Shield of the Rose

Leaving the small town where the barracks were located, one would find a lake. It wasn’t very large—no more than a kilometer at its widest point—and could only be considered a slightly oversized pond.

Normally, such a lake should have been very calm, but lately, it had been behaving rather oddly. From time to time, large waves would swell across its surface, and occasionally, vortices would form out of nowhere.

Naturally, Richie was the cause of all this.

After gaining that sudden flash of inspiration while rowing the boat that day, he had run straight to this lake the moment they returned to camp.

Practicing his arts in the water felt completely different from training on dry land.

In the water, the buoyant force made it so that a slight exertion of the feet would cause a person to float. Lacking solid ground to push against, his strikes would naturally lose their power, turning soft and weak.

This had been his greatest hurdle at the start.

Fortunately, he discovered by chance that his Skimming Step was actually useful in the water. The Skimming Step was designed for horizontal power projection, originally intended to make footwork light and agile. He hadn’t expected that in the water, it would become the only viable way to leverage force.

At this moment, Richie stood in the center of the lake, his feet sunk into the silt, his body surrounded by turbulent currents kicked up by his Aura. Suddenly, he stomped against the mud, his body spinning like a top, whipping the lake water into a massive vortex.

The suction of the vortex was immense, instantly drawing a large pocket of air from the surface down into the depths, forming a column of air that was pulled straight to the lakebed.

Richie breathed in deeply.

Knights possessed far greater lung capacity and stronger lungs than ordinary men, allowing them to inhale a vast amount of air, compress it, and store it within their chest cavities. Consequently, a Knight could remain underwater for half an hour without issue.

Still, even the strongest Knight was only human, and humans needed to breathe.

After catching his breath, Richie let the vortex dissipate. The lake surface immediately swelled with waves, turbulent eddies churning and clashing against one another.

Meanwhile, Richie swayed with the chaotic currents like a strand of river grass. Yet, at times, he would glide through the water like a slippery mud-eel, moving with a speed that seemed completely unhindered by the water’s resistance.

This was another accidental discovery. On land, because air resistance was negligible, no one bothered to study which postures offered the least resistance. But in the water, ignoring such physics would leave one’s movements sluggish.

To minimize resistance in the water, one had to move with the current, sliding into the gaps between the flows like a sheet of paper slipping through a door crack.

The gaps in the water could never be seen with the naked eye; they had to be felt with the body. Fortunately, Richie’s senses were far sharper than those of ordinary Knights, which allowed him to master this bizarre movement style.

He hadn’t known if this self-taught footwork would be useful, but after Lina watched him practice and told him to keep at it, he gained the confidence to proceed.

The lake water gradually quieted. Richie’s movement style required turbulent currents to manifest; in a stretch of dead, stagnant water, he couldn’t build up speed at all.

Suddenly, he came to a halt, his feet spreading outward as they pushed the silt aside.

Two spiral currents of water immediately wound up his ankles, merging rapidly at his waist. Reinforced by the strength of his hips, the combined spiral column of water spun around Richie’s body like a giant serpent before sliding up his left arm.

Richie’s left arm shot out like lightning, and the spiral current spun forward along his limb.

As it reached the narrower parts of his arm, the current grew thinner. Yet, despite thinning, the concentrated force within it multiplied. At his wrist, the direction of the flow shifted abruptly, no longer spiraling along his arm but condensing into a tiny vortex.

This vortex spun rapidly between Richie’s thumb and index finger. It was tiny and incredibly thin, but the speed of the water was unimaginably fast, its edges as sharp as a razor blade.

Richie looked exceptionally cautious, as if holding not a vortex but a brimmed cup of wine that might spill at the slightest tremor.

Suddenly, he flicked his wrist. The vortex flew out horizontally. At first, it was quite small, but it gradually expanded. Once it reached a radius of nearly two meters, the surrounding water rushed in with a loud splat. The concentrated force within the vortex erupted, sending a ring of waves radiating in all directions.

