Volume 6 Chapter 8 The Filth Beneath the Desk and the Roar of Devastation
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
The manor of the Elder, Silver Moon Village. The office.
I set down my pen, pulled my hand from the paperwork, and looked at Elder Erland.
”…Hey, Erland,” I said. “About this matter with the western irrigation channel.”
The desk was a heavy, singular slab of wood carved from a thousand-year-old giant tree. Beneath that tabletop—hidden in the underworld—the air was thick with the stifling heat of a female in heat, saturated with the pungent, sour scent of musk and bodily fluids. Oxygen was a luxury.
”Hgh-! I don’t… I don’t know…” Erland gasped, her voice trembling with an upper-class, aristocratic elegance even in her state of surrender. “I can’t think about the irrigation channel anymore…! Just… keep stirring… this filthy hole, more…! Ah, King…! I’m breaking, I’m going to break apart…!”
Even as I questioned her, the only response was the frantic wailing of a junkie whose reason had been burned away, accompanied by nasal, sticky whimpers. Out of sight in the darkness beneath my feet, Erland had turned away from me, on all fours, burrowing into my crotch. She was using her massive buttocks like a hammer, slamming them back with violent force, ravaging my rigidity with her sheath.
Slap, slap! Schlick, guchu…
The heavy, rhythmic thud of white, soft flesh colliding with my thighs echoed in the confined space, layered with the wet, adhesive sounds of our union. I didn’t shift an inch. She moved her hips of her own accord, ripples of tension traveling through a rectum that had been thoroughly developed, swallowing my tumescent length to the root, then spitting it back out.
Her heavy, pendulous breasts bounded back and forth, thrashing with such intensity they struck the legs of the desk. Her three-hundred-year-old sphincter, experienced and cunning, clamped around the ridge of my glans with the pressure of a vise, refusing to let go.
”Ah-! It, it’s coming…!” she cried out, her voice refined yet strained. “The King’s heat, it’s filling my insides…!”
She pressed her hips to the limit, biting down on my glans with the deepest part of her rectum. In that moment, my own endurance shattered, and I unleashed my white-hot intensity into the abyss of her mucosa.
Thump, thump…!
Gallons of s**men slammed into the depths of her excretory vessel. Erland, still facing away, convulsed, her body shuddering as her eyes rolled back into her head, staring into the void, drowning in the afterglow of climax.
”Haa… haa…” she whispered. “Thank you for the meal…”
A few seconds later, she pulled away slowly, a pop sound marking the withdrawal of my wedge.
”…Hmph. Can’t get any work done like this,” I said, sighing to myself. “I’ll have to discipline you properly later.”
My exposed p**is was coated in a marbled sludge—a thick mix of brown, murky intestinal fluid, white semen, and traces of solid matter. A potent scent of corruption, a fermented blend of that unique, sour musk and the faint aroma of chestnut blossoms1, filled the tight space. But Erland, having turned around to press her face to my crotch, looked at it with the intoxicated gaze one might reserve for a gourmet dessert. She extended her long tongue.
Lick… schlorp, slurp-slurrrp.
”Nnn… filthy, and delicious…” she murmured. “It tastes like the King…”
She rose to her knees, trailing her tongue over the soiled meat. The rough texture of her tongue scraped against my oversensitive, post-e**culation glans, diluting the glue-like filth with her saliva as she swallowed it down—
That was when it happened.
Thrum.
An unpleasant vibration traveled through my fingertips. The surface of the inkwell on the desk rippled in fine, concentric circles. An earthquake? No. Not the ground. The air itself was trembling.
I strained my ears. The window glass resonated, a low, buzzing noise like an insect caught in a web. Outside, a broken wind chime that never rang began to emit a steady, vibrating hum-hum-hum.
”…What is that?” I asked.
I pressed down on Erland’s head to stop her movement, straightened my back, and turned toward the window. Below, the glass-encased irrigation channel I’d formed with my own magic glittered in the setting sun. The neatly maintained square appeared to retain its functional beauty, exactly as it always had.
