Iron sat down, legs spread out like a beggar who'd lost his mind, arms dangling as if his muscles had resigned. And his eyes? Fixed on Zara.
Zara, who was now... something else.
Not a half-dead ghoul. Not a broken slave. But... a living, breathing nightmare of lust — one that ignored him completely.
She stood at the edge of the clearing, her back half-turned to him, and her torn wrap barely covering her damned ass — that cursed thing that bounced with every step as if it were slapping him across the face without mercy.
Iron swallowed slowly, as if his throat had turned into a rag soaked in shame.
"Damn... this isn't a creature. This is a panoramic advertisement for lust… and underneath it says: You can't afford it."
He reached out with a trembling hand for the refreshment balm — the small tube, half-empty now, after he'd sacrificed his dignity and used it before... on Zara's body. Ah, Zara.
He squeezed out some of the balm and began massaging his knee with movements half bitter, half pleased. A sigh of relief escaped him involuntarily, and he grinned wickedly:
"Ah… yes… that's it… filthy refreshment."
Then he smeared the leftover balm across the scratches on his face, mumbling like an old man:
"Even my face needs patching now… damn you, Zara, and everything in you that jiggles."
And suddenly, with the sting of the balm, he remembered the notification that had appeared earlier, as if it returned to pinch his perverted conscience:
[Side Quest Available: "Return Zara the Ghoul Heir to Her Forgotten Throne."]
[Warning: Quest contains highly dangerous political, racial, and magical elements.]
He... frowned, then laughed.
"Political? Racial? Magical? Oh, System God, all that for a ghoul who shakes her ass like a dancer atop a ruined empire?"
He pressed his temples, trying to gather his mind — or what was left of it.
"Think, you filthy bastard… think with your brain, not your dick!"
He closed his eyes and started counting: One… two… three…
But the image stuck: Zara, with her wild hair, her gray skin now glistening as if oiled specifically for perverts, and that ass — curse this world — that kept bouncing lightly with each breath she took.
Oh no... I'm lost.
But then, amidst the sea of lust, he spotted the thread.
The game thread.
Zara... isn't just a piece of premium meat. No. She's the heir to the ghoul throne.
And who sold her? Well… the details were still foggy. Maybe she was kidnapped, or maybe offered as a filthy sacrifice in some dark political ritual. As if they said to the world: "Here, take this ticking sexual bomb, and pay in blood and gold."
Iron slowly opened his eyes and smiled… the smile of a man who smelled a rotten deal from miles away.
A deal, yes… but also an opportunity.
"Aldran, huh?"
He whispered the name like he was tasting betrayal. "If he's the one who took her… that means only one thing: her original kingdom is boiling like a pot with no lid. No leader. No king. Pure chaos."
He smiled wider, like someone doing the math in his head:
"And if I return her… I don't just get back the body of a lustful ghoul, no… I bring back with her a crown, land, and an army of ghouls."
He took a deep breath and looked up at the sky:
"Oh, God of Lusts… You who crafted her ass like this… grant your loyal servant strength!"
He stood, erect (not just his part, but his whole body), and looked at Zara again.
If I make her mine… if I control her body, mind, and authority… I secure the ghoul army.
He slammed his fist into his palm.
"Damn it! This isn't just a side quest… this is an invasion plan!"
Then, filthy questions bubbled up like sewage:
What about the language barrier?
Will she understand him? Or will she keep growling and pointing with her crazy ass like an erotic dictionary?
But he smiled.
"No matter… body language is louder. And hell, I've got a system that rewards lust. That means, the closer I get to her, the more communication channels open! I've got a muscle fluent in this field."
He laughed — a laugh that sent birds fleeing the trees.
But then...
He murmured: "And what if… after I get her to the throne, she stabs me, tosses me aside, says: thanks, servant — now die?"
He paused.
Silence.
Then, he raised a finger, smiling like a tiny demon:
Unless… I make her addicted.