The slight disturbance in the depths translated into a much larger wave on the surface. A half-meter-tall ring of water rippled outward toward the bank.

Watching the dispersing vortex, Richie quieted for a moment, reviewing the sequence of movements in his mind.

His feet spread once more, and two more spiral currents wound upward. Everything was identical to the previous attempt, but this time, Richie thrust his right arm forward.

An identical vortex took shape between his right thumb and index finger. With a flick of his wrist, he launched it spinning into the distance.

This time, the vortex was far more stable, flying a great distance without dispersing.

Richie felt no great joy; this was not his first success.

With so little time to practice, his success rate was still lacking. While his right hand was decent, his left hand was a disaster, succeeding only once or twice out of ten attempts.

However, he didn’t care. Launching a vortex consumed very little Aura, and his success rate would naturally improve with practice. The important thing was that he had found the feel of the technique, and it was a feel that belonged entirely to him.

Even with the same combat art, different practitioners could develop completely different styles.

Take this move, for instance: when Lina taught him, she said the final moment of release was like snapping a whip, where one had to snap it forward and pull back sharply at the same instant.

This was undoubtedly Lina’s own realization.

He had practiced that way, but it had always felt off, as if something were wrong.

It was only after gaining inspiration and practicing underwater that he found the issue.

In the water, the currents were visible, and the flow was much slower, allowing him to see the entire sequence clearly.

He saw that the formed vortex would easily shatter at the moment of release if his alignment was off even slightly. Lina’s method was simply too difficult for him to master at his current stage. Thus, he had decided to try holding the vortex in his hand first before launching it, and to his surprise, it worked.

Launching the move felt like holding a cup of wine and gently splashing it out.

Suddenly, Richie realized that Lina had never told him the name of this move.

Therefore, he was free to name it whatever he liked.

He had tasted wine a few times, and the flavor had not impressed him, so he had no great love for it. However, the act of holding a glass—swirling the liquid inside and watching the vortex spin—felt refined and elegant.

“A Glass of Wine”? Richie thought about it and dismissed it; it lacked impact.

He suddenly remembered the first time he had seen wine as a child. Back then, looking at the deep crimson liquid in the glass, he had been terrified, believing it was blood.

Perhaps he should call it “A Glass of Blood.”

When he emerged from the water, Richie saw the female Knights gathered by the lake, waiting for him.

“You’re early,” Richie said, glancing at the sky.

“How is the last-minute practice going?” Lina asked from a distance, her arms crossed.

She actually had quite a bit of confidence in Richie. With his “Mirror Reflection,” he could hold his ground against almost anyone as long as the opponent wasn’t absurdly strong.

Richie didn’t answer immediately because he was still naked. Although most of the squad didn’t care, his mentor Dana and Robin were present.

His clothes were lying in the nearby woods. As he dressed, he said, “So-so. The success rate still isn’t great.”

“I bet two thousand credits on you. Don’t embarrass me,” Lina said fiercely. She didn’t care about the money, but she would lose face if Richie lost.

“Can you place a bet for me too?” Richie poked his head out from behind a tree.

Lina had expected this and let out a soft snort. “I already did. Every one of us bet on you.”

By then, Richie had dressed and walked out.

“Are we leaving this early?” he asked, having spotted the equipment transport vehicle parked in the distance.

“Did you think a formal duel was just sparring on the parade ground? You need to familiarize yourself with the terrain first. Otherwise, you won’t even know how you died,” Dana explained.

Since his mentor had spoken, Richie obediently kept quiet.

The transport vehicle carried only one set of magitech armor; for the others, today was merely a spectating trip.

Knight duels were always held far from Peines. To the north of the capital lay a stretch of hills, where the terrain was somewhat complex.

After a drive of over an hour, they arrived at the site.

To Richie’s surprise, a crowd had already gathered.

The dueling area had been cordoned off. It was a massive space, encompassing five or six hills, a few artificial cliffs, and two small groves of trees.

