Emerging from the boiling tide of lust, Al buried his entire body underwater, leaving only a pair of eyes floating above the surface.
He held his breath until he couldn't anymore, then rose again—repeating the process until his mind grew much clearer.
He really had been targeted by S!
The centaur girl silently lifted Al out of the water and placed him on the bank. Like a magician, she produced a blanket and gently wiped the naked boy's body from head to toe.
She even carefully lifted the part Al suspected had been most corrupted by S, cradling it in her palms, drying it thoroughly and absorbing every drop of moisture.
Though her movements were still a little clumsy, the devout and sacred expression on the centaur girl's face, combined with her cautious care, made it feel as if she were performing something profoundly important. Al couldn't even summon the thought of resisting; he simply let the mare serve him obediently.
Al lowered his head and stared at the crowned stem lying soft and limp in the centaur girl's hand. Even though it was still ridiculously oversized for a newborn foal, it was nowhere near the three-pronged trident that had thrust out from his crotch in the illusion.
Just thinking about it felt terrifying in a strange way.
He shivered—perhaps from the cold. The centaur girl walked ashore completely naked, water droplets sliding continuously down her bare body.
Her athletic figure, freshly cleansed by the clear water, gleamed as if polished. Under the scattered sunlight, it radiated an enticing halo. She stood in front of Al, turned slightly sideways, and let her powerfully muscled equine lower body stretch across the boy's view—full, firm, and breathtaking.
No wonder she was a centaur…
The charm of her horse half was in no way inferior to her human upper body. For people with certain fetishes, the horse body was even a massive bonus.
Al's xp was broad, so he could accept it all. Naturally, his gaze drifted…
Just kidding. He had already taken the Jade Rabbit into his mouth and done all sorts of things with it. If it weren't for his current age and hardware making full penetration difficult, he might have gone straight to home base earlier and graduated from virginity in both worlds.
Thanks to the perfected education system of 2076, a boy his age already knew everything he was supposed to know. At seventeen he was no longer a child (bullshit), and he still had two years of free, unemployed time between eighteen and twenty. Al planned to become a shut-in, squatting in his apartment and diving into the Spirit Realm system, where he could experience all kinds of flowers within reasonable limits.
Once upon a time, Al had been treated as a Slaanesh devotee in the Spirit Realm system, spending twelve hours of free time every day on high-intensity degeneracy. He could even write guides for ancient, early-21st-century resources and exchange insights with a bunch of seventy-plus-year-old zero-zero and nine-zero generation grandpas, sharing their collections.
Those who understood, understood. There weren't many new positions left to discover. Before crossing the final line, his personal personality and the psychological infantilization caused by his young body made him hesitate, feel shy, and wonder "what are you doing…"
After crossing the boundary with the centaur woman, Al could quietly adjust his mindset: just treat it as a relationship that progressed ridiculously fast and had to continue—unless she kicked him away first, or he might end up with his skull offered on a throne.
"About My Isekai Reincarnation: I Got Ridden by a Centaur Big Sister."
Something like that.
As if.
"One piece of good news and one piece of bad news."
The wood elf pushed open the tent flap. The moment she entered, she frowned and waved her hand in front of her nose.
Rhine coughed lightly. Old Hart immediately turned the smoking pipe upside down, closed the lid, and handed it to the waiting Will. The young man took it and walked out briskly—clearly he had been dying to escape the oppressive atmosphere inside the tent.
"Your hunters suffered heavy losses."
Once the smell inside the tent had dissipated considerably, the wood elf finally spoke, her tone dripping with schadenfreude.
"They sacrificed themselves for the Empire's cause, without question. At the same time, in the name of the Julius family and myself, their families will receive two additional portions of compensation."
Clearly the casualties did not move this man, whose heart was usually as hard as iron. He simply continued gazing at the wood elf, waiting for the other piece of news.
"In terms of cold-bloodedness, we elves will always envy you humans." The wood elf couldn't help but mock.
Rhine's expression remained unchanged. He gently stroked his smooth chin and replied in a calm yet supremely confident tone:
"The Empire stands at the center of the mortal world on the pillars of steel, faith, and population."
"If the enemy destroys one dozen of our troops, we can immediately refill two dozen—or four dozen."
"Soldiers lay down their lives for the Empire; the Empire and its generals generously compensate their families. This is a truth every imperial citizen understands, and from the moment they enlist, they are already prepared for it."
