The Stockings of Las Vegas
The night of madness passed without any night raids, thankfully. We cleaned up the traces we’d left behind yesterday and kept a close watch on how the humans were faring overnight.
"Master, about yesterday..."
"Don't say a word."
In the end, I hadn't been able to pierce through to the other side of Ryun last night. That barrier felt like it had been wrapped in hundreds of layers of plastic wrap; it showed absolutely no sign of giving way. 'Goddammit, which bastard came up with the High Elf race settings?' Whoever it was, they were definitely a perverted son of a bitch obsessed with virginity. I’d expanded her enough to fit my own member and thrust with all my might, yet it wouldn't budge. Even goalkeepers like Neuer or De Gea would let a goal through eventually, but Ryun’s lower half was so tight that if she were a keeper, she’d win every world championship without fail.
"Master, shall I bring an awl?"
"Stop it. Don't say such useless things."
Even though I could only get about halfway in, that alone was more than enough to enjoy Ryun’s body. Now, evolution or not, I was going to thrust without mercy. My goal was to break through while doing it. And the moment I did, I would inject a thick, warm dose deep inside.
"So, until that happens, we're doing it from the front every single day. Understand?"
"Yes. But Master, are you just going to leave the back alone?"
"...If I fail from the front, I'll do it from the back."
What would be the point of developing that rear dungeon if I just left it idle? We reached an agreement: one load in the front, one load in the back. Eila and Gremory expressed some dissatisfaction, but it was my choice where and how much I spilled, wasn't it? 'I wish my stamina were a bit stronger.' On days when I really had to push it, I could ejaculate up to twelve times, but that meant I could only manage five or six the next day. As I evolved into a 4-star, I found that maintaining a pace of seven or eight times a day was the sweet spot for keeping my condition in check.
"So don't feel like it's a waste. I'll pour it inside you every single day from now on. I was going crazy holding it in while fighting."
I had been gradually reducing the frequency of my ejaculations for the sake of conquering Las Vegas. I must have lost an incredible amount of protein through all those sessions, but I even gave up my dawn services to focus on the occupation. The tension had been through the roof. I decided to keep my testicles reasonably empty while going about my daily life.
"Alright, let's get moving. We have a mountain of work to do today."
"Master, we have a kitchen now, so what about breakfast...? Hehehe."
Ryun and Eila pointed toward the kitchen. Gremory was already wearing an apron, busy preparing breakfast. I couldn't help but wander into the kitchen, overcome by a sudden, nagging anxiety.
"I knew it."
The kitchen was on the verge of total annihilation. The state of it was so catastrophic that I couldn't even fathom where they’d scavenged these ingredients or how they’d managed to turn them into such a state. I snatched the knife from Gremory’s hand.
"You lot, just stay still."
"Oh my, are you going to cook yourself?"
"Why would I do that?"
I lifted the blade and pointed toward the government office.
"If there’s a human in there who knows how to cook, I’ll just ask them."
"...Ask them?"
"The residents aren't slaves. Everyone who loves Las is an equal resident. I am the evangelist and representative of Las. Didn't you notice what happened in there overnight?"
"......?"
It seemed they really hadn't noticed. I mentioned that my sons had paid a brief visit to the house while I was busy with Eila.
"Hehe, those boys must have had some fun."
"......No way, surely not."
"Want me to tell you something interesting? Among the residents left in Las Vegas..."
I wrapped my arm around Gremory’s waist and tickled her.
"Do you know what the ratio of widows was?"
Welcome to Las Vegas.
Morning came. A gloomy and depressed atmosphere hung over the barony. The messenger who should have delivered news of victory last night hadn't arrived, and the Baron was growing increasingly anxious.
"Sir Gei."
"...Yes."
Knight Gei, who had returned from the capital last night, bowed his head with a face that looked like he’d just bitten into a bitter herb.
"Did I send too few troops?"
"No, sir. Compared to the combat power of ordinary orcs, one thousand was more than enough."
