Chapter 19 Night Part ②
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
Girl and I arrived home together.
I planned to adjust her equipment today. She’d pushed herself hard, so tomorrow would be a rest day—school was off anyway.
My eyes drifted to my armor.
Black Iron Armor. My first real creation. A heavy, full-body set, the kind that covered everything from head to boots. In this world you could piece together armor slot by slot, but that always felt messy to me. Full Armor was simpler, and mine… mine was different.
It shouldn’t have existed. Arcane Armor was something only high-level crafters could make. Yet I forced a degraded version into being with my low skill. Normally it needed a Soul Core and veins of Magic Metal to channel Mana. I had neither. Angels and Demons were far too strong, monster hearts too rare.
So I gambled. What if the one wearing it powered it themselves?
I copied the logic from summoning circles—spirits sustained by their summoner’s Mana. If I used my maximum Mana as the current, I could keep the armor alive and still cast spells. Endless nights of copying formulas, poring through my parents’ spells, scribbling notes until my hands cramped… all of it came together into a single working formula. The Archangel was present when I activated it, watching as something entirely new came into being.
That solved the core. But not the conduits. Magic Metal was too costly, so I experimented—monster sinew, nerves, Mana-infused iron and steel. My notes grew into towers. When the Mayor tried to confiscate them as academy research, I clung to them and cried until even her knights sided with me. She relented, had them copied neatly, and gave me access to the library in return.
Those studies led to barriers for defense, formulas for speed and strength, all woven into designs for armor. Once, I collapsed from exhaustion, and the Archangel cried so loudly my parents almost burst in. They thought it was me bawling again.
I even tried infusing Mana Stones into steel, replacing its carbon. A summer project. A failure. My classmates encouraged me with, “You’ll get it next time,” which nearly broke me. The very next day, the Mayor came to my home with a grave face.
”You’re trying to make Artificial Orichalcum,” she said. My throat went dry.
”Don’t you have political duties?” I asked weakly.
”I’m not a politician. I’m a crafter.” Slightly impressive.
With her help, two months later, the alloy was born. Beautiful, but too advanced—I could only shape it with high-level circles I didn’t have. Still, it was enough to strengthen what I had.
**Full Armor – Black Iron Armor**
HP ±0
Mana −20
Skill Power ±0
Physical Attack +1
Physical Defense +5
Magic Attack ±0
Magic Defense +5
Speed +1
Luck ±0
Movement ±0
Special Ability: None
Not bad, though real Arcane Armor had no Mana penalty. Girl didn’t care. She scolded me until I agreed to upgrade, threatening full Sex Sorcery otherwise. Reluctantly, I melted the Troll Champ’s Mithril Mace.
I didn’t rebuild the armor’s shell. Instead, I rewove its veins with Orichalcum and Mithril. Joints became living alloys inscribed with magic. The legs carried acceleration formulas, the soles explosive bursts, the back vents for sudden jets of wind. Plating thickened, inner barriers layered in.
When I appraised it, the results made me grin.
**Full Armor – Prototype Black Iron Armor**
HP ±0
Mana −20
Skill Power ±0
Physical Attack +5
Physical Defense +15
Magic Attack ±0
Magic Defense +20
Speed +5
Luck ±0
Movement +1
Special Ability: None
Defense tripled. Magic resistance quadrupled. Faster, stronger. Girl would be satisfied. Torakuma too.
I still wanted to work on her gear, but she was out of HP. Tomorrow would be her day off anyway.
As I stepped from the workshop, a smell drifted in from the living room. Pork ginger, sweet and sharp. I followed the scent, and there was Girl, arranging plates, the air thick with mouthwatering warmth.
”Oh, you’re done? Wash your hands and come eat right away.”
Her hair tied back and wearing an apron, she looked like a young housewife.
”‘Itadakimasu.’”
We sat together at the table. I cut into the pork ginger—tender inside, a light crisp on the outside—and the mix of ginger, garlic, and apple sweetness filled my mouth. Without rice, we used soft butter rolls; they soaked up the sauce and paired beautifully with the meat.