But something was wrong.
The Elves in the square had all stopped moving at once. Their long ears weren’t twitching; they were fixed, aimed toward the south. It was the stiffness of wild animals sensing an apex predator.
A moment later, Melis’s scream from the top of the watchtower shattered the silence.
”South!” she shouted with formal military precision. “It’s not burning! A heat source where the cells themselves are exploding is coming!”
As her voice cracked, the emergency alarm bells began to peal across the entire village. Clang-clang-clang-clang! The metallic shrieking grated on the nerves. And then, the next instant—
BOOOOOOOOM!
Not an explosion. It was the sound of something compressing the air with massive lung capacity and exhaling it all at once. The physical sound pressure blew into the room like a gale, forcing the windows open. Papers swirled into the air, and a crack ran across the corner of the glass.
”—!?” I grunted, reflexively shielding my face with my arm.
My eardrums throbbed. The shock was like having a gong struck right at my ear. Looking down, I saw several Elves in the square collapse as if their strings had been cut. Some were foaming at the mouth in a faint; others were curled in a ball, clutching their ears, wetting themselves.
In that instant, a desperate cry echoed from outside the room.
”My King!”
Bang!
I turned to the door, and Sylvia stood there, her face drained of color, cold sweat beading on her forehead.
”…Honestly. What rude guests,” Erland said, having stood up immediately while adjusting her disheveled clothing. She wiped the brown stain from her mouth with the back of her hand and muttered with clear annoyance, her voice retaining its aristocratic edge.
Without acknowledging us, Sylvia continued her report, her voice clipped and professional. “The Wall of Rejection in the south has been breached! …It wasn’t a dispel. It was pure, raw physical strength. They ignored the hardness of the thorns and the neurotoxins and broke through head-on!”
Sylvia’s voice trembled slightly. “…I see. Something that doesn’t care about toxins or physical defense.”
”My King, do not move from here!” Sylvia shouted.
”That thing… it’s a beast too filthy to even enter your sight. I will deal with it in the courtyard!”
Before I could answer, she kicked the stone window frame. Crack! The stone shattered into flying debris. Without waiting for my reply, she vaulted straight out toward the dust-choked southern square.
As soon as Sylvia’s presence vanished, I stood up from my chair and promptly issued an order to Erland.
”…Hey, Erland. Hurry up and clean this.”
I gestured to my lower half, still exposed, and my p**is coated in the marbled filth. Erland instantly discarded her “Elder” mask, responding with a sharp, “Yes, sir!” She scrambled beneath the desk, burying her face into my soiled flesh.
I watched in silence as the scattered documents drifted to the floor, feeling the rhythmic, obscene sounds of her wet tongue at work.
* * *
CRUNCH-CRUNCH-CRACK!
The sound of damp fibers screaming and thorns with the hardness of steel being crushed like dry branches echoed through the forest. A giant hole had been punched through the absolute barrier that isolated the village.
From behind the swirling dust and leaf litter, the mass appeared.
Massive. Over two meters tall. An abnormal density of muscle, as if stone had been forcefully compressed into the shape of a man. Golden, long hair—no, a mane—roared like a raging fire as he appeared. A lion beast-man.
Every time the man took a step, the glass-encased irrigation channel spread throughout the village screamed in protest.
Crunch, crack!
It wasn’t just walking. Every time the sole of his foot made contact, a dull crushing sound echoed, and the reinforced glass layer, which should have been harder than iron, shattered into fragments.
At the same time, the wind that had been circulating through the village stagnated. A violent beast-stench—a heat combining male pheromones and the smell of burnt flesh—began to backflow, filling the entire village.
”Fragile. This town,” the lion-man rumbled in a rough, streetwise tone.
He cracked his thick neck and trampled the thorns at his feet even further. Then, he looked back at the two women following behind him, his mouth tearing open in a grin that revealed rows of fangs.
