Shield of the Rose

The earth violently shuddered. Seconds later, a thunderous roar rolled in from the distance, resembling a celestial tempest. Moments later, a powerful shockwave swept across the terrain, uprooting trees and shattering them in mid-air, stripping away a half-meter layer of topsoil. Only solid bedrock endured, though its looser formations were sheared off and carried away.

Before the echoes faded, another explosion erupted from a different direction, its sound deeper and longer due to the greater distance.

Roar followed roar in rapid succession—some near, some far, some deafening, others low and rumbling.

The explosions continued for a full half-hour before gradually subsiding. A short while later, a dark silhouette emerged from the thick cloud layer, gliding down toward the ground.

The moment he touched down, Richie opened the front chest plate of his Yaksha armor and poked his head out. He accepted a flask passed over by Merlin and took a deep gulp.

The flask contained medicinal wine, specially brewed for warmth.

Richie disliked alcohol, finding it bitter, harsh, and choking; he drank it now purely to combat the frigid cold.

Temperatures reached their lowest at dawn, and flying through clouds—essentially dense, saturated water vapor—stole body heat despite his sealed combat suit and armor. Prolonged exposure left anyone chilled to the bone.

Richie didn’t dare drink much, nor did he need to. After just two swallows, a warm surge radiated from his core, leaving him slightly lightheaded.

He quickly channeled a thread of cold-attribute Aura, circulating it once through his body to instantly dispel the mild intoxication. As a knight, getting drunk required deliberate effort.

Handing the flask back to Merlin, Richie stepped out of the Yaksha armor and sat down heavily on a small wagon.

“Watching the demolition from above was truly spectacular,” Richie remarked the moment he settled on the wagon. “Whole mountainsides were collapsed in several spots. Rebuilding the roads through Crete will take two or three years at least.”

“Naturally. Did you think my calculations could be wrong?” Yiluo smiled faintly from the side. Working with only a crude topographic map, he had leveraged his formidable computational skills to determine how to inflict maximum destruction. After capturing Crete, a thorough search had left them overjoyed.

Crete housed over thirty warehouses of various sizes, storing over seventy percent of the Alliance’s regional supplies.

They recovered nearly sixty tons of energy crystals alone, along with enough uncalibrated Iron Crusaders to equip an entire corps. What stunned Yiluo and Squad 105 most, however, was a warehouse packed entirely with components for the Alliance’s new armor model.

Interrogating the warehouse manager revealed the Alliance named this new model the ‘Cube’. Built from several large modules and smaller interlocking components, Yiluo and his researchers confirmed they could assemble at least twenty complete suits from the stock.

This marked the Alliance’s first acquisition of complete Cube suits, as previous captures were damaged.

To prevent the Alliance from recovering any usable parts even if excavated, Yiluo utilized seven tons of energy crystals to detonate the subterranean vault, piling heavy structural debris atop it so the explosive energy remained trapped below, obliterating everything into metallic dust.

“Any news from Squad Tribe?” Richie asked, genuinely concerned for his comrades once he caught his breath.

The moment he spoke, he noticed Yiluo’s expression darken, while the rest of the squad fell silent.

After a long pause, Calli sighed softly: “Three in the morning was their final transmission. Judging by that last report, their situation appears grim.”

“Lost contact?” Richie frowned, recognizing two possibilities. One was that Squad Tribe had been wiped out, though that seemed unlikely—under their agreement, they would send a distress signal if attacked, unless eliminated before they could even trigger an alert.

The second possibility was signal jamming, similar to Polmo’s situation where the Alliance isolated hundreds of square kilometers for weeks. Jamming a smaller sector was far easier.

However, the second possibility required the Alliance to know Squad Tribe’s location.

Richie’s face turned grave as he realized why Yiluo looked so grim.

Since he led Squad Tribe into the Fifth Theater, their movements had never been detected by the Alliance. They adhered strictly to operational guidelines—never staying in one location for more than two days, sweeping all tracks behind them, and relocating fifty kilometers away before resting after any engagement.

Richie believed that even in his absence, Squad Tribe wouldn’t act carelessly.

