Chapter 65
Chapter 65
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 65
Chapter Title: Quack Masseur Hassan #4
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The stars twinkling in the night sky looked just like salt sprinkled over deep blue silk. In the center, bathed in the soft glow of two moons, the training equipment cast faint shadows.
Rustle.
Hippolyte rose from the bench and spoke.
“I hear you have some mysterious talent with your hands, Hassan.”
She said it so quietly and gently, but for some reason, goosebumps prickled the back of my neck. It felt like she already knew everything and was telling me to confess before things got ugly.
“Where did you hear that…?”
Where could Hippolyte have heard about my handiwork? Had Daphne broken her oath on the River Styx and blabbed? My thoughts were starting to spiral in every direction when—
“From Baltma.”
Baltma? Who was that again? Racking my brain, I recalled the one-eyed middle-aged man who’d saved me from Daphne’s slap when I first joined the guild.
The guy with half his head bald—his name was Baltma. I hadn’t seen his face since that day, so I’d forgotten. Right, he was the first one to tell me about my blessing.
“…So, what do you want to say to me?”
“If you’re the one who ambushed me at night, you must know why I’ve refused promotion to Gold Tier.”
“Huh?”
No clue. I’d only recently learned she was refusing Gold Tier promotion in the first place.
Before I could make any excuses, Hippolyte continued.
“My overall stats have long surpassed 40. Way past the threshold for Gold Tier. But that’s only when the sun’s up. Under the moonlight, I’m weak. Probably as weak as an untrained civilian.”
Her words brought back the moment I’d walked in on her bathing not long ago.
Her level had dropped to a measly 3 for some reason back then.
“In that light, Hassan, how about a spar?”
She clenched her fists and dropped into a Muay Thai stance.
She’d just said she was as weak as a civilian at night, and now she was challenging me? I couldn’t wrap my head around it.
“You serious?”
“Come at me. Last duel got interrupted unexpectedly. Let’s call this a continuation.”
Mentioning the interruption meant she’d noticed something off about that frozen time too. She shrugged her shoulders like a seasoned warrior.
“Or are you scared of me? Samaritan.”
“Then don’t regret it.”
It might look like I was fired up by the taunt, but I actually had a solid edge this time. I’d ambushed her while she was bathing last night.
She’d been so fragile then that I could’ve subdued her with brute strength. If she was telling the truth, the moonlight sapping her power now should make her just as weak.
I could pretend to slip during the spar and cop a feel of those big, soft breasts—motivation surged.
“Good, that look says you’re ready to fight. Here I come.”
Thud-thud.
She kicked off the ground and charged at me fast.
Pretty quick, but compared to the near-teleport speed from our last duel, this was trackable with the eyes. Tracking with eyes and reacting with the body were different, though.
Whoosh.
Her palm shot toward me. It grabbed my collar—or so I thought—before my body flew into the air and slammed back-first into the ground.
“Gah—!”
All the air exploded from my lungs in an instant. It hurt like hell, couldn’t even breathe, but more than the pain, I was baffled. What the hell just happened?
“There. You’re dead once already.”
She planted her foot on my chest. Looking up, I got an eyeful of her sleek calves, toned thighs, ripped abs, and the underside of those huge breasts. Nice view.
“Wanna go again?”
Swish.
She lifted her foot and extended a hand to help me up. Dazed, I grabbed it and pulled myself to my feet.
Ding.
『Name: Hippolyte Heavensinger Lv. ?? 3
Status: Boiling Blood >> Moonlight Allergy >> Severe Cramps >> ????』
The text confirmed her level was down to 3. Probably that moonlight allergy.
But how was a level 3 taking down someone almost twice her level like that? It didn’t add up.
“You look confused. Keep going until you get it. Land even one hit on me, and I’ll give you a reward.”
A reward? Shit, this was why I’d been hiding my true strength—lulling her into complacency to strike an opening. Classic strategy.
“What happened? Swinging your arms like a brute doesn’t count as an attack.”
“Urgh—!”
Shit, no matter how many times we sparred, none of my attacks landed on Hippolyte.
“Come on, break free. Hurry.”
My arms pinned, her rock-hard thigh choking my neck.
Crunch.
The soft yet firm thigh against my throat felt amazing, but I couldn’t breathe—the night sky was turning yellow.
“Guh…”
I was thrashing, really about to die, when—
“You’re dead again.”
The pressure released, and I gasped for air.
My head buzzed like an electric current, strength draining from my body. Was this that fainting game or something?
“Hah, hack, hack.”
“Samaritan, you’ve died twelve times tonight already. When are you gonna land a hit? I could spar all night.”
She loomed over my ragged breaths, mocking me. Infuriating, but it confirmed I couldn’t beat even her weakened state.
Repeated defeats and near-knockouts had shredded my fighting spirit.
