Chapter 56 Yaksha
Inside the cramped basement, heavy panting and high-pitched screams mingled together.
Richie’s hands kneaded Calli’s breasts forcefully. His grip was firm, pressing the mounds into distorted shapes—at one moment flattened against her chest, at the next pulled long. His mouth latched onto her grape-sized nipples, alternately sucking with tender passion and nipping lightly with his teeth.
His massive manhood was buried deep within Calli’s body. But this time, he had not entered her vagina; he was driving into her tight rear passage.
The narrow tightness of her anus was beyond anything her vagina could offer. The rhythmic, subtle clenching sent waves of sheer pleasure coursing through Richie. It had been far too long since he had taken the female knights like this.
Deep within Calli’s rectum, a gentle suction pulled against him, sending thrills straight to his core.
There was no need to guess—Lina had undoubtedly taught her this trick. That seductive siren never spared any effort in spreading erotic techniques throughout the squad.
Calli was unlike other women. Her most sensitive spot was neither deep within her vagina nor her clitoris, but along the inner lining of her anal sphincter.
Richie thrust rapidly, keeping the depth shallow. With every stroke, his glans popped in and out of her tight entryway. Aura condensed around his head; each entry and withdrawal felt like a bristling stopper being shoved in and yanked out. Even if a woman’s sensitive point lay elsewhere, such intense friction would drive her wild, let alone Calli.
Her body strained tight, her waist arching as if about to snap. Her hands clamped onto her own buttocks, squeezing the flesh until it bruised purple and blue.
Pain mingled with erotic ecstasy, plunging her into a strange, heightened state. It felt almost like an orgasm; every nerve in her body vibrated with intense euphoria, matching the sensations of climax, yet her mind remained acutely conscious. Usually, during a true climax, a woman would fall into a hazy stupor, a state even masters of pleasure like Lina and Nora could not escape.
Calli did not know what was happening to her; she only knew she desperately wanted this state to last forever.
As sexual pleasure rapidly accumulated, Calli squeezed her buttocks with ever-increasing force, leaving deep violet marks with every pinch.
She felt instinctively that the pain had to overpower the pleasure for her to maintain this fragile equilibrium.
Suddenly, a sensation like an electric shock jolted deep inside her rectum. The current instantly shot into her vagina, radiating outward in all directions within milliseconds. Her lower body turned entirely numb and tingling. Unable to hold back any longer, a surging wave of orgasm shattered her mental dam in a single instant. Calli burst into loud, weeping sobs.
This woman, who usually moved like an impenetrable iceberg, became an entirely different person in the throes of climax. Her emotions shattered completely, oscillating between weeping and shrill screams.
The muscles across her thighs and abdomen twitched violently, while clear fluid spurted continuously from her womanhood below.
Richie was similarly swept up in intense bliss. At that moment, he felt as if a powerful, iron fist were tightly clamping down on his shaft, determined to crush it flat.
He had experienced Lina’s vaginal locking technique before, but that merely locked his member in place, preventing entry or exit. Though uncomfortable, it hadn’t been painful. This time, however, was far more intense—Richie felt as though his shaft was on the verge of being snapped in two.
He grimaced, attempting to contract his member slightly to pull back out. To his surprise, the moment he shrank back, Miss Calli’s rear portal tightened in tandem, the vice-like grip increasing rather than easing.
After an unknown duration, a sudden blast of icy chill shot directly into Richie’s body.
He was stunned. He was inside her rear passage, not her vagina, and they were not performing dual training. He could not comprehend where this icy energy was originating from.
The only thing he knew for certain was that something extraordinary was happening to Calli.
A plume of frost-fire erupted from Calli’s body, swirling outward and enveloping the entire basement within seconds.
Richie and Calli were not alone in the basement; almost all the female knights of Squad 105 were gathered there. Not only had Richie realized something was amiss, but the other women nearby also felt the sudden anomaly.
Lina was the first to react. She slammed her palm against Calli’s chest.
Just as Lina attempted to channel her Aura into Calli to protect her heart and vital organs, the moment her hand touched Calli’s spine, she was violently repelled.
Lina immediately understood what was occurring.
With a look of envious wonder, Lina withdrew her hand and turned to the others. “Just like Margaret back then. It seems our captain is about to break through her bottleneck.”
“Why do both of them break through their bottlenecks in this exact manner? Does cultivating cold-attribute Disciplines really carry such unique benefits?”
The youngest of the three sisters grumbled from the side. She was thoroughly envious; breaking through a bottleneck in this manner yielded the greatest possible gains.
