Chapter 52: Shamanism Lessons with Hoaran (1)
Hoaran smiled faintly as she gazed at Hanjo, who had fallen asleep in an instant from sheer exhaustion, clutching her tail tightly to his chest.
The fact that he had drifted off so quickly was as good as a declaration of his utter trust in her. A ticklish warmth bloomed in her chest.
But that feeling didn't last long.
"Well now, Lilith, it seems even you have made a mistake."
She carefully extended a finger, stroking his forehead without waking the sleeping Hanjo.
"In this state, to those who despise us, it's nothing short of provocation."
A slithering sensation...
As she traced his forehead, she felt Lilith's energy writhing subtly.
Hoaran gave a wry smile at the aura radiating from Lilith, as if declaring that anyone who harmed this boy would be hunted down and torn limb from limb, no matter where they hid.
It was an advanced spell that ordinary folk wouldn't even notice.
To most, it would merely instill a vague sense that they shouldn't harm Hanjo. But to someone of her caliber, she could read the intent woven into the energy clinging to him.
This one's mine—don't touch. Touch him, and die. A blatant threat, straight from Lilith.
Hoaran chuckled wryly at this rare display of possessiveness from the Lilith she knew. With a gentle sweep of her finger, she erased the lingering energy.
The intent might have been to protect Hanjo, but...
In times like these, with those harboring grudges against the twenty-two heroes, it could turn him into a target instead.
It was a mark worse than none at all, so she wiped it clean.
"Well... I understand the sentiment."
She looked down at Hanjo, who slept soundly hugging one of her tails to his chest.
His fingers gripped the tip tightly, his breathing steady and deep. He looked just like an oversized baby.
In truth, he was a fully grown man two heads taller than her.
But in terms of raw power, he was like a newborn babe compared to an adult.
Not an inaccurate comparison by any means.
And just as she felt that way, Lilith must have too.
With no choice but to leave him alone due to unforeseen circumstances, her worry must have been immense.
No matter how much Lilith framed it as grooming a successor—or even calling him her son—she couldn't deny the attachment.
That's why she'd left that mark.
In what was essentially her own domain, no less. She probably never imagined anyone would dare touch him in her absence.
But it had happened.
If those who heard Lilith was away hadn't come seeking idle chat during her absence—when she was the only barrier keeping them from Hanjo—things would have gone far worse for him.
"...Laura, that mosquito bitch. I never thought she'd still be alive."
In the final war—a brief conflict lasting less than a few months—three weeks had been spent battling vampires.
Vampires wielding immense magic, bolstered by powerful regeneration, commanding hordes of slaves numbering in the thousands to tens of thousands.
A war against the ruling class of vampires who dubbed themselves the nobility of the night, having enslaved their own kin and other races in their home dimension.
They saw the strong dominating and devouring the weak as natural, and every one of them was utterly vicious.
Especially the self-proclaimed great nobles, the vampire lords.
And every vampire lord had fallen to the hands of the twenty-two heroes.
Laura, one of them, had surely been torn apart.
Her limbs ripped off and burned, her head staked through with silver and split in two.
Yet not only had she survived, but in the two years they thought her dead, she'd grown stronger by devouring countless lives.
And that black thing she carried—something alive yet not, a relic from the old war, mostly obsolete and discarded— she wielded it, firing it from her body.
Vampires who scorned all but magic as base, and among them a lord like Laura using such a thing? Unthinkable.
"This is not good."
A very ill omen.
It meant she'd swallowed even her pride for revenge.
Stronger or not, Laura alone wasn't even a match for Hoaran. They'd fought outside her domain, the Fox Forest, and she'd won handily—no need to elaborate.
If it had been Lilith—the strongest among the twenty-two heroes—Laura wouldn't have escaped; she'd have been caught and shredded before fleeing.
But if not alone...
And if that black thing wasn't singular...
Even if all twenty-two heroes emerged once more to uproot them...
This world, barely stabilizing, would drown in blood again.
"Truly, not good at all."
The current world was like Hanjo.
Large in stature, but still terribly fragile and weak, like a child.
Its size made any injury a grievous wound. Scars from before maturity would linger as ugly marks even after growth.
Laura was proof.
If the escaped Laura launched a massive terrorist attack somewhere, what then?
The other vampires once under her rule, oppressed alongside her.
They could all face backlash.
Equality.
It would poison the World Government's banner. Even exterminating them all wouldn't erase that stain.
"...First, I must speak of this."
If they acted rashly, it wouldn't be good for the world either.
Being the ones to solve every problem wasn't ideal.
That's why all twenty-two heroes except Lilith had vanished into seclusion.
