Chapter 45: Attend to you for bed
"So, my Lord, should we begin preparing for war now?"
Goodwin sounded excited. He rather enjoyed it when his lord showed his inner brigand.
Seeing Goodwin’s eagerness, Alistair couldn’t help but laugh.
"What’s the rush? We just got back from Sablewood. Let the men rest for a couple of days. We’ll see what the Ravenwood family does first."
"Alright, that’s all. You can go now." Alistair began shooing him out. He’d been back for a while now and still hadn’t had a chance to bathe.
"Oh, and hang up those oil paintings we looted from Hawthorn in the hallways. Our Snowmantle Citadel is so bare, it looks more like a dungeon."
Goodwin nodded in agreement. Just as he was about to leave the room, Alistair’s voice floated lightly from behind him.
"And regarding the laundry duty... add another year."
A single, bitter tear rolled down Goodwin’s cheek.
After sending Goodwin away, Alistair wasted no time heading to the castle bathhouse. He stripped down and sank into the water.
It was a feeling of being healed from the inside out. Three days had passed, and Alistair could feel the Dragonblood Potion had finished its work. He looked over his body, noticing he’d shot up in height, easily clearing six feet now. His frame was packed with lean, explosive muscle that looked powerful without being bulky.
And the upgrades weren’t purely superficial. His physical vitality and stamina had been enhanced in every conceivable way. Beyond that, he had the distinct, intuitive feeling that his very hide had been reinforced. He knew, with an unshakable certainty, that a mundane blade not charged with Aura could no longer easily harm him.
If he were ever caught deep within an enemy formation with his Aura completely depleted, perhaps this enhanced hide could be the very thing that saved his life.
Externally, the Dragonblood Potion was already incredibly potent, but that was just the tip of the iceberg. What truly made Alistair appreciate its power was the change in his Aura level.
[Name: Alistair Goldenlion]
[Status: Lord of Frostcrest, Count]
[Level: Sky Knight Lv. 51 (51-60)]
[Skills: Intermediate Magic Immunity, Draconic Power (Strength Boost), Glory Barrier, Fearless Charge, Lion’s Crush, Desperate Will, Greatsword Mastery]
[Equipment: Triumphant Paladin Hero Plate (Heroic, Unique), Gold Lion Honor Greatsword (Masterwork)]
[Pyrian Empire Reputation: 283,150↑ (Your deeds are widely known in the Goldenlion Duchy, and legends of your exploits are spreading through Sablewood and Frostfell.)]
[Orc Empire Reputation: -5,784↓ (Zargoth Bloodhowl has sworn to lead the orc legions to raze Frostcrest to the ground.)]
[Beastkin Factions Reputation: 735↑ (You are a figure of fear among all beastkin.)]
[Ravenwood Reputation: 13↓ (They have become extremely wary since the discovery of the iron mine.)]
Two new passive skills, Intermediate Magic Immunity and Draconic Power. And... I’m finally a Sky Knight.
Alistair clenched his fists, feeling the surging Aura within him. The increase in strength brought with it a greater sense of security. He was now likely the youngest Sky Knight in the entire Pyrian Empire.
The main difference between a Sky Knight and an Earth Knight lay in the quantity of their Aura and their capacity for sustained output. Upon reaching the Sky Knight tier, a knight’s Aura would increase exponentially, becoming so dense it could lift a person off the ground and allow for flight. However, it was rarely used for travel, as it consumed Aura at an incredible rate and couldn’t be sustained for long.
In other aspects, a Sky Knight also possessed superior Aura conduction, greater explosive power, and a more resilient body than an Earth Knight. The latter two were easy to understand, but the former—Aura conduction—was one of the fundamental factors determining a knight’s true power.
To put it simply, an ordinary knight using a Cross Slash might only shatter a wooden post. A Sky Knight using the same skill could cleave through a city wall.
After a brief moment of excitement, Alistair’s gaze fell on other parts of his status panel.
"Who the hell is Zargoth Bloodhowl?"
And he’s going to lead the orc legions to raze Frostcrest?
Alistair’s brow furrowed. Sometimes his reputation panel brought him the most unexpected intelligence. Judging by the name, Zargoth Bloodhowl had to be related to Morgash Bloodhowl—either his father or his brother. The former seemed more likely. After all, such a bold threat implied command over a massive army.
Alistair hated being targeted. The moment he knew someone was after him, he wanted to deal with them preemptively. It was true for the players, and it was true for Hawthorn.
"It seems I’ll need to heighten the border alert soon. If the orc legions want to attack Frostcrest directly, they’ll most likely have to cross the Frostfang Range. Their only other option is to attack Sablewood again."
At this thought, Alistair immediately penned short letters to the towns along the border, including Silversky Town.
