Chapter 844: Radiant Knight! Doctor, This Person Might Really Have a Problem With Her Head
"Aside from all that..." Ren leaned back, his gaze drifting lazily over the women gathered around him. "Do any of you have a wish you want fulfilled?"
FrostNova, Shining, Nightingale, Warfarin, Specter, and Kroos exchanged quiet glances, their expressions serene. They had no lingering regrets or burning desires; their current lives by his side were more than enough.
Well, almost all of them were serene. Sprawled out on a nearby sofa was a certain Sarkaz mercenary named W. She was still dead to the world, buried under a blanket, occasionally shifting her bruised, exhausted body while whimpering a breathless 'no'and'more' in her sleep.
The quiet atmosphere broke when Nearl suddenly stood up. Her golden armor clinked softly as she straightened her posture. "Ren," she began, her voice carrying a heavy, solemn weight. "Could you give me some time to return to Kazimierz? There is something... a reason I absolutely must go back."
"Kazimierz..." Kaltsit murmured, her sharp feline eyes narrowing as she fixed a deep, calculating stare on the Kuranta woman.
It was a nation built on the backs of Knights, nestled in the southwestern borders of the Ursus Empire. In the modern era, however, it wasn't known for its chivalry, but rather for its grand spectacle: the Kazimierz Major, the Knight Tournament that captivated all of Terra.
As the eras shifted, the blood and honor of the arena had been thoroughly sanitized and commercialized. The modern Knight Tournament was a glittering, corporate-sponsored bloodsport. This hyper-commercialization had fundamentally eroded the true status of Knights, turning them into mere idols and gladiators for public consumption.
Naturally, the ideological clash between the old-blooded traditional Knights and the corporate-backed competition Knights had reached a boiling point. Behind the scenes, the Adeptus Sprawiedliwi and the Kazimierz General Chamber of Commerce were locked in a vicious, shadow-draped power struggle over this very issue. It was no exaggeration to say that Kazimierz was currently a powder keg waiting to blow.
The biggest point of conflict among them was the Major itself.
Shining tilted her head, a rare flicker of realization crossing her calm features. "I recall that the Kazimierz Major is scheduled to begin soon this year," the Sarkaz medic said softly. "Nearl, you aren't planning to enter the tournament, are you?"
The Major was the beating heart of Kazimierz's economy and culture. Held once every three years, it had successfully concluded twenty-four glorious, bloody seasons.
The logistics, the betting pools, and the event schedules were ruthlessly managed by corporate spokespersons and representatives from various competition zones. The tournament itself was a grueling gauntlet, split into a brutal season selection stage and the elite championship bracket. Dozens of Knight Orders from across the nation would throw their best fighters into the meat grinder. Knights clashed in showers of sparks and blood, battling relentlessly until a single champion stood victorious, crowned with a coveted honorary title.
Askalon leaned against the wall, her presence practically melting into the shadows. She narrowed her eyes slightly. "I strongly advise against participating," the covert operative stated, her tone flat and dangerous. "The Kazimierz Major is anything but a fair fight. It is far from peaceful."
Beneath the flashing lights and roaring crowds lay a web of unwritten, lethal rules. If a victorious Knight gained too much fame, too much independence, or dared to threaten the bottom line of the Chamber of Commerce, they wouldn't just face tougher opponents in the arena. They would be quietly added to a blacklist. Then, the Chamber would dispatch their lapdogs, the ruthless assassins of the Armorless Union, to ensure that problem disappeared.
The vaunted Knightly spirit of Kazimierz was dead and buried. All that remained was the cold, hard coin of the Commercial Federation.
"I know," Nearl replied, her voice solemn and heavy.
Of course she knew. She closed her eyes and let out a long, shuddering breath, the memories weighing on her broad shoulders.
She looked around the room. Every woman here, bound together by their connection to Ren, was someone she could trust with her life. There was no need to hide her past anymore.
"Actually..." she began, her golden tail flicking nervously behind her. "I was once the champion of the Major. I was the Radiant Knight."
Margaret Nearl had been raised in the heart of Kazimierz, growing up under the strict but loving guidance of her grandfather alongside her younger sister. Blessed with combat talent that utterly eclipsed her peers, she had bypassed the usual grueling trials, earning exceptional admission into a prestigious Knight Order. There, she was bestowed the legendary title of the Radiant Knight.
For a time, Nearl had worn that title with fierce, unyielding pride. She believed in the honor of the blade. But the higher she climbed, the more she saw the rot beneath the gilded armor. The Knights of Kazimierz had traded their faith for corporate sponsorships, becoming morally bankrupt showmen.
Disgusted, Nearl had publicly and fiercely opposed the Chamber's commercialization of the Major. Naturally, her defiance had offended some of the most powerful, dangerous men in the nation.
Then came the accident. She was suddenly diagnosed as an Infected, supposedly contracting Oripathy. In a nation that ruthlessly discriminated against the Infected, her status plummeted overnight. Stripped of her standing and hunted by shadows, Nearl was forced into exile, leaving her homeland behind to wander the barren wastelands of Terra. That grueling journey had eventually led her to Shining, Nightingale, and finally, to the sanctuary of Rhodes Island.
But that was only half the truth. Nearl wasn't actually Infected. She didn't have Oripathy. The diagnosis had been a desperate, calculated smokescreen orchestrated by her family to protect her from the Armorless Union's assassins, giving her a plausible excuse to flee Kazimierz alive.
