Stripping My Master with a Disarmament Trap
The moment I woke up, caught sight of a horned brat staring back at me in the mirror, and took in the reality of the situation, the truth dawned on me.
I had been reincarnated into another world.
Was it because I spent my days churning out fifty-seven hundred AI-generated lewd pictures at a time, only to ultimately cap it off with an ungodly twenty-four-round masturbation marathon? Whew. Come to think of it, though, going out like that wasn't half bad.
Yet compared to that ecstatic finale of my previous life, the world I landed in was an absolute living hell for a man of my tastes.
And why? Because in this realm, the very concept of eroticism was virtually nonexistent.
"Excuse me, Master. Mind if I ask you a question?"
"What is it now, you foolish apprentice?"
"How are babies made in this world?"
"Seeing as you are ignorant of something so rudimentary, calling you a fool was indeed an accurate assessment. Is life not forged through the Blessing of Life, an intricate ritual channeled through magical power?"
Right. In this world, the birth of life was purely an act of mana.
Whenever a couple wished for a child, they simply held hands within a ritual hall. Before long, their condensed mana coalesced in the air, creating a new life that inherited their respective traits.
Even beasts and flora merely gathered mana while paired up, reproducing in the blink of an eye without breaking a sweat.
Naturally, because reproduction functioned like that, there was never any need for sexual intercourse in the first place. As a direct consequence, anything remotely concerning sexual function had gone completely extinct.
"Then what are dicks and pussies for?"
"Is that your idea of an intelligent inquiry? Genitalia exist solely for the excretion of waste, do they not?"
"No, wait, it has the word 'sex' right in sexual organs, so why does its job end at taking a piss—"
"Cease this senseless babble and prepare for your examination. Ought you not hurry and graduate from my tutelage so you can secure a respectable post in a dungeon?"
Yeah. Ever since arriving here, I had tried poking around with sex-related questions countless times, but all I ever got in return was the pure, blissful nonsense of virgins who had never once received an ounce of sex education.
Thus, from the moment I was reincarnated, I was forced into a life of absolute celibacy. After enduring that stifling, blue-balled existence for who knows how long, I eventually ended up enlisting in the Demon King's Army as a bottom-tier grunt.
The Demon King's Army. From humanity's perspective, naturally, they were an irredeemable plague.
Their sovereign, the Demon King, fed and grew fat on the negative emotions harvested from intelligent beings, while his subordinates unleashed malice upon mankind just to carve out a sliver of influence within the ranks.
Ever more cruel, ever more wicked.
The darker the malice, the richer the negative emotions spilled by mortals. Before long, the Demon King's Army had evolved into a heinous slaughterhouse cult hellbent on annihilating all creation.
In short, the world threatened by them was, without question, a quintessential dark fantasy.
Naturally, a guy like me had no desire to get tangled up with a gang of homicidal maniacs. Ironically, however, the vessel I possessed was scraping the very bottom of the barrel, leaving me no choice but to enlist in the Demon King's Army just to keep food in my belly.
At the very least, joining up took care of room and board. Unlike the lawless streets where you could catch a stray blade at any hour of the day, there was actual discipline here, which guaranteed a baseline of safety.
Of course, having zero aptitude for actual combat meant adapting to the Demon King's Army's grueling training regimen was an uphill battle.
Because of that, I was stuck at rock bottom for quite a while—until, at long last, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity fell right into my lap.
"Oh? You, there. Your talent for contraption design is surprisingly remarkable. What is your name?"
"It's Bertin."
"Among these meatheads who know nothing but brute force, a mind like yours is a precious commodity. Follow me if you wish to become a trap architect. Once you master the craft, feeding yourself will be the least of your concerns."
"Ah, forgive my tardiness in introducing myself. I am Isabella, in charge of trap architecture here at the Demon King's Castle. I may not look it, but I am far older than you, so mind your manners and treat me with due respect."
She carried herself like a haughty, domineering witch, yet her outfit was vulgar beyond belief—barely covering herself with nothing more than a billowing cloak and a string thong.
When I first laid eyes on her, I wondered if she was some kind of rampant exhibitionist. But ironically enough, in a world devoid of sexual knowledge, baring one's flesh didn't carry the same baggage.
If you don't understand sex, does that mean you don't feel the need for shame?
Not that everyone went around half-naked, of course. But those who possessed supreme confidence in their martial prowess or authority universally strutted about in skimpy, highly revealing outfits.
In other words, the fact that she wore barely anything past that cloak proved she commanded immense authority within the Demon King's Army.
For a high executive like her to set her sights on a bottom-feeder like me was an incredible stroke of fortune. Grasping that opportunity with both hands, I studied under her wing, steadily absorbing the craft of engineering deadly dungeon traps step by step.
The learning process itself, however, wasn't exactly pleasant.
The officers of the Demon King's Army constantly demanded ever more sadistic contraptions to curry favor with the Demon King. As a result, every trap we constructed was inevitably rigged with rusted blades, crushing stones, or lethal neurotoxins.
Whenever we had to test a prototype by throwing in a live goblin and watching it slowly die in agony... Ugh. Look, if I had to be stuck in an R-rated world, I'd take lewd over gore any day of the week.