”Hah! That adjutant, Volgan, was annoying about military regulations, but it was the right choice not to wait for that sluggish main army.”
Behind the lion stood a woman in extravagant attire with golden hair. Nine golden tails spread out from her waist. Beside her was a young rabbit-eared girl in an oversized shirt. The rabbit girl cowered with teary eyes, her long ears flattened.
”Halt! Who goes there!” Farrell shouted, his voice tight with military discipline.
But Farrell stopped. The moment he faced Gauz, before he could even raise his sword, he widened his eyes and shouted to the non-combatants behind him.
”Total retreat! Non-combatants, run to the back!”
”Run? …I’m going to take everything,” Gauz declared.
Gauz took a step forward. That alone made the ground tremble.
”We won’t let you!” Farrell screamed. “We’ll buy time! Volos! Throw your life away!”
Responding to Farrell’s pained command, the burly Elf, Volos, let out a roar. “UUOOOOOOO! Wind, cloak me… ‘Air Cushion’!”
Volos charged Gauz, shield and all, grinding the ground beneath his feet. A desperate tackle, pouring every ounce of his mass and spirit power into the blow.
But.
Rip.
A sound like tearing fabric—a pathetic, flimsy noise.
Gauz didn’t even slow his stride. As his knee brushed against Volos’s tower shield, the compressed wall of air around it shredded like paper. The steel shield buckled, folding like sugar-work as the kinetic energy transferred straight through. The bones in Volos’s arms turned to powder, and with the sickening sensation of ribs piercing his own internal organs, the giant was launched backward.
”Wind, carry the arrow… Wind Shoot!” Zeid shouted, his voice tight with the frantic, neutral urgency of a man facing his end.2
Through a sliver of a second, a high-pitched whistle cut through the air from the flank.
Hugh!
It was Zeid, the archer. Even as he heard his comrade being crushed, he drew his bowstring with desperate, absolute focus and released the shot with a shorthand chant. The arrow, accelerated to the limit by wind magic, spun like a drill, homing in on the only soft tissue Gauz possessed: his right eye.
Clang!
A hard, metallic ring.
Gauz didn’t even blink. He hadn’t even bothered to guard. The strength of his eyelid—or perhaps the eyeball itself—had snapped the steel arrowhead clean off. The shattered fragments danced uselessly in the air, glittering in the light.
”Im-impossible… it’s his eye…!?” Zeid cried out, his voice trembling as he stared at the carnage.
But the assault wasn’t over. From the blind spot created by the shattered arrow, Farrell lunged. This was the opening his friend had bought him. If he missed this chance, the women behind him would be devoured. A desperate, grim resolve burned in Farrell’s eyes.
”GRAAAH! Wind, rend him… Wind Slasher!” Farrell roared, his voice thick with the strain of a man pouring his life force into a final, desperate act.
He swung his longsword with a roar that tore at his own throat. The blade was wrapped in an excess of Wind Slasher, a vacuum edge capable of carving through bedrock. He aimed for the thick of the neck—a killing strike meant to sever the artery.
Greeeeen-!
A wretched sound. An agonizing, dissonant shriek, like fingernails dragging across a chalkboard.
The sword stopped. It wasn’t that he couldn’t cut; the edge couldn’t even bite into the flesh—it hung suspended on the surface. The density of Gauz’s steel-like fur and his abnormally developed muscular armor physically rejected the intrusion. The violent recoil surged back into Farrell’s arms, his own wrist bones groaning under the strain.
”The hell you starin’ at? What is this toothpick?” Gauz sneered, his voice dripping with the casual, aggressive disdain of a street fighter mocking an inferior opponent.
Gauz glanced back, looking mildly annoyed that a sword was pressed against his neck. The moment Farrell met those golden eyes, his heart was seized by a claw of pure terror. This wasn’t even killing intent. It was the simple, petty irritation a human feels toward a gnat buzzing around their face.
”You’re in the way,” Gauz muttered with a rough, dismissive flick of his wrist.