He looked at his hand.
The touch… the scent of temptation… the system gives me tools. I don't just need to get her to the throne, I need to make sure she can't live without me.
He smiled.
A smile that made the eunuchs in hell scream: This is the true heir!
Zara, at that moment, bent down to fix her wrap string, revealing her bare back, her carved waist — and she bent even lower...
As if fate itself was pouring oil into Iron's fire.
He gasped, as if the gates of heaven had just cracked open before him.
Oh God… I don't just want to control her… I want to turn her into a queen of lust — my queen, my weapon, my power!
He raised his hand and tapped the "Accept Quest" button, his finger trembling like it was signing a contract with demons:
[Side quest accepted.]
A faint hum rang in his ear — like a whisper from another world — and a tiny notification appeared in the corner of his vision:
> [Quest started. Channels of Lust and Politics unlocked. Play carefully… or boldly.]
Iron smiled slowly, and in a low voice said:
"Well then… let's play dirty."
"Well now, oh queen of asses and tits…" Iron said as he stepped forward, his smile like an invitation to a brand-new personal hell.
"It's time to return you to your kingdom…"
Zara? She lifted her head, looked at him with half an eye — a disgusted glare, as if the air itself was tainted by his words. Then… she went back to adjusting the torn string of her wrap, which barely covered her freed right nipple — standing proud like a rude billboard made to mock the weak.
He… froze.
"Huh…?"
Trying to gather his confidence, he extended his hand slowly toward her shoulder, preparing to activate one of his lower-tier skills.
But suddenly — just before his fingers touched her glossy gray skin — his movement halted.
Her hand, heavy, gripped his wrist with a cold, steady hold.
Then… she looked up at him. Straight into his eyes.
And in that moment, something old exploded inside him… something buried beneath all his dirty laughter and rotten plans.
Weakness.
That pathetic boy who'd never done anything in life but masturbate behind closed doors.
That failure who crumbled at the first real touch of a woman.
"Shit… no…"
He flushed red, blood rushing downward, standing tall like a fool, while his hand remained trapped in her iron grip. His heart pounded, his tongue stumbled.
"I–I… I mean…"
But while drowning in shame, his eye betrayed him — it drifted down toward her — a physical betrayal, unapproved.
There, before him, Zara's body looked like a sculpted masterpiece meant to humiliate his manhood:
Her heavy chest bounced softly, one dark, erect nipple escaping the torn fabric like it was daring his eyes.
Her stomach flat, narrowing at her waist dangerously, like her body was designed to be a visual trap.
And when she turned slightly, her massive, tight ass shimmered with a light sheen of sweat, jiggling with every movement — a wordless sexual call.
Her thighs, thick and strong, like polished marble pillars — and still… that gray skin, smooth, taut, gleamed under the forest sun like a primal, savage temptation on display.
Everything about her was unapologetic sin.
A woman — but of a kind that made the weakest of male instincts scream, shattering all conscious strategy.
Iron? Gasped, shame and pleasure colliding in his mind, heart beating like war drums, his temperature rising non-stop.
Zara, for a moment, tilted her lips in a small smile.
A smile that wasn't warm… but cold, humiliating — mocking his fragile masculinity.
She didn't understand his language. Didn't know his words, his plans, or his nonsense.
But his weakness? Needed no translation. It was written in his eyes, his sweat, his confused erection, his fumbling tongue.
Iron? Chuckled awkwardly:
"Huh… y-you're… smiling at me? T-that means we're connecting, right?"
But… in the next second, her grip clamped down on his neck.
Without warning, she lifted his body off the ground — effortlessly, as if he weighed nothing more than a sack of feathers.
Her eyes, once half-lidded, now blazed with a dark fire, and the air grew heavy — as if the forest itself held its breath.
Iron… gasped, feet flailing in the air, face red, tongue lolling out.
"Well… shit…"