Gerold had already arrived. His magitech armor was pure white, gleaming with silver highlights.

It was a medium armor, which perfectly complemented Gerold’s combat style—a balanced blend of offense and defense that matched his balanced armor.

“This is your first duel, so you are definitely at a disadvantage in terms of experience. We still have a few hours. Sweep the entire field. Even if someone like Gerold values his honor too much to resort to dirty tricks, we must still be on guard,” Dana advised.

As his formal mentor, Dana had to offer a few extra words of caution. “There are many ways to tamper with a dueling ground. The most common is digging traps. Watch your step, and be highly alert to any loose dirt or hollow ground. Watch out for slopes and cliffs, as they can be rigged, and be careful in the woods—tripwires and snares are common there.”

Dana was an expert in dueling, having faced countless challenges since her youth, and possessed a wealth of experience in dealing with underhanded tactics.

Richie felt his heart race as he listened. He had never realized that duels between Knights could be more treacherous than actual battlefields.

Keeping his mentor’s advice firmly in mind, Richie donned his armor and stepped down from the vehicle.

A murmur of whispers rose from the crowd in the distance, accompanied by jeers and mockery.

Richie ignored them. He knew from Dana that these people were trying to put mental pressure on him—a common tactic before a duel.

As he walked forward, a few individuals purposely blocked his path.

This was another common trick, though it was somewhat excessive.

Richie didn’t care. He walked straight ahead. If he pushed them aside, they might pretend to be injured and cause a scene. The only way was to walk straight through; if they dodged, all the better, and if they didn’t, they were asking for it. Anyone who got run over by magitech armor had only themselves to blame.

Sure enough, the man blocking him jumped aside at the last second, followed by a string of curses.

Richie treated the curses like a barking dog and stepped into the dueling ring.

Gerold saw him enter but did not greet him, continuing to inspect his own side of the field.

Richie had no intention of greeting the arrogant youth either. He didn’t even want to get close; their armors looked so different that standing next to Gerold made Richie look like a beggar next to a prince.

Following his mentor’s instructions, Richie walked slowly across the field, his feet testing the ground.

After a while, he found that the ground was indeed as Dana had described—soft in some places and firm in others. Some small pits were covered by grass, invisible from the surface. While his strength would prevent him from falling, stepping into one would still throw him off balance.

Fortunately, he didn’t spot any tripwires or overt traps.

After checking the entire field over several hours, Richie sat down on a gentle slope to rest.

He needed to bring his condition to its peak.

Just then, a commotion rose in the distance. A short, fat man walked over, pushing a single-wheeled cart carrying a sheathed sword.

“Isn’t that Yiluo?”

“Who is he?”

“You’re so ignorant. He’s the assistant to the Great Craftsman, Espol.”

“Is that sword forged by Espol himself?”

“Unbelievable. That kid actually knows Espol and got him to forge a weapon.”

Richie instantly became the center of attention. Those who had looked down on him now turned solemn. Gerold and his family, meanwhile, glared with eyes full of anger and jealousy.

“This is the weapon my master promised to forge for you. See if it suits you,” the fat assistant said, wheeling the cart to Richie.

For some reason, before even touching the sword, Richie felt a spiritual connection to it.

He gripped the hilt and drew it. The blade slid out with a hum, flashing with cold light.

The sword was three meters long but only an inch wide—very light and narrow, looking so delicate that it seemed it might snap in a clash.

“Why not test it?” the assistant suggested.

The moment he spoke, a flash of steel swept out, and the slender blade sank completely into a nearby boulder.

It was a granite rock—not incredibly hard, but massive. The sword was buried up to the hilt.

Richie was stunned by its sharpness. He had only heard a soft slice, as if the blade had cut through rotting wood rather than solid rock.

With a surge of strength, he drew the sword and swung it horizontally.

He could clearly feel the blade flex. In an instant, the lightweight sword curved like a Persian scimitar.

As the blade swept through, a hairline crack appeared on the boulder, sliced by the edge.