"Then why is it taking a full day for those thousand infantrymen to capture Jabyaba, which only has a wooden fence?"
"That shouldn't be the case. Even if they had to scavenge wood nearby to build ladders to climb over, they should have brought the news of victory to Spica Castle by last night."
"Then, in your opinion, do you think Sir Ramatio would let his guard down against a mere hundred orcs?"
"No, sir. He is a man who values swift, decisive action and pursues maximum efficiency with cool-headed judgment. He would have launched an assault the moment he arrived. Furthermore..."
Knight Gei continued in an embarrassed tone.
"...Wasn't it Sir Ramatio who strongly insisted that we at least build a wooden palisade at Jabyaba? He knows better than anyone how to recapture Jabyaba most efficiently."
"Yes. That’s right. That’s why I sent Sir Ramatio, and no one else."
Baron Virgo bit his lip with a stiff expression.
"...There is definitely something wrong. Is there still no word from the scouts sent at dawn?"
"No, sir."
"Good. Great, just perfect. Every time I send someone, they vanish without a trace. Phew."
The Baron threw up his hands. The worst-case scenario—one thousand infantry and fifty cavalry wiped out, and the knight taken prisoner—made his nerves fray. Please, let there be some news. And as if the Goddess had heard the Baron’s plea, a polite knock sounded at the door.
"Excuse me."
The Baron couldn't help but smile at the clear, refreshing voice that cut through the heavy atmosphere. The person who opened the door and entered was a short boy priest with a monocle.
"May the Goddess's guidance be with you. I have identified the species of the monster you have captured."
"Oh, what is it?"
"......."
The boy priest took a deep breath. His hesitation made everyone in the council chamber uneasy. And that unease soon became reality.
"It is a 'Jocamel,' a monster that only appears in the dungeon of the 56th-ranked Demon Lord, the Red-Haired Witch Gremory."
"......Oh, Goddess."
The Baron clasped his hands in prayer. He’d felt something was off the moment he heard a hundred orcs were the vanguard, but he never dreamed a 56th-ranked dungeon would appear in his territory. He’d finally thought a day might come where he could hold his head high, so why was such a trial falling upon him? The Baron let out a deep sigh.
'No. This could be an opportunity.'
If it’s a 56th-ranked dungeon, the wealth and magic stones stored within must be substantial. Although he’d suffered the humiliation of losing Jabyaba, if he recaptured it himself and then conquered the dungeon, everything would change. Baron Virgo. He’d lost Jabyaba to a surprise attack by a large orc horde, but launched a counter-offensive to reclaim it, then pressed his advantage to conquer the Gremory dungeon and take the head of the Red-Haired Witch. What a thrilling imagination.
'If my achievements are recognized, I might even be granted the title of Viscount!'
Viscount Virgo. The Baron shuddered slightly at the name. His monocle slipped, and he had to push it back up. Now, a rosy future awaited him—
"It’s a disaster!!"
A soldier rushed through the open door without even knocking. The Baron felt his spirit, which had been soaring through the clouds, dragged back down to earth, and his mood soured.
"...Yes, what is this disaster?"
"They’ve been wiped out!!"
"Use a subject. You mean the orcs, obviously?"
"...The subjugation force led by Sir Ramatio has been completely wiped out, not a single man left!! The orcs are still occupying Jabyaba!!"
Baron Virgo’s mood lost its wings and plummeted to the ground. The dream he thought was a rosy future was covered in a bloody reality, and the Baron felt his vision blur.
"Sir Ramatio... has fallen in battle! Sir Ramatio’s military banner was hanging on the watchtower north of Jabyaba...!"
The worst-case scenario had become reality.
After reaching an agreement regarding the three of them and the frequency of my sessions, we had breakfast. Thankfully, none of them had run away. Those who had agreed to become residents gathered at the government office at the appointed time, and I gave the armband-wearing elderly weaver the title of factory manager.
"From now on, you will be responsible for making the clothes that our orcs and humans will wear. Using these feathers."
