From that day onwards, Seraphine's life significantly changed while also staying the same.
While she was in public, she was still that same cheerful, radiant, and occasionally clumsy nun. But behind closed doors, she became a devotee of pleasure.
Or rather… An Acolyte of Ecstasy.
The first days after her first attempt also passed in the same way, with the feeling of relaxation she sought in the bond appearing only once or twice a day.
But not even a week in, and something unexpected happened. To Seraphine's dismay, Ashen's state stayed in a constant fight-or-flight manner, and it never let up for more than three days.
Seraphine could only wait while fretting endlessly. It wasn't until after almost five days that she finally felt him relax again.
That day, she transmitted five orgasms to him, nearly flooding the bed with her fluids, as if to salvage the lost time.
From then on, that soothing calm never failed to arrive at least once through the day.
But this time, something new was sometimes mixed in—a heat, a tingle that Seraphine instantly identified as arousal.
'Is he horny?' was her first thought.
And she thought so for a while until a pattern emerged.
When, sometimes, the sense of peace arrived through the connection without the arousal, and she tried to do the usual, she was interrupted by a sting of pain in her hand that came from the bond, making her pout.
But she was never stopped when arousal was mixed in.
With all these clues combined, it didn't take her long to put one and two together.
Ashen likely guessed that she could now feel his body's reactions through the Bond. The pleasure only arrived when he was relaxed and his body wasn't on guard, after all, so it wasn't impossible to figure it out.
And now, he was using her skill's new upgrade to signal her when—and when not—to transmit her pleasure.
Now, with their tacit understanding, everything moved more smoothly between them. Seraphine only had to wait for his cue before flooding the bond with waves of pleasure the moment she sensed it.
She found herself thrilled by this quiet arrangement.
That sign always felt like an unspoken command: to please herself for his sake. It carried the same gravity as if he had whispered, "Serve me."
It reminded her of the days, back in the tutorial phase, when he controlled her every rise of lust with firm restraint. No matter how much she begged, he never went beyond what he deemed safe.
Now, it was almost the same. Whenever that command wove through her nerves, she would stop whatever she was doing, retreat to her room, and answer with a dose of shared ecstasy. Otherwise, she would wait—patiently, faithfully—for his next sign.
Just like she was trained to.
The thought of him guiding her pleasure for his own sake always sent a delicious shiver down her spine.
'I really am a masochistic little fool, aren't I?' she mused, fingers tracing slow circles across her lower belly after another of his "calls."
'Still… if I'm his fool, his little plaything… then I'm content. hehe ꨄ'
☽⟲✧⸸✧⟲☾
Wrath Domain, Beyond the Wall
November 23, 2025
Crackle…crackle… crack…
The general's aged eyes looked almost numb as he impassively surveyed the aftermath of the war.
Despite the obvious tiredness marring his expression, his stance never wavered. His shoulders never shrank, his hands never shivered, and his chin always rose high.
As he surveyed the scene, with eyes lingering on the pile of Narkal corpses, which almost resembled a mountain, burning steadily, an officer walked up until he was a couple of steps behind the general and offered the Iron Oath salute.
"General!" He shouted, making his presence known.
"Report." The general's impassive voice rang at once as he kept his back to the officer, his eyes never leaving the pile.
"Yes, sir! We have successfully eliminated two thousand Narkals in the last skirmish. But we have lost more than two hundred soldiers in return, bringing the total number of our division to only five hundred." The officer's voice was laden with sorrow by the end of his report.
"We only have five hundred men left? This won't be enough to cleanse the area of the vermin." The general mumbled to himself, lost in thought.
"How about our recruits?" He abruptly asked.
The officer lowered his head and stayed silent for a second too long, not knowing how to deliver the news. Finally, he ended up delivering the facts as they were.
"There are no more recruits left alive, general. The last ones that arrived in the last batch died in the last battle… whether Seravellians or Esperians… All except one, of course."
"...Ashen?"
The officer nodded. "Yes. But treating that monster as a recruit is absurd, sir."
The general slowly nodded. "Indeed, there is always unbridled willpower in that soldier's eyes. Defying death at every turn. Unfortunately, one man is hardly enough for the trials ahead."
The officer recognized that the general was talking more to himself than to him, so he held his silence for a moment longer before bringing up the next subject.
"General, sir, aside from our casualties, the number of heavily injured soldiers had risen to more than a hundred. We have to prepare an escort team to send them back to the Ashbastion since our healers can't handle them. Especially those with limbs that were severed beyond magical restoration, and internal bleeding that exceeds our immediate capacity."
"Not now." The general cut him off. "We won't leave this place unless we slaughter every last Narkal here. We need every able-bodied soldier for the next battle."
"But sir—" The officer hesitated, not wanting to argue but having to for the sake of the injured.
The officer didn't need to elaborate… both men understood the reality. Soldiers pushed beyond what healing magic could salvage, lying on makeshift cots, fever-bright eyes staring at tent ceilings they might never leave.
"They are soldiers of the Bloodwall; they can handle waiting for a while longer." The general's tone brooked no further argument. "Is there anything else?"
"...Yes, Ashen is requesting to return to the Ashbastion." The officer answered.
"Oh?" The general raised his tone a beat higher; his eyes finally shone with something else aside from numbness. "Is he finally at that stage? That was faster than expected."
The officer nodded. "Yes, sir. I verified it myself. He's ready to advance to the next step. Should I accept the request?"
"No. He will return only after we finish here, as part of the escort team for the injured soldiers."
The officer's face stiffened instantly at the general's unexpected reply.
And his shock was justified. This was a rule personally declared by the Sin Lord, Cornelia Arde: any soldier ready to advance was to be pulled back immediately.
An average sixth-step pathwalker outweighed twenty men still at the seventh step in sheer might. Losing such potential was unacceptable.
If he died after reaching the sixth step, that was fate. But dying while on the cusp of advancement? That was a colossal loss, and the very reason the rule existed.
And now, the general was discarding it, sending a ready-to-advance soldier straight into the next meatgrinder.
As if sensing his officer's disbelief, the general added. "Ashen kills Narkals as if they were dummy targets. With our numbers this low, keeping him here isn't a luxury; it's a necessity. We'll cleanse this area, then he can advance."
Then, he unexpectedly smirked, "Don't worry. That guy's an unkillable cockroach. He won't die here."
"...Yes, sir."
Helpless, the officer nodded, silently praying that Ashen's luck wouldn't run out at this crucial moment.