Richie could feel the slight friction between the blade and the stone. This strange weapon didn’t feel like metal at all; it felt like a fingernail or an extension of his own body.

He finally understood the meaning of the “Life Forger.” It was truly extraordinary, far beyond Randy’s amateur work.

“This sword was forged using the life-refinement technique, using your drop of blood as a foundation to grow the blade. You can consider it a living entity. If it is damaged in battle, ordinary methods cannot repair it. You must use a special nurturing method to let it restore itself.”

The assistant handed over a small booklet. “This records the nurturing method. It will not only restore the blade but can also make it stronger. Hopefully, one day, it will reach the level of a divine weapon.”

“Good luck,” the assistant smiled, wheeling his cart away. To him, this level of duel wasn’t worth watching.

Richie’s mind was entirely captured by the weapon; he barely heard the assistant’s words.

He recalled the old man calling it a Knight’s blade, but that wasn’t a proper name. Unfortunately, he couldn’t think of a fitting name, and he began to regret not reading more books in his youth.

The crowd gathered around the ring. Gerold, clad in his white armor, stepped out from his resting area. He had finished his inspection earlier.

He hadn’t carried any weapons during the inspection, but now he held his strange twin crescent blades.

Two referees were assigned. Gerold’s side was represented by an old man whom Richie knew to be Gerold’s great-uncle, one of the three Glorious Knights of the Republic.

Richie’s side was represented by Lina’s father.

Lina’s father would normally not participate in such events, but the librarian’s interest in Richie and Espol’s custom weapon had caught his attention.

Thus, when Lina asked, he agreed.

“You are both outstanding talents of the new generation. To be honest, I hate to see you stand here, but since you have made your decision, I cannot oppose it. I only ask that you exercise restraint. Deciding the victor is enough,” Lina’s father sighed.

“Old friend, such things cannot be avoided. You speak nicely now, but which of us accepted twelve duels in a single month back in the day?” the old man opposite teased.

Lina’s father looked embarrassed at the mention of his youth. He knew it was unavoidable.

Since ancient times, a Knight’s blood was spilled either on the battlefield or in the dueling ring; only thus could the vitality of their bloodline be preserved.

“The duel begins!” the old man shouted, leaping out of the ring.

Lina’s father moved just as quickly.

Richie did not rush to attack. He began circling Gerold. The sword forged by Espol was locked to his left arm, its sheath fitted with a secure clamp.

Although the weapon felt like an extension of his body, he was unfamiliar with fighting with a sword. On a battlefield, using an unfamiliar style was suicide.

For now, he still relied on his twin mirror shields.

Gerold remained calm as well. Although he had a plan to break Richie’s mirror shields, he knew such targeted tactics only worked if the opponent was caught off guard. If he failed on the first attempt, Richie would be on guard.

The contrast between the two was stark—one static, one dynamic.

Richie circled faster and faster, his movement as slippery as an eel, advancing and retreating sideways. This was the result of his underwater training.

This strange footwork showed no obvious benefit at first, but gradually, his speed increased, and his steps became incredibly elusive.

Lina’s father watched closely, then glanced at his daughter behind him.

“This looks a bit like the Floating Shadow Step,” the old man said with a stern face.

“I didn’t teach him. He figured it out himself,” Lina pouted, looking aggrieved.

The old man snorted. Even if she hadn’t taught him, she had definitely demonstrated it in front of the boy.

This was a form of intuitive learning.

When Richie’s speed was slow, Gerold had simply turned his heels to keep facing him.

But as Richie accelerated, Gerold found it harder to keep up. Several times, Richie almost slipped inside his guard.

Gerold knew that if this continued, he would eventually make a mistake.

Therefore, he had to use offense to pin his opponent down.

Like their last clash, Gerold unleashed a dense net of blades. This time, the attack was far more dispersed, the blade paths curving and looping to strike from Richie’s sides and rear.

The ability to bend his attacks showed that Gerold had improved significantly.

