Throughout the journey, Jerry felt the invisible weight of his surname once more. Every wizard they passed, upon hearing the patrol captain whisper the details to his colleagues, cast glances of unmasked hostility, deep-seated scrutiny, or raw curiosity.
But as Jerry had expected, no one actually stepped forward to cause trouble. This front-line legion was a highly disciplined machine of violence; personal feelings were strictly subordinate to orders.
The induction process was surprisingly smooth—coldly efficient, even. No one asked about his origins, and no one cared about his background. The wizard in charge of paperwork mechanically took the parchment documents, used an auto-transcribing quill to scrawl information onto another form, and then stamped Jerry's identity badge with a secret mark representing the "Mole" project.
The clerk didn't even lift his eyelids during the entire process, as if the name "Rosier" was no different from any common alias.
With the formalities finished, the captain led Jerry into the massive black tower standing at the heart of the fortress. The interior was far larger than it appeared from the outside. They stepped onto a silent levitation platform. The surrounding walls turned to transparent crystal, revealing thousands of wizards and magical constructs busy across various levels.
The platform finally came to a halt at the very top of the tower. A portal made of pure mana, shimmering with a faint glow, opened before them. The captain stopped, bowing respectfully toward the interior. "Reporting to the Legion Commander. Vanguard Scout for the 'Mole' project, Jerry Rosier, has arrived."
He stepped back, signaling Jerry to enter alone.
The Queen's Chamber
Jerry stepped inside, and the mana portal closed silently behind him. It was a spacious circular office with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the fortress and the seven moons rotating in the sky.
The office decor was minimalist: a massive black stone desk, a few chairs, and rows of weapon racks lining the walls, displaying magical armaments that radiated a dangerous aura. In the center of the office, a woman stood with her back to him, gazing out at the view. Hearing his footsteps, she slowly turned around.
Jerry's gaze narrowed. This was a woman of immense presence.
She wore a custom-made set of skin-tight armor that shimmered with the luster of mithril. The breastplate followed the full, rounded contours of her bust, and her pauldrons gave her an air of heroic authority. She wore matching metal gauntlets; one hand gripped a scepter taller than herself, crafted from an unknown black metal. At its tip was a large purple crystal that flickered like a beating heart, echoing the purple moon in the sky.
In sharp contrast to the cold, hard armor of her upper body, she wore a well-tailored black pencil skirt. Beneath the hem, two long, straight, and stunning legs were encased in sheer black silk stockings that caught the light with a seductive sheen. On her feet were simple but lethal-looking black high heels.
As she walked toward Jerry, the sharp click-clack of her heels echoed clearly in the silent office.
Her long, wine-red hair flowed over her shoulders. She wore a playful, condescending smile, her sharp eyes scanning Jerry from head to toe without reservation.
"Jerry Rosier..." she began, her voice possessing a mature, magnetic quality mixed with a metallic edge. "Eleven years old... Is Dumbledore insane, or does he have an extraordinary amount of faith in you—this little poisonous sprout of the Rosier family?"
She stepped up to Jerry and used her scepter to lift his chin, her touch both light and provocative. The purple crystal flickered with an eerie light as it rubbed against his skin.
"I am Lilith Vanessa, Commander of this Legion," she whispered, her face inches from his. "Codename: Queen."
Her hot breath brushed against Jerry's cheek, carrying a scent unique to a mature woman—a heady mix of gunpowder, leather, and fine wine.
Lilith withdrew the scepter and stood tall. The friction of her silk-clad thighs made a soft, rasping sound as she slowly circled him like a leopard inspecting its prey.
"My little sprout, this is your first time facing such a mission. Do you need to rest first? We have top-tier lounges... or perhaps I could personally help you prepare?" Her voice dropped into a low, husky register, dripping with overt sexual suggestion.
She stopped behind him, her warm breath ghosting over his ear. Jerry didn't turn around. He stood there calmly, as if her teasing words were nothing more than a passing breeze.
"No thank you, Lady Lilith," Jerry said, his voice devoid of any adolescent shyness or panic. "I am ready."