Calli also cultivated Recon Knight techniques. That meant once she became an Ace Knight, her future path would instantly broaden, far surpassing even Merlin, who also pursued dual paths.
“It’s very likely,” Lina remarked. Though her knowledge could not rival her old rival Trisli’s, she was indisputably the most knowledgeable among this circle. “Cold-attribute Disciplines are notoriously difficult to master, and breaking through bottlenecks is far harder than for others. However, the Aura refined through cold Disciplines is exceptionally dense, possessing a stability that other attributes lack. That is why practitioners of cold Aura can leverage external forces to shatter their bottlenecks—a phenomenon known as ‘Ice-Breaking’.”
“So doesn’t that make this a ‘Spike’?”
Rosa giggled and reached out, grabbing Richie’s shaft in her hand.
“This ‘Spike’ might be a bit ugly, but it’s remarkably effective.”
Lina’s hand also shamelessly reached over, though she cupped his pair of testicles.
Richie felt miserable. The tip of his shaft was tightly clamped inside Calli, the middle was being squeezed by Rosa—who knew no restraint and yanked with reckless force—and worst of all was Lina, whose hand held his most vulnerable vitals.
Right at that moment, Calli’s rear passage suddenly relaxed. Her body, arched like a taut bow, collapsed onto the surface.
With a soft pop, Richie extracted his member, a sound resembling a cork pulled from a bottle.
His glans had been squeezed into a deep violet hue.
“Look at this poor little thing,” Lina sighed, shaking her head. She leaned down slowly and took the bruised glans into her warm mouth.
Lina’s oral skills were beyond comparison.
Richie felt his shaft enter a warm, velvety sanctuary, licked and caressed by a slick, nimble tongue that probed his tip and stroked along his ridge. The sheer comfort was intoxicating.
His member, which had suffered quite a toll, quickly regained its vigor under her gentle care.
Seeing the suggestive glint in Lina’s eyes, Richie felt a surge of desire. He scooped Lina up into his arms and slowly lowered her onto his rigid length.
Once again, he targeted her rear. Her revived shaft effortlessly parted her tight entryway, penetrating deep into Lina’s body.
The interior was pure bliss—scalding hot, continuously pulsing and sucking around him.
It was utterly divine.
Stepping out of the basement, Richie felt lightheaded. The women had been ‘starved’ for far too long, draining him completely in one session.
Inside the basement had been warm and spring-like, but outside was a world of ice and snow.
The mountains around Polmo were towering, capped with snow year-round, which was why high-ranking officials of the Republic often spent their summers vacationing here.
Now, in the depths of winter, the snowfall was even heavier.
Trudging through the deep snow, Richie headed toward the processing plant.
This facility could be called the single greatest hero keeping Polmo standing.
Before the war broke out again, High Command had dispatched two squadrons to reinforce Polmo. Combined with the local garrison, Polmo had sufficient troop strength to defend itself.
Yet without this processing plant, every damaged suit of armor meant a permanent loss of combat strength; no amount of troops would have mattered.
Richie went to the plant to check on his flight armor and to visit Yiluo.
The factory was situated on the far side of the mountain ridge, an arrangement designed to prevent noise from disturbing vacationing government officials.
Just as he crossed the ridge, deafening clatter struck his ears. Like any manufacturing facility, it was noisily head-splitting.
The plant was not large, but it was packed with people.
Most were engaged in simple manual labor. Judging by their movements, they looked less like skilled technicians and more like ordinary soldiers—clumsy and rigid.
Richie surmised that due to labor shortages, soldiers had been drafted as manual labor.
He walked straight through the main workshop toward a three-story building at the rear.
That building was reserved for research personnel, with Yiluo serving as the chief engineer.
A perimeter wall enclosed the building, its sole entrance guarded by sentries. Two suits of armor stood on either side of the gate, while an unarmored knight stood dead center.
Richie glanced at the Recon Knights posted on the four corners of the wall, suspecting hidden sentries lurked behind it as well.
Security was remarkably tight.
Fortunately, Yiluo was standing right near the entrance, saving Richie from having to deal with the guards.
“What took you so long?” Yiluo grumbled. He had been waiting anxiously for Richie, even positioning a assistant by the window to watch for his arrival.
What drove his urgency was, of course, that flight-capable magitech armor.
The armor itself was crude.
In the eyes of a master like Yiluo, the suit was a slapdash creation, inferior even to standard training armor. What truly fascinated him was its unique Aura output circuit.
Every knight’s armor was distinct. Even standardized suits required custom adjustments before use, simply because every knight cultivated a different Discipline and possessed a unique Aura circulation pattern.
