Chapter 41: Teasing the Saintess
"You lost. It’s time to fulfill your promise." Alistair walked up to Saintess Lena. His predatory gaze roamed over her.
"Could we perhaps..."
"No!" Alistair cut the fox-eared girl’s bargaining short with a sharp grin.
His sudden shout made Lena stumble backward, and tears immediately began to well in her eyes. The players stood to the side, at a complete loss. Intervene? What a joke. This was the man who had defeated their protagonist with a single blow. Did they want to get sent back to level zero?
But watching the Saintess, who looked so pitiful and small as she trembled in Alistair’s shadow, tugged at their heartstrings.
Whatever. It’s only five minutes. Let’s just pretend we don’t see it.
After a quick exchange in their public channel, the players collectively decided to ignore the Saintess’s pleading gaze. For the next five minutes, they would admire the clouds, count the ants on the ground, and shoot the breeze with the soldiers. It would be over before they knew it. Surely it would be quick for the Saintess, too.
Besides, they reasoned, what could the Lord of Frostfell really do in five minutes? It would probably take him longer than that just to get out of his armor.
"Get away from Her Holiness, you devil!"
"You big bully, stop picking on the Saintess!"
"If you want to harm Her Holiness, you’ll have to step over our dead bodies!"
To the great surprise of both Alistair and the players, every beastkin in Silversky Town came running. They threw themselves in front of Lena, forming a living shield—old men, young women, even toddlers who had just learned to walk.
Though they were trembling from head to toe with fear, they stood firm, resolutely protecting their Saintess. In their eyes, Alistair could see the will to die.
He cast a surprised glance at Lena, who was now sheltered behind her people. He hadn’t expected this. He had assumed the fox-eared girl was little more than a silly, simple-minded mascot.
But would Alistair be moved to mercy?
Of course not. Setting aside his own inclinations, this was a system quest—an opportunity for him to grow stronger. The players might seem respectful now, even worshipful, but that was only because they couldn’t defeat him. If they could, they would have farmed him like a boss long ago.
And where was this courage before? Did these beastkin not consider the possibility of his retaliation when they occupied his town? When Riven made the wager, did they not consider what would happen if he lost? Their bravery was commendable, but it was still tainted by human wishful thinking.
Now they choose to stand up? Too late.
Alistair’s gaze turned to ice as he looked at the beastkin, his hand moving to the hilt of the greatsword on his back. The killing intent from the battle at Sablewood Creek, not yet fully dissipated, now billowed out from him, pressing down on the terrified crowd.
"You have until the count of three. Move aside. Otherwise, I don’t mind cutting you all down like weeds."
"Three—!"
"Two—!"
"One—"
"Don’t!"
Saintess Lena pushed through the beastkin protecting her. She stumbled forward and fell to her knees before Alistair, her hands grabbing onto his blood-stained leg armor.
"D-don’t kill them... I’ll do what you ask. I promise." She lifted her head, her beautiful face streaked with tears as she pleaded with the man towering over her.
Alistair’s lips thinned. He released his grip on his sword, and the killing intent around him receded. He shot a cold, warning glare at the surrounding beastkin.
"I am merely going to have a private word with your Saintess. It will take only five minutes. If you don’t trust me, you can stand guard outside the room."
"Your Holiness..." The beastkin all turned their worried, questioning gazes to their Saintess.
"The Lord of Frostfell is telling the truth." Lena raised a small hand to wipe the tears from her eyes, forcing a faint smile to reassure her people. "We are just going to discuss some matters concerning the future development of Silversky Town, so it is not convenient to disclose the details. Please, just wait outside. It will only be five minutes."
Seeing that the Saintess had laid the groundwork, Alistair let out a cold snort. With one powerful arm, he hauled the limp, trembling fox-eared girl to her feet.
"Out of my way."
The beastkin exchanged uncertain glances. Though still deeply worried, their Saintess had spoken. They had no choice but to accept. They parted, clearing a path for the powerful man.
Inside a room in the mayor’s residence, Alistair dragged the Saintess in and shut the door. He roughly forced her back against the corner of the wall.
"What... what are you going to do?!" Lena shrank back in terror, her small hands clutched nervously to her chest. She wished she could wrap her tail around herself and disappear.
"What am I going to do?" Alistair gave a frivolous laugh. He reached out with one large hand, brutally seizing both of her soft wrists and pinning them high above her head.
Lena was pressed against the wall, her face just inches from Alistair’s. Her wrists were crossed and pinned above her head by his right hand, leaving only her legs—and her twitching tail—free to move. She turned her face away in fear, long lashes trembling as a deep crimson blush crept up her neck, spreading quickly to her cheeks and the tips of her ears.
To her utter despair, she could feel that same impossibly alluring aura radiating from him, a scent that was savagely eroding her willpower, making her want to sink into it.
Alistair wasted no time. His left hand seized her chin, turning her face back towards him. He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.
"Mmph! No... you can’t..."
Lena struggled frantically, her eyes wide with disbelief. Tears of humiliation streamed from their corners.
"I suggest you cooperate, Your Holiness," Alistair’s demonic whisper hissed in her ear. "You wouldn’t want your people to die for your sake, would you?"
His words, and the wolfish glint in his eyes, pierced her heart. She froze, her struggles ceasing. Her eyes, now filled with a desolate bitterness, stared at Alistair as the strength drained from her body.
With her mind in turmoil, Lena felt the full, overwhelming force of Alistair’s aura. It coursed through her, bringing with it a strange, tingling numbness. Gradually, she found herself beginning to kiss him back, her fluffy fox tail unconsciously coiling tightly around them both.
The kiss, domineering and rough, lasted for a full twenty minutes, far exceeding the wagered time.
Alistair decided that was enough. The fox-eared girl before him was beautiful, but any longer and his own desires might be irrevocably ignited. Fortunately, the players and beastkin outside, hearing no sounds of distress, had not come in to disturb them.
Feeling the warmth leave her lips, Lena opened her eyes, dazed. In a stupor, she puckered her red, swollen lips, seeming to ask for more.
Now it was Alistair’s turn to be baffled. Did I kiss her brains out? he wondered. Is this some kind of Stockholm Syndrome?
"Hey! Hey!" Alistair waved his left hand in front of her face and teased, "That’s enough. Any more and I’ll have to start charging you."
"Ngh?"
The fox-eared girl stared at him blankly. It took a long moment for her to suddenly snap back to reality. Her entire body began to tremble. Tears welled up in her large, hazy eyes, and her skin turned a shade of crimson that rivaled a boiled lobster.
Alistair watched, stunned. In all his lives, he had never seen a person blush so intensely. His maid, Abby, would turn a lovely, faint peachy glow when embarrassed, but this... this was just a shade lighter than a deep rose, a startling contrast against her luminous white skin.
He released Lena, and she immediately slid to the floor. She curled up into a tight ball, hugging her knees, her magnificent tail wrapping around her until only her two ears were visible.
Alistair felt a pang of envy. Lena’s tail was even bigger than Abby’s. It could probably serve as a blanket for two.
He could sense her heart rate slowly returning to normal. He knew she was simply hiding, unsure how to face him. He decided not to prolong her embarrassment and, without another word, left the room like a cad departing without a backward glance.
As for the matter of taxes, that could wait until his next visit to Silversky Town. One must shear the sheep in stages. Teasing the Saintess, he mused, was much the same.