The smile on Lilith's lips deepened. "Very well."
She began to walk again, her hips swaying subtly with each step, the tight skirt accentuating the rounded curve of her rear. Instead of the exit, she headed toward a giant crystal prism near the window. Jerry followed. He could hear the rhythmic clack-clack of her heels and the faint zip of her silk stockings rubbing together.
She touched a point on the crystal prism. The nebula within it stilled, replaced by a view of the world outside, suddenly appearing inches away. A visible film of light—the "World Crystal Wall"—enveloped the horizon.
"Look. This is the 'Crystal Wall' of this world," Lilith said, her soft body pressing against Jerry's back. The tips of her high heels were almost touching his heels. "Every world touched or 'invaded' by wizards has this. It is the manifestation of that world's laws and its self-defense mechanism. You must pierce it to truly enter."
Beyond the wall was chaos—the "Spatial Turbulence." No light, no matter, only swirling vortices of energy that looked like the eyes of storms.
"Those currents will tear apart anything that wanders in. Even Dumbledore would be erased without a trace if he entered without coordinates," she said, her tone turning serious. Her finger slid down from Jerry's shoulder, tracing a line across his chest before stopping over his heart, where she gave a small, firm press.
"So, don't underestimate your task, my little sprout. Everyone who goes in and comes back alive is remembered. Of course, if you're truly exceptional... I'll come to fetch you myself."
The Debt
Jerry's move was light but firm. He reached up, gripped the wrist of the hand wandering over his chest, and moved it away from his body.
The playful smirk on Lilith's face froze. She felt the strength in the boy's grip—it wasn't overwhelming, but the absolute composure behind it acted like a barrier, cutting through the dangerous, flirtatious atmosphere she had cultivated.
"Commander Lilith!" Jerry looked up into her eyes, which had turned icy. "If I recall correctly, you... still owe the Rosier family a small debt."
The temperature in the room plummeted to freezing. Every trace of playfulness vanished from Lilith's face, replaced by a coldness like a Siberian storm. Her eyes narrowed into slits, the spark of mischief extinguished by a wave of killing intent.
"A... debt?" she repeated, her voice now sharp and metallic. She gripped her scepter, her knuckles turning white with a faint click. Even the runic sky outside seemed to dim.
The killing intent in the room exploded into a violent aura. Lilith stared at Jerry, her heel pressing into the floor as if she wanted to crack the stone. The scepter hummed with power.
But Jerry remained as steady as a mountain. Without a hint of fear, he reached into his robes and pulled out a ledger. He brushed his thumb over the lion-head crest on the cover and flipped it open, ignoring her murderous gaze.
"This debt was signed by your father, Mr. Roland, in his own hand," Jerry said, his voice as flat as someone reading a grocery list. He looked up at her. "Even though your father and mother died in the last civil war, fighting against the Rosiers... I hope you haven't forgotten the ancient traditions of the wizarding world. All family debts are inherited by blood until they are cleared."
He closed the book and tucked it back into his robes.
"A total of 1.37 million Gold Galleons!"
Looking at her beautiful face, now twisted with anger and humiliation, Jerry twisted the knife one last time. "Considering the size of the sum, I'm sure it will take even a Legion Commander quite some time to scrape it together. The Rosiers are willing to be patient. Take your time. No rush."
"Heh..."
A cold, dry laugh escaped Lilith's throat. She stepped forward, her tall frame looming over Jerry, drowning him in her shadow.
Then, she raised her long, black-silk-clad leg. She bent her knee slightly and pressed her firm inner thigh—unyielding and muscular—directly against Jerry's crotch.
Through two layers of fabric, she could feel it clearly: the massive, monstrous length that completely defied his age. Even in this atmosphere of impending death, it remained stubbornly hard and thick.
Lilith's condescending smile returned, but this time, it was laced with pure venom.
"I'll be waiting for you to come back alive, my little creditor!" she whispered, her red lips nearly brushing his ear. Her breath was now bone-chilling. "I will personally... 'deliver' every single one of those 1.37 million Galleons into your hands."
