Resolve, New Mission
"...Depending on your perspective, it really is the right call. If I'd been a mage or a hero, no one would've batted an eye."
"Exactly. If I'd been luckier, I'd have had some powerful faction or family backing me up to defend my side."
Of course, porters have their own association too. But unlike the Mage Tower or noble houses, they don't have the power to protect their members. They just grade the savvy porters like fresh fruit, marketing their labor to fetch a higher price.
'If you're an A-rank fighter, you need an A-rank porter to keep up appearances!'
So even if an A-rank fighter tosses the porter they hired into a man-eating flower's maw for fun, the association can't retaliate or even send a protest letter. They don't have the muscle for it. What could a bunch of porters do if they rose up?
"Meanwhile, I'm just a powerless porter aptitude holder. People don't hesitate to hurl stones at the outliers who stick out. To some, porters aren't even worth existing—they're just perverted mules who lust after humans and cause trouble."
I downed another mug of beer.
"Ask those who mock porters if they know even one useless, wicked rapist, and most can't name a single one. But I can rattle off over ten porters who went out on monster expeditions and never came back. Heroes' sacrifices become epic tales. Knights get state funerals. Mages' deaths are etched on their faction's stone tablets, from what I hear. But no one commemorates a lowly porter's end. Since nobody cares about their final moments, it's up to someone like me in the same boat to remember."
"Mr. Bantai..."
"But I won't pity or resent my lot. I'm already weak—I won't act even weaker. I'll claim the pride of the underdog, Islune."
I held out my mug to the party members nearby. The Monica sisters eyed me warily as they poured water. Worried about overdrinking, probably. But this wasn't about tormenting my liver. I raised the mug-now-water-glass and stood.
"They sold my face—and even my lower half—to the world, but that's not defeat. It's the price of victory. So let's not mope. Every scheme to turn our party into a den of loose whores has backfired. Those who slagged us off are the ones stewing in shame and defeat now."
"Damn right."
"Serves the trash right!"
"To protect this party, I won't hold back on methods. I'll take any help I can get. I'll mobilize every connection I have. I don't know what bullshit will try to bite me next, but I won't go down easy. Because I love this party."
As I tilted my mug, the party members watching me stood and raised theirs toward me. Islune murmured in awe, looking like she finally got how I'd swayed the Lord.
"Here's to us. Cheers!"
"Of course, no amount of hot air changes the fact that I'm a guy. It was necessary, but the public exposure still pissed me off. I spouted all that resolute resolve, but in the end, I'm still deceiving people."
"But there's no need to feel ashamed. You didn't scheme your way into the party like the rumors said, right?"
"Is that so."
A leisurely kiss, lips brushing softly. As they parted, Monica smiled faintly.
"You declared your resolve so coolly, and now you're moping again?"
"The resolve is real. I'd do anything to protect this happiness."
"That's the Tan I know."
In room 909 of the continent-crossing train blessed with secrecy, only three passengers rode: me, the sisters, and Esen, who watched our kiss with a restless itch on her face. It could fit six, but the party generously booked double the space. Stretch out comfortably, they'd said.
A warm send-off for our rushed next expedition. But that warmth lit a fire in someone.
Monica, who'd skipped the 'secret meeting' days ago for my health, exploded the moment the door shut. She climbed straight onto my lap, like a dam bursting.
"No shame, huh? I beg to differ."
Esen pouted, robbed of the first move.
"A month after joining? You've seduced and bedded how many women from an all-female party? Shameless?"
"Watch your words. I was just trying to do my porter job honestly until you and the sisters lured me into this deviance."
I grabbed Esen's waist roughly and yanked her close. She widened her eyes in surprise. Laugh all you want calling me tough— I stuffed her mouth full. Like a wolf sealing another's muzzle.
Esen rolled her eyes playfully at first, but soon couldn't fight the thirst etched into her body. Her lips parted in response. I pulled away right then.
She glared, dissatisfied.
"You and the Monica sisters. Take responsibility."
"Ah, responsibility. How should I atone?"
"You know. Esen, hop on."
The sister lifted her leg gracefully, offering her right thigh to Esen. With the seat narrowing, her entire lower body pressed lushly against my left thigh. The feminine curves and warmth made my eyes squeeze shut involuntarily. Esen smacked her lips at my shuddering face, then slipped my right thigh between her legs and ground down hard. It felt like both thighs turned into erogenous zones—goosebumps raced up my spine.
As Esen rubbed her alluring hips against my leg with a grin, her hand soon stroked between mine.
"Pride of the weak? Who'd call this weak?"
"It seems to grow every time I look. Not that it's bad."
Plump breasts rubbed from both sides amid a barrage of kisses. We marked necks and shoulders freely with hickeys we'd erase with healing later. Twenty fingers combined stroked my cock through my pants, the fabric whispering with each pass.
"...For luxuries like this, I'd strip ten times over."
"...Don't. It was honestly heartbreaking and infuriating to watch. If you hadn't suggested it, I'd never have agreed."
"I was fine with it."
Esen tossed her hair with a meaningful smile.
"Female Tan..."
"...Sometimes I wonder whose daughter the lust demon really is."
Then—knock knock.
Esen jolted and dashed to the corner, sprawling out. The sister murmured a quick prayer, snapping her fingers at the air. Flushed cheeks, red marks on skin, the passionate humidity—all vanished cleanly. The room, steamy from our budding threesome, turned serene as a nap pod in ten seconds flat.
I'd planned an excuse for the delay. Yawning theatrically, I opened the door.
"Islune?"
"Good to see you, Bantai. Got a question."
"Yaaawn. Shoot."
"Nenya asked me to check. Four hours to destination—lunch?"
"Hungry?"
"I'm good."
"Pass."
The sister quietly declined; Esen dramatically scratched her belly and shook her head. The acting was solid, but it felt too real. I hurried Islune off.
"I snacked earlier, not hungry. Thanks for asking, Islune."
"Got it."
Islune tilted her head, sensing something off.
"...Oh, and Morgan said to pass this: 'Let us use it too.'"
The world went white. Esen froze mid-gasp; the sister anxiously twisted her fingers under her clothes. I forced calm.
"Use what? No clue."
"Crossword. Probably with Esen. Were you using it as a pillow...?"
Colors returned. Acting or not, Esen scowled and handed over the newspaper from under her head. Islune thumbs-upped it.
"As bodyguard and valet, not much to do with you all guarding so reliably."
"...I don't love that dynamic, honestly. You went through onboarding—can't we just be friendly party mates?"
"Not till my idiot brother pays his debt to you. Lucky for us, this mission lets me help."
Honestly, no help would be better. Islune's hero eyes sparkled with adventurous peril. Not as sturdy as her, I sank into porter gloom.
Our mission: Demon Lair assault. 'Assault' was loose—we cleared the perimeter till the official subjugation force arrived. But no front-door siege didn't mean relax. Demon Lairs were invasion beachheads from another world. Whatever malice guarded it? We'd learn the hard way.