For the Alliance to locate Squad Tribe despite such precautions raised deep suspicion.

Squad Tribe was acting as a decoy in place of Squad 105 to rendezvous with reinforcements from High Command.

If their own side hadn’t leaked info, the issue lay with the reinforcement column sent by High Command—or within High Command itself.

“Don’t worry too much. It might be nothing,” Calli comforted him, though her words carried logical weight: “As long as Harney and the others haven’t been captured, they’ll be fine. Having just bombed Crete, we are the only force actively operating in this sector. When the Alliance learns of the blast, they’ll assume we never intended to rendezvous, perhaps even suspecting the rendezvous rumor was a deliberate ploy to mask our strike on Crete.”

Calli’s logic brought Richie considerable relief.

What truly bolstered his confidence, however, wasn’t mere speculation, but the vast destruction of enemy supplies he had witnessed.

The destroyed stockpiles totaled thousands of tons, requiring immense time and effort for the Alliance to transport. Replenishing such losses would take at least a month.

With roads shattered and transport vehicles destroyed, moving supplies to the front lines would require rerouting through distant, circuitous tracks.

Right now, the local Alliance commander was likely contemplating self-preservation rather than offensive operations.

“What do we do now?” Richie asked.

“What else? We stick to the original plan and rendezvous with Haigert!” Lina remarked casually. “Captain Calli, Trisli, and Master Yiluo have jointly submitted a formal inquiry to High Command.”

“Would those figures at High Command even care?” Richie noted with skepticism. If spies existed at top levels, those who drafted the plan would undoubtedly stall and deny all responsibility to protect their positions.

Unless catastrophic failures occurred, planners always found excuses—a long-standing flaw within the Republic’s military apparatus.

Only during disasters like the Battle of Morena, where heavy casualties sparked public outcry, did High Command respond—usually by sacrificing scapegoats like Staff Officer Paro, while the main culprit, Commander-in-Chief Baodeli, was merely relieved of duty.

Aware of High Command’s pattern, Richie held little hope for the joint inquiry, even worrying for Calli’s future. High Command was notorious for shifting blame and setting traps.

Observing Richie’s concern, Yiluo patted his shoulder with a smile: “You’ve been too busy lately to notice: the Allied Coalition has established a Joint Command Council. While it lacks direct troop command authority, it possesses broad powers—including hearing appeals and issuing arbitrations. Since this incident involves new armor development, High Command will certainly dispatch an investigation team.”

Richie understood, though it felt tragic that internal Republic grievances required foreign arbitration.

---

Meanwhile, in Solbei, the capital of the Franca Empire, Emperor George V glared coldly at his assembled staff within a heavily guarded mountain villa.

After a long, tense silence that left his subordinates fidgeting, he slammed his hand onto the table, roaring, “You have disappointed me completely! After pouring in so much effort and paying such a steep price, I prepared to inspect the Alliance’s new armor models. And what do I get?”

The Emperor glared furiously at the crowd. “You were completely outwitted! Not only did you fail to capture a single piece of new armor, but you also lost Forward Base Three!”

His rage boiled over. His hand pressed down with immense force, leaving a deep, clear imprint on the solid walnut conference table.

The assembled staff watched in terror, keeping dead silent. Everyone knew His Majesty was approaching Quasi-Glorious Knight strength, possessing exquisite control over his power. For him to lose control indicated absolute fury.

Realizing his composure had slipped, George V reined in his emotions, suppressing his anger.

“Korsak has complained to me multiple times about the liaison officer dispatched to his command. I have no idea how you manage things—how could such a fool be assigned to so vital a post?” George V glared at a plump officer.

The plump officer, responsible for inter-nation coordination, felt deeply aggrieved. The overall directive had come from His Majesty himself: squeeze secondary member nations for maximum military output, letting them grind against the enemy.

He and his staff had merely executed His Majesty’s directives. Yet to placate Varedin’s anger, His Majesty now disavowed the policy, casting blame onto him.

Naturally, the plump officer dared not talk back. Wiping sweat from his brow, he nodded repeatedly: “Yes, Sire! I will relieve him of duty and investigate immediately upon my return. I will surely give Korsak a satisfactory explanation.”