She pulled her leg back and turned away, her wine-red hair whipping through the air. "Follow me."
The Launch
She swayed her hips, her tight skirt straining over her buttocks as she led him to the back of the office. The wall opened to reveal a spiral staircase of pure mana leading to the roof.
The roof was an open-air platform. A colossal magical array occupied the entire floor, with silver runes flowing toward the center. There, a translucent, amber-colored capsule hovered in the air. It looked less like a transport and more like a shell waiting to be fired from a cannon.
"Get in," Lilith said, her voice now completely devoid of emotion.
Jerry didn't hesitate. He climbed into the amber capsule, which was just large enough for one person. The hatch sealed shut, cutting off all sound. Through the amber shell, he saw Lilith's cold face and the seven moons behind her.
Lilith raised her scepter and slammed it into the ground.
"Goodbye!"
BOOM!
The array on the roof exploded with blinding light. Massive mana surged into the center. The capsule was propelled upward by an irresistible force. With a deafening roar that tore the air, it streaked like a golden meteor toward the chaotic void beyond the Crystal Wall.
The sensation of extreme acceleration hit him, but the interior remained stable. In the blink of an eye, he pierced the shimmering World Crystal Wall and entered the legendary spatial turbulence.
However, the expected violent impact never came. The multicolored energy currents—usually like raging dragons—became docile the moment they touched the amber capsule. They flowed lazily around it, some even brushing the shell like gentle tentacles.
This terrifying void, which usually erased any trace of existence, looked at this boy—someone not yet twelve, a mere blip in the river of time—and decided he wasn't a "foreign object" that needed to be destroyed. The capsule drifted smoothly into the deep, infinite darkness.
The massive roar that tore through the air, along with the tidal wave of mana released by the tower's array, was like a boulder dropped into a still lake. It instantly jolted the entire fortress.
Several figures streaked toward the roof from all directions at incredible speeds—some via Apparition, others riding high-speed magical flight artifacts. Almost the moment Jerry's capsule vanished into the chaotic void, seven or eight wizards in high-ranking regalia appeared on the platform.
"Lilith! What is the meaning of this?"
An old wizard with snow-white hair but piercing eyes spoke first. His robes bore the highest-level crest of the Alchemy Department. "The launch wasn't scheduled until tomorrow morning! We were waiting for the 'Gravity Moon' to reach its orbital peak to ensure maximum precision! Why did you trigger it early?"
Another burly combat wizard, his face crossed by a jagged, hideous scar, scowled. "We haven't performed the final psychological evaluation or the stress tests on that boy! Sending him into an unknown world without confirming his absolute loyalty—have you lost your mind?"
"Commander, this is a breach of protocol!"
"You should have at least notified the council!"
Accusations flew thick and fast. These were the legion's high command; though they were ranked below Lilith, they were powerful figures in their own right. They all stared at Lilith, who stood in the center of the platform.
Lilith remained still, her scepter planted firmly on the ground. Her beautiful face was an unreadable mask. She listened to their protests in silence, her gaze fixed on the spot where the golden meteor had vanished, as if she were still tracking its invisible path.
Only when the shouting died down did she slowly withdraw her scepter. She didn't answer them. She didn't explain, and she didn't argue. She simply turned around, her cold eyes—flickering with a trace of complex irritation she didn't fully understand—sweeping over the group.
Then, she let out a short, freezing huff. It was a sound filled with suppressed fury, disdain, and a touch of restless agitation.
"Hmph."
With that single syllable, she ignored them entirely. She strode away on her long, black-silk-clad legs, the sharp click-clack-click of her heels echoing as she descended the mana stairs. She left behind only a cold, sexy silhouette and a group of stunned wizards.
The air on the platform fell into an eerie silence, broken only by the howling wind. The senior officers looked at one another, caught between confusion and insulted pride. They couldn't understand why Lilith, usually the paragon of icy precision, would make such an impulsive, reckless decision.
