. The atmosphere had shifted. The three women lay there, their faces flushed a violent scarlet.
"What are you waiting for? Get in there," Lina said, toyed with the lead woman's nipple. They were already engorged and firm.
The space between them was narrow, but Richie knelt in the center without issue. Their intimate passages were already slick and muddy. To his surprise, a thin, pink membrane covered each entrance.
The untouched seal of their maidenhood.
It was the first time Richie had seen it. Isabella, Lina, and Rosa were all experienced. His cousin was a virgin, but she played a frustrating game of "ambiguity," never letting her silk underwear be removed.
"Stop staring. They’re all virgins; you’ve lucked out," Lina said, leaning her chin on her hand. "Making a lady wait isn't the way of a gentleman."
Richie’s face reddened. He lined up his glans with the first opening and thrust with force.
The heat was immediate, the canal tight as a furnace.
"Does it feel good? Women with such vibrant complexions have blood like molten fire. These are 'little hearths,'" Lina explained with a predatory glint in her eyes. "Their Aura is masculine and aggressive. Enjoy the friction."
Richie was already lost in it. He was learning that the world of the flesh held far more depth than he had imagined.
"Harder. They like strength. Thrust to the hilt. If you can push past the cervix, you’ll send them into a trance," Lina coached, acting as both guide and overseer.
Richie tried to maintain a modicum of gentleness, but with Lina watching, he had no choice. He apologized silently—they had brought this on themselves by crossing the wrong woman.
As Knights, they were physically formidable, but in this arena, their strength was their undoing. Within moments, the woman beneath him became delirious, her words slurring into a desperate chant. "Ah... Ah... It's so itchy... I can't take it... Oh, my dear brother... Harder... I love you..."
The sharp rhythmic slapping of flesh and the rising tide of moans filled the camp. Lina beamed with delight. The other two women watched with a mix of dread and a faint, traitorous hint of anticipation.
Even for a female Knight, when resistance is impossible, the mind begins to look for the light in the dark.
Richie wasn't thinking of their psychology; he was drowning in the sensation. A passage that had never been explored was tight and raw, lacking Lina's practiced grip but offering a primal friction of its own.
More importantly, waves of life energy surged into him. It was thick, almost tangible. If Lina’s energy was a clear spring, this was aged, mellow wine.
"Switch," Lina ordered. She knew Richie’s unique trait—sex with him was a high-depletion event for the partner. Seeing the first woman nearing collapse, she moved him to the next.
In less than an hour, he had claimed all three. The influx of life energy left him feeling "full" for the first time in his life.
As he finished the round, the first woman began to regain her color. Richie glanced at Lina, who was waiting for the finale. He whispered a silent apology.
He moved toward the tightly puckered ring of her rosebud. The area was already drenched in slick fluids. Richie drove his hips forward with a hard thrust.
A pained groan escaped the woman’s lips. Her face contorted in agony as she gritted her teeth against the intrusion. *This* was the true penalty for their failure.
Gradually, the pain gave way to a strange, heavy pleasure—a sensation entirely distinct from what they had just shared.
"Ah... Ah... Harder... I want it... Dear brother..."
The moans echoed again, climbing higher and higher in the cold air of the medical bay.
***
Emerging from the medical bay, Richie found the world looking at him through a different lens. His mentor Dana and Miss Merlin wore knowing, teasing smiles. Captain Calli’s gaze had turned to ice. Miss Robin, who always favored men’s clothing, looked at him with renewed hostility. The Adjutant, Randy, gave him a look of faint reproach mixed with helplessness. Only Rosa remained unchanged, though her eyes danced with the promise of a prank. Richie beat a hasty retreat.
He asked Dana for early leave and headed home, his mind a whirlwind.
At his front door, he hesitated. A sliver of anticipation—one he didn't dare name—tugged at him.
Inside, his heart settled. Everything seemed normal. His mother and Aunt Ling were on the sofa, fully dressed, while his cousin chatted over their shoulders.
"You're back early, dear. Is everything alright?" his mother asked.
"Everything's fine."
Richie noticed they were looking at a yearbook. "What's that?"
"My middle school album. I miss those days," his mother sighed. "Some friends stayed, others vanished like ghosts."
The nostalgia was bittersweet, but Richie felt no connection to it. His own school days were filled with thugs and loners. He realized, with a start, that he had been one of the latter.
"Mom, where did you go to school?"
"Your Aunt Ling, your cousin, and I all went to the same academy."
