We stagger out of the Velvet Hollow around sunset, the hidden door sealing behind us with a soft click. The normal village air feels boringly clean after hours of hookah smoke and legendary artefact stories.
Nyx is still buzzing. "Did you see the way Old Thorn said 'the Lover's Noose'? I need that garrote. For… reasons."
Liora's cheeks are flushed from the cocktails. "We are absolutely coming back tomorrow. And the day after. And—"
We turn the corner into the main square and almost walk straight into a full-blown street party.
Someone has cleared the cobblestones in front of the fountain. A circle of twenty adventurers and villagers is going absolutely feral to the beat of three dwarf drummers and one very enthusiastic bard on a lute that's somehow dropping bass.
It's the dumbest, happiest dance I've ever seen:
- A minotaur doing the worm (and failing spectacularly).
- Two kitsune girls twerking in perfect sync, nine tails each swishing like metronomes.
- An orc breakdancing on one hand while holding a full tankard in the other without spilling a drop.
- A human guy in full plate armor trying (and failing) to floss.
The crowd is cheering, clapping, throwing copper coins into a hat.
Nyx's ears shoot straight up. "Oh hell yes."
Before I can say anything she's already sprinted into the circle, tail high, and starts doing this ridiculous cat-like body roll that has half the crowd whistling.
Liora watches for exactly three seconds, elegant mask cracking, then shrugs and joins her; doing a perfect, graceful spin that somehow turns into the most elegant running-man anyone's ever seen.
I just stand there for a second, grinning like an idiot.
Then the bard points straight at me and yells, "Fresh meat! Get in here, pretty boy!"
The crowd roars.
Fuck it.
I jump in, slide between Nyx and Liora, and hit them with the most over-the-top, previous-life TikTok dance I can remember; some mix of the Shoot and the Woah, finished with a dramatic hair flip that gets legitimate screams from a group of beastkin girls on the sidelines.
The three of us end up back-to-back-to-back in the center, Nyx popping her hips, Liora doing sharp elven spins that look like actual magic, me just vibing and throwing in the occasional body roll that makes Nyx cackle.
The drummers speed up.
The crowd forms a tighter circle, chanting "Star-less! Star-less!" (word really does travel fast).
We dance until we're sweaty, laughing, out of breath, until the bard finally strums one last dramatic chord and collapses theatrically.
The square explodes in cheers and coins.
We stumble out of the circle together, arms over each other's shoulders, faces hurting from smiling.
Some random dwarf presses three cold bottles of something fizzy and alcoholic into our hands.
Nyx chugs half of hers in one go. "Best. Tutorial. Village. Ever."
Liora leans her head on my shoulder, still giggling. "We're never leaving."
I look up at the sky; stars starting to come out, music still thumping behind us.
Yeah.
For the first time since the truck, everything feels perfectly, stupidly right.
Just three idiots dancing in the streets like the world can't touch us.
The dance leaves us sweaty, buzzing, and stupidly happy. By the time the moon's high, the square has quieted down, and the three of us stumble-laugh our way back to the Cozy Cauldron, arms linked, still humming the dumb beat from the street party.
Nyx locks the door behind us with exaggerated seriousness.
"Security protocol: activated."
Liora yawns, already peeling off her top as she heads for the bathroom.
"I smell like sweat, honey nuts, and foxgirl perfume. Shower. Now."
She lets the clothes drop where she stands; those perfect elven tits, pale pink nipples already hard from the cool night air, and that neat silver landing strip leading down to her flushed pink pussy. She doesn't even look back.
"Kai. Bath. Together.
Nyx is already half-dead on her feet. She strips lazily (cropped jacket, shorts, nothing underneath), giving us a flash of her perky tits and smooth pink slit before face-planting naked onto the bed with a dramatic snore.
"Too… many… spins… You two have fun… zzz…"
Out like a light, tail draped over the edge, ass in the air.
I shrug, strip off my own clothes (cock half-hard just from the day's chaos), and follow Liora into the tiny bathroom.
Hot water, steam, quiet.
I wash her long silver hair, fingers working the shampoo in slow circles. She sighs and leans back against me, eyes closed.
She returns the favor, claws gentle on my back, scrubbing away the day.
No words. None needed.