Take Richie, for instance: “Mirror Reflection” was his signature technique. For him to execute it, the armor required specialized Aura channels and a custom mirror shield. Without those, his technique could only deflect attacks rather than reflect them back onto the attacker.
“You look exhausted. Didn’t sleep well last night?” Yiluo asked with a knowing smile. The affairs of Squad 105 were no secret to those close to them. Not only did the veteran and Commander Haigert know, but Yiluo was equally aware.
Of course, he would never mention such matters to Master Espol, nor to Lady Shar.
“And here I worked myself to the bone to rescue you,” Richie scoffed, rolling his eyes at the chubby engineer.
“Oh, please! If it were just me trapped in Polmo, you wouldn’t have been half as eager,” Yiluo chortled. But he quickly checked himself; even jokes had limits.
“I didn’t sleep a wink last night. I’ve been studying your flight armor continuously. The more I examine it, the more questions arise, which is why I’ve been waiting for you since dawn.”
Yiluo pulled Richie inside.
The room inside was similarly packed, with a crowd surrounding a massive workbench.
When Richie saw what lay on the table, cold sweat broke out across his forehead.
His flight armor lay sprawled on the table, completely dismantled into scattered pieces.
Richie rushed forward, shoving aside two researchers in front of him. Staring at the dismembered armor, he felt a sudden urge to thrash the chubby engineer.
“Why did you tear it apart?! I still need to use it! A whole squad is waiting for me outside!” Richie bellowed.
His furious roar sent tremors of fear through the researchers, who shrank back against the walls, all eyes fixing on the plump engineer.
Yiluo shrank back slightly, hesitant to face Richie. Dismantling the armor had been his direct order. He had been so desperate to uncover its secrets that by the time it was fully taken apart, he remembered Richie still needed it. But regret had come too late, so he had simply pressed forward, taking it entirely apart.
“Don’t panic, don’t panic! It will only cost you a day at most. With all of us working overtime, we can definitely forge a far superior suit for you within twenty-four hours. Trust me—just one day!”
Yiluo dared to make such a bold promise for two reasons.
First, the original suit was extremely crude; aside from flying, it possessed virtually no combat functions and had dismal overall stats. Replicating it was trivial for him.
Second, the original suit was built using treated leather. Crafting armor from leather was an unconventional, clever shortcut; had it been metallic armor, forging the casing alone would take days.
Hearing Yiluo’s guarantee, Richie’s anger cooled. He owed the chubby engineer a great debt. Before coming to Peines, Lina had aided him most, but after arriving in Peines, Yiluo and Haigert had been his constant supporters. While Haigert’s help carried a touch of pragmatic calculation, Yiluo helped him purely out of goodwill.
“Fine. I’ll wait one day,” Richie said helplessly.
“You can’t just sit idle either. You were the original designer of this armor, right? Although we dismantled it completely, we haven’t had time to analyze every mechanism. You know its inner workings best.”
The engineer pushed further, though his words were entirely accurate. Armor design permitted no oversight; a tiny flaw could cause catastrophic failure, making experience paramount in the field.
Take the new model design: neither Espol nor Lady Shar took on the entire project alone. Instead, individual components were delegated to different specialists. This was not merely for speed; many master or high-tier armor designers possessed deep expertise in specific domains that even Divine Craftsmen could not match.
Yiluo possessed a private design studio—a privilege granted for security reasons, as his workspace held far too many secrets.
It was an independent structure, crudely built against a corner of the perimeter wall.
Surrounding it on all sides was open ground.
A Recon Knight stood guard on the roof around the clock, while three knights kept watch below twenty-four hours a day. Not even a fly could slip in undetected.
Though simple, the studio was exceptionally sturdy, constructed with double-layered oak planks half a foot thick. The interior was completely soundproofed; even a Recon Knight standing outside could hear nothing spoken within.
In all of Polmo, fewer than five people had access to this room, and Richie happened to be one of them. Right now, he sat across from Yiluo at the design desk.
On the table lay a dozen sketches—rough diagrams drawn by hand as Yiluo and his team dismantled the flight armor.
Pointing at the sketches, Richie explained his original design intent and the function of each component.
There wasn’t much that required deep explanation, so within half an hour, he had shared everything he knew.
“When I designed this suit, I didn’t consider actual combat. If possible, help me modify it for battle while you’re at it.”
Richie waited for Yiluo to bargain.
He wasn’t truly in a desperate hurry to contact Squad Tribe.
When he left Squad Tribe, he had agreed with Harney and the others: Tribe would wait in place for one week. If he did not return within seven days, they were to assume he was dead, and Harney could decide their next move independently.