George V had been waiting for that response. His theatrical display was meant for the Varedin representative present in the room.

Having offered face to Varedin and presented a scapegoat, the next step was resolving the tactical crisis.

Truth be told, George V hadn’t anticipated such setbacks. Not only had the initial plan collapsed, but two previously successful theater sectors had suffered sudden, drastic reversals.

“I want to know: what is your next plan?” The Emperor looked toward the Varedin representative.

The representative remained silent, using stony quiet to signal his displeasure.

George V knew Varedin remained dissatisfied despite the concessions. He sneered inwardly; he had offered ample face, and if Varedin refused the olive branch, so be it.

Since Varedin’s representative remained silent, Chief of General Staff Heinz stepped forward to break the quiet: “Following the fall of Crete, our eastern sector faces severe danger. Because our forward corps advanced too far—not to mention the two corps besieging Polmo, plus five additional corps deployed to capture the new armor models—our eastern line has depleted its reserves. Meanwhile, the enemy maintains a strong posture in that direction, deploying a full corps plus an independent brigade to relieve Polmo, alongside another corps sent to recover the test team. In terms of troop count, the enemy holds a distinct advantage.”

Pausing briefly to let the information sink in, Heinz continued, “Beyond troop shortages, supply losses present an even greater issue. Before that mysterious raider squad joined forces with Polmo, they continuously disrupted our supply lines and depots, inflicting losses equivalent to a month’s consumption for two full corps. Now with Crete fallen, supply losses are staggering. Worse still, their presence severely threatens our supply corridors. They destroy highways, blow up depots, raid convoys, and even capture heavily fortified transit hubs like Crete…”

“Enough,” George V interrupted impatiently. “I want solutions, not problem summaries.”

“The solution is simple: to counter a highly mobile raider unit, we must form a similar specialized unit,” Heinz answered concisely.

“Then execute it immediately,” George V ordered.

Heinz remained unbothered by the Emperor’s impatience. As one of the few figures unafraid of George V’s temper, he continued: “Other logistics are manageable, but one issue remains thorniest—we lack suitable armor. We analyzed the intelligence recording provided by our mole in Monstoke’s High Command, and the results are troubling. The enemy’s light armor model is built purely for mobility, whereas our ‘Cube’ sits at a distinct disadvantage in that domain. Right now, our best option is the upgraded ‘Valkyrie’.”

Heinz offered a helpless sigh.

Everyone in the room understood the Chief of Staff’s meaning.

The ‘Valkyrie’ design was half a century old; its potential was completely exhausted, making it impossible to match the ‘Cube’s capabilities. Yet the enemy’s new model could match the ‘Cube’ directly.

“How is progress on Poronov’s end?” George V turned to Count Antonio, who acted as Poronov’s representative.

“A prototype has been produced. The challenge is its highly unconventional design concept—it features numerous modular components with endless configuration options. To find the optimal setup, we need a large team of specialized designers to run extensive field tests, much like the enemy’s current approach.”

Antonio felt equally helpless. In terms of military power, the Alliance and the enemy coalition were evenly matched, but in terms of engineering depth, the Alliance lagged behind.

Among the three Divine Craftsmen, the enemy coalition claimed two, while the Alliance possessed only Poronov. Master-level designers showed an even wider gap—nearly one to six.

George V tapped his fingers rhythmically against the table while Heinz rubbed his chin in thought.

Ultimately, Heinz broke the silence: “Since Poronov has produced a prototype, let us deploy it first. We will undoubtedly capture an enemy suit eventually, at which point its design will become clear.”

Antonio offered a bitter smile: “Although the prototype is ready, it has yet to undergo testing. That requires at least a month.”

“One month it is. I recommend pulling our eastern corps back,” Heinz stated. Though framed as a recommendation, his position as Chief of Staff made it a directive.

“That would be letting the tiger return to the mountains…” someone voiced a concern from below.