The wood elf opened her mouth, but for a moment found no words to refute him. She could only spit out in frustration, "Your hunters found that pack of beasts. The markings match the ones from half a year ago."
"See how much blood of your own kind you'll have to pay this time. This forest will thank you for the fertile soil you bring."
She turned, lifted the tent flap, and walked out without looking back.
Rhine and Old Hart exchanged a glance. The one-eyed general shrugged and followed her out.
Outside was a bustling, lively camp.
Military chaplains stood on small platforms loudly reciting the names of the gods and holy scriptures. Below them knelt rows of soldiers who—at least appeared—devoutly praying. Before battle, no one was stingy with prayers to the gods, even if they never stepped foot inside a church on normal days.
Some drill instructors led their units in two groups, practicing forest ambush and pursuit maneuvers back and forth through the woods.
Knights gathered together, talking loudly and boasting. Squires led horses toward the stables. Artisans inspected equipment, ensuring no faulty or rusty gear would cost a soldier his life on the battlefield.
This imperial army operation was not secret; it was a semi-public march to Estalia to carry out a mission from the imperial center. Naturally, it attracted plenty of camp followers unafraid of death. Most of them were prostitutes, along with some peddlers selling small trinkets, offering fortune-telling or postal services, or cheap merchants hoping to pick up bargains from the soldiers.
Before the End Times—or the "Great War" as it was widely known—such scenes were rare, because the Empire's main opponents back then were all kinds of daemons, greenskins, undead, and Norscans. No one knew how many beastmen or spider-riding goblins might burst from the forest, or whether the next ravine hid an entire undead legion led by a necromancer wielding the Winds of Death.
But after the Great War, things improved greatly. The beastmen fractured; those hoofed, man-like creatures actually began turning toward Order. Greenskins and Chaos-tainted beastmen were purged by the forces of Order and forced back into the Badlands and remote fringes to eke out a living. The undead, under the glorious leadership and suppression of the von Carstein couple, withdrew into Sylvania, which had since become a true nation of the dead—though the Empire had never really controlled it anyway.
Security had improved a lot. Mainly because there were far fewer daemonic and monstrous enemies. Commerce, population movement, and cultural exchange became frequent. After Chaos receded, people no longer had to fear that praying for bountiful harvests would draw the attention of the Plaguefather, nor did scholars seeking cures for disease have to worry about Grandfather Nurgle pouring more pus into the mortal realm.
The pursuit of knowledge and art no longer needed to be hidden, and it was easy to gain the patronage of Tzeentch and Slaanesh. Civilization entered a rapid development era after the Great War. Appropriate taboos were broken, natural instincts were liberated, industry advanced, and during wars there was no longer constant worry that some half-paralyzed toilet daemon would take offense and smash allied cannons and gunpowder with a single axe.
What a good era this was.
Will thought to himself, his eyes fixed on the girl with the very large breasts, light freckles on her face, and a simple, honest appearance that screamed she came from some rural village in Bretonnia.
She stood with both hands pressing on a wooden tub in front of her—the sign for laundry service. Her arms were spread wide, braced on either side of the tub, causing the two magnificent mounds on her chest to thrust forward in splendid isolation. With every movement, they swayed in breathtaking arcs.
Will licked his lips and stroked the thin mustache under his nose—the one he had grown to imitate the adults, believing it made him look manly.
Rhine didn't keep a beard. Will had always felt that his cousin lacked true masculine vigor and inwardly refused to accept that this was the most outstanding young man of the Julius family.
"I'll walk over, ask her to accept my commission, then gentlemanly chat with her about Bretonnian customs and family backgrounds."
He silently rehearsed the upcoming performance in his mind.
"Ah, Bretonnia! Beautiful Bretonnia! Her lands, her forests, and her fairest maidens!"
Will composed a short poem he planned to sing in front of the village girl.
"Let's go."
Rhine walked past him, his gaze sweeping over his younger cousin before continuing forward. Old Hart patted Will on the shoulder, signaling him to follow.
The young man felt extremely annoyed—especially when he saw two burly soldiers carrying a huge bundle of laundry toward the washerwoman. His anxiety grew. Those clothes would take three women all night to wash. Once she accepted the job, she would definitely return to the village or go to the stream. How would he find her again?
Yet Rhine and Hart's pace kept increasing. The young man hesitated on the spot, torn between two directions. Finally, he gritted his teeth, ruthlessly pushed the image of the washerwoman's two glorious tits out of his mind, and chased after Hart and the others.