In the heavy silence, a younger wizard standing on the edge of the crowd watched her swaying hips disappear down the stairs. His scowl suddenly vanished, replaced by a look of wide-eyed realization, as if he had just solved the greatest mystery of the universe. He leaned over to a fellow young officer and mouthed three words.
"Aunt... Flo... Visiting..."
The older wizards caught the gesture, and a look of "Ah, that explains it" washed over the crowd.
Blackiron Stronghold
The air was thick with a foul, complex stench. It was the heavy soot of low-grade coal mixed with the greasy smell of oil from forge vats, all combined with the sour, rot-heavy stench of city sewers—ale, sweat, and waste.
This was Blackiron Stronghold.
Massive pipes forged from brass and steel coiled like pythons around the soot-stained brick walls of the buildings. Some hissed with escaping white steam; others were rusted and covered in crude gang signs—a roaring wolf head for the "Bloodtooth" Orcs, crossed war-hammers for the "Ironbeard" Dwarves, and a twisted briar leaf for the "Deadwood" Elves of the slums.
The sky was an eternal leaden grey, the sun's light strangled by thick smog into a weak, sickly yellow glow. Despite the filth, the city was vibrantly, noisily alive. Towering Ogres grunted as they hauled steam-carts loaded with iron ore. A well-dressed human in a monocle hurried into a shop labeled Precision Gears & Alchemy. Near a roadside tavern, a drunken Dwarf and an equally hammered Minotaur leaned on each other, bellowing tuneless folk songs in their respective tongues.
In a corner of this chaotic city, on a stone-paved training ground, a lithe figure practiced tirelessly.
She was a Centaur girl.
She possessed a breathtakingly perfect human upper body. Her fair, delicate skin was slick with a thin sheen of sweat from the exertion, glistening healthily in the dim light. Her chestnut hair was tied back with a simple leather cord, swinging like a lively ponytail with her every move. Her features were as refined as a high forest Elf's, but her clear eyes burned with a wild, primal fire.
Her lower half was a powerful, graceful equine body. Her four sturdy legs were covered in sleek brown fur, rippling with explosive muscle. As she moved, her iron-shod hooves hammered out a rhythmic clatter-clatter-clatter on the stone.
She was focused entirely on her spearwork. She gripped a knight's lance made of forged steel, longer than her entire upper body. It wasn't a decorative piece; the shaft was scarred from real combat, and the tip gleamed with a cold, lethal light. Her movements perfectly merged human agility with equine power.
She lunged forward, her four hooves driving her like an arrow from a bow, covering ten meters in an instant. At the end of the dash, she dropped her center of gravity, her core twisting as the lance transformed into a silver bolt of lightning, impaling a target dummy made of hardened Iron-Oak.
THUD!
The tip pierced the wood effortlessly. But the girl didn't stop. She flicked her wrist, and a spiral of "Combat Qi" exploded from within her, surging into the spear.
CRACK!
The sturdy wooden post was shredded from the inside out by the centrifugal force, sending splinters flying in every direction. She retracted the spear, pivoted, and skidded to a halt, her hooves kicking up sparks from the stone. She spun like a top, her lance whistling through the air in a silver circle, batting away the flying debris.
As she came to a halt and reined in her energy, the noise of the city was broken by the sound of heavy, coarse clapping.
A massive figure appeared at the entrance of the training ground. It was a Minotaur, standing over seven feet tall, built like a mountain of walking muscle. His horns were thick and curved, and a heavy nose ring glinted in the twilight. He wore a crude breastplate of thick leather and riveted steel plates. Most imposing was the colossal greatsword on his back—the blade was as wide as a door, its hilt embedded with raw mana crystals.
"Not bad, Erica!" The Minotaur's voice was deep and gravelly. "Your power and speed are well-balanced, and your 'Draconic Coil Spirit' is getting smoother."
He walked toward her, each step making the stones groan. "In a place like Blackiron Stronghold, full of scrap metal and filth, a bloodline like yours mustn't be allowed to gather dust." He grinned, showing powerful teeth. "Your father used to pop insect heads with that same spirit energy back in the day!"