We step out dripping. I take the towel and carefully dry her hair, then comb it with my fingers until it falls smooth and perfect down her back. She watches me in the mirror with soft eyes, a tiny smile on her lips.
When we slide into bed, Nyx has starfished across most of it, still dead to the world.
I slip into the middle (neutral territory).
Liora crawls in after me, presses her cool, naked body against my front, one leg thrown over mine, arms wrapping around my torso like I'm her personal teddy bear.
Liora (sleepy murmur): "I cuddle in my sleep. Deal with it."
Me: "Not complaining."
Nyx instinctively rolls over in her dreams, throws an arm and a tail across both of us, and nuzzles into my shoulder with a happy little purr.
Three naked, exhausted, perfectly synced adventurers.
Elf tits pressed against my chest.
Cat tail tickling my thigh.
Warm skin everywhere.
No sex. No tension.
We drift off tangled together, breathing slow, the faint smell of soap and street-dance sweat lingering in the air.
Morning light filters through the shutters again, soft and golden.
I wake up slowly, warm on every side, like the bed itself is hugging me.
Nyx is on my right, face buried in the crook of my neck, one leg hooked over mine, her tail curled possessively around my thigh. Every time she exhales it tickles my collarbone, and she makes these tiny, happy little purr-snores that vibrate against my skin.
Liora is on my left, pressed tight against my front like I'm her personal body pillow. Her arms are fully wrapped around my waist, fingers laced together at the small of my back. One of her legs is thrown over my hip, her cool elven skin flush against mine, tits squished comfortably against my chest. Her silver hair is everywhere (across my shoulder, in my mouth, tickling my nose), and she keeps nuzzling closer in her sleep, like she's chasing my warmth.
I'm the perfect Kai-sandwich filling.
I try to move (just a little) and both of them instinctively tighten their hold.
Nyx mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like "mine…" and throws an arm across my chest, claws lightly pricking my skin.
Liora makes a soft, sleepy noise of protest and burrows her face deeper into my neck, lips brushing my throat.
I give up on moving. This is too good.
For a long minute I just lie there, feeling their steady breathing sync up with mine. The room smells faintly of last night's sex, soap from the shower, and that unique mix of catgirl warmth and elven coolness on either side of me.
My arms are pinned, but I manage to wiggle one hand free and rest it on Liora's bare back, tracing lazy circles between her shoulder blades. She sighs in her sleep, presses even closer, one of her thighs sliding between mine.
Nyx shifts, tail tightening around my leg, and her hand somehow ends up cupping my pec like it's a stress ball. She squeezes once, still fully asleep, and lets out the laziest, happiest purr.
Just pure, stupid, comfortable affection.
This must be what actual family feels like (the kind you choose, the kind that holds you like you're the only thing keeping the world from spinning off its axis).
I close my eyes again, let my head sink deeper into the pillow, and just… exist in the cuddle pile.
We finally untangle ourselves somewhere around 9 a.m.
Nyx wakes up first this time; stretches like a cat in sunlight, tail fluffing, tits jiggling as she yawns with full fang.
"Morning, family. My everything hurts in the best way."
Liora untangles her arms from around my waist, sits up slowly, silver hair cascading everywhere like a shampoo commercial. She rubs her eyes, ears twitching.
"I believe I was promised pancakes."
I roll out of the warm spot in the middle, cock swinging freely as I stand.
"Pancakes it is. But shower first; I still smell like street dance and foxgirl perfume."
We do the usual naked family shuffle:
- Nyx hops in the tub first, quick rinse, shakes water off like a dog.
- Liora goes second, lets me wash and re-braid her hair again because apparently that's my job now.
- I go last, both girls lazily handing me soap and scrubbing my back without being asked.
Ten minutes later we're fresh, dressed in clean(ish) adventurer clothes, hair brushed, teeth scrubbed with mint leaves.
Down the creaky stairs we go.
The inn's common room smells like heaven: butter, maple, sizzling bacon, fresh coffee.
The same innkeeper from yesterday takes one look at our glowing faces and just silently slides over three triple-stack pancakes, extra bacon, and a whole pot of coffee. No bill yet; he knows we're good for it after last night's goblin-ear payout.
We claim the corner table, dig in like starving wolves.
Nyx drowns her pancakes in syrup, licks a drip off her thumb.