I alternated bites with fresh lettuce and warm onion soup, savoring the balance of flavors. For the last piece, I copied Girl’s habit from the mornings, tucking pork and lettuce into a roll for one big bite.
By the time I cleaned the plate, she had already finished, resting her cheek in her hand, smiling as she watched me.
”Was it good?”
I knew the answer already.
”Delicious. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have devoured it like this.”
”Ha, ha. Just being good enough is fine.”
Girl collected the dishes while I finished the onion soup and headed to the sink.
”I’ll wash.”
”You always do it, so it’s fine once in a while.”
”…Then let’s do it together. Faster that way.”
Ignoring Girl’s reluctant expression, we cleaned up. Dividing tasks, the work was done quickly.
At the sink, our eyes met. We leaned in naturally, lips touching. After a brief kiss, we pulled away. Girl smiled wryly.
”Tastes like pork ginger, huh?”
”Just ate it, of course.”
No romance at all, yet we pressed our lips together again.
Our lips meet, and soon our tongues intertwine, the kiss deepening. Saliva drips from our entangled mouths, staining her apron.
I lift her waist, setting her on the edge of the sink. Her arms wrap around my neck, holding me close, refusing to let go. My hands graze her chest over the apron, but the thick fabric dulls the sensation. Frustrated, I bunch the apron up, pushing her shirt aside. Her full, shapely breasts sway heavily, the apron caught between them. I hold it there, keeping her exposed.
My right hand cups one breast, my fingers rolling the hardened tip. She lets out a soft, sultry moan, pulling her face from mine. I bury my face in her chest, my tongue teasing, circling, sucking, and gently nipping the peak. Each movement draws a sensual sound from her, and she releases my neck, biting her own fingers to stifle her voice.
I won’t let her. My other hand reaches for her second breast, pulling it close, teasing both tips at once. Her moans grow louder, her back arching, pushing her chest toward me. I press my face deeper, sucking hard on her skin. When I pull back, a mark stands out like a claim, feeding a dark sense of possession.
This isn’t for her—it’s my desire taking over. But my body doesn’t care. It’s screaming for her, straining against her soaked, nearly transparent underwear. Without asking, I push it aside and thrust inside. She cries out, a high-pitched sound, but I ignore it, moving my hips, chasing my own pleasure. My brain burns with the ecstasy of it, devouring her.
A shred of rationality kicks in, urging me to use my Sex Sorcery. Through our touching skin, I send Mana into her body. For her, this act is like nourishment. I want it to help her, even a little.
She notices the Mana, her fevered gaze meeting mine. Her melting eyes seem to hold a hint of tenderness—or maybe that’s just my imagination.
The pleasure from my desire overwhelms me, driving my hips faster, craving more. I hit my limit quickly, the urge to release building. But at the last moment, reason pulls me back. I withdraw, and the sudden shift from her warmth to the cool air sends me over the edge.
My release spills across her stomach and the back of her apron, thick and white, trailing down her skin.
Ethelena wraps her arms around my neck again, her fangs grazing my neck. A dull pain and a draining sensation hit me, followed by a smooth, soothing feeling.
Marking—a Succubus’s instinctual act of affection, rooted in her blood.
I feel like crying for no reason. I’ve given her everything, made her depend on me, made her want me. What’s that if not cowardly?
The post-release clarity and exhaustion hit hard. The sink area’s a mess, covered in our fluids. I’ll have to clean it. But Ethelena, still clinging to my neck, whispers in my ear.
”Let’s take a bath together,” she says, her voice thick with lingering heat.
* * *
The bathroom feels too big for one, too small for two—exactly how my parents liked it. Thinking of them this way makes my skin crawl, yet here I am with Ethelena, repeating the pattern. Some cursed family trait, maybe. I want to die.