Richie felt like he’d been struck. He knew all too well the "unique" educational methods of his cousin’s boarding school. The thought that his mother had undergone the same... training... left him speechless.
"I have a headache. I’m going to my room."
He fled to the attic. Behind him, a burst of unrestrained laughter erupted.
He had nothing left to say to these women.
He had returned early not just to avoid the camp’s atmosphere, but to digest the life energy he had siphoned. After a dozen cycles of his Aura, the wine-like energy was finally assimilated. It merged with his own power, a steady conversion that would continue for days.
Aura cultivation had its limits. With his current Method, twenty cycles were his maximum. However, he was now practicing two different Disciplines.
Since Merlin warned him that his primary Art might twist his personality, he had shifted focus. His secondary Discipline, suited for a Heavy Knight, was steady and grand. Its growth was slow, but it ground down the sharp, aggressive edges of his stolen energy. It allowed his Aura to circulate constantly without harm.
After a week, he realized he’d found a perfect balance. His primary Art stole the energy; his secondary Discipline refined the "stolen goods" before they could poison him.
With hands moving in alternating arcs, he guided his Aura through the refined paths. It grew viscous, profound, and steady. Unknowingly, a faint glow began to seep from his palms, and a slow current of air swirled around him.
***
The next morning, Richie woke with a sense of impending doom. The three women wouldn't dare strike at Lina, but they would certainly settle the score with him.
He arrived at the camp with leaden feet. Before he could find an excuse to flee, the three women approached.
They walked with a stiff, labored gait.
"These are our new sisters: Ailie, Aileen, and Aima," Dana said, her tone dripping with mischief.
Richie managed a strained smile. He was intimately familiar with them—down to the exact depth of their passages.
They met his gaze with cold smirks, their eyes gleaming like predators. Richie’s heart turned to ice.
"Teaching such an apprentice must be exhausting," Ailie said to Dana, though her eyes never left Richie.
Everyone saw the intent. Dana looked at her apprentice with a playful glint. Since he’d enjoyed the feast yesterday, it was only fair he paid the bill today. It would help with "squad unity."
"We’ll help you train him," Aileen added.
Aima, the youngest, leaned down until she was eye-to-eye with Richie. "Don't worry. No 'extrajudicial punishment' today. Just some... proper training."
Dana threw up her hands. "I'm leaving him to you. Just try not to maim or kill him."
Richie felt a surge of pure exasperation. As long as he wasn't dead, they had free rein. Where was the honor in such a mentor?
He looked for an ally. Lina was busy looking at the sky. Rosa looked like she was at a circus. Robin looked like she was enjoying his misery.
***
Winter in Glasslovar was a season of iron and ice.
Richie stepped out of the vehicle, the frozen ground beneath his feet as hard as steel. Even wrapped in wool, the wind found its way through. He was cold, and more importantly, he was starving. Food was strictly rationed on this mission.
Behind him sat three vehicles—magitech transports with six massive wheels, powered by energy crystals. They were a hundred and fifty kilometers from Glasslovar, deep in the wilderness.
He stayed outside, preferring the biting wind to the company of the three sisters.
The past month had been a living hell. They hadn't used "extrajudicial punishment," but he would have preferred a beating.
Every morning, he ran through the city in weighted gear while they "hunted" him. After breakfast, he was pummeled by their wooden staves. In the afternoons, he performed bizarre drills in his armor—jumping through fire, walking tightropes, even a humiliating "pole dance" for the amusement of the camp.
Footsteps crunched on the frost behind him. Richie spun, his reflexes honed to a razor edge.
"Not bad," Dana said, walking over. "Maybe I should let them take over permanently."
"Not funny, Ma'am," Richie said.
Dana’s hand lashed out like a strike of lightning. Richie reacted instantly—tucking his neck, leaning back, guarding his vitals with practiced precision.
"See?" Dana lowered her hand. "Your strength has grown immensely this month. You’ve surprised us all."
Richie kept his mouth shut. His growth was due to the life energy he’d siphoned, not their "circus training."
"It's a good thing you had that month of hell," Dana said, her voice turning serious. "Otherwise, this mission would be a suicide run."
"Isn't it just a patrol?" Richie felt a jolt of anxiety.
"If nothing were expected to happen, they wouldn't have sent us. I have a premonition, Richie. The rookies are always the first to fall."
She paused. "The Captain’s order: you are to stay with the Adjutant. Protect her at all costs."
Richie saluted. "Yes, ma'am!"