Thus, five days was the maximum grace period Richie could grant Yiluo.
To Richie’s surprise, Yiluo did not answer right away. Instead, he fell into a contemplative silence.
After a long pause, Yiluo pulled a charcoal pencil from his desk drawer and began sketching. With a few dozen swift strokes, the outline of a suit of armor emerged on the paper.
He then began calculating along the margins, filling the blank spaces with numbers, symbols, and formulas.
Richie watched quietly from the side.
He had no interest in formulas. Although some looked familiar—he had certainly seen them in textbooks—he couldn’t tell their practical application. What captivated him was the suit of armor itself.
It was precisely what Richie envisioned: completely form-fitting, appearing even lighter and sleeker than ancient plate armor.
Unlike standard armor with continuous plates, this suit used segmented plates covering only vital areas. Synthetic sinews were exposed externally, resembling bare, sculpted muscle.
“What is this? I’ve read countless catalogues, but I’ve never seen armor like this,” Richie asked.
Yiluo paused, a peculiar expression crossing his face. After a long sigh, he murmured, “Of course you haven’t. It’s a taboo subject that no one willingly speaks of.”
A flash of inspiration struck Richie, recalling something Commander Haigert had once mentioned.
“Was it designed for assassination?” Richie asked softly.
Yiluo turned to him in surprise.
“I heard about such a suit from someone,” Richie said vaguely.
Yiluo naturally didn’t pry. He knew full well the calibre of figures Richie associated with; while this suit was a secret and a taboo to ordinary people, it was nothing extraordinary to Richie’s contacts.
“This suit has never appeared in any official manual, and ordinary designers could never know of its existence. Yet almost every accomplished designer has studied it, because it represents the most extreme design in history. Its original creator was a Divine Craftsman from two centuries ago—Owen Maldini. The moment it was created, blood and slaughter followed in its wake. Countless people perished by this armor, including Maldini himself.”
At this point, Yiluo felt a pang of solemnity. Being killed by armor of one’s own design was a recurring tragedy in their profession; perhaps one day, he too might die by his own creation.
“No one remembers its original name. Everyone simply calls it ‘Yaksha’.”
Yiluo sighed.
“‘Yaksha’?”
Richie had no recollection of the name. Though he read widely, he was far from omniscient.
“In eastern mythologies, a Yaksha is a demon that devours human flesh—similar to specters or vampires. They haunt the night, move with incredible agility, and possess immense strength. Yet Yakshas are not confined to darkness; they do not fear sunlight. Above all, they are renowned for their ferocious appearance.”
Hearing Yiluo’s description, Richie envisioned the suit in his mind.
Night operation, incredible agility, immense power.
It perfectly fit the characteristics of armor built purely for assassination.
“Can you build one?” Richie pointed at the sketch. He guessed Yiluo certainly could, or the man wouldn’t have hesitated for so long.
“Yes. As I said, any designer worth their salt has studied it. Because it is ultra-lightweight and ignores defensive considerations, it offers immense creative freedom. Over two centuries, countless craftsmen have refined and perfected the ‘Yaksha’. I personally have studied fifteen distinct variations.”
Yiluo spoke with a touch of pride. The versions he studied were refined by legendary masters, making those fifteen models the pinnacle of all Yaksha designs.
“Build one for me.”
Richie harbored no such superstitious taboos. His current combat style was virtually indistinguishable from assassination; this armor suited him perfectly.
Impressed by its performance, he even brushed aside concerns about aerodynamic drag—the Yaksha’s segmented plates and exposed sinews would create significant air resistance, but he ignored it entirely.
However, he remembered one crucial detail. Richie pointed to the neck area of his original flight suit. “Make sure to keep this listening device.”
“No problem.”
The engineer gave an enthusiastic guarantee. He had already examined Richie’s listening device, whose core structure was an oval copper vortex tube. When Richie left Polmo to recover in the rear, he hadn’t taken the original device. Intrigued, Yiluo had analyzed it in his spare time.
With skills far surpassing Richie’s, Yiluo had not only deciphered its principles but also simplified and downsized it over the past weeks.
The copper vortex tube could be integrated directly into the helmet, saving space without sacrificing acoustic amplification. The only minor inconvenience was the listening tube itself, which resembled twin blades and had to maintain a specific length.
The scattered armor plates across the frame resembled bulging muscle groups. Only when he actually put on the Yaksha did Richie realize its defense was not as fragile as he had imagined. Vital areas were well-protected: chest, abdomen, groin, back, buttocks, and outer limbs were all covered in plating; relatively few synthetic sinews were left exposed.
