Chapter 79: Volume 1- [ - 80 ]
Five hundred points. For three words.
[ Butterfly Effect Detected: Mirra Ashwood — “The Sacrifice of the Unlucky” ]
[ Narrative Impact: After the death of the lord she loves, Mirra will journey to the Dungeon of Sacrifices, seeking the Artifact of Birth — an item capable of resurrecting the dead. She will sacrifice her most precious possession: her chastity, taken by the lord himself, and the blood of her womb. The artifact will allow her to bring back his body — but not his soul. The body will walk, will speak, will remember, but will not be ‘him’. This will be the last time she is seen. She will take his body and disappear. ]
I stared at the window.
‘She is going to bring me back from the dead,’ I thought. ‘After I die. She will sacrifice her chastity — the chastity I am about to take — and the blood of her womb to resurrect me. But the resurrection will fail. The body will come back without the soul. And she will take the body and vanish.’
The system was a sassy bastard. It was telling me how I was going to die. It was telling me that Mirra — the unlucky healer, the woman blessed by the Goddess of Bad Luck — was going to love me so much that she would try to resurrect me. And fail.
‘But it is good that I know,’ I thought, and the cold, calculating part of my mind was already working. ‘If I know how I die, I can avoid it. If I know what Mirra will do, I can use it. And if I know about the Dungeon of Sacrifices and the Artifact of Birth—’
The original novel. The plot. The protagonist — the original protagonist, the hero of the story — had sacrificed something precious to obtain the Artifact of Birth from the same dungeon. A sword. A family heirloom. The sacrifice had opened the dungeon’s door, and the artifact had been inside.
‘But the system says Mirra’s sacrifice is her chastity. Her chastity — taken by me. And the blood of her womb. Which means — I need to take her virginity. And I need to do it in front of the dungeon. The goddess takes the blessed version — the version of her that the Goddess of Bad Luck has claimed — and in exchange, the dungeon opens.’
I looked at Mirra. At her body, sprawled on the table, wine-soaked, pussy-swollen, her arousal at ninety-five, her heart — according to the Butterfly Effect — already falling in love with a man who was going to die.
‘I was going to fuck her. But not here. Not now. Not like this.’
‘I need her deflowered blood. I need it at the Dungeon of Sacrifices. I need the goddess to witness the taking and accept it as payment.’
I stopped. Pulled back. My cock — hard, ready, the Infinite Torrent ensuring perpetual readiness — stood between us. But I did not push it in. I did not take her.
I sat on the chair. Poured wine over my cock — the red liquid running down the shaft, over the balls, dripping onto the floor. The image — a man covered in blood, sitting in a bar, pouring wine over his erection — was the image of a devil. The kind of thing that appeared in sermons about the corruption of the nobility.
Mirra gasped. “What happened? Why did you stop?”
I smiled. “I am not going to do that until we are married.”
She trembled. The words — the promise, the commitment, the thing that no man had ever offered her — hit her like a physical force. Her internal voice was a cascade of confusion and wonder:
‘Married. He said married. He — after everything — after the kissing and the — the wine and the — he is not going to — until — married? But — Seraphina — the blonde woman — he did it with her — so why—’
“What about Seraphina?” she whispered.
“She is my girlfriend,” I said, and the distinction was deliberate, crafted, the kind of distinction that a man makes when he is building a harem and needs each woman to believe she holds a unique position. “But you — you are my wife. Do you not want that?”
The word — ‘wife’ — landed. Her face went through a dozen expressions. Shock. Disbelief. The faintest, barely visible flicker of joy. And then — the crash, the realization that she was sitting on a table in a bar, wine-soaked, pussy-exposed, being offered marriage by a man covered in blood who she had known for two days.
“I — you — we cannot — I do not—”
“You do not want to be my wife?”
“I — I do not know you. I do not — you are a lord and I am a — a commoner and a healer and I am unlucky and everything I touch—”
“You are not unlucky, Mirra.” I said her name — his mother’s name — and the word was the anchor it always was. “You are blessed. And I want that blessing. I want you.”
She knelt. The motion was slow, dazed, the motion of a woman whose world had just been rewritten. She sat before my chair, her tongue out, and licked my cock. The wine — the red liquid that coated the shaft — hit her tongue, and she licked again, her eyes closed, her internal voice a murmur of devotion and confusion and the desperate, terrifying hope of a woman who had been offered something she had never expected to receive.
‘I need to — his condition — the pressure — if I do not help him, it will hurt — I am treating him — this is treatment — but he said — wife — he said wife — and I—’
She sucked. Her mouth — small, inexperienced, the mouth of a woman who had never sucked a cock before tonight — wrapped around the head. Her tongue — guided by instinct, by the Dirty Whisper’s hypnotic suggestion, by the Pheromone Aura’s pull — moved. She licked the wine from the shaft, sucked the head, her hand stroking the base, her other hand finding my balls and massaging them with the healer’s knowledge of anatomy.
I looked at the system window. At the skills, the weapons, the remaining points.
[ Skills: Touch Amplification, Tongue Mastery, Stamina Surge, Pheromone Aura, Body Reading, Dirty Whisper, Pleasure Mapping, Deep Control, Imprint, Virgin’s Gift, Infinite Torrent, Shadow Step ]
[ Weapons: Serpent’s Fang (pistol), Knight’s Bane (dagger), Boots of the Wind, Strength Gauntlets (expired) ]
[ Current Point Balance: 4,255 pts ]
Four thousand two hundred and fifty-five. The Shadow Step had cost twelve hundred, but Mirra’s points — the kiss, the “I love you,” the fingering, the cunnilingus — had recovered most of it. The system was generous when the woman was Heroine-tier.
‘I am poor again,’ I thought, watching Mirra’s pink head bob on my cock. ‘But not for long. The Dungeon of Sacrifices. The Artifact of Birth. Mirra’s deflowered blood. That is the next step.’
‘But first — the bartender.’
I looked toward the back room. The second bartender — the quintuplet, the identical sister — had been watching. I had seen her face in the shadows, the wide eyes, the flushed cheeks, the arousal meter at eighty.
I came. The orgasm — the Infinite Torrent ensuring that every climax was full, thick, copious — flooded Mirra’s mouth. She coughed, gagged, the cum overflowing her lips, running down her chin, dripping onto her dress.
[ Oral creampie (Heroine-tier: Mirra Ashwood) — 300 pts ]
[ Facial overflow — 100 pts ]