Hearing the praise—especially the mention of her father—Erica's face flushed a deeper red. She shyly scraped a hoof against the ground and slung her lance over her back. "You flatter me, Uncle Toren. My 'Coiling Spirit' is still far from my father's. It's the difference between a firefly and the moon."
"Haha, always so humble," Toren laughed, reaching out with a hand the size of a dinner plate to ruffle her chestnut hair. "Keep that heart. If all goes well, you'll qualify for the 'Steam Baptism' this year. You'll finally be able to afford Steam Augments."
"Steam Augments?" Erica's eyes lit up with hunger and excitement.
"That's right!" Toren gestured to the hilt of his sword. "Not just city-guard issue gear, but custom-built combat systems powered by high-pressure steam. Imagine steam-powered greaves that make you thirty percent faster, or a steam-spiral lance with triple the piercing power... That is what a real warrior of Blackiron looks like."
Dreaming of her future armor, Erica began the walk home. Her hooves made a cheerful clicking sound on the uneven streets. Her route took her away from the industrial smoke and toward the upper districts, where the smell of oil faded, replaced by the scent of baked grain and cheap perfume.
"Erica!" a light voice called from an alley.
A slender Elf girl with silver-white hair and pointed ears waved her over. She wore a patched leather vest and was fiddling with a complex, oversized wrench.
"Li! Scavenging again?" Erica trotted over.
"It's not scavenging, it's 'Urban Archaeology'!" Li rolled her eyes, waving the wrench. "The Black-Gear Factory just tossed a load of scrap. I found a perfectly good micro-pressure valve. It'll fetch at least three silver bits on the black market!"
As they laughed, a long, mournful steam whistle echoed across the city, and the ground began to vibrate. They both looked up.
Thirty meters above them, a massive aerial rail made of iron girders and rivets spanned the city like the spine of a dragon. A steam train, belching thick black smoke, roared across the track. The engine was enormous, fronted by a brass ram fashioned into a snarling beast's head. The wagons were like iron ribs, some sealed, some open, carrying ore, timber, and even caged monsters that roared at the sky.
This was the lifeblood of the Silent Plains—a network of iron that connected every industrial, mining, and agricultural city on the continent.
But as Erica and Li looked up, something else appeared in the sky.
An amber meteor.
It didn't streak from the horizon; it simply materialized out of nowhere within the clouds above Blackiron Stronghold. At first, it was just a pinprick of light, but it grew with terrifying speed. It trailed a steady, golden wake, tearing through the leaden clouds with a destination that felt chillingly deliberate: the heart of the city.
The residents of the lower districts, however, rarely looked up. To them, the sky's color didn't matter—only the endless labor did. The meteor passed behind the high-rises and aerial rails, unnoticed by the masses.
"Come on, let's check 'White-Breath Street'!" Li said, pulling Erica's arm. "I heard a shipment of 'materials' just came in from the Howling Tundra. We might find some intact scythe-claws for carving tools."
Erica followed her friend toward the upper district. Their path ran alongside a ground-level freight rail. Before they had gone far, a heavy, bone-grinding clank-clank sounded from behind.
They stepped aside as a different kind of train approached. This one had no brass beasts or fancy paint. It looked... biological.
The engine was the severed, massive head of a giant insect. It was covered in thick, dark purple chitinous plates. Two scythe-like limbs were bolted to the sides as rams. Where eyes should have been, two massive searchlights emitted a sickly white glow.
The wagons behind it were even more gruesome...
The train was not forged of steel. Instead, it was constructed from the hollowed-out segments of massive insectoid carapaces, linked together by thick, dark-red sinew and tendons used as cables. Beneath the translucent chitin, one could see organic tissue still twitching and pulsing, grotesquely fused with hissing brass steam pipes. The entire train looked like a giant centipede forcibly resurrected from the corpses of countless monsters.
A pungent, sickening stench—a cocktail of formalin and rotting meat—wafted over the street as the train roared past.