"So. Plan for today: quests, arena, or back to the Velvet Hollow to hunt more legendary gossip?"
Liora cuts her pancakes into perfect squares, elegant even when demolishing breakfast.
"Quests first. We're still level one. Need gold, need EXP, need to outgrow this village before we turn into dance-floor alcoholics."
I spear half a pancake in one bite, talking around it.
"Agreed. Eat fast, hit the guild, grab something with decent pay. Then arena for pocket money. Then Velvet Hollow tonight for more Old Thorn stories."
Nyx raises her coffee mug. "To poisoning goblins, group orgies, and stealing legendary artefacts before level ten."
Liora actually laughs; full, bright, and real; and clinks her mug against ours.
"To Starless," she says.
"To Starless," Nyx and I echo.
We demolish the rest of breakfast in happy silence, elbows bumping, tails and ears occasionally brushing my arms.
Just another perfect morning with my two little vixens.
We polish off the last of the pancakes, toss a few copper to the innkeeper, and hit the streets with purpose. The morning sun's high, village buzzing, but we're locked in: guild time. Level 2 or bust.
The guildhall's packed as usual—adventurers nursing hangovers, quest boards overflowing. Reyna spots us from behind the counter, deadpan as ever, but there's a ghost of a smirk when she slides our stamped cards back.
"Goblin slayers return. What'll it be? Slimes? Wolves?"
Nyx leans on the counter, tail swishing. "Level 2 grind. Something with bodies to stack and loot that doesn't one-shot newbies."
Reyna taps a crystal orb; quests project in holographic blue. She points to one glowing yellow: Kobold Infestation – Urgent.
- Location: Abandoned Mineshaft, 1 hour north.
- Numbers: ~150 kobold warriors (Level 2), traps, 1 chieftain (Level 3 boss).
- Reward: 45 silver total (0.3 silver per ear), bonus 10 silver for chieftain head.
- EXP estimate: 2 per kobold, 50 for boss.
Liora whistles. "150 bodies = 300 EXP split three ways. Level 2 locked if we don't fuck up."
I do the math: Level 1 EXP bar is 200 now (we've got ~50 each from goblins). This clears it easy.
Inner Aizen pops up, already scheming: "Poison again? No—traps. Flood the mines. Kobolds hate water. Plan A: gas 'em. Plan B: cave-in. Plan C: chieftain bait."
"Sold," I say aloud. Reyna stamps the parchment.
We gear up quick: 5 silver at the market for more poison vials (Mort's "Kobold Kleaner" special), caltrops, oil flasks, and rope. 8 silver left—tight, but we're pros now.
The hike north is chill: forest path, banter flowing.
Nyx: "Bet I collect the most ears."
Liora: "Bet Kai's Fireball melts half before we touch 'em."
Me: "Bet you both cuddle me harder tonight for carrying."
One hour later: mine entrance. Dank, torchlit tunnels echoing with yips and clinks of tiny spears.
Nyx scouts: tunnels branch three ways, central chamber with chieftain on a bone throne. Perfect chokepoint.
We execute Plan A (Aizen's favorite): Nyx sneaks in, dumps poison powder into their central air vent (old mining shaft). I light oil flasks at the entrance, seal it with a cave-in rockslide (Liora's arrows + my mana push).
Five minutes: coughing starts. Kobolds swarm the entrance—150 scaly little shits, Level 2 red ???? over their heads, eyes watering, hacking up lungs.
Liora snipes the front rank: arrows through throats, heads popping like grapes.
Nyx dances in the chaos, daggers flashing, ears flying.
Me: Fireball spam. MP drains, but each one cooks five or six in a screaming clusterfuck. Cooldown? Who cares—100 casts to level the skill? Grind city.
Chieftain bursts out last: bigger, Level 3, rusty axe swinging. Charges me. I dodge, Nyx trips him into caltrops, Liora pins his arm. One overcharged Fireball to the face: skull melts, head rolls.
Cleanup: two hours of ear-harvesting in the gas-fume hell. 152 ears. Chieftain head in a sack.
System chimes triple-time.
Panels pop:
──────────────────
Kai Ashford
Level: 2 (EXP: 12/500)
HP: 160/160
MP: 240/240
Fireball Lv.1 [78/100 casts] → Skill Level Up! Fireball Lv.2 (bigger boom, 15 MP cost, 2s CD)
Title: «Kobold Slayer» (+5% trap detection)
──────────────────
Liora: Level 2, Precise Shot Lv.2.
