An Unexpected Guest

I didn't pull out. Buried deep inside her, I came.

Gulp. Gulp.

Hot seed spilled into the condom.

"Hnnngh……!"

Seraphina's body shuddered violently. Her inner walls still clamped down on my cock and refused to let go. As if deluding themselves that they could receive my seed, the gates of her womb fluttered open and shut, teasing the crown of my shaft.

I held her close until the aftershocks of my release faded. By the time our ragged breathing had settled, only the musky scent of our coupling and the heat of our bodies remained in the room.

I slowly raised myself up and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠looked down at her. Silver hair damp with sweat and spread in disarray, cheeks flushed, eyes glazed and unfocused.

The lofty, untouchable superior they called the Ice Witch was nowhere to be found. Only a woman fallen to pleasure lay beneath me.

Status Analysis.

It worked.

Affection.

That word—something I could never have imagined from Seraphina until now—floated up on the analysis window.

And then, how many minutes had passed? The reward I'd been waiting for arrived.

The corners of my mouth curled up on their own. Physical pleasure, the acquisition of my superior's weakness, and a level-up on top of it all. Perfect.

I slowly withdrew my cock, still buried inside her.

"Nnh…."

With a wet, lewd sound, her gap parted. A glistening condom slipped free, and clear nectar trickled down after it. Watching that obscene trail run down the inside of her pale thighs, Seraphina turned her head away in embarrassment—but there was no rejection or displeasure in her.

"…Is it… over?"

she asked in a low voice.

"Yes. The treatment was a success."

I pulled a few napkins from the bedside table and carefully wiped between her legs.

"Can you feel it? The change inside your body."

Seraphina accepted my touch and carefully steadied her breathing. Then she closed her eyes and peered inward at herself.

An unstable internal injury. Still not fully healed, but vastly improved compared to her previous state of a chronic internal injury.

"……Ah."

A gasp escaped her lips.

"So this is… truly my own body."

"Didn't I tell you? To trust me."

"Thank you… truly, thank you, Max."

[Hidden Desire: She wants to remain at Max Jäger's side and hold onto this peace.]

A few minutes later.

Having composed herself, Seraphina began gathering up her clothes. Her fingers trembled slightly as she picked up the stockings and skirt scattered across the floor.

I sat on the edge of the bed and watched her dress. Every one of her movements was strangely sensual.

Once she'd straightened her attire, she smoothed her tousled hair in the mirror.

"…I should be going."

she said, clearing her throat.

"Have a pleasant night."

Left alone in the empty room, I checked my spoils.

[Skill Points Available: 1]

The single point I'd earned by conquering Seraphina.

What should I spend it on?

I didn't deliberate long. First, I checked what had dropped.

Number one was the exact same one I'd seen before. A skill with no use whatsoever except for sex. I shifted my gaze downward.

…Huh?

A gallery? Surely that doesn't mean some refined gallery for admiring paintings and sculpture. Which would mean, in my past life that… the blue site…?

Hoo…?

The very description was extraordinary. A virtual space where the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠great figures of Earth were active. If my guess was right, this was a skill on a completely different axis from Iron Virility.

Napoleon, Yi Sun-sin, Hannibal, Zhuge Liang…

War commanders and war figures are distinctly different things.

It meant the roster would include famous people merely connected to war. Which meant the beings inside would be far more varied, too.

Politicians and diplomats like Bismarck, of course—scientists who upended the very shape of war, like Oppenheimer. Maybe even dictators of the century like Hitler or Stalin were hammering away at their keyboards in there.

And they're going to help me…?

I agonized over it for just a moment.

Level up Bullet Time VS put a point into War Heroes Gallery.

I'd confirmed that Bullet Time was plenty good in its own right… but the prospect of receiving aid from actual titans of history was simply too tempting.

A new set of instructions etched itself into my mind. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I took a deep breath and activated the skill.

Connect.

Pop—

What appeared before my eyes was a tacky blue banner and crude gothic-style font. The unmistakable interface of that blue site.

"……Hm."

I slowly glanced over the gallery.

It's a fairly serious atmosphere, actually.

In my past life too, every gallery had its own wildly different mood. Some were as juvenile as grade schoolers, while others, depending on the topic, could outdo actual experts.

Well, I suppose a place where true greats gather wouldn't be a rowdy one.

I steadied my mind. How on earth was I supposed to put this skill to use?

First I need to post something before anything else can happen.

I carefully pressed the [Write Post] button.

Pop—

An input field appeared. There was no keyboard, but it seemed that whatever I thought was transcribed directly into text. I mulled over what to write for a moment. Judging by the atmosphere, the crowd here seemed rather earnest, so I decided to keep it plain and simple.

I typed out something appropriate and pressed [Submit].

Less than a minute after posting, the comment notification light started flashing.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

"……Ha."

I swallowed a groan.

Are these gentlemen watching my status in real time? They even know that I'm a transmigrator with a harem mode.

I posted one more entry.

[Do you all know about me?]

What? My memories and information get shared? I nearly shrieked at EasternStrategist's comment.

However, the reply that followed set my mind at ease.

Well, thank goodness for that.

That part was oddly realistic.

"Aha."

Chatting with the war greats like this gave me a decent grasp of the War Heroes Gallery skill. In a word, it was essentially a real-time, dedicated strategy guide I could consult whenever I pleased.

This will be useful.

The Minimap let me grasp the battlefield, Status Analysis told me about specific individuals, and Charming Speechcraft let me leverage that information superiority to bend people to my will.

The one thing that had been lacking, though, was the depth and sophistication of my own knowledge. Until now, I'd been nothing more than Max Jäger, an officer out of the Imperial Central Academy, layered over a civilian gamer from Seoul.

Not anymore.

This skill was the tool that would fill in that gap.

The next morning.

It had been one week since the battle ended, and one day since we'd rejoined the main force.

The mud had barely dried on the soldiers' boots, but the mood in the regiment was, in a word, a festival. The Ashen Forest was a vital stronghold of the Western Front. Capturing it would shift the whole shape of the war.

Of course, a single regiment-sized unit couldn't end the war on its own. But once the elite divisions and army corps came pouring in behind us, the enemy would be driven into a corner.

And all of it was the 7th Regiment's doing.

"Hey, did you hear? A special envoy's come down from Central!"

"Hehe, maybe I'll get a medal this time too?"

"You don't think they're pinning a star on the Colonel, do you? Then a few crumbs might fall our way, eh?"

Outside the barracks, the noise was deafening. I, too, felt cheerful as I fastened the buttons of my uniform and checked the mirror. Word that a senior officer dispatched from headquarters had arrived that morning had already spread through the entire unit.

Everyone was hoping for rewards. I was no exception—beyond my promotion to Captain, if I could use this opportunity to pull some strings upstairs, a smooth road lay ahead of me.

The Colonel's grin is going to stretch from ear to ear.

Imagining the sight, I headed for the Regimental Headquarters.

Parked ostentatiously in front of the headquarters building was a luxurious black vehicle. A single car standing incongruously clean amid a battlefield of flying dust. Until I spotted the Imperial Inspectorate emblem mounted on the hood, I'd thought it was merely a fine car.

…Hold on. The Inspectorate?

My footsteps stopped dead.