Volume 10 Chapter 34 The Journey of the Forest Princess’s Elite Training
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
The road to Deilid would take roughly a week. Klock’s group, including Suzette, Rachel, Kaitney, Meina, Fit, Boit, and now Flavia, had set out from Conro, with Ada’s troop following behind.
The tavern buzzed with the weight of armed men and women, tankards of ale clutched in calloused hands. Adventurers, their faces unfamiliar to Klock, leaned on tables, their elbows scuffing the worn wood. Every eye in the room fixed on a lone female warrior standing at the center, her presence commanding the air like a storm about to break.
”We move out today as the vanguard,” she declared, her voice cutting through the din. “Three thousand three hundred strong. Each of you knows your role. Do it well. And—”
Ada’s gaze swept the room, sharp as a blade, searching. Klock felt a prickle of unease, instinctively shrinking back, but the motion only drew her attention. Too late.
”Klock,” she said, her voice like iron. “You’re at the front, as planned. No issues?”
”Yeah,” he grunted, his throat tight.
He’d tried to blend into the crowd of adventurers, but the attempt was futile. Every head in the tavern turned, their stares pinning him like arrows. The weight of their scrutiny was heavy, unyielding.
”Most of you already know,” Ada continued, her tone carrying a faint smirk, “but that man there is the Brave Knight. Word is, he’s also Hero Anna’s man. He’s the newest addition to our crew, so treat him right.”
Her words sharpened the stares into something piercing, almost tangible. No gasps of surprise followed—apparently, the rumors had already spread like wildfire. The room fell quiet, the silence thick with appraisal, some gazes curious, others edged with something colder. Klock could feel it: not outright hostility, but close enough to make his skin crawl.
That’s how it is, huh? he thought. Gossip travels faster than a horse in this place.
Ada and Count weren’t the only ones spreading the tales. The Brigante crew had been flapping their mouths everywhere, drunk on their own valor after the monster battles. Articles in the local rags had puffed them up, and they’d been crowing about their exploits—and Klock’s title as the Brave Knight—to anyone who’d listen.
Not quite enmity, he mused, meeting a particularly hard stare, but these aren’t friendly looks either.
Ada’s troop was massive, far larger than Klock had expected. The warriors gathered in the tavern, himself included, were all small-time captains, most dressed in the patched and weathered gear of seasoned adventurers. The atmosphere was heavy, almost sour, and their equipment told a story of neglect—ragged armor, scuffed boots, swords with rusted sheaths. It wasn’t just the gear; the mood itself felt worn, frayed at the edges.
Something’s off, Klock thought, his eyes scanning the room. This lot looks half-broken already.
Outside, the army assembling before Conro didn’t inspire much confidence either. As Klock surveyed Ada’s forces, waiting for Brigante’s call to muster, he couldn’t shake the sense of decay. Her troop felt ancient, cobbled together from scraps. He’d assumed Count Grasso had thrown together a makeshift force for Ada, but now he wondered. Was she more than just a captain? Did she command these soldiers outright? If so, it explained why she dragged Deena along—training her, maybe, for something bigger.
The army sprawled before him was a sorry sight. Armor curled at the edges, boots gaped with holes, and scabbards creaked with rust. No one had bothered to refit them. The gloom that hung over the troop wasn’t just from their appearance; it was the kind of despair that sank into bones, sapping will before a single sword was drawn.
A poor army was a weak one. Low morale was a death sentence. Soldiers didn’t fight their hardest for ideals like freedom or patriotism—not when their gear was falling apart. Tools of the trade, swords and shields, were their lifeline. If those were shoddy, resentment festered. No one trusted an employer who couldn’t even afford proper equipment. At the first sign of danger, half these men would probably bolt from the battlefield.
Morale’s the key, Klock thought grimly. And it’s not love or honor that keeps it up. It’s coin, food, something real. Count Grasso was supposed to be the number two on this eastern front, the one with the deep pockets. But if this was the state of his troops, Klock’s confidence wavered. The sight was enough to knot his stomach with doubt.
”Sir Klock,” a voice broke through his thoughts. “Three hundred, right on the dot. Ready to move when you are.”
Klock glanced at the soldier reporting. “Down a few, huh?”