Gauz flicked his arm with a bored, nonchalant gesture. It wasn’t a technique; it was just a backhand. But the massive, dense muscle drove that arm from zero to top speed in an instant, smashing the air itself.
BOOOOOM!
A sonic boom. Even before the fist connected, a wall of shockwaves obliterated Farrell and his team. The defensive wind magic they had deployed was pulverized along with them. The sound of every bone in their bodies shattering at once. Blood sprayed from their mouths as their internal organs collapsed. Farrell, Zeid, and the fallen Volos were blown away like dry leaves.
The sheer aftermath of the impact snapped large trees and churned up the earth. A single blow. With nothing but non-magical violence, the village’s strongest elite unit had been annihilated.
”Weak. Tastes like garbage,” Gauz spat, his voice devoid of even a hint of respect.
Gauz didn’t even spare a glance at the motionless heap of his enemies; he continued walking toward the back of the village where Elara and the others had fled. His gait was defenseless and arrogant, as if he were out for a casual stroll.
Despair settled over the scene with the weight of physical pressure. The strongest guard had been crushed without a single success. The sound of the reaper’s footsteps drew closer to the terrified, fleeing non-combatants. The ammonia stench of urine from panicked elves mixed with the chalky dust of pulverized stone, creating the foul, muddy odor peculiar to a battlefield. Everyone knew it was the end.
That was when it happened.
Kiiiiin!
A high-frequency whine that threatened to pierce the eardrums. With a sharp sound of tearing air, a flash of Crimson Lotus streaked toward Gauz’s neck.
”——!”
Gauz’s beastly instincts reacted faster than his brain could process. Fur bristling, he whipped his log-like arm up to guard.
K-ZDOOOOM!
A heavy, explosive sound, eclipsing his earlier backhand, rocked the clearing.
The ground beneath Gauz’s feet inverted, as if struck by a massive iron ball, and cracks spiderwebbed outward. Through the roiling dust, Gauz’s steel arm held back a single longsword.
But the sight was bizarre. The blade glowed with a blinding, white-hot heat, distorting the air around it. In contrast, Sylvia’s body was encased in a viscous, dark-red aura—not fire, but a suit of armor made of overwhelming, dense spiritual power.
”I would greatly appreciate it if you would remove your filthy feet from the King’s garden,” Sylvia stated, her voice possessing the cool, refined restraint of a noblewoman confronted by a vulgar intrusion.
The searing heat rising from the sword scorched the skin on Gauz’s arm, sending up hissing white smoke. Yet, Sylvia herself remained cold and deathly still. With a burning sword and heavy, crushing armor, she stood as the very embodiment of killing intent.
”…Ho,” Gauz chuckled, a low, menacing sound that echoed in his chest.
Gauz curled his lips into a grin, testing the numbness in his arm and the burning sensation on his skin. His golden beast-eyes redefined Sylvia—shifting her from a simple obstacle to prey worth consuming.
”Looks like there’s some meat with a bit of grit left. …Fine. You’ll do just fine as an appetizer,” Gauz declared with a cold, predatory confidence.
The beast’s muscles bulged with an eerie, wet bogo-thud. A beast with a body of steel and a Crimson Lotus sword-master with a blade of intense heat. Two disasters, each holding equal power, were about to collide.
—
Summary:
The protagonist is interrupted during an intimate act with Elder Erland when a sudden atmospheric tremor signals a massive incursion at the village gate. A lion beast-man named Gauz brutally breaches the village’s magical and physical defenses, crushing the “Wall of Rejection” with raw power. As the security forces scramble to defend the village, the protagonist is left to observe the encroaching threat of this powerful intruder.
The unstoppable invader Gauz annihilates the village’s elite guard with effortless, brutal physical force. His advance is only halted by the sudden, cooling arrival of the Crimson Lotus sword-master, Sylvia. A tense standoff initiates, pitting Gauz’s reinforced beast-like body against Sylvia’s heat-wreathed blade and spiritual armor.