“To strike effectively, one must first pull back the fist. A fist held out continuously cannot hit hard and leaves itself open to counterstrikes,” Heinz dismissed the objection coolly before continuing in an authoritative tone: “Since testing requires a month, I propose using this month to recruit elite knights from various corps, forming a specialized unit to eliminate that raider squad. This time, Varedin won’t fight alone. We have spent far too much time on Monstoke.”

“Agreed!” George V slammed his hand on the table. “Once the unit is assembled, we launch a full-scale offensive!”

---

That high-level conference in the mountain villa brought temporary relief to the soldiers fighting on the front lines.

The Alliance’s eastern line—corresponding to Monstoke’s Fifth and Fourth Theaters—had advanced too far. Pulling back shortened their supply corridors and tightened their defensive layout, making it impossible for the Polmo evacuees to roam freely as before.

Yet by then, the expanded evacuee column had already exited the Fourth Theater.

The capture of Crete had liberated 5,762 ordinary soldiers and 138 captured knights.

More knights had been captured originally, but many perished during the battle.

The addition of 138 knights nearly doubled their original knight count. With more people came differing opinions, forcing the column to halt just fifty kilometers outside Crete.

Five representative freed knights walked over, led by the four who had received the initial Iron Crusaders from Rosa.

“We want to know where you plan to lead us next,” the lead knight asked. Named Galod, he was a wind-burned man in his forties with a face lined by hardship.

Seeing the five approach, Squad 105 recognized trouble was brewing.

Divergent opinions were the bane of military command.

Truth be told, Squad 105 and Polmo’s original garrison weren’t entirely united either, but months of fighting together had proven Squad 105’s supreme competence, keeping anyone from stepping out of line. These newly liberated knights, while recognizing Squad 105’s skill, lacked that deep firsthand impression.

“We plan to head to the Second Theater, where the battle situation favors us,” Calli stated, making no secret of their destination.

“Why do that? Your strength is formidable, and combined with ours, we can deal the enemy a crushing blow!” Galod unrolled a map as he spoke. “I have a plan…”

“Did you damage your brain while captured?” The youngest of the three sisters remarked mockingly, unable to stomach his self-important posture.

Galod’s face darkened with anger: “Who are you? Don’t you know to show respect to a superior officer?”

“You and I aren’t in the same chain of command—respect doesn’t apply,” Calli intercepted the argument calmly. She had anticipated friction the moment the five approached.

To military personnel, being captured was a disgrace—especially under Varedin forces, where they had endured severe mistreatment and humiliation. Once freed, their primary desire was washing away that stain through combat.

Yet washing away disgrace required matching capability.

Though these knights now possessed armor—hastily calibrated by Yiluo’s team to allow basic combat functions—expecting them to achieve major victories with compromised suits was sheer fantasy.

Thus, their attempt to seize control of Squad 105’s force was entirely expected.

“Furthermore, even if your rank exceeds ours, it means nothing. Our unit operates under special authorization with a unique mandate. We possess authority to command you, while you hold no authority over us,” Lina added even more sharply.

“I don’t believe it. State your unit designation—I will contact Theater Command to verify. Until I confirm your authorization, I demand you halt all westward movement,” Galod asserted firmly.

“Impossible. Our survival depends precisely on never remaining in one location for more than twelve hours,” Calli refused to yield. Theater Command, acting out of its own interests, would gladly use a powerful raider unit to draw enemy attention, potentially treating them as expendable bait. Reporting further up to High Command held even less appeal.

Losing contact with Squad Tribe had already bred deep distrust toward High Command within her ranks.

“Rescuing you was an accident,” Calli stated coldly. “Consider it as if we never rescued you, and you were never captured. Once we leave this valley, we part ways. As for those five thousand-plus ordinary soldiers, if you wish to take them, we won’t object; if you don’t, we will bring them along.”

Calli’s offer was beyond fair.

Those nearly six thousand ordinary soldiers appeared impressive in number, but anyone with military knowledge understood they were a logistical burden during movement. Ordinary infantry excelled at static defense with artillery support, but offered zero utility in mobile offensive warfare.