”All the badly wounded from the last fight pulled out,” the man replied.
”Fair enough,” Klock sighed. No helping it.
Recruitment would start in Valture today. By the time they returned from Deilid, they’d hopefully have bolstered their numbers—a hundred, maybe two. Enough to make a difference. For now, they’d have to swallow the losses.
”Good work, accountant,” Klock said, clapping the man on the shoulder.
”Huh?” The man’s face twisted. “Who’re you calling your accountant, huh?”
”Relax,” Klock grinned. “You’re out of a job, right? I’m bringing you some coin, so be grateful.”
”Grateful for marching to a warzone? You serious?” The man snorted, tossing his cigarette to the ground before climbing into the driver’s seat of the carriage. His scowl was half-hearted, but the way he glared up at Klock was pure irritation. Klock smirked, only to be yanked away by Suzette before he could push the man further.
Boit was nearby, but his daughter Nora had been left behind, entrusted to Rachel and Kaitney”s mother, who’d agreed without hesitation. Deilid wasn’t guaranteed to be safe, so Nora had been left behind, entrusted to Rachel and Kaitney”s mother, who’d agreed without hesitation.
Gear checked. Food supplies secured. The crew was set: Meina, Suzette, Primlena, Flavia, Rachel, Kaitney, Fit, and Boit. Nothing forgotten, Klock thought. Let’s move.
Klock’s group set out from Conro, and not long after, Ada’s troop followed, marching eastward toward Deilid.
* * *
That night, around a crackling campfire, Klock sat shoulder-to-shoulder with his crew. The air was sharp with the scent of burning wood and the faint promise of a meal.
”Deilid’s a port town,” he said, poking at the fire. “Once we get there, we’ll eat something worth eating for a change.”
”Nishin,” one of the older men groaned, his voice thick with longing. “God, I could go for some nishin again. That stuff’s unreal.”
”Yeah,” another chimed in, “when it’s grilling, and the fat starts sizzling out? Nothing beats that.”
The men shoveled down their usual beans, their talk drifting to fond memories of better meals. Food was more than sustenance out here—it was a spark of hope. Talk of good fish stirred anticipation, and anticipation kept spirits from sinking too low.
”Fish ain’t for me,” a younger voice cut in. “Too many bones, not enough meat.”
”Ha!” an older man barked. “No wonder you’re so dim. Too much red meat clogging your head.”
”What’d you say?” the younger one snapped, half-rising.
”Oh, please!” another roared, laughing. “You’re dumber than a sack of hammers, fish or no fish!” The group erupted into laughter, the kind that teetered between camaraderie and chaos. It was familiar, comforting in its roughness. Klock watched, a faint smile tugging at his lips. This was his crew—rowdy, unpolished, but alive.
”Captain,” a voice piped up, sharp and whiny. Paul, the cocky youngster, leaned forward, his lips pursed. “Why’re we stuck at the front? Ain’t Brigante the hero troop that sent the Demon Lord’s army running? Shouldn’t we be, y’know, lounging in the back?”
Klock snorted. “We’re under the Borges family now. Count Grasso’s got his eye on us—thinks we’re a threat. He’s testing if we’ll actually fight for him or stab him in the back.”
”Huh,” Paul muttered, already losing interest. “Sounds like a hassle.”
Klock shook his head. Typical. Adventurers like Paul didn’t care for politics; their ears glazed over the moment you mentioned power plays. It wasn’t strange—just how they were.
After trading a few more barbs with the crew, Klock slipped away to the captain’s tent. The routine of camp life had settled into his bones by now—the weight of the canvas, the faint creak of the poles, the smell of earth and smoke. He ducked inside, expecting the familiar solitude.
”Flavia?” he said, startled.
She stood there, unexpected, her presence filling the small space. “I’ll be your guard tonight,” she said, her tone formal, unwavering.
Klock scratched the back of his head, saying nothing. A guard, she said. Spending the night here. Probably something she’d hashed out with Suzette and the others, bypassing him entirely. The women in his crew had a habit of making decisions without him, and he’d learned to let it slide. They meant well. He’d take what they offered and keep his mouth shut.