“How is it? Does it fit?” Yiluo bustled around him. “This is the smallest frame I could find.”
This suit had not been forged from scratch. Yiluo had simply taken a chance—Polmo was a summer retreat for high-ranking Republic officials, guarded by Internal Security, which he suspected might stock specialized equipment.
A quick inquiry proved his hunch right: in a sealed underground vault, over a dozen Yaksha suits were stored.
Assassins were typically short of stature, allowing them to navigate spaces others could not; Richie’s frame was not far off.
That saved immense effort; Yiluo only needed to tailor the suit to Richie’s proportions.
The original Yaksha was forged from steel, weighing nearly five hundred kilograms—a weight impossible to take to the skies.
Thus, the first modification was reducing its mass.
Richie knocked on his chest plate. The material was surprisingly elastic; though Yiluo claimed its strength rivaled steel, Richie remained skeptical of its composition.
He kicked his legs and hopped twice. The suit felt extraordinarily nimble, weighing a mere 175 kilograms in total.
He understood, of course, that lightness came at a steep cost: the armor was paper-thin in terms of defensive capacity. A single solid hit would leave the wearer dead or gravely wounded.
“Upper arms are slightly too long, the waist is cinched a bit high, and the knees are low…”
Richie pointed out every ill-fitting spot one by one.
The Yaksha was a true skin-tight armor; every inch had to fit like a second skin. Even the smallest discrepancy had to be adjusted.
“How is the Aura output system?” Yiluo asked, genuinely concerned.
“Hard to say. I’ll need a field test to know for sure,” Richie replied.
As night fell, the mountain peak—usually dead silent at this hour—was abuzz with activity.
Facing the front slope was a natural ski run. On the platform at the top stood a brand-new hang glider, hastily constructed by Yiluo’s workers.
Even Yiluo hadn’t dared alter the glider’s dimensions; his only modification was adding a streamlined nose cone. After all, the Yaksha lacked the smooth contours of the original flight suit, and without a nose cone, air resistance would be severe.
This was no mere test flight.
The test flight had taken place at dusk.
Now, he was preparing to launch into the night sky, just as he had arrived.
He was flying out to re-establish contact with the rear, specifically the reinforcement corps heading toward Polmo.
“Be careful. Don’t push yourself too hard. If things turn sour, look out for yourself first,” Calli said softly.
Richie looked at Calli intently. Truth be told, Calli felt slightly unfamiliar to him right now. In his memory, except during intimacy, Calli was always like an unyielding iceberg. Yet at this moment, he detected a trace of warmth in her eyes.
It seemed breaking through a bottleneck to become an Ace Knight truly transformed a person. Rosa was no longer as recklessly unhinged as before, and Captain Calli no longer radiated that chilling frost.
“Don’t worry. Survival is my specialty,” Richie said, reassuring both the group and himself. The safety of everyone in Polmo rested on his shoulders tonight. And he wasn’t flying out alone—he was taking Randy with him.
Randy was responsible for communications with the rear.
Every Psion possessed a unique mental wave signature. Verifying mental signatures was a 100% foolproof method of identity confirmation.
Randy was not the only Psion in Polmo, but she was chosen because her rank was sufficiently high.
Squad 105 was tasked with field-testing the new standardized armor and enjoyed top-tier security clearance. Only with her making contact would High Command believe the reports were genuine.
Of course, Yiluo was even more qualified than Randy—his security rank was unquestioned—but taking him was far too risky. If anything happened to the plump engineer, no one could bear the responsibility.
At present, Randy wore her combat suit beneath a thick fur coat for insulation.
“Take good care of Randy,” Calli instructed one last time.
When Audrey had taken Richie aloft, the two had hung side-by-side beneath the glider. This time, however, Richie was suspended directly beneath Randy.
The posture was as intimate as could be.
Feeling Randy’s rhythmic breathing and catching the subtle fragrance of her skin, Richie felt a moment of distraction. Fortunately, he quickly snapped back to focus—he hadn’t forgotten the crowd watching them.
The slope had been cleared, revealing a hundred-meter stretch of frozen soil amidst the snow. Richie lifted the hang glider, locking its bottom metal latches securely to his armor.
With a rapid sprint, the glider caught the air and soared into the sky.
This peak experienced updrafts year-round. These continuous thermal currents carried moist air up from the valley, which condensed into snow in the freezing high altitude, creating the perpetual snowcaps.
Lifted by the updraft, the glider climbed rapidly.
Richie funneled his Aura, creating a swirling vortex of wind around his body.