"Ugh, another 'Corpse-Collector' special," Li said, pinching her nose in disgust.
Erica watched the train in silence. She knew the truth: these were the remains of this world's greatest and only enemy—the Tyranids. No one knew the origin of these terrifying creatures from beyond the stars. They were a never-ending, mobile plague of locusts, dropping from the sky without warning onto any corner of the Silent Plains. They had no intellect, no emotion; only the primal instinct to devour, kill, and multiply. Wherever they passed, whether city or wilderness, they left nothing behind but silence and ground covered in a thick, pulsating creep.
Blackiron Stronghold and all other cities on the plains existed for one purpose: to fight this centuries-old war. They killed the Tyranids, and the Tyranids killed them. Then, the survivors processed the monsters' corpses into weapons, armor, building materials, and even trains. They armed themselves with the flesh of their enemies to keep the slaughter going.
The Crash
"White-Breath Street" was one of the most prosperous areas in the Upper District. Unlike the eternal soot of the Lower District, the air here was filled with white steam leaking from alchemy shops and high-end restaurants, carrying the scent of herbs and roasted meats. The brass pipes on the buildings were polished to a shine, and shop signs were embedded with glowing mana crystals.
The two girls had just entered the street when a sudden, piercing whistle tore through the sky. It was sharper and more urgent than any steam whistle. Every creature on the street—Dwarven merchants, human waiters—looked up.
The amber meteor, once a tiny speck, was now as large as a carriage. Trailing a golden tail of flame, it slammed down at a steep angle toward the edge of the Upper District—the Centaur Quarter.
Li's mouth hung open, but Erica's face turned deathly pale. That was her home.
BOOM!
A deafening explosion rocked the earth. A massive mushroom cloud of dust, rubble, and splinters rose into the sky. Erica's heart felt like it was being crushed by an invisible hand. Ignoring Li, she bolted. Her four hooves hammered the ground as she transformed into a brown blur, racing toward the disaster.
When she reached the familiar slope of the Centaur Quarter, her blood froze. The rows of wood-and-stone houses at the top of the hill were gone. In their place was a massive, smoking crater. Her home—and her neighbor's—was directly in the center of the wreckage.
Erica stood at the edge of the crater, staring in disbelief at the remains of her bed and her favorite practice dummy. Then, a thought hit her. She let out a gut-wrenching scream of grief and despair.
"NO!"
She lunged into the ruins, her hooves scraping against sharp stones and wood, feeling no pain. She began to dig frantically where her bedroom used to be. Under her bed... there was a metal box. It contained every copper and silver bit she had saved since she was a child. Every coin was soaked in her sweat; every bit carried her dream of one day buying her own set of Steam Augments. It even held her father's death benefits.
As she dug until her fingers bled, a "crack" sounded from the center of the pit.
The amber capsule hadn't disintegrated. Its reinforced shell had taken the brunt of the impact. Now, from the inside, a pair of fists began to hammer against the wall. One strike, then another, until the mana-reinforced shell shattered into amber crystals.
A boy in oversized wizard robes stepped out of the wreckage. It was Jerry.
System Rewards & Gravity
Jerry felt sore, his head was ringing, but mostly he felt heavy. The gravity of this world was more than double that of Earth or the Hogwarts world. If not for his superior physical condition, his internal organs might have collapsed.
Ping!
A system notification rang in his mind.
[Elf Avenger Quest Series: Stage Settlement Complete!]
Evaluation: Perfect! Rewards:
Rosier Family Prestige: +150
[Withered Scepter] Crafting Blueprint x1 Description: A malicious staff containing the laws of decay and proliferation. It can instantly amplify a single spell into three to five identical casts. However, it is unstable and consumes the staff's structure. Uses: 0/100 (Blueprints are one-time use).
Jerry rubbed his temples. Before he could process the reward, another notification popped up.