But ignoring it was worse; even a hair of their presence was toxic to this world.
So, she'd leave a subtle warning to a few connected contacts.
Busy with national affairs, but clever ones—they'd handle it sufficiently from a mere hint.
"N-Now then... are human males always like this...?"
Every time Hanjo stirred in his sleep, that massive thing brushing against her tail.
Even glimpsed before... unmistakable, even through his pants. Immensely large. The sensation against her tail made her cheeks burn.
"...Come to think of it, I recall reading in books that men's... members swell upon waking."
In the tales she'd read, women stumbling upon it often led to intimacy—a common trope.
In the arts of yin and yang she'd studied, including the Bedroom Arts, it noted that a man's member could engorge without stimulation or pleasure.
"Then... this must be a natural male phenomenon."
Hanjo was the picture of health, so it swelling in sleep was only natural.
Such things in life were physiology, a principle of nature.
No shame in it; feeling embarrassed proved insufficient cultivation.
"This lady still has far to go..."
Taken in by her shaman mother, trained in the arts until ascending to celestial fox—even now, she felt her cultivation lacking.
Knowing it was her own deficiency, yet each brush of his member against her tail sent an odd thrill, her face growing hotter.
A little... different, but...
Even as a celestial fox by innate virtue, during her monthly heat...
It resembled the sensation when she soothed herself then.
"U-Um... F-First, I must tidy this place and return."
Feeling pleasure from his sleeping member's touch on her tail?
And not even in heat?
Her cultivation was endlessly shallow, she thought, as dolls with three or more tails stepped forward, clasping hands in prayer.
Divisions embodying mind-body-spirit principles.
Divisions of heaven-earth-human.
Divisions of yin-yang.
And finally, the five-tailed division of heaven-earth-yin-yang.
Three each, plus one—ten divisions total—unfurled their spells. Collapsed buildings, uprooted and severed lampposts, scattered concrete chunks reversed time itself, flowing backward to restore.
The Art of Reversal.
Lasting barely an hour, limited to inanimate objects. A spell defying even time to rewind.
As it completed, the divisions reverted to doll form, exhausted.
Only the five-tailed one remained, cradling the dolls.
"Hm, that should suffice."
With that, she moved to open the door back to the Fox Forest.
"Eek♡"
A sensation climbing from her tail's tip escaped her lips.
Turning, she saw sleeping Hanjo suckling the tip like a pacifier.
Her late mother's cherished texture, now in his mouth.
She wasn't angry—not really.
A sleeping man mumbling in dreams; scolding him would be improper.
The problem was her own body.
"Nngh...♡"
Each suckle sent waves of pleasure through her.
Her tail was sensitive, yes, but not this much.
"H-Hanjo... This lady's tail isn't for eating..."
Knowing he couldn't hear, she murmured anyway—only for his teeth to bite down harder.
"Haaang...♡"
Shocked by her own moan, she clapped a hand over her mouth.
A vulgar sound, shameful even to acknowledge—like those from books, uttered in lovers' throes.
From her lips?
In disbelief, as he continued suckling, she trembled, hand muffling her gasps.
"Mmph...♡ Hnngh...♡"
Just sucking—why did it feel so good...?
Her tail was sensitive, sure.
During heat, she'd stroke it while soothing herself—blissful then.
But normally, not like this... Biting shouldn't feel this good. Why?
Then she noticed her division's face—identical to hers.
Cradling the dolls, its impassive golden eyes stared at her flushed, quivering self.
"D-Don't just stare—open the door already...!"
Knowing it lacked true will, mere fox-fur doll—yet voicing her shame while it watched her double was mortifying.
She could command by will alone, yet she yelled. Startled, Hanjo bit again.
"Hnnnghh...♡ Q-Quickly...♡"
Why did the division's gaze feel pitying?
No—she pitied herself for moaning from a tail bite, projecting onto those eyes.
But it felt that good.
Perhaps...
Even more than self-soothing in heat.
Impossible.
Intercourse blended yin and yang for true ecstasy.
Self-relief paled; a mere tail in his mouth shouldn't surpass it.
"Q-Quicklyyy...♡"
But it did—how could she deny the pleasure?
Urging again, the division finally drew a talisman, chanting.
She sighed in relief, yet wondered why it hadn't obeyed instantly.
A will-less fur doll—it should have.
Unless...
"...This lady wanted to linger like this?"
Impossible.
Yet as Hanjo released her tail, regret washed undeniable.
"......At last, he realizes this lady's tail isn't food."
"......Upon return, I must deepen my cultivation."
Her late mother would find it pathetic.
With that thought, she stepped through the door to the Fox Forest.