Obsidian Princess and the Seven Dwarves -1-
“Hoook!! Hoook!!♥”
-Squish squish!!
“Haaah!! Hngh!!♥”
-Squelch!! Squelch!!
“Fuuu…”
“Ogoook!! Ogoook..♥”
“Hngh.. Hnngaaa…♥”
I fucked both the mother and daughter maids, savoring their pussies in turn. One was plush and sopping wet, soft and cozy—perfect for pounding away. The other was a bit drier, her hole tighter and chewier, with a springy firmness. Their cunts each had their own unique texture and feel, but that very difference created a synergy. Alternating between the two made up for each one's shortcomings, turning it into even more pleasurable, enjoyable sex.
“From now on, whenever I fuck you two, I'll always do you both together.”
“Yesss.. Master…♥”
“What an honorraaah…♥”
Even as I railed the mother-daughter duo, the carriage kept rolling toward our destination.
The Arakasia Mountains cleaved the world's sole supercontinent—this massive landmass of Mundus—from east to west. Towering higher than Everest ever could, longer than the Andes, harsher than K2, this range was a monster. Some freak natural harmony of the world's ambient mana conjured razor winds that could slice flesh like knives, while house-sized icicles plummeted from the sky instead of snow, capable of impaling anyone below. The peaks pierced beyond the stratosphere, where the air was so thin it bordered on nonexistent, laced with a chill that could liquefy oxygen itself.
Scholars chalked it up to fallout from an ancient war among the gods, their divine powers warping the range forever. But the key point was this hellscape hosted no life atop its summits—not even ice spirits or frost dragons bothered up there. Crossing east-west over the peaks? Impossible.
Did that cut off exchange between the continent's eastern and western halves? Not quite. Ignoring the demon-infested northern badlands ruled by the Demon King, a few routes existed. Sea travel was one; another snaked through the distant Southern Great Desert at the range's southern tail. But both were massive detours, inefficient as hell.
So the standard trade route between east and west lay elsewhere: beneath the Arakasia Mountains, in the vast underground realm.
-Clang clang!!
In the sweltering expanse of an underground city, hammers never stopped pounding metal amid the ceaseless heat haze. No surprise there. The Arakasia Mountains' depths were home to the dwarves—earth folk through and through. Short and stocky, with muscle-bound frames mismatched to their stature, they were master smiths who forged wonders from metal. Their brute strength made them fierce warriors too.
Sure, they were stubborn traditionalists, set in their ways and bullheaded. But that same trait made them the unyielding shield and arsenal of the goddess's forces against the Demon King's armies. And they pulled double duty as the vital trade artery linking east and west.
Dwarves had carved colossal subterranean cities across the range's eastern and northern undersides, linked by tunnel networks. Traverse those cities and passages, and you could hop between east and west. Long-lived as they were, dwarves had spent ages expanding and refining their domain. Their highways rivaled the surface world—no terrain snags, just straight shots hauling cargo faster than aboveground routes ever could.
Before the Roman Empire rose, the insular dwarves barred outsiders. But the founding emperor—Hero Maximilion's Demon King-slaying party included the dwarven crown prince and the Jin Empire's heir. Bonds forged in battle opened those routes to all. It let the western Roman Empire and eastern Jin Empire maintain steady trade and a rock-solid alliance.
Among those dwarven hubs—and the greatest trade nexus where all east-west tunnels converged—lay Karadran, the underground mega-metropolis. Unlike dwarf-dominated cities, its streets teemed with beastkin, humans, elves, and more, thronging the massive trade thoroughfares.
“Fresh silks straight from the Jin Empire—cheap!! Super cheap!!”
“Spices from the southern isles—right here!!”
“Cheese from Lloropa and elven weapons—get 'em while you can!!”
The chaotic buzz of a trade hub pulsed through the streets: merchants' shouts, rumbling wagons, exotic garb, and spice-scented air.
-Thud!!
“So those damn thick-skulled geezers rejected all our blueprints again!! Fuck!!”
In Karadran's biggest tavern, the
Beer Beard
a dwarf slammed his mug down mid-swill, venting his woes.
He was Barunni Ironbeard, engineer with Volcanus's Hall of Wisdom—the dwarves' tech R&D outfit.
“Grrraaah!! Fuck!! Those stubborn old bastards!! We're at war with the Demon King's forces—why nix our new weapons!?”
His gripe was simple: Dwarven innovations needed elder approval. And the conservative old guard shot down nearly everything.
Their rigidity bred rock-solid defense, but it throttled progress.
“I see. A real shame. Tech means power—stifling it is a mistake.”
“Right!? This guy's got sense!!”