He sank onto the cot, kicking off his boots and climbing under the blanket. Flavia approached, her steps deliberate. There was only one bed in the tent. If she was guarding him, she’d still need to sleep. Which meant—
”You know what it means to share a bed with a man, right?” he asked, half-teasing, half-curious.
She didn’t flinch. “Yes. I was taught that conception happens in the marriage bed. You shed your undergarments, lie close to your husband, and give yourself to him.”
Klock’s brow furrowed. Wait a second. Not long ago, Flavia thought kissing made babies. Now this? “Who taught you that?” he asked, his voice low.
”My mother,” she replied, her face deadly serious.
Klock froze, his eyes narrowing at Flavia with a mix of disbelief and discomfort. This girl, he thought, learned about sex from her mother and waltzed in here like it’s nothing. His face flushed—not from desire, but from the sheer awkwardness of it all. He took a deep breath, turning his head away. Flavia tilted hers, puzzled by his reaction, her expression as guileless as ever.
She’s coming on strong now, Klock mused. Her mother must’ve put her up to this.
He flopped onto his side, propping his head on his elbow to look at her. Something in his gaze must have registered, because Flavia met it with a silent, steady stare of her own. The wordless exchange hung heavy, charged with an uneasy tension. Klock reached out, his fingers brushing the hem of her tunic, lifting it with a slow, deliberate flick.
There it was—a smooth, pale line of skin, unmarred and untouched, pure as fresh snow. No hint of hair, just an almost ethereal innocence that made his breath catch.
Guess she took her underwear off, like she said she would, he thought, glancing up. Flavia stood tall, unshaken, a Forestkin princess unfurled by her own exposure. Her composure was almost regal, even now.
”You ever… touched yourself here?” he asked, his voice low, testing.
She was royalty, after all—a true Forestkin princess. His hand hovered, then reached toward that untouched line, curiosity and audacity warring within him.
”Touched… how do you mean?” she asked, her brow creasing slightly.
”Never, huh? Figures.” He smirked. “Spread your legs a bit.”
This was a girl who, until recently, thought kissing made babies. Self-pleasure? That was a foreign concept to her. Flavia hesitated, then widened her stance just enough. His hand moved, fingers parting her gently. Dry, unyielding—like a desert yet to know rain. He brushed his thumb over the small, hooded bud, stroking softly. Her face remained a blank mask, betraying nothing.
Damn, he thought. It’s not just her mind that’s a blank slate. Her body’s untouched, too. Not even the shape of a field ready to sow.
A princess was trouble enough. A virgin? Even more hassle. And one who didn’t even know what arousal felt like? That was a whole new level of complication. Women needed to feel something—some spark of desire—to respond. Without that, he’d have to start from scratch, teaching her body what her mind didn’t yet grasp.
Last chance to send her packing, he thought. He wasn’t desperate for a woman, and the Forestkin came with baggage he’d been dodging for a while.
But then his mind flickered to other matters—Primlena’s assassination attempt, the tense talks with the Fairies, the brewing conflict with Parl Forestier, the unease around Kispe. His ties to the Forestkin were fraying, and he’d been waffling too long. It was time to decide: would he truly accept Flavia, or keep her at arm’s length forever? Indecision was a luxury he could no longer afford.
”Flavia,” he started, his voice gruff. He almost asked if she was sure she wanted to be his, but the words died in his throat. Too late for that. She’d declared her loyalty time and again, unwavering. The hesitation was his, and fishing for her to reaffirm it felt weak.
”Flavia,” he said again, firmer this time. “I gave you time to back out. You didn’t. No crying or begging will change things now.”
He tugged her hand, pulling her onto the bed. She stumbled slightly, her breath catching.
”My lord—” she began, but he cut her off, his hand curling behind her neck, drawing her into a kiss. The camp was alive with the sounds of the troop preparing to march, hardly the setting for romance. But Klock wasn’t some gallant knight—he was a rough-edged thief turned warrior. If this princess was to walk beside him, she’d learn what that meant the hard way.
* * *
”Come closer,” he said, still lying back, watching her.
Flavia climbed onto the bed, kneeling awkwardly, her eyes wide with uncertainty. “…My apologies,” she stammered, her voice trembling as she positioned herself over him.