But Richie felt no fear. He had improved as well, and his weapons were far more responsive than before.

He swung his mirror shields, parrying, deflecting, and parrying again, slicing into the dense net of blades.

Neither could breach the other’s guard.

After a brief exchange, both realized the other had progressed.

Their combat experience was comparable—one had faced countless challenges since childhood, his skills refined through endless practice, while the other had been baptized in the fires of actual combat.

Dust flew, turf and twigs scattered, and the two clashed like bulls.

Their styles were similar—balanced in offense and defense, focusing on close-quarters combat. Both fought cautiously, their deflected attacks tearing up the ground around them.

Wherever they fought, the earth looked as if it had been plowed.

As they clashed, Richie curled his fingers, his hand mimicking the shape of a wine glass. With a sudden flurry of punches, he launched two air vortexes. Compared to the underwater version, these air vortexes were weaker but traveled much faster.

With two sharp clangs, Gerold blocked the attacks with his crescent blades.

Richie hadn’t expected to win with a single move. Gerold’s defense was formidable.

The moment he launched the vortexes, Richie closed the distance, engaging Gerold in tight combat.

His “Octave Sunder” showed its power. Richie’s hands slipped past the crescent blades, disrupting Gerold’s rhythm and locking his weapons out.

Octave Sunder was powerful and direct, yet it carried a subtle precision. His palms deflected and his fingers flicked, keeping Gerold on the defensive.

Gerold knew he couldn’t let this continue. He tried to pull back, but Richie’s light armor was far faster and more agile than his medium armor.

In his fury, Gerold braced his arms and elbows to block Richie’s direct strikes, absorbing the force.

The strange move alerted Richie to danger. Normally, he would have retreated, but now he knew that slipping sideways was faster.

He twisted his body and glided aside.

Just as he moved, a purple cross of light swept past. This “Cruciate Cleave” was different from the last one, resembling a cross-shaped claw that lunged at his position.

Although he dodged most of it, the edge grazed him, carving a deep scratch across his torso.

Richie retreated dozens of meters, looking at the scratch from his chest to his waist, and sucked in a breath of cold air.

He had activated his Aura shield, yet the attack had still sliced through. If he hadn’t dodged, he would have been cut in two.

What surprised him was that Gerold had launched the Cruciate Cleave instantly, without the ten-second prep time Lina had mentioned.

However, this version was notably smaller in scale and range.

Still, the control showed that Gerold’s mastery had deepened.

During their last duel, Gerold had collapsed from exhaustion after using it. This time, he stood firm.

Of course, Richie didn’t know that Gerold was suffering in silence.

Gerold knew his Cruciate Cleave couldn’t be reflected by Richie’s shields, and even a partial block would leave the opponent injured. He had hoped to end the duel with one strike, but Richie had dodged it.

The Cruciate Cleave consumed immense energy. He could manage one more at most; if that failed, he wouldn’t even have the strength to run.

Gerold knew his mistake lay in not anticipating Richie’s elusive footwork.

To win, he had to restrict Richie’s movement. He ran toward the nearby grove, taking a defensive stance inside.

The forest was indeed a terrible place for Richie’s speed; moving too fast would send him crashing into trees.

However, the woods were perfect for close-quarters combat. Richie pursued him inside.

Trees crashed down, sliced by Gerold’s crescent blades and shattered by Richie’s strikes.

The fallen trunks and branches only made the terrain more complex, obstructing both fighters.

Both felt they had miscalculated.

Gerold had restricted Richie’s footwork, but his own blade net was also restricted.

Richie couldn’t close in, so he began launching “A Glass of Blood” from a distance.

The power of the air vortexes wasn’t immense, only slicing into the tree trunks, but they consumed very little energy. He didn’t care about the success rate; at a distance of ten meters, even a failed attempt launched a spinning shockwave.

Richie grew more comfortable with the technique. He realized Gerold’s defense had a blind spot around his grip.

Moreover, he found he could slightly bend the path of his vortexes. A single threat would throw Gerold into a panic.