Nyx: Level 2, Backstab Lv.2, grinning with bloody daggers.
Back at guild by dusk: Reyna counts ears, verifies head, slides 55 silver. We're rich(ish).
Nyx: "Bar tonight? Celebrate Level 2 dicks and pussies?"
Liora: "Velvet Hollow first. More legends.
Me: "Both. Then bed. Naked cuddle mandatory."
We fist-bump, tails and ears swishing.
Level 2 acquired.
8 levels to go before we bounce this tutorial shithole.
We drag ourselves out of the guildhall just as the sun dips below the horizon, the 55-silver pouch heavy in my pocket and our bodies absolutely wrecked from the mine massacre.
Liora yawns so hard her ears fold back. "Bed. Now. I can't feel my legs."
Nyx is already half-asleep on my shoulder. "Same. Carry me, Kai. Or at least lick me to sleep."
I just nod, too tired to banter. "Room. Sleep. Let's go."
Back at the Cozy Cauldron, Nyx locks the door with fumbling fingers. Clothes hit the floor in a lazy trail.
Nyx flops naked onto the bed first, legs already spread, pink pussy glistening in the lamplight.
"Kai… please. Lick me till I cum. Then I'll pass out happy."
Liora doesn't even speak; she just strips, crawls in beside Nyx, and spreads her own thighs, silver hair fanning across the pillow, pussy already wet and flushed.
Two dripping, exhausted, beautiful girls presenting themselves like it's the most normal bedtime routine in the world.
I strip, cock half-hard from the sight alone, and kneel between them.
Ten slow minutes on Nyx first: tongue flat and firm, circling her clit, sliding down to taste how soaked she is, then back up. She's purring within seconds, hips rocking, claws tangling in my hair. When she cums it's with a long, shaky yowl, thighs clamping around my head, tail thrashing.
Switch to Liora: slower, gentler; long licks from entrance to clit, teasing her folds, sucking softly. She's quieter, breath hitching, elegant even when she's falling apart. Her orgasm rolls through her like a wave; back arching, a soft elven moan that sounds like music.
They don't leave me hanging.
Nyx pulls me up by the hair, Liora already waiting. They take turns on my cock like it's a sacred ritual: Liora's cool, perfect mouth first, taking me deep and slow; Nyx licking the shaft and balls whenever Liora pulls back. Then they switch, Nyx swallowing me down while Liora tongues the head.
I don't last long (too tired, too turned on). I groan, hips bucking, and unload.
Liora catches the first few ropes in her mouth, swallows neatly like it's fine wine.
Nyx licks the rest off my cock and Liora's lips, purring the whole time.
Cleanup complete.
We collapse in the usual order: me in the middle, Liora curling into my front like I'm her personal heater, arms locked around my waist. Nyx spoons me from behind, tail draped over both of us, face nuzzled between my shoulder blades.
Naked, sticky, satisfied, and finally, blessedly quiet.
Liora mumbles into my chest, half-asleep: "Love you idiots…"
Nyx's purr is the last thing I hear before I pass out.
The next few days melt into the most gloriously lazy routine we've ever had.
We wake up late, tangled naked in the big bed, spend twenty minutes cuddling and giggling like idiots until someone's stomach growls loud enough to break the spell. Quick group shower (lots of playful splashing, zero sex, just family washing family), then downstairs for mountains of pancakes and coffee.
After breakfast we just… wander.
No rush. No big quests. Just the three of us owning the village like we've lived here forever.
We turn the lazy village day into a full-blown montage of pure, stupid joy.
We buy a whole stale loaf from the bakery for 2 copper and tear it into chunks. The ducks go berserk.
Nyx is the ruthless judge:
- Village guard in rusty chainmail: "4/10, looks like he lost a fight with a tin can."
- Traveling merchant with the peacock hat: "Solid 7, but minus 3 for trying too hard."
Then the blacksmith's wife strolls by in a sunflower-yellow sundress that hugs every curve like it was sewn on by the gods themselves.
All three of us at once: "Twelve. Immediate twelve."
Nyx actually throws bread at the ducks in celebration. One duck catches it mid-air like a badass. We cheer louder for the duck than for the woman.