Had the terrain resembled Polmo’s dense mountains and hiding spots, Calli would have left the infantry behind without hesitation. Unfortunately, the surrounding hills barely exceeded a hundred meters, covered in light brush without natural caverns to conceal such numbers.

Though Squad 105 felt their offer was generous, the other side didn’t view it that way.

“We object!” another officer stepped forward—a man brought along specifically for his sharp tactical mind.

“Major Galod’s proposal follows military regulations precisely. Does a vague ‘special mandate’ override military code? Furthermore, who can prove your special mandate exists? If it’s real, why refuse to let us contact High Command?”

“Major Galod?” Lina chuckled. While every knight held a military rank, rank held little weight within knight circles. As for military regulations, Republic knights despised those codes most, as they were designed by civilian officials to constrain knight autonomy.

Setting her laugh aside, Lina pointed to herself and her squad: “You’ve surely noticed our armor models. Did you never question what kind of armor these are?”

With a cold snort, Lina added, “We answer directly to the Supreme Allied Command.”

“Are we supposed to believe whatever you claim?” Galod maintained his stance, even more eager now to assume control of the column. Doing so would grant him direct communication channels with Supreme Allied Command.

“Arguing like this is pointless,” Lina sighed. “Let’s settle it the traditional way: a one-on-one duel. Whoever wins commands the column.”

That was indeed the traditional method knights used to settle disputes—a philosophy of ‘might makes right’. The five officers exchanged glances, none daring to accept the challenge right away. While they hadn’t seen the rest of Squad 105 in action, they had witnessed Trisli, Lina, Rosa, and Merlin fight.

Rosa and Merlin were slightly less dominant than Trisli and Lina, yet even they were far beyond what these five could handle; Galod himself could hold out for fifty moves at most against them.

Yet Rosa and Merlin maintained a low profile within Squad 105, giving the impression that they were the weakest members. Meanwhile, Dana radiated an aura no less imposing than Trisli or Lina, and the three sisters were vocal and aggressive toward everyone except Lina.

As for Robin, she remained inseparable from Trisli, leading outsiders to assume her strength matched the Genius Maiden’s.

Naturally, the five officers couldn’t challenge Nora or Randy either—Nora was a Recon Knight, and Randy was a Psion.

“Richie, you handle this,” Lina selected their combatant.

Richie shrugged; he had anticipated Lina delegating the chore to him.

“Choose someone else. I won’t be accused of bullying a kid,” Galod scoffed. He would love to fight Richie to secure an easy win, but winning against a kid felt embarrassing.

Seeing Galod look down on him, Richie felt annoyed, glancing down at his chest.

He realized he was still wearing a hooded shoulder cape that covered his chest, hiding his two silver star rank badges.

He wore the cape to block the freezing high-altitude moisture from seeping into his collar. The hood wrapped tightly around his head, leaving only a slit for his eyes.

Just as Richie considered shedding the cape to reveal his rank…

“I’ll fight him,” the sharp-minded officer stepped forward. Unlike Galod, he cared little for pride when victory was at stake.

---

On a flat patch of valley ground, Richie stood quietly in his bright silver armor. Having not piloted this suit for a long time, it felt slightly unfamiliar.

Ten meters across stood an Iron Crusader Mk 2, its pilot wielding a long knight spear.

“I won’t have people saying I bullied a junior—you take the first move!” the officer declared confidently from within his cockpit.

Richie cursed the man’s posturing in his mind. Right then, Calli and Lina’s voices sounded simultaneously through the comms channel.

“Keep it clean—leave him some dignity, but be careful,” Calli ordered.

“Finish him as fast as possible!” Lina commanded.

Two conflicting orders delivered simultaneously left Richie frozen in place.

Calli and Lina were equally stunned, as comms delay prevented them from retracting their words in time.

“Who should I listen to?” Richie asked helplessly.

Neither answered; perhaps neither possessed a clear answer themselves.

After a long pause, his master Dana’s voice sounded: “Decide for yourself. Do what you feel is right.”

Decide for myself? Richie thought. That wasn’t an easy choice.

While Richie hesitated, his opponent harbored no such doubts. Eager for victory, the man regretted offering Richie the first move. Seeing Richie remain still for several minutes gave him the excuse he needed—under knight duel rules, failing to strike within five minutes waived the right to attack first.