"Then why do you wish to return?" Shining asked, her serene brow furrowing in genuine confusion. "They cast you out."
Gravel clicked her tongue, a sharp, knowing smirk playing on her lips. "Isn't it obvious? She wants to fight her way back in. Who could possibly swallow that kind of indignity without wanting to bite back?"
Nearl shook her head, a wry, self-deprecating smile touching her lips. "I won't deny that pride plays a small part in it," she admitted. "But the core reason is much larger than my own ego. Kazimierz needs reform. The people need an awakening, and the Major itself must be torn down and rebuilt from the ground up!"
Her voice rang out, powerful, firm, and ringing with absolute conviction. This was her duty. This was what the Radiant Knight owed to her homeland.
"Alright, alright. Changing Kazimierz is child's play. I could flip that country upside down with a single thought," Ren interjected, his tone impossibly casual, as if discussing what to have for dinner. He stretched his arms, a lazy smirk forming on his face. "But since we actually have some free time on our hands, why not make a trip out of it? Who wants to tag along to Kazimierz and have a little fun with me?"
Nearl blinked, completely taken aback. "Ren, you don't have to go to such lengths for..."
Before she could finish her protest, space warped around her. A sudden, irresistible force pulled her through the air, and in the blink of an eye, her tall, athletic frame was planted firmly onto Ren's lap.
Before she could even process the sudden shift in gravity, Ren's hand cupped the back of her head, and he silenced her words with a deep, demanding kiss.
When he finally pulled away a moment later, the valiant former champion was reduced to a breathless, flushed mess. She leaned against his chest, her golden eyes totally unfocused, her usual stoic demeanor melting into incredible shyness.
"Don't give me that 'you and I' nonsense," Ren murmured, his thumb gently tracing her swollen lower lip. "Even Margaret herself belongs to me now. What's wrong with a man helping his favorite little pony fulfill her wish?"
"Woo...!" A soft, utterly uncharacteristic squeak escaped Nearl's throat. Her fluffy horse ears twitched wildly atop her head.
A crimson flush exploded across her cheeks, burning even hotter and redder than it had during their intensely sweaty, deep communication in bed the night before.
Margaret. It was her real name. She had operated under a codename for so long that hearing her actual given name spoken with such raw, possessive affection sent a violent shiver straight down her spine.
The last remnants of tension bled out of her muscles. Her previously stiff posture completely softened, molding perfectly against Ren's chest. Burying her burning face into his shoulder, she whispered, her voice barely audible, "Thank you..."
"Kazimierz, hm? Can I go and see it too?" Theresa suddenly chimed in. The pink-haired Sarkaz King smiled brightly, raising her hand like an eager schoolgirl volunteering for a field trip.
Kaltsit's gaze instantly sharpened into daggers. "Your Highness," the lynx warned, her tone laced with strict disapproval. "Your identity is far too sensitive for a public excursion."
"Oh, relax, Kaltsit. I'll be going with Ren, you know." Theresa waved off the concern with a breezy giggle, playfully winking at the man in question. "With him around, avoiding unwanted attention will be a walk in the park."
Ren chuckled, his hand casually stroking Nearl's golden hair as he eyed the Sarkaz King. "Heh. You're already making plans that rely on my protection? Are you assuming I'm a pushover just because we haven't had a deep conversation in bed yet?"
Theresa's cheeks dusted with a faint, pretty pink at the blatant innuendo. But she quickly recovered, her smile turning soft and teasing. "Perhaps. But everyone here who has had a deep conversation with you seems to think you're incredibly accommodating, you know."
Around the room, several women silently nodded in unison.
It was an unspoken truth among his harem. During the actual act, Ren was unapologetically dominant, rough, and relentlessly demanding. But the moment it was over, he transformed, treating them with a deep, lingering tenderness. For women like them, mercenaries, assassins, outcasts, and Infected who had spent their lives treated as weapons or walking corpses, that kind of unconditional warmth was an intoxicating drug. They couldn't help but completely immerse themselves in his affection.
"Besides, Ren," Theresa continued, her pink eyes sparkling as she batted her eyelashes at him. "Don't you want to take me on a sweet, romantic date through the streets of Kazimierz?"
Ren let out a low, rumbling laugh. "I suppose my experience the other day was spot on. That little mouth of yours really is as sweet as if it were smeared with honey."
That day's experience?
Theresa's mind instantly flashed back to a very specific, highly compromising situation where she had knelt down and substituted for an exhausted W. The blush on her face flared up, spreading all the way to the tips of her ears.
Flustered, she subconsciously pouted, her royal dignity completely shattered as she grumbled under her breath, "How could you possibly have a sense of taste down there?"
"Incorrect."
Kaltsit's voice cut through the room, absolutely frigid and entirely deadpan. "From a strict biological standpoint, the male reproductive organ does, in fact, possess taste receptors."
Upon hearing this clinical revelation, the Doctor gasped, her cherry-pink lips parting in sheer, unadulterated shock.
"Wait, really?!" The Doctor's eyes lit up with the manic curiosity of a deranged scientist. "I need to test this hypothesis!"
Without a second of hesitation, she practically dove across the room, swooping straight toward Ren's lap with her mouth wide open, fully intending to conduct a taste test right then and there.
Mid-dive, she stammered excitedly, "Ren, quick! What did it taste like?!"
A collective, heavy silence fell over the room. Imaginary black lines dropped down the foreheads of every single woman present as they stared at the Doctor's shameless display.
This woman really had a screw loose in her head.
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