Nyx drags us behind the herbalist shop, plants her feet wide, tail high.
"Lesson one: it's all in the hips and tail. Watch."
She does that rolling, popping thing she did on the dance floor. My jaw drops. Liora tilts her head like she's analyzing spell forms.
Third try: Liora nails it. Full elegant elf grace + lethal hip isolation. The motion is so smooth it looks like water.
A dwarf carrying six bags of ore walks past the alley mouth, glances over, and every single bag slips from his hands. Onions roll everywhere.
We lose it. Nyx is on the ground wheezing. I'm bent over laughing so hard I can't breathe. Liora actually blushes crimson to the tips of her ears but keeps doing the dance just to torture the poor dwarf. He walks into a wall.
We buy twelve skewers of "probably boar, maybe not" from old man Huo's cart (extra spicy sauce). Climb the outer wall, sit on the warm stone, legs dangling thirty feet above the road.
Every time a new party stumbles through the gate we rate them like sports commentators:
- "Look at that human swordsman; shield bigger than his future."
- "Elf archer already complaining about the mud. She's gonna cry by day three."
- "That catgirl has the same 'I'm gonna cause problems on purpose' energy as you, Nyx."
Nyx flips them off from the wall. They never see it. We cackle like hyenas.
Liora spots a tiny shop called "Tomes & Tomes of Tomes" and we're inside before the bell finishes ringing.
Back corner: shelf literally labeled "Adult – Do Not Read Aloud."
We absolutely read aloud.
I do the dramatic male lead voice (deep and ridiculous).
Nyx does the innocent maiden (complete with exaggerated gasps).
Liora, deadpan, does the dragon shifter dom who "claims his mate with a single thrust of his twin—"
The gnome owner appears like a wrathful garden ornament.
"Out. Now. Before I curse your bloodlines with eternal erectile dysfunction."
We leave in tears of laughter, clutching a banned paperback we "accidentally" paid for.
Back to our honey-nut bridge at golden hour.
Nyx skips five stones perfectly, tail swishing with every throw.
Liora tries; stone sinks immediately. Second try: plop. Third try: hits a fish. The fish surfaces and glares.
She pouts so adorably we both die.
I cheat shamelessly: tiny Fireballs to heat the stones and make them hydroplane. One skips twenty-three times.
Nyx tackles me into the planks. Liora joins the pile. We're laughing so hard we almost roll into the stream.
We lie there on our backs watching clouds until the sky turns pink, shoulders touching, tails and ears occasionally flicking against my arms.
We're strolling back under the lanterns, arms linked, still giggling about Liora accidentally mooning half the village with that booty dance, when this guy just materializes out of the shadows like he's been waiting for us.
Tall, half-elf maybe, honey-blond hair tied back, easy smile, leather travel cloak that screams "I've seen some shit but I'm still pretty."
Definitely handsome.
Not as handsome as me, obviously, but a solid 8.5/10 on the village scale.
He spreads his arms like he's known us forever.
Guy: "Heyyy, big bro, little sisters! Perfect timing!"
Nyx's tail puffs instantly. "Who the fuck are you calling little?"
He doesn't even flinch, just bows dramatically.
Guy: "Name's Cian. Traveler, bard, occasional heartbreaker. Word on the street is you three are the goblin-poisoning, kobold-barbecuing, dance-floor-destroying trio called Starless. Am I right or am I right?"
Liora raises one perfect eyebrow. "Flattery noted. Why do you care?"
Cian grins wider, gold tooth glinting.
"Because tonight, in the middle of the village square, a storyteller from the Information Guild just rolled into town. Real deal; level 87 Lorekeeper. He only visits starter villages once every five years, and only if there's a party worth telling stories to. He heard about you three and basically sent me to drag you there. Free drinks, epic tales, possible clues to legendary artefacts… you in?"
We all exchange glances.
Me: "Why us specifically?"
Cian shrugs, completely shameless.
"Honestly? Old man Thorn was raving about you in the Velvet Hollow last night. Said three level-two newbies were asking the right questions about the real treasures. Lorekeeper loves fresh blood with ambition. Also… I may have lost a bet that I couldn't get the famous Starless trio to show up."
Nyx snorts. "So we're your bar tab?"
"Pretty much," he admits cheerfully.