"Hmm. I find myself pondering this often, but while your technique is pristine, your cruelty is far too tame. If you remain this gentle, the yield of harvested negative energy will be pitifully low, making the return hardly worth the effort."
"Um... Negative Energy is extracted from the negative emotions felt by intelligent lifeforms, right?"
"Indeed. Terror and despair, agony and jealousy, revulsion and resentment... The energy harvested from all of those becomes the source of His Majesty's might. That power is then bestowed upon the members of our army as divine grace. Simply put, for the glory and prosperity of the Demon King's Army, we must plunge every intruder who dares step foot inside our dungeons into the deepest pits of despair."
So negative emotions are the ultimate currency, meaning the crueler the trap, the better... Always knew the Demon King was a thoroughly rotten bastard, even if I'd never had the privilege of seeing his face.
"Conceal priceless treasures to bait the hook. Subject those greedy interlopers, intoxicated by the scent of riches, to the most prolonged and agonizing torment imaginable. When you finally deliver their gruesome end to make an example of them, countless others will plunge into despair, granting magnificent strength to our Demon King's Army."
True to her word, my master continued my instruction, constantly ordering me to devise mechanisms that inflicted peak misery. Unable to throw away my ticket to climbing the corporate ladder, I obeyed her directives, honing my trap-making craft day in and day out.
Then, in the midst of that monotonous grind, a sudden realization struck me.
Wait a second. The sole objective of the Demon King's Army is to collect negative emotions from intelligent beings, right?
Then wouldn't extreme shame and acute embarrassment fall well within acceptable parameters?
"Master, I have another question."
"What is it, my foolish apprentice?"
"Being stripped completely bare... that's humiliating, isn't it?"
"Hmm. While those blessed with great confidence favor revealing attire, having one's vitals and genitalia laid bare to the world inevitably breeds severe anxiety and disgrace."
"Ah, so even if you're comfortable showing skin, having your private parts exposed crosses the line into humiliation."
"Precisely. The stronger an individual is, the greater their conviction that their most vulnerable secrets will never be breached. Should their genitalia be exposed outright, their sense of shame is magnified tenfold. Why do you ask such a bizarre question?"
"Oh, nothing special. Just thought a Disarmament Trap might be an interesting concept."
"Hmm. A trap that strips the target of their armaments the instant it triggers... To be sure, if such a mechanism were feasible, it would drastically enhance the lethality of subsequent traps, serving as an exceptional auxiliary measure. However, that remains purely theoretical. Designing the fundamental mechanics would prove extraordinarily difficult..."
"Well, I can always take my time and puzzle it out~"
Hearing it confirmed straight from the mouth of an elite trap architect that humiliation was completely fair game sealed the deal.
From that moment on, every single contraption I secretly drafted was tailored exclusively toward inducing weaponized shame. By the time I put the finishing touches on my designs, an unshakeable conviction had taken root in my chest.
This will work. With this, I can uphold the sacred duties of a trap designer for the Demon King's Army, while finally getting back to the degenerate hobbies I was forced to abandon in my past life.
"Bertin, my foolish apprentice. The time has finally come for your graduation."
Having diligently walked the path of a trap designer, my apprenticeship had at last reached its conclusion, bringing me to the verge of leaving my master's side.
So the time had come to part ways with the master I had grown so fond of, huh?
Sure, she taught me nothing but contraptions designed to rip people to shreds, but thanks to her, I had forged the tools to achieve my true desires. Parting company actually felt a little bittersweet.
"So all I have to do is pass the final exam, right?"
"Yes. The task is simple enough. I shall grant you a set window of time to install your traps within the designated chamber. Once the preparations are complete, I will enter personally to experience your creations firsthand."
"Excuse me? You're going to test them yourself, Master?"
"How else am I to properly evaluate your capabilities unless I experience them directly? Let me warn you in advance: I possess rather exacting standards. I refuse to stomach the humiliation of my pupil making a mockery of himself out in the field. Should you present me with traps that fail to meet my expectations, you had best prepare yourself for three more grueling years under my boot."
Three more years of writing dissertation-level blueprints and slaving away as an apprentice? Hell no.
Yet despite the terrifying stakes, I brimmed with absolute confidence that I would pass her test with flying colors.
And why wouldn't I? The traps I had prepared were an uncharted frontier she had never dreamed of in her wildest nightmares.
"All finished, Master. You can come in whenever you're ready."
"Very well. Let us see what manner of traps you have conjured up—"
BOOM!
The very instant she stepped past the threshold, a localized shockwave tore through the chamber with a deafening concussive blast.
In that singular heartbeat, every shred of fabric clinging to her frame was blown clean away by the gale of pinpoint air pressure, reducing her to total, glistening nudity in an instant.
"Wh-What in the world...?!"
Blindsided by the sheer impossibility of what had just occurred, Master stared blankly down at her own bare body in stunned disbelief.
Taking in the breathtaking view of her voluptuous, unblemished, and wildly alluring naked flesh, I reflexively gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
"Looks like the Disarmament Trap went off without a hitch."
I'd only ever caught glimpses of what lay behind those skimpy strings before.
Now that I had the full picture, damn... What an utterly breedable masterpiece of a body.