Barunni's chat partner—forced into the seat by the packed house—was a hulking figure in a black bird mask and heavy dark robes. Likely human. A total lech too: deep-hooded, he kept six cloaked women pressed close. Their feminine curves and colorful hair peeking from hoods gave them away.
Anyway—
“Glug!! Glug!! Grrraaah!! That's why I'm on leave here. Stay in the capital Volcanus, and I'd die of frustration!!”
“Tough break.”
“Yeah… But it's serious. If our rushed tech gets elder okay, fewer kin die on the front…”
Barunni trailed off, fists clenched, teeth gritted, face etched with worry.
-Stroke
The masked man rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then spoke as if struck by inspiration.
“Come to think of it.”
“Huh? What?”
“You dwarves go nuts for beer, right?”
“Obviously!! Beer and dwarves—dwarves and beer!! No beer, and we'd wither in despair!! It's our lifeblood!!”
Barunni stated the obvious; the man nodded.
“Then tie your inventions to beer. How's that?”
“What?”
Barunni blinked, baffled. Beer? With war machines? Their brewmasters handled booze at Volcanus's Tongue.
“Example: That massive elevator for rapid ground deployment?”
“Uh, yeah?”
“Pitch it as a beer keg hauler—faster, more volume.”
“Huh?”
Barunni blanked; he'd never considered it.
“Armored horseless carriage? Secure beer transport.”
“Uhh?”
“Flying ship…”
-Thud
The man pulled a black bottle from his bag. Its sticker bore script unknown in this common-tongue world.
“Try this first.”
“It's… cold?”
-Pop!!
Uncorking released a scent that screamed beer to Barunni—but with an exotic twist unlike any he'd known.
-Glug glug!!
-Fizz!!
“Golden…?”
He poured, mesmerized. Not the lukewarm black brew dwarves favored—this was vivid gold.
Irresistible urge: Barunni swigged.
“Glug!! Glug!!”
With each gulp, his eyes widened. The bottle vanished in seconds.
“Grrraaaah!! Killer!!”
Barunni exploded in awe. Deeper flavor, crisper bite than any beer he'd had. Lighter than dwarven stout, but smoother, more transcendent. Like a first kiss—blissful. Heavenly!! His beer worldview shattered.
“H-Human friend!! What is this!?”
“Cold-fermented lager. Brewed long and low.”
“What!? Just that, and this taste!?”
“Yup. And higher altitudes get colder, right? Call your airship a sky brewery—elders'll buy it.”
Beats cryo-magic efficiency, per Barunni's fuel calcs.
“You're… a godsend!?”
-Bang!!
Barunni shot up, lavishing praise.
“Hmph… That do it?”
“By Volcanus!! How's no dwarf this genius!!”
Praise turned lament. The pitch would work—hell, it tempted Barunni to retool everything now. Elders couldn't reject beer-tied tech; they'd applaud.
“Thanks!! Truly!! Gotta prep that pitch for the geezers!!”
Barunni beamed.
“Need anything!? Speak—I pull weight!!”
“Actually, yeah.”
The man wanted entry to Bitan Fortress at the dwarven south end—no outsiders allowed.
“Bitan Fortress? Nothing there. Why?”
“World traveler—curious. What's worth such ironclad guard?”
“Ancestral orders, we man it. Honest? No clue why.”
Unlike dwarven northern/central holds, the south was a mystery. Legends said ancestors lived there; daredevils crossed, most vanished, a few returned with odd relics. Perilous too—home to calamity-class Arakasia Great Death Worm.
“That enough?”
“Plenty.”
“Take this token. Safe passage, easy fortress-city entry.”
Barunni handed over a silver palm-sized medallion disc. Trivial compared to his boon.
“But ending it here wounds my pride!!”
-Thud!!
Mug slammed again.
“Need more help? Find Chief Engineer Barunni Ironbeard in capital Volcanus!! Diogenes Cynicus, my benefactor!!”
“Will do.”
“Gotta go!! Pitch prep awaits!!”
Barunni bolted—then paused.
“Oh!! That beer recipe—share it?”
Eyes bloodshot; he couldn't forget that taste. Life without it? Drab gray. Critical.
“Mari? One of those test-translated isekai books had this brewery's recipe, right?”
“Huaa~”
Purple-haired woman replied softly; Barunni missed it.
-Rustle
Hand slipped into robe—chest area.
-Slide
Out came crisp white paper, impossibly stored.
“Here.”
Man passed it; ingredients and brewing steps detailed.
“Truly grateful!! Call on me anytime!!”
Barunni vanished for real.
“Alright, let's head out?”
Seokgil rose.
“Dwarven beer sounded promising… Meh, underwhelming.”
Normal food no longer thrilled him.
“Mari on dinner duty today?”
“Huaa~”
“Looking forward.”
With that, Seokgil and his six Living Death servants left too.