This was nothing like when I’d pinned her by force before. Shit, was she cheating?
“You look like you don’t get it. With your stats double mine, it’s weird your attacks don’t land, right?”
“Y-Yeah…”
“Ever since the Narrative Relic Appraisal needle appeared, adventurers rely too much on numbers. But combat isn’t some philosopher’s math game for girls. Experience and skill don’t show up on stats.”
So, she meant levels alone didn’t decide fights—experience and technique mattered. Losing to a level 3 Hippolyte was a shock. Levels weren’t everything.
“Now you get it, Samaritan. You have zero combat sense. Beginner level, no basics. Wasting that potential—such a shame.”
“W-Was that why you called me out tonight?”
“Yep. Blessing holders get cocky fast. Better knock that ego down before bad habits set in.”
She was right. Lately, with good earnings and people hyping me up, my head had swelled a bit.
These crushing losses humbled me quick. Shit, I was still a total scrub!!
She helped me up, brushed the dirt off, and said,
“But you’re the first to challenge me over ten times without quitting after two or three. I respect the grit and resolve. Good mindset—not wanting to stay a loser.”
“R-Really?”
She seemed to misunderstand, but I hadn’t kept going because I hated losing.
Weakened Hippolyte favored ground grappling. And grappling meant tight body contact.
The feel of my hands diving between her breasts in an armbar.
Her thigh squeezing my face, that sweat scent—it was just great. Hippolyte would never know this fight was my real win. I’m a goddamn genius.
I was chuckling to myself when—
“Now that you’ve lost spectacularly, you’re my slave tonight. I’ve always wanted a Samaritan slave. Hard to tame like wild horses, but sturdy—top-shelf goods, they say?”
“Y-Yes!?”
Her unexpected words jolted me; my body shook. Slave? Shit, what the hell?
Had this duel turned into a total rout without me noticing? Falling to slavery again? Too unfair.
“Slave? What do you mean?”
“Why so surprised? Losers’ lives belong to winners in duels and battles—you know that.”
“B-But this was just a spar, right?”
“No practice or fakes in combat. Just combat. You gonna beg monsters for mercy?”
“No, but actual slavery…”
“Don’t worry. I won’t treat you harshly. First, light warm-up: five laps around the training ground. Bunny hops, of course.”
Sh-Shit…
And so, I endured every punishment she ordered. Bunny-hopping the field, invisible chair, PT exercises.
I’d thought I’d gained some flab from eating well lately, but calories were burning away.
“Up! One more!”
“I-I’m serious, no strength left… Hng…”
“Push past limits to build real stamina and muscle. Move!”
“N-Nineteen…”
“Good. Last one for real!”
“But you said that last time…”
“Twenty and done. Final set. Twenty!”
“Tw-Twen… Ty…”
“Twenty? You mean twenty, right?”
“Gah…”
After five sets of twenty push-ups with her on my back, I collapsed face-down, utterly drained. Couldn’t twitch a finger.
“Weak, Samaritan. Cairo’s beginner kids handle this fine. Didn’t you want to be a hero? Gold Tier?”
“Y-Yeah…”
Shit, this brutal training wasn’t building muscle—it felt like it was eating my life force.
“Night’s still young. Mountains of training left. You can’t hit 40 overall with normal workouts.”
“…Didn’t you say combat isn’t about numbers?”
“Promotion is. Over 30 for Silver challenge, 40 for Gold. Now move—no scheming.”
“Can’t even wiggle a finger. For real.”
“Personal training from Hippolyte herself. Worth a gold coin—you know that? Hurry!”
“Urk…”
My head was spinning, body limp.
Reminded me of my army days with that sadistic senior. Famous hell-raiser in the battalion, dragging me to PT hell constantly.
His catchphrase: “You can’t buy this kinda training.” Shit, do all fitness freaks think alike? Some timeless universal shit.
As I lay there whimpering—
A strong hand pressed my back hard. Crack—my spine joints screamed.
“Ow!”
Unexpected pain made me yelp.
“Stay down. I’ll loosen your muscles and joints.”
Hippolyte, straddling my back, started kneading upward from my lower back with her broad palms.
Rough technique, but my overworked muscles felt real relief.
Luna’s massages had a cute amateur vibe, a bit clumsy. Hippolyte’s felt like the real deal.
Athletes know bodywork better, huh?
From shoulder blades I couldn’t reach to my knotted neck, she worked it all. My body melted.
“You’re good at this. Studied anatomy?”
“Killed plenty. Figure out kill spots, and this comes naturally.”
Fuck, shouldn’t have asked. Midway through relaxing, I felt like a lab rat—unease hit.
“But first time touching a man outside of killing. First time alone with one since my father, actually. Speaking of— you’ve met him, haven’t you?”