I dumped the countless feathers that had come through the portal overnight onto the floor. White feathers dropped by the harpies during their molting season, and the black feathers of Andras I’d plucked from the sub-dungeon, piled up in heaps.
"T-this is...?"
The elderly factory manager gulped at the sheer volume, enough to bury a person. It seemed he hadn't expected me to prepare such a massive amount.
"The white ones are harpy feathers. And the black ones are Andras’s feathers. Both are avian monsters, and Andras’s feathers come in roughly this amount every day."
I lifted a wooden box. If I plucked all the feathers from Andras, who appeared as a boss, it was enough to easily fill a 100-liter box.
"Can you extract thread from this much?"
"I’ll have to try it myself to be sure, but it’s enough. No, it’s more than enough. But... what on earth is this creature called Andras...?"
"A monster? Head of a crow, and a scantily clad human body below."
"......."
The factory manager fell silent. He regretted knowing what he didn't need to know, his expression souring. But what could he do? He already knew. He was already captivated by the softness of Andras’s feathers. The reason Ryun wore her wing-cloak as an outer garment every day wasn't just for style, but for the warmth and comfort.
"Just practice with it for now. Make enough thread, and then create proper fabric with it."
Isn't the softest silk called velvet? How to weave bird feathers would be the factory manager’s job, but since he’d said it was possible, I just had to leave it to him.
"You can make various things, but ultimately, these are the things I’m requesting."
I drew pictures with a feather pen on paper I’d found in the office. I spoke about the things I truly desired, within the limits of this era’s culture.
"......My god."
The factory manager gasped at my drawings. Imagining Ryun wearing them, and seeing my drawing skills—which had captured Ryun’s lower body that I’d feasted my eyes on yesterday with all my soul—he even covered his mouth with his hand.
"What... on earth is this?"
"Ah, that is—"
"Master?"
Ryun approached me from behind. I was so startled I folded the drawing. It was still a dangerous item in many ways to let Ryun see.
"What is it? Is the maintenance finished already?"
"Yes. I moved all the feathers to the place the factory manager mentioned. I also deployed my squad members nearby. The kids recovered from their wounds and returned this morning."
The orcs who had been seriously injured in battle had recovered their stamina after spending a night in the dungeon. I immediately gave Ryun another order.
"Then Ryun, join Tristan’s squad waiting at the guard post. I’m appointing you as the archery instructor for both squads."
"......Me?"
Ryun smiled, looking quite troubled. Where had that little devil who was bumping her butt last night, trying to pierce the barrier herself, disappeared to? She looked as scared as a trainee part-timer given too much responsibility.
"I-I have to be the archery instructor? Me? Really me??"
"Ryun. You’re an elf, aren't you? A High Elf at that?"
"But I don't have the skill to teach others..."
"Where did the elf who killed more than Gremory with just a bow yesterday go, and why is there such a scared elf here? Ryun, we can't keep throwing rocks forever. We have the equipment now, so we need to shoot some arrows. I don't expect every orc to shoot with your sniper-level accuracy. Even just shooting somewhere near the target is a start. Understand? Our orc archer unit is..."
I gripped Ryun’s shoulders tightly.
"...The motto is rapid fire. If ten shots don't hit, then shoot a hundred, a thousand. Understand?"
"...Yes! I’ll make sure to train them well!"
Ryun left the office with a bright smile. I handed the folded paper back to the factory manager with a sense of relief.
"That was a close one."
"...Is the person who will wear that the elf from before? Oh my..."
The factory manager envied me openly. It didn't matter if it was an elf, an orc, or a human anymore. The factory manager envied me as a male, as a man.
"Truly... oh my, if she wears this... *gulp*."
"Hehe, it’ll be insane, right? So make it well. There are tons of variations for this."
"What on earth is the name of this?"
"Ah, that is."
It was incredibly hard to keep the corners of my mouth from curling up.
"It’s called pantyhose."
Had I told Ryun it was panties? I hadn't lied.