Because Randy was suspended below him, the radius of the wind vortex expanded significantly, weakening as it reached her side.
Within moments, he felt the strain.
This was an unexpected complication. Richie glanced down, contemplating whether he should turn back.
Randy caught every nuance of his reaction. Even through his helmet, she felt his hesitation and noticed the shift in the wind currents surrounding them.
“Am I dragging you down?” Randy asked softly, filled with apology.
“Not at all!” Hearing her words, Richie felt too embarrassed to retreat. He thought for a moment, then loosened the strap holding Randy slightly.
A small gap instantly opened between their bodies.
Almost immediately, Richie felt the difference.
The wind vortex surrounding him grew noticeably stronger. The current no longer buffeted against Randy’s body; instead, it channeled directly through the narrow gap between them.
The gap acted like a nozzle, channeling the wind smoothly and evenly. After passing through, the air remained bundled, making it far easier to control than before.
This outcome exceeded his expectations. Stunned for a moment, Richie quickly grasped the principle. The gap between him and Randy shielded the wind from external turbulence, allowing the isolated current to obey his command completely.
It was like the difference between regular troops and militia: constrained airflow moved in unison, generating far greater efficiency with the same energy output.
Perhaps I could construct a cylindrical shroud around my body to contain all the airflow, Richie mused. But picturing himself flying through the sky encased in a barrel, he immediately abandoned the thought.
That would look ridiculous.
A gust of crosswind caused the glider to pitch violently. Richie quickly focused his mind, not daring to let his thoughts wander again.
Lowering his altitude slightly to avoid the fierce crosswind, Richie attempted to orient himself.
He looked up at the sky.
A single glance sent cold sweat down his forehead, and he quickly scanned the ground below.
Below was pitch darkness.
The cloud cover was far too dense, blotting out all moonlight. There was not a single speck of light to guide him.
He couldn’t even distinguish north from south.
“Damn it!” Richie cursed under his breath.
Previously, he had scouted by day and raided by night, operating close to base where town lights or torches served as beacons. His only long-distance night flight had been into Polmo, which took place right before dawn when twilight was already breaking.
Must I always schedule flights to and from Polmo right before dawn?
No sooner had he solved one crisis than another emerged. Richie felt thoroughly frustrated.
Even worse, he didn’t know how to explain this to Randy. Was he supposed to tell her he hadn’t considered navigation before launching and was now completely lost?
The only thing he could do was fly straight in one direction until his Aura was completely depleted.
After flying for an unknown duration, Richie felt empty inside and was forced to touch down.
Stashing the hang glider, he carried Randy to a nearby hilltop.
This was definitely not Squad Tribe’s hiding spot; the terrain looked completely unfamiliar.
“Is there any danger here?” Richie whispered to Randy in his arms.
Randy was tinkering with a metallic disc the size of a dinner plate. A wire-braided cord extended from her helmet, connecting to the disc.
This device was another of Yiluo’s creations. Unfortunately, its range was severely limited; otherwise, Richie wouldn’t have needed to rendezvous with Squad Tribe at all—he could have simply carried Randy out of the jamming zone to contact the rear.
“No danger,” Randy replied.
She detected only a scanning grid sweeping far behind them—the very blockade line they had just crossed.
“Once dawn breaks, I’ll take you to meet up with the squad outside,” Richie sighed.
“Why go through all that trouble? As long as your people are within a hundred kilometers, I can reach them,” Randy set aside her fur coat and began setting up the equipment.
“What good will that do? They aren’t the ones we need to contact.”
Richie had no idea what Randy was doing. Though he had assisted her for a year, he had learned very little of her craft. He was a knight, not a Psion; he knew how to adjust armor transceivers, but had no clue how to operate that large metal disc.
“Don’t tell anyone you worked under me—I’d be mortified,” Randy teased, her mood visibly lifted after escaping the blockade. “We don’t need to rendezvous with your squad at all. Once I connect to your squad’s comms, I can relay through them to reach High Command. Likewise, when we return to Polmo, we don’t need to fly all the way back; we just need a safe landing spot to contact Yiluo’s side.”
Hearing this, Richie felt an immense weight lift from his chest. He wouldn’t have to race against time to fly over a hundred kilometers before dawn. Flying at top speed with Randy attached was an exhausting trial.
“Quick, give me the comms ID for your squad’s quartermaster. Don’t tell me you forgot that too.”
Randy worked deftly, completing her setup in moments.
“720489259,” Richie recited a string of numbers.
Entering work mode, Randy became intensely focused. She sat cross-legged on her fur coat, adjusting knobs on her helmet with both hands.