She insists on washing me as thanks, scrubbing hard with a sponge to peel away dead skin my Physical Defense won’t let go. In the mirror, I catch her reflection: hair wrapped in a towel, body bare, curves shaped by both strength and grace. The ultimate female form, right in front of me.
My lower half, sadly, is ready for action the moment I see her in the mirror. Idiot body.
”Arms done. Back next,” she says, her voice almost playful.
”Alright, thanks,” I reply weakly, praying this heavenly hell ends soon.
I see her reach for the body soap, but I close my eyes and look down, afraid my sanity will snap if I keep watching. A wet, viscous sound comes from behind me, and I wonder what it is. Then, two soft points press against my back, each with a slightly firm center, tickling as they rub against me.
”What the hell are you doing!?” I yelp, spinning around.
”Washing your back with my special sponge!” she chirps, her voice teasing. “Feels good, right?”
”No, it’s turning me on—that’s not what I meant!” I stammer.
I’m so hard it hurts, and I can’t even stand properly. After already going once, this shouldn’t be happening. Maybe her Succubus traits are triggering my Sex Sorcery through her skin.
”Hehe, there’s this Succubus healing thing in Sex Sorcery,” she says. “It’s supposed to help with injuries and stuff.”
”Seriously, you just unlocked a new ability out of nowhere,” I mutter.
I know she’s trying to heal me in her own way, but why does it have to be so damn sensual?
”Any itchy spots, sir?” she asks, her tone mimicking a flirty shop worker.
”My whole back’s ticklish,” I groan.
She wraps her arms around me, pressing herself closer, rubbing against me. She even grabs her own chest, moving it up and down, clearly enjoying herself too.
”Time to wash the front,” she says, her voice sultry.
She moves in front of me, her body on full display. The raw allure hits me like a punch, igniting a primal urge that burns my brain. She places her hands on my shoulders, slowly lowering herself. The moment my tip brushes her entrance, my restraint snaps.
I grab her waist roughly, thrusting deep inside her. She gasps, her voice breaking. “W-Wait, I was supposed to—”
She tries to stop me, but I don’t care. I silence her with a fierce kiss, my hips moving wildly.
”What the hell are you!?” I growl, the words spilling out. The passion I felt talking to her father—no, even more—pours from me.
”You don’t even know how I feel!” I snarl, slamming into her.
Her collarbone arches as she leans back, and I nip it, drawing a high-pitched moan.
”You’re always pushing me past my limits!” I say, thrusting harder. I mark her neck where she usually marks me, and her sweet voice rings out again.
”I want to cherish you!” I shout, my hips relentless.
She clings to me, biting my neck as her body trembles.
”I want you to be happy!” I yell, driving into her.
Her towel unravels, her hair spilling free as the force reaches her head.
”I love you!” I confess, my voice raw.
She’s limp, barely holding on, but she clings to me desperately.
”But I don’t want to let you go, even if I don’t know if I can make you happy!” I cry, my movements frantic.
She wraps her arms around my head, holding me close. Tears spill from my eyes, and I stop moving, sobs escaping me.
”…I’m…” she whispers weakly from above.
Her voice trembles. How much did my actions and words hurt her?
”I’ve always been weak,” she says softly. “I can’t live without someone protecting me.”
That must be the weight she’s carried all along.
”My family kept me safe,” she continues. “But my mom and dad were taken from me.”
That rainy night, she watched her father die and her mother defiled, silencing her screams to escape. Her heart shattered.
”Then you came,” she says.
I, a random passerby, found a lonely girl like her.
”You gave me warmth,” she murmurs.
The first thing I did was get her into a bath.
”You gave me life,” she says.
Next, I fed her.
”You gave me kindness,” she whispers.
Then I held her and slept beside her.
”You gave me strength,” she says.
The weapons I prepared so she could live on her own.
”You faced me head-on,” she continues.
When her impulses took over, I let myself be consumed.
”All of it—it’s why I love you,” she says.
I look up, and Ethelena’s staring at me, her eyes brimming with tears, her brows furrowed in a troubled but radiant smile. She leans in close, our foreheads touching. Her expression reminds me of a mother gently reasoning with her child.
