Guild Exclusive and the Married Receptionist's Lure
I'd assumed the cuckoo clock—er, the wyvern egg hunt—was just some side gig for the guild, rounding up lackeys or whatever. But no, the scale had ballooned to imperial levels, and my mouth was watering at the possibilities.
Suck it up. If I play this right, I could snag a real connection in the empire...
Why else would I bother shaking down Yamamoto and playing power-trip games? To build networks that make coasting through this world a breeze. Sure, it's a medieval era where strength rules all, but no matter how much you ignore it, class hierarchies are baked in. Snag one solid hook, and the road ahead smooths out big time. My mental calculator was spinning like mad.
Not monster parts, but eggs? Military breed, maybe?
It looked like they were raising dragon knights, the kind you see in games. Wyverns were knockoffs, sure, but picturing myself astride one? Pure badass energy exploding in my brain.
I'll ride Plang around for fun, though.
Glancing sideways, I saw the fidgety guild master, his face a mask of anxious hope, praying for a yes from me.
"Fine. Guild direct or whatever, I'm in."
"Oh! Then..."
"But two conditions."
"Name 'em!"
"First, I go solo. Easier that way. Heh."
The master flinched at my words but nodded, satisfied just to have hooked me.
"Good. Second?"
"Simple. Whip up some gear as an advance."
His eyes narrowed suspiciously, scanning me up and down, his face twisting in confusion.
"Now that you mention it, you don't have a single piece of decent equipment, do you?"
"Climbing around the 13th floor—ain't that standard?"
I shrugged nonchalantly, playing it cool. He scratched his chin beard, forcing a wry smile.
"Ugh... can't be helped. For a request like this, I'll pull some strings."
"Jewelry if you can. Weapons and armor don't do it for me."
"Got it."
He nodded and rummaged in his pocket, handing over a small bracelet.
"What's this?"
"Top-tier artifact commissioned from the Magic Tower. Registered for the 36th floor—slip it on, and it'll portal you straight there."
"Oh..."
The bracelet gleamed silver in my palm. Looked like the tower's master key for emergencies. I chuckled softly and clasped it on my wrist.
"Like this?"
"Yeah. I'll pass the details through Margaret, so check with her."
"Margaret? Who's that?"
I shot him a puzzled look, and he glared like I was the dumbest fuck alive.
"The receptionist! The one you were cozying up to—didn't even know her name?"
"Ah..."
His words conjured the curvy married receptionist who'd been sexing it up with her eyes.
Shit. Almost fucked up...
She was on the menu for tonight's pussy feast, and I hadn't even clocked her name. Awkwardness hit; I scratched my head like an idiot and opened my mouth.
"Uh, speaking of—what's your name, old-timer?"
"You little shit!"
With that, the stubby dwarf's long beard flew as he flew into a rage. I bolted from the workshop before it turned into a total shitshow.
Trashing his own place? His loss, the dumb dwarf.
+++
"Kid."
The errand boy prowling the street scampered over at my call.
"Yes! You rang?"
"Here, deliver this letter."
I handed him the envelope with neatly folded paper inside, plus five copper coins. His eyes bugged out, and he bowed at ninety degrees.
"Yes sir! To the address on it. Thank you!"
"Good boy."
He stuffed the coins away like I'd snatch 'em back and dashed off. Judging by the direction, it'd get delivered. Relief.
If he swiped it, I'd have to school the little punk...
The letter was for the women who might wait up for me tonight.
Might overnight it—better give 'em a heads-up.
With a romp ahead with receptionist Margaret, prep work like this was essential. If Tier came sniffing around because I didn't show? Total dogshit disaster.
Gotta smash and dash back to reality.
Smell-erasure op planned, my mind eased. Rustle.
I ditched all worries, slyly pulling out the note from morning like a thief. Despite the sender's rough look, the cute handwriting listed an address.
Twenty minutes' walk?
She'd been on my radar all morning; dick throbbing hard, I adjusted it in my pants and set off, buzzing with excitement.
Not as hot as my girls, maybe, but Margaret was a solid NPC with real screen time in the otome game. Worth the fuck. And a married woman with a husband? Saliva flooded my mouth, Adam's apple bobbing.
First real NTR, huh...
+++
"This the place?"
The guild master's pet receptionist lived different, alright. Not our party's mansion level, but for a medieval commoner, the tidy two-story house screamed comfort. Red-brick wall, manicured garden—clear signs of money and effort, giving off a serene, elegant vibe.
What does hubby do for a living?
The exterior looked too posh for receptionist pay alone. Curiosity piqued, I knocked and waited. Footsteps, then the door opened to the familiar beauty greeting me.
Her eyes sparkled with kid-on-Christmas-morning thrill mixed with slutty lust. Couldn't help but grin naturally.
"Not too late?"
"Hehe. Perfect timing. Hubby's waiting for you too, Mr. Berg. Let's eat first."
She rushed to drop the husband bomb before I could speak. Still smiling coyly despite that, eyes curved. I'd prepped for this—handed her the medieval-style jug of booze.
Sex was the goal, but housewarming courtesy, right?
"Th-this?"
"Booze."
"Booze?"
Not fancy modern glass, but a clean medieval bottle—contents sloshing visibly. She tilted her head, puzzled.
Medieval meant shit-tier sewers first and foremost. First thing I checked in this fantasy world? Street-shitting or not. Otome seasoning softened the grit, but booze was still lifeblood here—beer and wine like water, essential and luxurious for barbaric medievals.
Even the errand kid was chugging ale. Says it all. Heh.
For folks who never saw distillation and stuck to brews, I'd brought Chinese-style baijiu, a distilled spirit.
Even if hubby sniffs it out, he can't complain.
Elites might hack basic distillation, but nothing like the real deal. Prime pussy price for the city's top babe.
Satisfied, I eyed the bottle I'd given her and spoke.
"Traditional brew from home. Tough to make, so just three bottles."
Her eyes lit up at my face and the clear liquor sloshing like spring water. "Home" and rare booze shifted her expression wildly—I could guess the fantasies, and laughed.
Gulp.
Sure enough, she swallowed hard and pressed closer the second I finished. Before, her eyes screamed one-night fuck-me; now, they burned with lioness hunger to get knocked up by my seed.
Through the rubbing, her cluelessness about my Incubus power sterilizing her made my lips curl up.