He knew this was a mercy. The Adjutant was the most protected member of the squad.
"And an informal order," Dana whispered. "If things go south... you have permission to retreat on your own."
Richie was stunned. It was permission to flee. He felt a mix of relief and a stinging sense of being looked down upon.
"Go back to the vehicle, Richie. They won't touch you during a mission. They know the limits."
Richie eventually climbed back inside. His training armor—now reinforced with steel plating and advanced sensors—waited for him. It looked like the shell of an ancient warrior, a far cry from the skeletal frame he’d started with.
***
For three days, the silence was deafening. The tension in the squad was a physical weight.
From Adjutant Randy, he learned the source of the dread: they were too far from home, food was low, and the wilderness offered no sanctuary.
At noon, Captain Calli approached. "Randy, contact Glasslovar. We’re retreating to the nearest supply point."
A wave of relief swept through the vehicle. Randy sat at the communication device—a piece of magitech that only a Psion could operate through "Psychic Resonance Transmission."
But the silence stretched. Half an hour later, Randy’s face was grave. "I can't establish contact."
"A jammer?" The Captain’s voice was like a blade.
"The possibility is high."
"Everyone out," Calli ordered. "We're in trouble."
The side doors flipped up. Ten suits of armor, including Richie’s, stepped onto the frozen earth.
"Stealth mode. Leather dampeners on," the Captain commanded.
They hid the vehicles under branches. Randy stayed in the last transport while Richie stood guard outside. Dana took a high ridge, her ten-meter lance at the ready.
Nora, the Scout Knight, moved ahead in her "Green Iguana" armor. It was a suit of sensors and speed, capable of hearing a heartbeat from kilometers away.
She rounded a ridge into a valley—the perfect place for an ambush. She pushed her audio sensors to the limit.
A faint sound of speech. Varedin.
Then, the sensation of being watched.
Nora didn't hesitate. She magnified the view. In a cluster of bushes, she saw an unnatural shade of green. Two scouts had found each other.
She lunged. She had to know the strength of the hidden force...
***
Richie had been standing in the cold for four hours. His armor was a refrigerator.
Then, Dana’s voice crackled in his ear: "Randy, Richie, move! The Captain has engaged. Seven Heavy Knights, fifteen Light Knights, and a Scout. Retreat now and bring the word back. I’m going for the others."
Randy didn't waste a second. She started the vehicle before Richie could even climb inside. He leaped onto the roof as they sped off.
They hadn't gone far when two figures lunged from the woods.
"Stop them!" Randy shouted. "They're 'Hunters'—Varedin Leopard armor. Light and fast."
Richie rolled off the moving vehicle and spun.
A thunderous "BANG" echoed as he fired the custom firearm Randy had given him. Thick smoke filled the air. When it cleared, one Hunter lay dead, his helmet shattered by the close-range shot.
The second Hunter closed in with a slender lance. Richie felt a surge of relief—there were no arcs of light. A rookie.
He tilted his shield, catching the lance tip and pushing it aside. He didn't fear staves or lances; he’d been pummeled by the best for a month.
The Hunter flicked his lance toward a gap. Richie shifted, letting the tip graze his armor with a screeching of metal, then clamped the weapon with his arm. He lunged forward with a Shield Bash—a move perfected over a millennium.
"CLANG!"
The Hunter was sent flying, but he was agile, letting go of the lance to gain distance.
Richie grabbed the long lance from his back. He was a defensive specialist; he didn't know how to finish this.
"On my count," Randy’s voice whispered in his ear. "One... two... Three!"
Richie thrust. The Hunter stood motionless, paralyzed by a Psychic Shock from the Adjutant. The lance tip pierced his ribs, emerging from his shoulder.
Richie finished them both, tossing their lances onto the vehicle.
"What was that?" he asked as he climbed back up.
"Psychic Shock," Randy said simply. "I wouldn't have let you face them alone."
They drove twenty kilometers before Randy got through to Glasslovar.
"Richie, you can leave now," she said.
"What about you?"
"The squad needs me. I'm going back." Her expression was resolute, even tender. "You're not quite there yet, Richie. Go home."
Richie looked at her, then back toward the battlefield. He thought of Dana, Lina, and the three sisters. He thought of the debt he’d claimed from them.
He sat cross-legged on the roof. "The Captain’s order was to protect you. Wherever you go, I go."
Randy was silent for a long time. Then, she turned the vehicle around and headed back into the storm.