Gerold saw his energy running low and knew he had to gamble. With a roar, he charged forward, his crescent blades clearing the branches in his path.

Richie was prepared. His elbow blades crossed as he lunged to intercept Gerold’s weapons.

With a flurry of clangs, the blades locked.

Gerold pressed his arms forward, channeling his Aura into his crescent blades.

Just then, Richie slammed his mirror shields down.

The crescent blades met the mirror shields, and the Aura flaring from Gerold’s weapons was reflected back.

With a sharp crunch, all four weapons shattered into metal fragments. The shockwave of the incomplete Cruciate Cleave was immense.

The hands of both armors were destroyed by the impact. Richie’s follow-up strike was cut short.

But he realized he didn’t need it.

The shockwave threw both of them back. Richie stumbled a few paces and stood firm, while Gerold fell flat on his back.

With his weapons gone, Richie still had his elbow blades.

He walked over to the fallen youth. He had no deep hatred for Gerold and had to consider the retribution from Gerold’s family if he killed him.

“Do you want to continue?” Richie asked.

“How much strength did you use?” Gerold asked. He still felt Richie hadn’t fought seriously.

Furthermore, everyone had seen Richie receive a custom sword before the duel, yet he hadn’t used it once.

“Is that really important to you?”

“Yes. I grew up surrounded by praise, with everyone calling me a genius until I met you,” Gerold said dejectedly. “I want to know the gap between us.”

“The question is meaningless,” Richie said, not wanting to crush the boy further. “Everyone’s path is different. Exerting maximum force in one strike isn’t my style. If I can defeat you with one unit of force, there is no need to use two.”

Back at the camp, Merlin had prepared a celebration cake.

“It’s a good thing you won, otherwise it would have been awkward to handle this,” Merlin teased.

“It was quite dangerous, though,” Dana said, not wanting her disciple to grow arrogant. “You must have learned something.”

“Yes,” Richie said respectfully. “I realized I took a few detours in the past.”

“It wasn’t a detour,” Dana explained. “We wanted you to have self-defense capabilities in the shortest time. It’s wonderful that you’ve found your own path. It seems my job as your mentor is complete.”

Richie felt embarrassed. “Not at all. I still have so much to learn.”

“Alright, let’s not get sentimental,” Merlin said, carrying the feast to the table while directing Margaret to set the plates and cutlery.

Just then, Lina burst in, having vanished after the duel. She carried a large paper bag.

“Loot, loot!” she shouted. The winnings from the bets felt incredibly satisfying to spend.

She pulled out bundles of neatly stacked cash.

“Calli, yours,” she tossed a bundle to the captain. “Merlin, Dana, Rosa…”

She threw bundles to everyone, keeping the last one for herself, letting the bills rustle.

She pulled a few bills and threw them to Richie. “Thanks to you today. Here’s your share.”

Following her lead, the others tossed some cash to Richie as well.

Richie looked at the pile of cash, wondering if he should duel more often; he wouldn’t have to worry about money if he did.

“Eat, eat. I’ve been starving all day,” Lina said, stuffing a lamb chop into her mouth.

Richie, who usually loved food, had no appetite today. His mind was full of thoughts about the duel.

He realized he didn’t need to engage Gerold in close combat; he could have worn him down with A Glass of Blood.

“What are you thinking about?” Lina ruffled his hair. “It’s time to celebrate. You have plenty of time to study later.”

“Everyone goes through this,” Calli said. “Gaining sudden insights during a duel is common. That’s why dueling is never banned, despite the risk of death.”

“Eat up. We have other plans after this,” Lina said with a suggestive look.

The others kept quiet, understanding the implication. Robin snorted, stood up, and left.

Dana looked embarrassed and stood up as well. “I’m full. Enjoy yourselves. I’ll take the night shift for you, Merlin.”

In the camp basement, the atmosphere grew wild.

“How are we playing?” Richie asked boldly. He knew the women would agree to any demand today.