[Main Quest: Way of Survival — Activated!] Chain: 'Embers of the Hive' Stage 1: Survivor Under the Iron Objective: Assist Blackiron Stronghold in defending against the upcoming Tyranid invasion. Description: You have landed in the war zone. Your flesh is like paper to the Hive. Find allies, arm yourself, and survive. Penalty for Failure: Your consciousness will be consumed by the Hive Mind, becoming its eternal slave.
Jerry's pupils contracted. This penalty was far more vicious than the previous ones. He looked around at the devastation he had caused.
"AAAAAAAH!"
A sharp, grieving roar caught his attention. He looked up and saw the Centaur girl.
Erica stopped digging. She looked at the boy standing in the middle of her ruined life. In an instant, her grief was replaced by a primal, murderous rage. Jerry's heightened senses could literally "see" a wave of crimson hostility radiating from her.
He realized immediately: he had landed on her house.
The Golden Bribe
"I'LL KILL YOU!" Erica screamed in a language Jerry didn't understand. She abandoned the ruins and charged at him like a maddened beast, her hooves kicking up dust.
Jerry didn't hesitate. He reached into his robes. Erica, sensing a strange, cold energy she had never encountered before, instinctively tried to stop. Her hooves skidded across the stones, sparks flying, and she came to a halt just two steps away from him, her muscles bulging with the effort.
Jerry raised his right hand and opened his palm.
A shimmering, exquisitely crafted solid gold jewelry box lay in his hand. Using Transmutation, he had instantly turned a piece of rubble into a heavy block of pure gold. He held it out toward her. His face was blank, but the message was clear: Compensation.
Erica froze. Her homicidal rage vanished like it had been doused in ice water. She stared at the gold box, then at the boy.
"This... this is for me?" she asked in the Common Tongue, her voice trembling.
Jerry didn't understand the words, but he saw her anger fade. He pushed the box forward again.
"AH!"
Erica let out a high-pitched shriek of pure joy. Her house was gone? Her savings were gone? Her father's pension was gone? Who cares?! This single block of pure gold was worth ten, maybe twenty times everything she had ever owned. She could buy a high-end set of Alchemical Steam Augments on the black market with this!
"You're a lifesaver! My lucky star!"
In her delirium of joy, Erica did something completely reckless. She snatched the gold box and tucked it away, then opened her arms and scooped Jerry up.
With a force he couldn't resist, she hauled him into the air and crushed him against her chest.
Jerry's feet left the ground. He was instantly enveloped in the scent of a young woman's sweat mixed with a faint, milky aroma. His face was buried deep between two shockingly large, firm, and sweat-slicked breasts. These weren't the breasts of a human woman; they were the massive, high-powered "weapons" of a centaur warrior in peak physical condition.
"You're the best! My little treasure!" Erica babbled, hugging him like a lucky doll. Her upper body swayed with excitement, and her breasts—as soft and bouncy as giant puddings—massaged and smothered his face from all sides. The thin fabric of her damp tunic did nothing to hide the sticky, hot contact of her skin. With every squeeze, Jerry felt the soft mounds change shape, clamping his cheeks and pressing against his nose and mouth until he could barely breathe.
This sudden, suffocating intimacy triggered an immediate and violent reaction in Jerry's body, which was far more developed than his age suggested.
Beneath his loose wizard robes, a massive, veiny meat-rod—thick and pulsing with blood—snapped into a full, throbbing erection. It pressed hard and insistently against Erica's soft, lower abdomen.
"Huh?"
Erica, still drowning in her joy, felt something as hard as an iron bar prodding her belly. Even through the layers of their clothing, the heat and the distinct, staggering girth of the object were unmistakable. It ground against her with every excited sway of her hips.
She looked down and saw an exaggerated, pulsing tent propped up in the boy's robes.
Erica's smile faltered, becoming something more complex. She looked at Jerry's face—flushed red from lack of oxygen—and then felt the undeniable weight and size of the pillar against her stomach. Having grown up in the rough streets of Blackiron, she knew exactly what she was feeling.
But... that size was impossible. He looked so much younger than her... and he was human!
Is he some kind of high-blood hybrid? she wondered, her heart skipping a beat for a very different reason.