Liora looks at me, ears twitching with curiosity. Nyx is already bouncing on her toes.
I sigh dramatically, then flash a grin.
"Brother," I say, clapping Cian on the shoulder, "lead the way. We were born for this shit."
Cian pumps a fist. "You guys are not gonna regret this. Follow the handsome guide!"
He spins on his heel and starts walking backward through the square, gesturing like a tour guide.
Behind him, a medium-sized open-air tavern has magically appeared in the central plaza: colorful lanterns, long tables, a raised wooden stage with an old human in traveler's robes already tuning a massive gilded lute. A banner above reads:
TALES FROM BEYOND THE MAP
One night only – Lorekeeper Aldric of the Information Guild
Half the village is already there, mugs in hand.
Cian winks. "Told you. Best seats are reserved for Starless."
Nyx grabs my hand, Liora grabs the other.
Nyx: "If this is boring I'm poisoning his ale."
Liora: "If it's good, we're staying till dawn."
Me: "Either way, free drinks."
We follow our new self-appointed hype-man straight into the crowd, the three of us laughing like idiots again.
Cian leads us right up to the front bench like VIPs, bows dramatically, and vanishes into the crowd with a wink and a "Enjoy the show, legends!"
(We spot him ten minutes later already draped around a curvy redhead bard. Smooth bastard.)
The lanterns dim. A hush falls over the whole square.
Lorekeeper Aldric steps onto the low wooden stage: old but not frail, long white beard braided with tiny glowing runes, eyes like he's seen the end of the world and found it hilarious. He taps his massive gilded lute once. A single clear note rings out, and every conversation dies.
He doesn't open with dragons or gods or ancient evils.
He opens with the most ridiculous story I've ever heard in two lifetimes.
"Gather 'round, you beautiful degenerates. Let me tell you about the legendary hero known as Sir Reginald the Unwashed…"
Cue twenty minutes of the most unhinged comedy:
A knight who swore a vow of chastity… but only on Tuesdays.
A dragon who hoarded socks instead of gold.
A magical sword that only worked if the wielder sang off-key sea shanties at the top of their lungs.
- Sir Reginald once defeated an entire orc warband by accidentally sitting on the chieftain while trying to scratch his ass.
The entire square is howling. Nyx is literally on the ground, tail thrashing, tears streaming. Liora (ice-queen, elegant Liora) has both hands over her mouth, shoulders shaking so hard she's snorting. I'm bent over laughing so hard my ribs hurt, slapping the bench like it personally offended me.
Aldric waits for the laughter to die down, wipes a tear from his own eye, then plucks a low, serious note on the lute.
The mood shifts like someone flipped a switch.
Lanterns dim further. His voice drops to a storyteller's growl.
"Now… let me tell you about the man who wasn't a hero at all.
The square falls so quiet you can hear the lanterns crackle.
Lorekeeper Aldric lets the silence stretch until it's uncomfortable, then leans forward, voice dropping to a whisper that somehow carries to the very back row.
"Let me tell you the true story of the Ashen Wanderer.
Not the bedtime version they tell children. The real one. The one that still keeps kings awake at night."
He plucks a single low note on the lute. The lanterns dim to blood-red.
"He started with nothing. No class. No skills. Just a name no one remembers and a rusted kitchen knife he stole from his mother's drawer the day the empire's tax collectors burned his village for falling three coppers short.
He was sixteen.
For the first year he did nothing heroic. He survived. Slept in ditches. Ate rats. Learned which mushrooms made you shit yourself to death and which ones just tasted like regret.
At seventeen he joined a mercenary company. They laughed at the scrawny kid with the kitchen knife. Three weeks later the company was dead—ambushed by imperial scouts—and he walked out alone with their coin pouches and the first real sword he'd ever held.
That's when he made his first rule: Never fight fair.
Year two: he started poisoning wells. Not the big dramatic ones—those get noticed. Just the little forgotten wells behind barracks. One drop of nightshade every night for a month. Soldiers got the runs so bad they couldn't hold a spear. Three garrisons surrendered because they literally shat themselves into submission.
Year four: he learned to read. Stole a noble girl's tutor, seduced her, copied every book in her father's library while she slept. Burned the originals so no one else could learn what he now knew.