Her pale form hovered above, the untouched line of her body stark in the dim tent. A Forestkin queen’s offering, pristine and unworked, like a field waiting for its first plow. Her frame was slight, her breasts a gentle swell, not unlike Tiet or Meina—similar height, similar build, though Flavia’s chest edged them out just a fraction.
She shifted, visibly uneasy. Was it the nudity that stirred her shame, or the strangeness of straddling his face? Probably the latter, Klock decided, given her lack of experience.
”Lower your hips,” he said.
”Is… is this truly all right?” she asked, her voice faltering. “What purpose does—”
”Just do it,” he cut in. “I can’t exactly work with that dry-as-dust body of yours otherwise.”
He kissed her neck, trailing his tongue along her skin, then took the modest curve of her breast into his mouth. Standard moves, but her body remained unresponsive, a wasteland untouched by rain. Preparing her would take effort—more than he’d expected.
Lubrication would make things easier, sure, but that felt like cheating. He didn’t want a woman who needed oil to feel something. If he was going to make Flavia his, he’d shape her from the ground up.
”My apologies,” she murmured, lowering herself cautiously. Her body pressed closer, her untouched core meeting his lips.
He took the small bud between his lips, teasing it gently, then flicked his tongue against it like a whip. Flavia gasped, her eyes widening in shock. “It… tickles,” she managed, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle the sound. For the first time, she reacted like a woman, not a statue.
Thought this desert would be tough to till, Klock mused, but it’s not impossible.
He worked deliberately, letting the sounds of his efforts fill the tent, tasting the faint salt of her skin. A hundred and thirty years old, yet her body was as naive as a child’s. Easy to navigate, at least. He explored without restraint, savoring the simplicity of it.
”My lord,” she whispered, her breath growing ragged. Her buttocks trembled under his grip, her skin faintly slick with sweat.
The princess’s soft moans began to sweeten, her body responding at last. His saliva mingled with what might have been her own tentative arousal, though it was hard to tell. She closed her eyes, savoring the sensation, her breaths coming in short, uneven bursts. He could take her now, easily—but he stopped there. Her body was waking, but her mind needed more time.
”It… it tickled at first,” she said later, lying beside him, her head resting on his arm. Her voice carried a shy warmth, almost clinging. “But then it felt… good.”
Klock chuckled. Her honesty was refreshing, untainted. If this had been Suzette, he’d have earned a pinch on the cheek for less. “What’s on your mind?” he asked.
”Will you… do it again?” she said, her words halting, a flicker of embarrassment in her eyes. She was learning shame, it seemed.
”Tomorrow,” he said, rolling onto his side. Her legs shifted restlessly, her body clearly wrestling with newfound sensations she couldn’t yet process. He pulled her close, tucking her against him, lulling her to sleep.
Flavia had potential, it turned out. A princess, yes, but not the burden he’d feared. Licked awake, she was already stirring to life, her innocence giving way to something raw and eager. Like teaching a kid something naughty, he thought with a wry grin.
* * *
The next morning, a faint mist hung over the camp. Flavia set a basket of breakfast beside Klock as he tore into a piece of bread. Her breath hitched, punctuated by soft gasps. “My lord… what… what is this?”
”What?” he said, smirking, his free hand teasing between her legs. “Just enjoying you.”
The clamor of the camp filtered through the tent’s canvas, a distant hum of purpose and chaos. Klock, undeterred, pressed his attention on the Forestkin princess, his fingers tracing her with deliberate intent.
”My lord…!” Flavia gasped, her voice trembling with a newfound color.
”What? Don’t tell me you’re not into this,” he teased, his tone light but probing.
”No… never,” she said quickly, her eyes wide with earnest loyalty. “This body is yours, my lord. If it pleases you, use it to your heart’s content.”
Her voice carried a soft heat, a virgin princess swearing fealty even as her body began to yield. His fingers, slick with her awakening, felt the warm, clinging embrace of her flesh. Last night, it had been unclear, but now her body was learning—preparing itself for him, soft and responsive in a way that stirred his blood.
She’d feel damn good right now, he thought, the urge to test her almost overwhelming. But no—not yet. He’d push her further, let the anticipation build until it consumed her.
”Flavia,” he said, his voice low, commanding.