At the same time, he couldn’t help but feel a moment of pity for the new, incoming Baron of Sablewood. This baron he’d yet to meet would likely face a massive orc invasion not long after taking up his post.
It was late at night when Alistair returned to his room. The little maid, Abby, was already awake and was polishing his armor with a cloth. She had nearly finished the breastplate and was just about to clean the inner lining.
A sweet smile graced Abby’s face. As she worked, she pictured her master looking tall and heroic in his armor, and her heart fluttered.
Just as she reached her hand into the pocket of the breastplate’s inner lining, Alistair’s anxious shout came from behind her.
"Hey! Don’t—!"
But it was too late. The little maid’s hand was already inside. She pulled out a single, white stocking.
It was the very one she hadn’t been able to find three days ago.
------
Abby stared at the stockings in her hand, momentarily stunned. A blush crept up her cheeks, but the corner of her mouth curved into a lovely arc as she carefully tucked the stockings back where she found them.
"Ah... Abby, let me explain..."
Alistair stood frozen, looking guiltily at the girl kneeling on the floor, still cradling his armor.
"Master..."
"Yes?"
Abby’s face was scarlet as she stammered, "A-Actually, if Master likes them, Abby has many more... Y-You can have them all..."
"Ah, that’s... no..." Alistair waved his hands frantically, trying to explain, but Abby delivered the finishing blow.
"Everything that belongs to Abby belongs to you, Master... From now on, if you want anything, you only need to ask... Not just stockings, my panties, too." As she said this, a peculiar glint appeared in her eyes. She added, "And if... if Master enjoys the thrill of taking things secretly, Abby can pretend she never saw a thing."
"Okay, that’s... wait, no! I don’t like taking things secretly, that day I... I..."
"Hm?" Abby tilted her head, her gaze soft as she looked at him.
Alistair stammered on the word "I" for what felt like an eternity, but no excuse would come. He couldn’t think of a single plausible reason for why he would steal a pair of stockings. He certainly couldn’t tell her it was a system requirement, that stealing them would make him seem more depraved, more like a proper villain.
"Master?"
"Fine. I stole them," Alistair confessed, his voice laced with despair. "It won’t happen again." He had given up. The more he tried to explain, the worse it got. He might as well just own it. In that moment, he felt he had reached a new level of enlightenment, ascending from "my humanity no longer matters" to "I guess being a pervert is fine, too."
"Master, it’s not that it won’t happen again," Abby corrected him, her tone insistent, as if this point was of the utmost importance. "It’s that next time, you should just take them directly, or ask me for them."
"Right. I understand." Alistair felt like a puppet on her strings.
"Hee hee~" she giggled. "Master, it’s getting late. Allow Abby to attend to you for bed."
...
Tucked beneath the covers, Alistair lay on his side near the foot of the bed, his mind preoccupied with the matter of the iron ore. His gaze inadvertently fell upon his little maid’s curled feet. They were pale as cream, with a delicate pink hue, and he found himself unable to resist taking them in his hands, examining them closely. It had been some time, and he’d missed the feel of them.
It was a common enough quirk, to need something to fiddle with while thinking. His habit was just a bit more... refined. He didn’t play with trinkets; he kneaded his little maid’s soft, tender feet.
"Eek~ Master... that tickles..."
Abby’s face flushed. She could feel the warmth of his breath on the soles of her feet—a pleasant, tingling sensation that made her heart feel like it was about to leap from her chest.
It was that time of night, perfect for quiet confessions between master and maid. Abby didn’t move from her comfortable spot, chattering on as she told Alistair everything she had seen and heard over the last few days.
"Master, so many girls have been coming to see Mrs. Agnes! They said they’re all maids from the lesser noble houses in your territory. They come every day to study with me, and it’s been so lively." Her voice was full of genuine excitement. "And they’re really amazing! Before I met them, I thought being a maid was just about learning etiquette. Now I see how much I still have to learn."
"They don’t just know all the proper courtesies, they can also play instruments. Especially the flute. I hear them talking about it all the time." Her tone filled with a mix of longing and envy, her star-like eyes sparkling. "I want to learn the flute too, Master. Then, when you’re resting, I could play for you."
At this, Abby’s expression soured. She pouted, her voice laced with confusion.
"I just don’t understand why, but whenever I ask the older girls to teach me, they get all giggly and say I’m too little... that my mouth is too small. They say it would be a real struggle for me to learn."
"But what does being little or having a small mouth have to do with anything? Their mouths aren’t that big!"
"And when I went to ask Mrs. Agnes, she and the others just got this secretive look and had to try so hard not to laugh! They just said it wasn’t suitable for me and that I should come ask you about it."
Alistair rubbed his nose to hide his expression. Definitely not suitable. That particular instrument is probably not on the approved curriculum.