”I never thought you’d love me back,” she whispers.
That’s her vulnerability.
”I was terrified you’d abandon me,” she admits.
That’s her fear.
”I couldn’t bear the thought of you being gone,” she says.
That’s her attachment.
”Without you, I’d have no reason to live,” she murmurs.
Our eyes lock, inches apart.
”I told you, if you die, I’ll follow you,” she says.
She did say that. I didn’t think too hard about it—I just wanted her to live, so I couldn’t die either.
”I want you to live,” I say, my voice firm.
”Then you have to live too,” she replies instantly.
I let out a dry laugh. “Guess we’re both stuck living, huh?”
”Yup, no dying for us,” she says, her face lighting up with a full smile.
She offers her hand, and I take it. Her fingers intertwine with mine, and we kiss, neither of us sure who started it.
”Hey,” I say, pulling back. “What was that just now?”
”Hehe, a little Sex Sorcery trick—Seductive Kiss,” she says, her voice playful.
My body, which had calmed down, surges back to life. So much for the emotional moment.
”Oh, I forgot to mention,” she says, her grin turning mischievous, more impish than Succubus—though, technically, that’s not wrong.
”I kinda like it when you’re rough with me,” she confesses.
”You’ve been with other guys?” I ask, half-joking.
”Nope!” she declares, her voice firm.
I can’t help but laugh at her conviction.
I guide her to lean forward, hands on the tub’s edge, her hips angled toward me. One hand grips her waist, the other positions myself at her entrance, and I thrust in deeply. The tip grazes her inner walls, and her breasts sway with the impact. I pull back slowly, then thrust again, starting with long, deliberate strokes, gradually quickening.
Maybe this is selfish. The doubt lingers, but her body strips away my ability to think. I lean over her, one hand teasing her clit, the other her breast. She moans loudly, unable to hold back, and her voice drives me wilder.
I’m at my limit. I lift her from behind, her weight pressing her deeper onto me. The sensation pushes me over, and I release inside her, my hips trembling as I hold her tight, refusing to let go.
In the mirror, her face looks satisfied.
* * *
”So, you went out of your way to pull out last time, but now you finish inside?” she teases, leaning back against me in the tub.
”Last time, I wasn’t sure how you felt,” I say. “Didn’t want you to regret it if it was just the heat of the moment.”
”Oh? And now it’s fine?” she asks, her tone playful.
”Yeah,” I say. “If something happens, I’ll take responsibility. Raising it, letting it go—your call. I’ll cover everything.”
”Sounds like you’re being reckless,” she says, her voice tinged with dissatisfaction.
She grabs my arms from the tub’s edge, pulling them across her body. Her soft warmth presses against me.
”I’m half-reckless,” I admit. “I braced myself for you leaving, but now I’m ready to stay by your side forever.”
I pull her closer, wrapping her in my arms. She leans back fully, looking up at me from my chest.
”Hmm? You’d marry me?” she asks, her eyes sparkling.
”If that’s what you want,” I say.
Honestly, I don’t care much for marriage. But if it’s what she needs, I’ll do it.
”Hehe, marriage wouldn’t change much,” she says, giggling.
”Just a name change, really,” I agree.
In this country, couples share a surname, blending parts of each. It might be different in Torakuma’s country, though.
”By the way,” she says, “didn’t you say you’d be lonely without me?”
”Maybe,” I admit. “I might’ve said something about feeling lonely even with you around.”
It was probably during one of my emotional outbursts. Honestly, it’s a blur.
”What if you have to leave me someday?” I ask.
She’s from a Noble Family, so that day might come. It’s a future we can’t avoid.
”When that happens,” she says, her hand resting on her stomach with a meaningful smile, “I’ll make sure you’re never lonely.”
Notes:
• Torakuma – Sturdy, serious-looking man; skilled fighter and tactician; reliable ally guiding the protagonist.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
Thanks for reading.
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