”Yes, my lord,” she answered, her gaze steady despite the flush on her cheeks.
”From now on, when I call you to my room, expect sex,” he said bluntly. “Got it?”
”…Yes,” she replied, her brow furrowing slightly—not from his words, he suspected, but from the way his hand still claimed her, relentless and sure.
”Maybe it won’t always be like that,” he continued, his voice rougher now, “but you’d better be ready for it. When we’re alone, assume I’m touching you. If I call you at night, come prepared. Even if another woman’s there, don’t let your guard down. You might both be serving me.”
”I understand,” she said, her voice quivering but resolute, as his fingers worked with a wet, rhythmic sound. He bit into his bread, casual, as if schooling her in desire were just another morning task. The word sex needed to be etched into her mind, her body taught to crave it, to associate his touch with pleasure. Step by step, he’d mold her innocence into something hungry.
Breakfast done, he gestured with a crook of his fingers. Flavia leaned forward, eager, and he kissed her, deep and unhurried, as his hand continued its work below. She’d caught his signal without a word—proof her body was already learning to anticipate. Each kiss, each touch, was a lesson, coaxing her to imagine, to want, to become a woman shaped by desire.
”Flavia,” he said, breaking the kiss, his eyes glinting. “My cock’s probably too big for a frame like yours.”
She was petite—barely five feet, maybe a touch more. Small, but compared to Kispe’s childlike build, Flavia seemed almost womanly. Her waist was narrow, her body taut, and that meant her lower mouth would be tight as hell.
He traced a finger across her stomach, lingering near her navel. “Right here,” he said. “That’s how deep it’ll go when I push inside you.”
”…Here?” she echoed, her throat catching audibly.
”Yeah,” he said, his thumb grazing her sensitive bud. He didn’t miss the way her breath hitched. “A small cock’s easier on a woman, but mine’s… sizable. It’s a lot to handle. Even Suzette, cool as she is, Meina, lazy as she acts, or Primlena, always so composed—they all react strongly when I’m with them. Faces twisted, moaning loud. You’ll be the same.”
”…Yes,” she whispered, her body tightening around his finger. She was imagining it now, her cheeks flushed, a stark contrast to yesterday’s blank stare. The rosy glow on her face was proof—she was starting to feel it.
”You like this, don’t you?” he asked, pushing his middle finger deeper, his thumb circling her bud with relentless precision.
”Yes…” she gasped, her voice breaking into soft moans. “It feels… good.”
”When I say let me touch you, you let me. Right away.”
”I understand.”
”And if another man tries anything, you shut him down. Hard.”
”I swear it,” she said fiercely. “If it comes to it, I’d rather die than betray you.”
”…Let’s not go that far,” Klock said, half-amused, half-concerned. Even now, Flavia’s devotion veered into extremes. It was endearing, in a way, but he didn’t need her dying on him.
He spent the morning teasing her, pushing her to the edge, then stopped short, leaving her visibly tense, her face a mix of relief and faint frustration. The game wasn’t over—just paused.
* * *
The campsite was packed up, neat and efficient, ready for the march. Messengers had been sent to Ada’s trailing troop, and she’d handle relaying word to Count Grasso’s main force further back. Klock kept scouts out, eyes sharp for threats, as his three-hundred-strong Brigante troop began their second day toward Deilid. The goal: reach the Diva region, crossing into its open plains.
”Flavia,” he called from the carriage. “Sit here.”
It was just the two of them inside—deliberately so. Primlena sat at the driver’s seat, making it technically three, but the space felt intimate. Suzette, Rachel, and Kaitney led the vanguard, while Meina and Fit scouted ahead, their speed unmatched.
Flavia hesitated, her eyes flickering with uncertainty. Klock patted his lap, insistent. Slowly, she turned, lowering herself onto his thighs, her weight light as a whisper.
He held the Forestkin princess close, his hand cupping her chin, pulling her into a soft, pecking kiss. She clung to him instinctively, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. Taking advantage of her surrender, his hand slipped beneath her clothes, finding the cotton of her underwear already damp. Good girl, he thought. She’d anticipated this, her body primed by his lessons, ready for what came with being alone with him.