After about half an hour, Randy suddenly looked up and nodded to Richie.
“Connected to the rear?” Richie’s heart tightened; success or failure hung on this moment.
Randy nodded again before returning to her focused state.
Watching her sit motionless, Richie felt intense anxiety. He paced in circles, completely helpless—communication between Psions was beyond an outsider’s intervention, and lacking Psion abilities, he had no way of knowing how the conversation was progressing. As time ticked away, Randy offered only a brief update: “They’re verifying my identity.”
Suddenly, a faint sound of wheels rolling over terrain reached Richie’s ears. He instantly scanned the surroundings.
A slightly curved horn protruded from the top of his helmet—an acoustic reception tube. Yiluo had simplified the dual tubes into a single horn, which, while reducing some features, preserved core amplification performance.
Magnified by the receiver, the faint sound became clear. Richie recognized it immediately—it was the sound of armor roller-skates gliding over grass.
He was certain this was not a member of Squad Tribe.
Richie scanned his surroundings for cover, not daring to bet the enemy couldn’t see in the dark.
Twenty meters away lay a patch of shadow, appearing to be a rock formation.
He scooped Randy up under his arm, covering her mouth with one hand while holding the metal disc in the other, gliding silently behind the rocks.
No sooner had they hidden than a beam of light swept overhead—a focused spotlight from a suit of armor.
A second light beam followed, then seven or eight spotlights crisscrossed the area.
Richie’s heart leaped into his throat. He knew the patrol had spotted movement—most likely, their Recon Knight had caught a faint noise.
He pulled Randy closer. Right now, her heartbeat posed the greatest risk of exposure, whereas his own armor, engineered specifically for assassination, insulated sound effectively.
Watching the light beams sweep overhead, Richie breathed a slight sigh of relief. The erratic movement suggested the patrol hadn’t pinpointed their exact position and was searching blindly over a wide area.
What he feared most was approaching footsteps. As long as only spotlights swept from a distance, it meant the enemy wasn’t certain anyone was there; wild boars or deer often produced sounds similar to knights in the dark.
Richie lost track of time as he lay hidden. The footsteps he feared never materialized; instead, the sound of roller-skates grinding against the ground returned.
Even after the noise faded completely, Richie didn’t dare move a muscle. Nora had taught him this lesson: in such situations, one must either flee immediately or lie motionless for two hours. A Recon Knight’s survival depended on patience.
Sure enough, after half an hour, the sound of roller-skates returned once more.
Not everyone had departed earlier; at least three knights had remained behind on ambush. Had he not heeded Nora’s warning, he would have walked straight into a trap.
Experience forged in life-and-death struggle was just as vital on the battlefield as raw power.
Even after confirming the danger had passed, Richie remained cautious.
He waited a full two hours before carefully peering out.
The high-altitude clouds had parted slightly, casting brighter moonlight across the quiet landscape. There was no danger left.
Glancing at a dense treetop a few hundred meters away, Richie felt relieved. The hang glider was safely stowed within the canopy under a camouflage net.
Had it been daylight, the glider would have been easily spotted, prompting a thorough search of the area.
“How did it go?” Richie released his hand from Randy’s mouth.
Gasping for air, Randy shot Richie an aggrieved glare—the reckless fool had nearly suffocated her. After a moment, she replied, “They asked about Polmo’s situation, then gave me a mountain of questions that require verification from Trisli, Yiluo, and others.”
Richie understood immediately. Though High Command had verified Randy’s identity, suspicion remained, prompting them to cross-examine details to ensure it wasn’t a trap.
Those questions undoubtedly involved private details known only to the individuals themselves.
“Are we heading back inside?” Richie looked at the sky; dawn was still hours away.
“Of course. You know full well what it felt like when Glasslovar was blockaded—everyone wants to break out as soon as possible,” Randy said.
That wasn’t their only concern. There was one truth neither wanted to voice: both feared the Republic might not hold out much longer. If they didn’t break out now, the opportunity might vanish forever. Once the Alliance consolidated its lines and launched a full assault on Polmo, even favorable terrain wouldn’t save the defenders.
“Help me replenish my Aura,” Richie leaned down, whispering into Randy’s ear.
Randy’s face flushed hot. When Richie asked for help replenishing Aura, he obviously meant that.
The Yaksha’s front armor plates opened one by one, allowing Richie to lean forward.
The opened abdominal plate formed a narrow seat.
Richie lifted Randy onto the makeshift seat.
The crotch of Randy’s combat suit originally featured an opening, secured by a latch, which was now completely unfastened. This was no perverted design choice, nor was it meant for erotic purposes.