The moment five minutes passed, the officer shouted, driving his knight spear forward in a sharp thrust.

The man’s technique was impressive, reaching high-tier competence near his bottleneck.

His spear thrust executed with terrifying speed. While spear attacks typically focused on a single point, his technique blended point and area coverage, creating a lingering spear shadow that blurred real and feint strikes, making evasion nearly impossible. A solid hit would easily puncture armor.

Yet such a fierce strike encountered Richie.

The instant the spear thrust forward, the shield on Richie’s left forearm deployed a gleaming, thick mirror shield. Richie drove the shield forward to meet the incoming spear.

Sparks showered as part of the spear shadow deflected outward, while a smaller portion bounced directly back along its original trajectory.

It wasn’t a perfect execution—having not used ‘Mirror Reflection’ in a long time, his timing was slightly rusty.

Yet since Richie harbored no intent to kill, reflecting a portion of the force proved ideal.

The officer reacted swiftly, dodging sideways to avoid his reflected strike.

The moment he dodged, Richie executed a double step, closing the distance instantly.

Richie’s footwork blended rubbing steps, vibrational hops, lateral glides, and wind control into a unified style—far superior to standard footwork despite minor flaws.

Closing in, Richie drew his custom blade forged by Espol, sweeping a crescent arc of cold steel toward his opponent.

With no room to dodge, the officer brought his spear shaft up vertically to block.

The blade sliced against the steel spear shaft, sending sparks showering into the air with a deafening clatter.

Though the blade was blocked, Richie’s follow-up strike arrived immediately—the primary strength of close-quarters combat lay in endless, seamless combinations.

Richie struck at the armor’s vulnerable joint.

This time, the officer couldn’t block. Richie’s hand thrust through the gap between spear and arm, striking solidly against the armor frame.

Though the medium Iron Crusader absorbed the hit without structural failure, the victor was glaringly clear.

To Richie’s surprise, the officer refused to concede, attempting to shove his spear shaft forward to knock Richie back.

Richie felt a flash of anger; he had never encountered such a shameless opponent.

Crossing his forearms, Richie locked the shoving spear shaft, flipped his wrist to reverse his grip on the blade, and sliced smoothly along the shaft.

A series of harsh metallic tearing sounds echoed as both metal gauntlets of the Iron Crusader were sheared off at the wrists.

“It seems I’ve won,” Richie remarked calmly. Victory no longer brought him intense emotion.

“You little rascal, you certainly didn’t leave him any face,” Lina’s voice sounded through the channel, her tone distinctly pleased.

She was delighted because Richie had followed her command.

“He brought it on himself—I intended to spare his dignity,” Richie quickly clarified, not wanting to offend Captain Calli.

“Slick little devil,” Lina chuckled softly before switching to a private channel, her tone turning smooth and seductive: “Regardless, I’ll give you a reward tonight. How about I join you on patrol?”

Hearing her sultry laughter, Richie felt a surge of warmth in his chest.

---

A secluded mountain hollow covered in deep snow offered absolute privacy.

Richie had scouted the location thoroughly before landing.

The two lay entangled, their bare bodies resting atop two discarded combat suits.

Despite the freezing weather, neither felt the cold as intense desire burned within them.

Having abstained for so long, their passion proved more explosive than ever.

Richie thrust with fierce intensity, withdrawing completely before driving his shaft all the way in, opening her cervix to penetrate deep into her womb.

Among all the women, only Lina, Nora, and his master Dana could endure such intense play; others would collapse within a few strokes.

The vibrating tail that Randy found so agonizing was currently inserted into Lina’s rear passage.

While Randy endured it like a punishment, Lina thoroughly savored the intense stimulation.

From waist to knees, every sensitive zone was activated, radiating continuous signals of intense pleasure.

Lina bit down on a towel.

The stimulation was so overwhelming that she couldn’t guarantee keeping quiet, and despite the seclusion, staying discreet remained prudent.