His fingers slid inside, and she parted her legs without a word, letting him cradle the warm, slick heat of her. A soft sound escaped as he worked her gently, her body trembling in his arms.
”My lord,” she whispered against his ear, “it feels… so good.”
He pulled back from the kiss, only for her to lean in, seeking his lips again. She’s starting to want it, he thought, a grin tugging at his mouth. Her initiative was new, a sign of her awakening. Few women learned this fast, and damn if it didn’t make her endearing.
She’s cute, he admitted silently. If she’d been like this from the start, I wouldn’t have spent so long doubting her.
Flavia’s formality melted away when she wasn’t swearing oaths or spouting loyalty. Stripped of that stiffness, she was almost disarming in her softness, her breaths ragged in his arms. The urge to take her fully, to claim her completely, was strong—but he held back. She was changing his view of her, and that was a surprise he hadn’t expected.
The carriage rolled on, the plains of Diva drawing closer, the air thick with the promise of what lay ahead—both on the road and between them.
Notes:
• Ada – Female. Ada the Wild Wind. An A-rank adventurer. Her appearance is striking, with black hair mixed with fiery red, multiple earrings, and an axe spear as tall as she is. She is incredibly strong and fast, with a Unique Skill called the ‘Blessing of the Wind’ that enhances her speed and agility. Ada is ruthless in combat but shows a surprising willingness to negotiate. She is highly respected in adventurer circles and feared by criminals. Her relationship with Klock is adversarial, as he stole from her and escaped using trickery.
• Boit – A merchant involved in human trafficking, with a villainous face and a loud, obnoxious voice. He is pragmatic and willing to help Klock escape the country in exchange for something. His relationship with Klock is business-like, though both are aware of each other’s illicit activities.
• Fit – Solo archer adventurer; first appears at Barreith volunteer gathering, introduces herself to Klock and group, joining Brave Knight against Demon Lord’s Army
• Flavia – Younger Forestkin princess (132). Gentle yet resolute. Sent by Queen Isabella as marriage pledge to Klock, the Chain Binder, symbolizing the Void’s loyalty to the Goddess Teekua.
• Meina – She is a golden-haired catgirl employee of the beastman (Larana the cat woman) Inn, appeared performing fellatio, desperate and tear-streaked, with an inexperienced yet earnest approach to her work.
• Suzette – The older maid from Viscount Fennec. The head maid at the Viscount Fennec’s villa. She is confident, clear-spoken, and professional.
• Anna – The legendary Hero, chosen to defeat the Demon Lord. Her past life is Sylvia Croce. She is described as a heavenly being with overwhelming skill and a merciless attitude.
• Count Grasso – Human noble of Conro known for strict discipline. His troops appear during Klock’s campaign march under the Borges crest. Leads the region’s highest-ranking house, commanding respect and tension with Klock’s forces. Alias: “The Silver Lion.” No direct ties to Klock, but his vanguard includes Ada, a former comrade turned rival.
• Deena – A 21-year-old unmarried woman. Her appearance is that of a beautiful woman wearing black mourning attire. She is grieving the recent loss of her father in a maritime accident. Deena is the older sister of Elide and is initially mistaken by Klock for a widow.
• Valture – A district within the Conro Federation, administered by Baron Kreis Borges. Outwardly it appears stable and prosperous, but its politics run on favors and hidden bargains, making it a place where strangers like Klock can be measured as assets or prey the moment they arrive.
• Primlena – Orange-haired merfolk priestess, fierce yet elegant | First v8c3 | Sister of Sea General Primjune, subordinate to Primrity | Once captured and violated by Klock, now obsessed with reclaiming honor | Commands Obsidian Riders on giant fish, fights with trident | Seeks to drag Klock to Seabed Temple for marriage trial or execution | Unique note: revenge-driven siren bride who masks fury under ritual grace
• Parl Forestier – She is the Demon King’s strategist, appeared as a sharp-eared, high-pitched voice, known for her role in annihilating resistant tribes.
• Tiet – A companion and friend of Anna. A holy knight from the royal capital. She wears light armor and carries a shield adorned with a dragon holding a sword, indicating her affiliation with the National Military Police. She is concerned about Anna’s well-being and tries to support her emotionally.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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