Seeing the genuine frustration on his little maid’s face, he couldn’t help but try to console her. "It’s okay, you don’t have to learn the flute. How about the harp? Or maybe the violin...?"
"No." Abby shook her head, her big, watery eyes full of stubborn resolve. "The other girls all say that the flute is what the nobles like best. If they can learn how, then so can I. I am going to master it, so that whenever you’re feeling tired or need to relax, I can... blow it for you."
Somehow, that sounds absolutely exhausting. He chose silence.
"Master..."
"Hm?"
"Are you going to sleep now?"
Alistair was about to say yes when the girl’s velvety voice drifted up from the foot of the bed.
"Master... do you know how to make babies?"
Of course he knew, Alistair thought, but he wasn’t about to admit it. He simply smiled and said, "Making babies? It’s simple. First, you get married, then you live together, you do this and that, and before you know it, you have one."
"Master, it can’t be that simple! You really don’t know!" Abby’s laugh was playful. She fell silent for a moment before continuing, her cheeks flushing, "Master, Mrs. Agnes taught me that for us to have a baby, you and I just have to press close together."
Alistair suddenly felt a weight on his chest. He looked down to see that his little maid had wriggled up from the foot of the bed and was now curled up on top of him. Her face, hot with shyness, nuzzled against his chest with an adoring fondness. She gazed up at him, her voice thick with emotion.
"Master, Mrs. Agnes said that if I have a baby, I can be with you forever."
"M-Master, tonight... can we... can we take the final step tonight?"
Alistair fell silent, his feelings a complex tangle. He couldn’t blame Mrs. Agnes for what she’d taught Abby. She had acted with the best of intentions, considering what was best for both of them from her perspective. Feeling the soft, warm weight on his chest, how could he not know the depth of his little maid’s reliance and affection for him? He sighed inwardly.
This was the way of the world.
Maids to nobles were typically recruited from commoners, but for a household of a Count, the standards were higher. At a minimum, they were the daughters of lesser nobles. But even that offered no guarantee of a good life.
They were expected to serve their masters tirelessly, with all manner of difficult and dirty work being their basic duty. A simple mistake—or no mistake at all, just a master in a foul mood—could subject them to abuse and humiliation.
Even if a maid caught her master’s eye and shared his bed, her status remained unchanged. In this world, marrying within one’s social class was a rigid, unforgiving rule, especially among the nobility. Giving a title to a maid would make a lord the laughingstock of his peers, an unacceptable outcome for any noble who valued his reputation.
Thus, the ultimate fate of a maid was to be cast out in her old age or to die within the walls of her master’s castle. Bearing a child for her master might improve her situation slightly, but she would only ever be a low-status mistress, never presented in polite society. Her children would be dismissed as illegitimate bastards.
Nobles changed mistresses as often as they changed clothes; they were seen not as lovers, but as disposable tools for their exclusive use. Furthermore, it was common practice for nobles to gift well-trained maids to one another.
Alistair felt a deep ache for Abby’s fate. He was incredibly fond of this girl whose world revolved entirely around him. But the beastkin were already despised and rejected by humans. For now, he couldn’t give Abby a higher status; to do so would be to endanger her. Her current position as his personal maid was the most suitable. It afforded her a degree of respect and prevented others from targeting her due to her close relationship with him.
He had only just taken control of Frostfell. Everything was in a delicate state of transition. He didn’t want to elevate his little maid’s status only for her to become the first casualty of the prevailing prejudices. He couldn’t bear the thought of her being harmed in any way.
Besides, she was still so young. Even if he wanted to have a child with her, it would have to wait until his own life was no longer in peril and she was older. After all, Alistair had not yet escaped his own "doomed destiny." If she became pregnant and he died, it would be a catastrophic blow to everyone.
"Abby, you’re still young. Let’s think about this later, when you’re older," Alistair said, gently turning her down. He held her waist tightly, his other hand stroking her smooth back in a soothing gesture. His actions were exceptionally gentle, terrified of wounding her fragile heart or making her think he was rejecting her because of her birth.
"But..." Abby wanted to protest that she was already an adult, but seeing the gentle resolve in her master’s eyes, she obediently relented, her voice tinged with disappointment and sadness. "Abby... Abby will do whatever Master says..."
Still, her master hadn’t refused her completely. He’d said when she was older.
Older where? she wondered. Could he mean... my breasts?
Abby glanced down at her own modest figure and couldn’t help but think of the older maids studying with Mrs. Agnes. All of their breasts were larger than hers.
Does Master need to... help mine grow? I heard that rubbing them can make them bigger.
Her face, buried in his chest, grew hotter and hotter. As her mind filled with such bashful, scattered thoughts, a wave of drowsiness washed over her, and she drifted off to sleep, nestled against the broad, comforting chest that was her entire world.