“How do you want to play?” Lina looked at him with bedroom eyes.

Richie leaned in and whispered, “I want to bind you all and make love without any restrictions.”

“You…” Lina pinched his nose. “Always up to no good.” She turned to the others. “Do you agree?”

Richie looked pleadingly at Calli and Merlin.

The two women exchanged glances. Calli hesitated, her face flushing as she remembered their wild encounter in the river. Merlin didn’t care; she was the most indulgent of Richie and had tried such wild play before.

“You decide,” Calli passed the decision to Lina.

“Well, if it’s up to me…” Lina teased Richie before saying, “I’ll let you have your way today.”

A box was brought in, filled with leather straps and steel chains.

Richie bound Lina first, her hands secured behind her back, her legs raised and spread wide, her knees buckled to her elbows. The steel chains were sturdy enough to prevent even Lina from breaking free.

Next was Captain Calli. The cold straps and chains made her uncomfortable, but Richie’s burning gaze made her flush.

To her annoyance, Richie groped her vulva immediately after binding her.

Calli quietly resolved to teach the boy a lesson later.

Richie paid no heed and moved to Merlin, who complied with a smile. “You finally got your wish.”

After Merlin, Richie bound Nora. In his heart, this silent woman had surpassed the three sisters and even the wild Rosa.

Nora remained silent as he bound her. Her plush, soft flesh was a contrast to the hard muscle of the other Knights, her vulva soft and pink like a virgin’s.

Richie bound the others, including the three sisters.

The only trouble was Rosa, who kept complaining about the discomfort.

Richie glared at her, channeled his Aura into his fingers, and pinched her clitoris. He knew he had to settle her first.

Rosa was highly sensitive, and she squealed at the touch.

Richie didn’t stop, using his other hand to trace circles around her vaginal opening with his Aura-infused fingers.

“Ah… ah… stop… it’s too much… give it to me… use your big length to ride me… I’m burning…”

Rosa cried out, her body tensing as a thick fluid spilled from her vagina.

Richie continued, wanting to see how long she could sustain her climax. His fingers worked her clitoris and slid into her channel, scraping the walls.

Rosa’s channel was exceptionally tight, contracting with raw force. She had the rare “innate lust-bone” body, a supreme treasure among women.

Her body shook, tensing against the straps. After a few minutes, she went limp.

But Richie wasn’t finished. He aligned his shaft with her vagina and pushed, his member hard and coated in Aura, sinking to the hilt.

“Ah!”

Rosa screamed as his glans hit her cervix, the deep stimulation sending her into a frenzy. Her vagina began to suck his shaft with a rhythmic pull.

Lina laughed aloud. “Incredible. Who knew Rosa was a natural treasure?”

Richie enjoyed the sensation. Rosa’s natural response was raw and instinctual, offering intense pleasure. Moreover, her body could endure endless stimulation.

“Ride me… harder… yes… push deeper…”

Richie decided to push further. He channeled cold Aura into his shaft, shrinking it slightly, and pushed past her cervix.

Rosa’s eyes rolled back as she climaxed violently, fluid pouring from her. Richie saw her breathing grow weak and withdrew his shaft, not wanting to harm her.

He moved to Captain Calli, whose face was tense, her breathing shallow as he approached.

Richie stroked her breast and slid a hand down to her vulva. Calli was a proud woman who rarely made a sound, but now she whimpered.

Richie aligned his wet shaft and pushed inside her, bottoming out instantly.

Calli shuddered. Richie began thrusting slowly, rotating his glans against her cervix with each stroke, making her tremble.

Suddenly, Calli’s vagina turned icy, freezing his shaft like an icicle.

“You…”

“I never said I wouldn’t fight back,” Calli smiled.

“Let’s see,” Richie laughed. He pinched her clitoris with his thumb, slid his index finger into her vagina, and worked his middle finger into her anus.

With the three-point stimulation, Calli’s concentration broke, her frost Aura dissolving as she lost herself in the pleasure.

​