"W—Who do you—UrGhH—think you—NnGn—are?!"
With a smirk, Stiletto lodged his fingers deeper inside her wet pussy.
"Someone you're not. Someone who has the power over you to do to whatever they please."
His smirk widened.
"And besides... don't act like you're not enjoying it~"
Syril scoffed, her face tightening with discomfort.
"Ha! S—Stop lying to—NGhH—yourself! I don't feel a thing."
She paused for a moment, as though steadying herself before continuing.
"A weakling like you could never. I only—NrGh—like strong men."
Her body buckled momentarily as a bolt of electricity assaulted her body. In truth, she was in complete disarray. It hadn't been a lie that she was only attracted to strong men. Of course, the baron was strong—unbelievably stronger than her—but he was weak mentally.
So weak. Especially his bedroom skills, it was truly appalling.
She was sexually frustrated.
But with this physically inferior boy before her, it was taking everything in her just to stay upright, let alone push him off.
Something strange was going on…
Did she want it?
Stiletto retorted.
"Who said you have to like me? You're going to cream all over these fingers of mine regardless. Whore."
The way he spoke to her...
In the month she had been a slave, she hadn't once been spoken ill of, cursed at, or called derogatory terms—perhaps because the baron had ordered against it. Which was fine. She hated having her freedom snuffed out, and being called a slave was the last thing she wanted.
But when Stiletto—the first person to call her that—said it so easily, it unsettled her.
She wasn't sure what the feeling was.
But she felt it was dangerous.
Almost three minutes later, her walls tightened with unbelievable force. Her defiant shit-talk had completely vanished, replaced by harsh breathing and a slumped torso. She braced herself against Stiletto's shoulders, using them to stay upright.
'Shit...'
Stiletto laughed maniacally, his voice echoing around them.
He used his other hand to wipe the remaining blood from Syril's face, smearing it across her lips. The warrior's eyes registered the act, but she was still in a state of confusion.
Stiletto growled.
"Open. Now."
He continued, his voice filled with dominance.
"You get off on this, don't you? Then fucking open wide."
She listened.
Immediately, her lips closed around his fingers, sucking them clean. In the same moment, Stiletto sped up his rhythm inside her.
Her eyes went wide as she realized the unstoppable current flowing inside her. In a last-ditch effort, she tried to use all her strength to push him off, finally understanding that he was truly going to do it.
The weak boy was going to make her cum.
And before she could fully shove him, she did:
"NNnnnNNNNRrrrGghHHM~"
Syril's entire body began to convulse as she couldn't hold back any longer. After several moments, Stiletto withdrew his fingers, causing her to shiver once more before collapsing to her knees.
She'd squirted all over her blood-stained sundress.
Stiletto stared down at her, her face clearly distraught. It was as if her entire world had come crashing down.
He could have spat on her—truly driven the point home while she was at her lowest—but in truth, he felt slightly bad.
Only slightly.
The fact that she was an awful person hadn't affected him personally, save for her initial indifference toward him. Her violent tendencies hadn't turned him off either. The real reason he had put her in her place was simple: she had overstepped her bounds as a slave.
'Well... and I saw an opportunity to get one step closer to breaking her. Damn, her insides felt great~ Must be that large, muscly ass.'
They had joked earlier, briefly—his doing, mostly—and she had slipped, letting her icy persona fracture for just a moment.
But that was where it ended. He refused to be stepped on, and he would never allow her to believe that such a thing was possible.
"Don't ever do something like that again. I'll say it one more time—don't mistake my goofy, easygoing personality for weakness."
She only stared into the dirt, giving the faintest nod as she sat on her ass, legs splayed haphazardly.
Noticing her frozen state, Stiletto shrugged and sat down beside her, accepting the system's experience conversions.
Two thin books immediately spawned in the air, and Syril's broken gaze flickered with curiosity and confusion once more. It faded just as quickly—she wasn't in any condition to ask questions or speak.
Looking down, he read the titles etched across their covers: A Touching Moment and The Bloodline Inhabiter.
It took him only five minutes to read both.
The first detailed a short love story between two individuals, twisted in something deranged. The entire thing felt strangely random—no names, no setting, not even clear circumstances. Just vague references to power.
The second book…
Was empty.
The strangest part was that the system hadn't asked him any questions, yet had granted him skills without any apparent repercussions.
Frowning, he opened his skill page, hoping to understand why.
-----
*NEW*
{Sparking Feel (Active Ability)-}
Rank: Flicker
Description: The user can activate this ability to make the target feel horny. The intensity of the feeling varies depending on the target's favorability and Stage. Targets with higher favorability feel more intense, while those with higher Stages are less influenced. Can only be used once per day. This ability's rank increases in accordance with the user's Stage.
*NEW*
{Bloody Spirit (Passive Ability)-}
Rank: Flicker
Grants the user a natural affinity with blood. This ability's rank increases in accordance with the user's Stage. At the base rank, the user may manipulate their own blood to create a weapon.
-----
It seemed he had his answers.
Clearly, the skills were a result of him pouring his stats into Touch and Spirit. Maybe that was why there hadn't been any questions.
He still wasn't sure what the books' contents actually meant, though.
Anyway, it seemed he'd gotten lucky.
Truthfully, he had wondered why the proud, cold Syril hadn't simply forced him off of her against the carriage. His best guess was that the 'Sparking Feel' ability—despite being an active skill—had automatically activated for the first time.
Which meant the dark elf hadn't lacked the strength to resist.
She'd made a choice.
Turning his head to the side, he looked at Syril. She hadn't moved a single muscle, still staring into the dirt.
-----
[Watchful Eye]
(Syril Thurdia)
Stage: 2
Race: Dark Elf
Gender: Female
Age: 83
Height: 5'10
Favorability: —
(Page 2) Proceed to view skills?
-----
'What?'
Why was her favorability missing yet again?
"Syril."
She remained idle, barely managing a response.
"Nnh?"
"Do you know where we were headed?"
He paused, awkwardly.
"It's not like we have a driver anymore... the husband. Or the wife."
She shook her head, the movement jagged and forced, as if it took effort.
Stiletto sighed, rubbing his temples as he stood.
"I guess we have to head back then... get up."
She didn't move—stuck.
Groaning, he bent down and slapped her hand, making her flinch.
Slowly lifting her head, she was met with the sight of Stiletto leaning forward, a hand extended toward her.
Despite the gesture, his tone was serious.
"Hurry the fuck up. Are you just going to sit there like a vegetable all day? I don't know the way back. I need you. Get. Up."
She started to reach for his hand—too slow for Stiletto. With a sharp motion, he grabbed her by the elbow and hauled her to her feet.
Releasing her arm, he turned and began walking back down the road they'd come from.
"Un—fucking—believable. Too much has happened today…"
It seemed retrieving his Goddess slave would have to wait for another day.
"I'm tired… I need a nap."