—
Trivia:
The scent of chestnut blossoms is a common Japanese euphemism for the smell of male semen.
The “Wall of Rejection” is explicitly designed with both physical hardening and neurotoxin-laced flora for defense.
The protagonist’s magic created the glass-encased irrigation channel that now acts as a barometer for the intruder’s destructive power.
The elite guard’s Wind Slasher magic was strong enough to carve bedrock but couldn’t even scratch Gauz’s fur.
Gauz views his own combat style as barely involving technique, relying solely on mass and speed.
Sylvia’s defensive red aura is explicitly described as Spiritual power, distinguishing it from conventional fire magic.
The battlefield atmosphere is characterized by the specific, grim smell of urine and pulverized stone dust.
—
Translation Notes:
Notes:
• Erland – A 320-year-old elven Village Elder and living grimoire, she guides the protagonist (the Spirit King) with sharp features, silver-rimmed spectacles, and long hair. Merging analytical authority with a refined, aristocratic speech pattern, she balances her devotion to her deity with a submissive, erotic demeanor toward the King, caught between village order and his intimate, demanding nature.
• Ben – Struan’s son and Torben’s nephew, this young man served as a callous guide at their base, assisting in the family’s slave-trading enterprise. After confessing to his role in Mia’s death, he was bound by Stone Ball magic and drowned by Ryuichi. His corpse was later stored in the Interdimensional Space as a trophy of the protagonist’s retribution.
• King – A powerful, authoritative male lead who possesses immense physical strength and magic. He commands absolute loyalty and submission from the inhabitants of the Silver Moon Village.
• Melis – Voluptuous, 160 cm tall elf watchtower guard and scout, married to dwarf artisan Kulum but infatuated with Ryuichi. She has blonde hair in a high ponytail, a seductive aura, and wears a low-cut tunic under a grease-stained leather apron. Her senses are highly acute; altered by Ryuichi’s essence, her sight tracks heat signatures and detects physical or magical anomalies from a distance.
• Sylvia – A voluptuous white-blonde elf with porcelain skin, the Silver-rank vanguard “Crimson Lotus” is a master of the bow and a glowing, white-hot longsword. Encased in a dark-red aura of dense spirit power, she blends cold, aristocratic fury with a fiery temperament. Fiercely vigilant, she is a mentor to warriors, Ryuichi’s devoted confidante, and the lethal shield guarding John, Nier, and her King.
• Farrell – Elf garrison captain and village security commander, this determined swordsman leads with sharp authority and grim, desperate resolve. Recognizable by his thunderous roar, green phosphorescent aura, and a blade enchanted with vacuum wind magic, he protects his people and lunges to defend women. Though shaped by a past defeat by Ryuichi, he respects his King’s superiority and masterfully directs tactical evacuations.
• Gauz – A golden-eyed, steel-furred lion beast-man with a massive golden mane, muscular armor, and a bored, arrogant confidence. As the giant war-fiend leader of the Hundred-Beast Federation, he wields the battle-axe Agito and possesses immense strength capable of crushing reinforced structures. He leads a village incursion, treating elite opponents as insects and viewing them merely as raw monster meat to consume.
• Volos – A muscular, giant Elf guard wielding a tower shield as tall as himself that absorbs massive kinetic impact. He utilizes Spirit power to manifest defensive barriers, possessing immense physical power. He is the first to be crushed by Gauz, suffering shattered arms and internal injuries.
• Zeid – A skilled archer who excels at zero-range combat, using wind magic to accelerate projectiles. He displays extreme focus under pressure, famously attempting to strike Gauz’s eye.
• Hugh – A young dual-wielding blade user who specializes in precision strikes against tendons and cores.
• Elara – A 120-year-old Elf unit commander and wife of Gael, she possesses a voluptuous physique and striking moonlit silver hair. Rejuvenated and magically enhanced by the King, she now commands ground-based earth magic with vibrant power. Despite her strength, she hides deep-seated insecurities regarding past infertility and struggles against the King’s manipulative sexual influence over her.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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