Richie experienced equal ecstasy. Lina’s oral and physical skills were supreme, and the vibrations transmitting through the thin vaginal wall heightened his sensation to extreme levels. Every time he parted her cervix, his glans twitched violently in anticipation of release.

Had he not deliberately locked his seed, he would have ejaculated long ago.

His control over his body had grown remarkably refined: he could ejaculate at will or hold back indefinitely. Aside from Nora, no woman could force a release from him—not even a master of pleasure like Lina.

Driving deep once more, Richie felt Lina’s vaginal passage clamp down tightly, her cervix locking around his tip.

That was the onset of climax. Sure enough, Lina’s body strained taut, her muscles quivering violently.

Richie released his hold on his seed, allowing her internal contractions and vibrations to draw out his release.

Hot seed flooded directly into Lina’s womb, triggering an intense physical reaction. Her long legs wrapped tightly around Richie’s waist, pulling his shaft as deep as possible. Her breasts heaved while her engorged clitoris quivered at the slightest touch.

Her complete loss of control lasted over fifteen minutes—an extraordinary duration that frightened Richie slightly, as only his master Dana had ever sustained a climax for so long.

Fortunately, Lina eventually recovered. The climax had been so intense that she lay completely limp afterward.

Spitting out the towel, Lina panted with a laugh: “You’re getting too powerful… I can hardly handle you. Two years ago, I could drain you at will, but now you’re the one draining me dry.”

Lina sighed softly, her thoughts hidden.

Richie fondled her swollen clitoris, his mind equally active.

Having been away from Squad 105 for so long, he had assumed Lina would find new companions. Yet Merlin and Randy confirmed she had rejected every courting knight during his absence.

Truth be told, he had never considered a formal commitment with Lina. Within Squad 105, he held distinct relationships with each woman: Merlin and Randy were like close companions, Rosa was a playmate, Margaret was his betrothed wife, others were lovers, and Nora held a unique, irreplaceable place in his heart.

“Be my mistress,” Richie whispered softly into Lina’s ear.

Lina let out a light laugh: “Being your mistress sounds boring. Why should you be allowed to flirt with other women while I’m forbidden from seeing other men?”

Her words brought Richie a wave of disappointment. He began withdrawing his shaft, only for Lina’s legs to clamp tightly around him.

“I was just joking,” she reached down, cupping his testicles and massaging them gently. “Once a woman experiences this, other men lose all appeal. However…”

Lina sighed softly: “If you want me to stay with you forever, you must give me one thing.”

“What thing?” Richie asked immediately.

“A child. I don’t care about marriage, but I must carry forward my bloodline.”

Lina’s tone was absolute, leaving zero room for compromise.

Richie felt a wave of gloom.

“Don’t lose heart—Randy is already looking for a solution,” Lina comforted him. “Until then, I won’t agree to be your mistress.”

Seeing Richie look solemn, she suddenly giggled, whispering, “Though I’m happy to be your sex slave.”

Richie froze briefly, realizing he had been teased.

“You said it yourself,” Richie remarked, plotting a playful revenge.

Suddenly, an idea struck him.

He pressed gently against Lina’s rear passage.

Lina’s anus still held the vibrating tail, but at his touch, she raised her hips slightly, pulled out the plug, and parted her buttocks with both hands.

It was an instinctive reaction; she assumed Richie wanted to use her rear.

Richie didn’t hesitate, driving his thick shaft inside.

Once inside, he didn’t thrust. He held Lina close, relaxed his bladder muscles, and began to urinate.

Lina didn’t understand at first, but as warm fluid filled her rectum, creating a swelling sensation in her abdomen, she realized what he was doing.

“How could you come up with such a wicked prank?” Lina’s face flushed between red and pale. Though she had tried countless variations, she had never acted as a man’s urinal.

Richie’s body shuddered as he finished. Remaining inside her, he whispered into her ear, “Now it’s your turn to work. Find a way to make me ejaculate—and don’t let a single drop spill out.”

Lina shot him a furious glare, yet her anal muscles contracted firmly, squeezing around his glans as her inner walls rhythmically worked against his shaft.

The sensation was sheer, unadulterated bliss.

​