Combat suits were one-piece garments. When nature called, was one expected to strip off the upper half just to relieve oneself?
That was obviously impractical, hence the open-crotch design.
Yet at this moment, it proved exceptionally convenient for Richie.
“Remember? The first time we made love was just like this,” Randy sighed softly, inserting her ‘tail’ gently into her own anus as she spoke.
Richie thought to himself that it wasn’t the same—the first time, her legs were completely paralyzed, leaving her entirely at his mercy.
Time was tight, leaving no room for foreplay. Richie drove his shaft straight into Randy’s vagina.
Fortunately, Randy was well-accustomed to this. The moment his thick length entered, her passage naturally secreted abundant lubrication.
Richie didn’t thrust this time. He pressed his glans deep against her cervix, then connected the other end of the tail into the armor’s energy socket.
Suddenly, Richie felt a subtle, high-frequency vibration—far too rapid to be generated by human flesh. Simultaneously, Randy let out a muffled groan.
“Quick, pull that tail out for me! It feels broken!” Randy pleaded, her voice laced with a desperate, tearful edge as she tried to keep quiet to avoid drawing enemies.
Richie had no intention of pulling it out. The high-speed vibration transmitted through the thin wall between Randy’s anus and vagina felt divine.
He had always felt that aside from Nora and Lina, other female knights couldn’t fully satisfy him. Now, he had finally found a method to satisfy both sides completely.
Holding Randy tightly, he locked his lips onto hers.
No matter how she squirmed, Richie refused to yield.
After struggling in vain, Randy reached down to pull it out herself, only for Richie to grab her hands firmly.
Her arms were pinned behind her back, completely immobilized.
Randy finally gave up, enduring the bizarre stimulation coursing from her rear passage.
The sensation drove her mad.
High-frequency vibrations radiated from her rectum, enveloping all her most sensitive zones.
Every sensitive spot felt numb, tingling, and intensely itchy.
Richie’s Aura could directly target internal sensitive spots for intense stimulation, but that was concentrated at a single point and tolerable. This, however, was an overwhelming, diffuse sensation.
It felt as though a hundred tiny mice were scratching inside her, nipping here and clawing there.
While Randy endured the agonizing bliss, Richie experienced unprecedented gratification.
The rapid vibration proved far more stimulating than natural vaginal contractions, pleasuring him from glans to testicles.
Beyond mere pleasure, his depleted body rapidly filled with energy. Foreign energy flowed continuously from Randy, circulating through his Aura network before rapidly converting into his own Aura.
This feeling of replenishment was equally intoxicating.
To Richie’s surprise, the newly generated Aura was far purer than before—mostly neutral, with only a fraction carrying specific attributes.
Those attributed energies originated from the female knights who had given him their virginity, planting seeds of power within him. He used to wish for more of these seeds, but now he felt a touch of regret.
As his strength grew, he understood the value of pure Aura: the purer the Aura, the easier it was to control.
When he was weak, he naturally desired raw volume—more Aura meant stronger attacks, tighter defenses, and greater endurance.
Yet now that his strength rivaled Ace Knights, he realized that no matter how vast or powerful the Aura, it meant nothing if it couldn’t hit the target.
Take Master Dana’s ‘Lightning Aura’: if she could control it with Trisli’s effortless precision, she would be unmatched among Ace Knights, even capable of defeating low-tier Honorary Knights.
Of course, Master Dana could take another path—ignoring technique and mastering ‘Lightning Aura’ to its absolute extreme, striking like true thunderbolts that left no room for evasion.
Yet that path existed purely in theory. Human bodies had physical limits; if Aura reached such intensity, the body would collapse first.
Suddenly, Richie felt Randy’s body tremble violently—a sign of an impending orgasm.
He quickly drove his shaft deeper, pressing his most sensitive spot—the groove beneath his glans—against her firm cervical opening.
Previously, he would thrust in and out, letting the cervical opening rub against that groove to induce ejaculation.
This time, before he could even move, the vibration from Randy’s rear sent a wave of numbness through his entire body.
He finally understood why Randy had pleaded for mercy earlier—the sensation was overwhelmingly intense.
Richie’s reaction further stimulated Randy. Already teetering on the edge of climax, the extra push unleashed a flood of pleasure.
A powerful suction pulled Richie’s glans into her cervix, while her vaginal walls clamped down tightly around his thick shaft.
Richie couldn’t hold back any longer. A series of low grunts escaped his throat as his shaft swelled further, pulsing violently as he released a thick torrent of seed deep inside her.