Year six: he had a party. Six of the deadliest bastards on the continent. They called themselves the Seven Broken Blades. They cleared dungeons, toppled dukes, amassed a fortune. Then, one by one, they betrayed him—greed, love, fear, doesn't matter. He killed every single one himself. Kept their swords. Melted them down and reforged his own blade from the scraps. That was the first time it was called broken—because every piece came from a betrayal.
By year ten the empire had a name for him: the Ashen Wanderer. Because everywhere he walked, things burned quiet. No grand sieges. No declarations of war. Just villages that stopped paying taxes. Supply lines that vanished. Generals who woke up with their throats cut by their own lieutenants—paid in empire gold the Wanderer left on their pillows.
He never raised an army. He made the empire raise its own noose.
Year fifteen: the emperor offered a bounty—ten million gold. Enough to buy a kingdom. The greatest heroes on the continent hunted him. They died. Some in duels. Some in their sleep. One legendary paladin tracked him for three years, finally cornered him in a tavern… and the Wanderer bought him a drink, told him the truth about the emperor's "divine" bloodline, and the paladin walked away and hanged himself from the nearest tree.
Year eighteen: the capital itself. No siege engines. No grand battle. He just walked through the gates at dawn with a cart full of apples. Every apple had a single drop of void-sap in the core. By noon half the noble district was screaming as their magic unraveled. The emperor locked himself in the throne room with his last hundred guards.
The Wanderer kicked the door open holding nothing but that same broken sword.
He didn't say "I'm here to kill you."
He said, "I'm here to make you irrelevant."
And he did.
He opened the royal vaults, loaded the gold onto wagons, and gave it away in the streets. Burned the tax records. Opened the prisons. Declared every slave in the empire free with the emperor's own seal.
Then he sat on the empty throne, laid the broken sword across his lap, and waited.
When the people finally stormed the palace, they found the emperor already dead—hanged with his own ceremonial sash. No one knows who did it. Some say the Wanderer. Some say the emperor did it himself when he realized the empire was already gone.
The Wanderer was never seen again.
They say the broken sword is still out there. Not in a dungeon. Not guarded by dragons. Just… somewhere ordinary. A ditch. A pawn shop. A child's toy chest.
Waiting for the next person who's tired of being average.
Waiting for someone willing to spend twenty years doing the boring, brutal, quiet work of becoming unstoppable.
Waiting for three kids from a starter village who just poisoned three hundred goblins and laughed about it."
Aldric lets the final note fade.
The square is dead silent for so long you could hear a copper drop.
Then he looks straight at us again—me, Liora, Nyx—and smiles like he knows exactly what we're thinking.
"The story isn't over, children.
You're just the next verse."
He bows.
.Aldric's voice drops to a velvet purr that somehow makes the entire square lean in like one giant, horny organism.
"Now, the one you've all been waiting for… the Night of the Nine Tails."
He plucks a slow, sensual chord that sounds exactly like silk sheets sliding off skin.
"Picture this: the Grand Temple of Lathys, Goddess of Purity, Chastity, and Really Bad Life Choices. Marble so white it hurts to look at. Twenty-four hand-picked paladins of the Order of the Silver Lily; every single one a virgin, sworn to celibacy until death, armor enchanted to burn the flesh of anyone who even thinks about sex in their presence.
Into this temple walks Miko of the Crimson Moon; nine-tailed kitsune priestess, courtesan-saint of Inari, and owner of the most legendary pussy in three continents.
She's wearing nothing but a thin red silk kimono that's basically a suggestion of clothing. Tails swishing, golden eyes glowing, smirking like she already won.
The high priestess demands: 'Demon! State your purpose or be purged!'
Miko bows, nine tails fanning out like a fiery halo, and says the most dangerous sentence ever uttered in a holy place:
'I'm here to save your souls… one orgasm at a time.'
The paladins laugh. They actually laugh. Then they draw their swords.
Miko snaps her fingers.
The silk kimono hits the floor.
And the paladins' enchanted armor suddenly gets very, very tight in the crotch region.
Turns out Miko's divine gift from Inari isn't illusions or fire; it's raw, concentrated fertility magic. One look at her naked body and every celibacy vow in the room shatters like glass. Twenty-four holy warriors drop their swords because their hands are suddenly busy somewhere else.
She doesn't even touch them at first. Just walks a slow circle, tails brushing armor, whispering filth in nine different ancient languages. One paladin cums in his greaves just from her breath on his ear.
Then she picks the captain; big, stoic, seven feet tall, beard you could hide a sword in; and crooks a finger.
He drops to his knees like his strings were cut.
Miko straddles his face right there on the altar of purity, nine tails wrapping around his head like a crown, and rides his tongue until she squirts sacred fox-nectar all over the holy scriptures. The captain's eyes roll back, armor literally steaming from the inside.
One by one, the rest fall.
Some she takes with her tails; those fluffy appendages are prehensile, soft as silk, strong as steel, and apparently textured on the inside in ways that make grown men weep. One paladin gets all nine wrapped around his cock at once and lasts exactly four seconds before painting the ceiling.
Some she rides reverse cowgirl while making them recite their vows backward.
Some she lets fuck her tits; enchanted kitsune cleavage that milks harder than any pussy.
One shy novice she just fingers gently while whispering praise until he cums so hard he passes out smiling.
By midnight the temple smells like a brothel exploded in a bakery. Armor is scattered like confetti. The high priestess herself is on her knees eating Miko out while begging for forgiveness in the form of a tenth tail that doesn't exist.
At dawn, the sun rises on twenty-four ex-paladins, naked, glowing, and very enthusiastically no longer virgins. They renounce their vows on the spot, found a new temple dedicated to 'balanced indulgence,' and to this day the Order of the Crimson Moon is famous for two things:
1. Never losing a battle.
2. Never leaving survivors unsatisfied.
And Miko? She just walked out with a new tenth tail (pure white, earned from converting an entire order of purity in one night), kissed the high priestess goodbye, and vanished into legend.
They say if you visit that temple on a full moon and listen very closely… you can still hear the echoes of twenty-four paladins moaning her name in perfect harmony."
Aldric finishes with a dramatic, filthy lute flourish that somehow sounds exactly like a woman screaming through her fifth orgasm.
The square loses its collective mind.
We're laughing so hard we're crying, Nyx is fanning herself with both hands, Liora has her face buried in my shoulder mumbling "Goddess preserve me," and half the crowd is already dragging their partners away to reenact the story in real time.
We stumble out of the square absolutely buzzing, cheeks hurting from laughter, bodies still tingling from Aldric's last filthy punchline about the kitsune and the twenty-four paladins.
Nyx is fanning herself with both hands. "I'm so turned on right now I could fuck a fence post."
Liora, ears still crimson, nods rapidly. "Same. My panties surrendered three stories ago."
They both turn to me at the same time, golden and silver eyes glowing in the lantern light.
Nyx: "Kai, bro, tomorrow morning, breakfast table, usual spot. Do NOT be late."
Liora: "We're… going to go take care of this. Separately. With strangers. Lots of condoms."
Nyx leans in, kisses my cheek, fangs grazing just enough to make me shiver. "Be a good boy tonight. We'll tell you every filthy detail over pancakes."
Liora kisses the other cheek, soft and lingering. "Sweet dreams, family."
Then the two vixens link arms and practically skip away toward the Tipsy Treant, tails swishing in perfect sync, already whispering and giggling about who they're going to drag upstairs.
I stand there in the middle of the square for a second, cock half-hard, brain replaying every smutty image Aldric painted.
…Yeah, I could go with them. Could find my own random bar girl (or two). Could turn tonight into another six-person disaster.
But for some reason… I don't.
I just smile, shake my head, and head back to the Cozy Cauldron alone.
Order a simple stew and bread at the counter, eat it slow while the common room chatter fades around me.
Climb the stairs. Unlock the room. Strip naked (because of course I do). Slide into the big bed that suddenly feels way too empty without two warm bodies pressed against me.
The sheets still smell faintly of Nyx's purrs and Liora's hair.
I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling, hand drifting down once or twice… then pulling away.
Not tonight.
Tonight I'm gonna be the good boy they asked me to be.
I curl up in the middle of the bed, hugging the pillow that still has a faint silver hair on it, and fall asleep with a stupid smile on my face.
Tomorrow morning they're gonna come back wrecked, glowing, and full of stories.
And I'll be right there, fresh as a daisy, ready to hear every filthy detail while we plan the next legend.
Alone in the big bed, naked, horny, and weirdly content.