Breeding Uncle Acquires a Pack Mule ♪

He'd stabbed his sword halfway into her throat.

Blood trickled down, soaking the front of her armor, but Beatrice just stared at him blankly, her jaw slack.

Fuck. What the hell is this about that dickhead's sense of justice? Choo Ye-jun, you fucking pushover? Nearly got yourself killed and you're gonna let her live? Not gonna kill her? No revenge?

"Hey, got nothing to say?"

"Heehee, heh, hah, uh."

"Nothing, huh. Not gonna answer? I'm gonna kill you, y'know?"

...When she looks at me like that. I keep seeing it. That look from yesterday. That final gaze. The smile.

"Fuck!"

She was a monster of a bitch, but he'd manage. He pulled the sword from her throat and smashed the flat of the blade against her skull.

Crack. Gurrgle—

Out cold. For a normal person, it'd be a fatal concussion with a caved-in cranium. For a temple girl, it was just enough to knock her out. On hold. Fuckin' on hold.

He buried his massive face in his hands and let out a deep sigh. Even killing people like this took getting used to. He had to kill her. But he was too damn soft.

Still, he could sit like this for a bit, right?

Status windows popped up beside his eyes, and he plopped down next to Beatrice—still faintly twitching on the ground even unconscious—to mull things over.

It was a dilemma.

By the original plan, he should've killed the bitch sprawled out in front of him. It was the right call.

But, but...

He looked up at Beatrice.

Breeding Uncle is straight-up bullshit. Wasn't it supposed to be mild brainwashing? Did he really break her mind that hard?

If this holds and she obeys him forever, that's some broken-ass cheat.

Squirm♡

Even with her eyes rolled back in a knockout, some lingering afterglow had her leaking pussy juices as she lay spread out. He stared.

Ugh. What the fuck kinda fetishes are those? So damn extreme. Those bottom three without marks—were those pre-existing? No way.

Anyway, shelve that for later. First, let's sort out what to do next, assuming he could treat Beatrice like a limb.

Even without knowing her rank or standing, she was solid gold at minimum. Dedicated healer pack, frontline fighter, guarantor, connections—the merits were huge.

She'd seemed too strong. Lucky it ended well, but jumping her sloppily like that? Never again.

Good thing she panicked over her busted sword like a moron. If it'd gone straight to melee? Mutual attrition without fatal blows? She runs, regroups, comes back?

Before even considering that, one hit from her sword beam and he'd be diced pork belly.

All scenarios ended with him losing. He was still weak.

And to avoid losing like that going forward, he'd need her help big time.

"Hey, slut. Wake up."

He slapped her cheeks. No reaction yet?

He raised his booted foot and stomped down on her still-spread pussy.

"Wake. Up."

"Y-yes, sir!!!"

Beatrice jolted up like she'd been electrocuted and stared at him.

"M-Master♡"

He pressed the sword to her throat again.

"Give me five reasons I should let you live."

Her face paled briefly, then twisted into something inexplicable.

It flushed red. She squirmed awkwardly. Then Beatrice mumbled,

"There aren't any... If it's you, Master... I... I'd even be happy to die...♡"

"?"

"I, I don't die easily? Truth is, my holy power's too strong, so..."

Her breathing grew ragged. She touched her own throat with her fingers.

"This is the worst I've been hurt today, and it didn't snap clean... such a shame♡ My neck's always scared me a bit, so I never tried cutting it? If you do it for me—"

Ye-jun just watched the unhinged bitch babble. Her yapping about where to stab for max pain or pleasure made his head spin.

This was... a knight?

"What a fuckin' joke of a temple."

Throb. Glaring at her triggered Dragon Eye, force-feeding him her TMI.

Beatrice de Valois.

She was born with a silver spoon.

Not royalty, but the second daughter of a noble house in the top five for power. From birth, she had it all.

Money. Strength. Knowledge. Looks. Talent too.

She couldn't inherit the house, but as de Valois second daughter, that title alone could've gotten ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠her any job or husband she wanted.

It could've.

But the trigger for her ditching it all ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to join the temple as a knight came one winter evening on a casual outing.

Stab.

"Ah...?"

A cold dagger blade pierced her gut.

"Hah... hah... f-fuck, you noble bitch—"

Your standard junkie. The scum who'd blown his fortune on drugs and ruined his life, scraping society's bottom.

Greenhouse-raised, she'd never mingle with such filth.

On a normal outing, her guards and knights would've shredded him in seconds. But to oblivious Beatrice, it was an unthinkable threat.

That near-fatal wound revealed her true blessed power.

"Wh-what...? Fuck— you monster bitch...!!!!"

Pulling the dagger out, her skin regenerated flawlessly. The man stabbed again, and again, and again.

28 massive gashes over her body. All healed in seconds.

In that moment, Beatrice felt something she'd never known her whole life.

Adrenaline. Endorphins, enkephalins, serotonin, etc. The usual painkillers from injury.

For normals, they just blunt pain helpfully, easing agony.

But with zero pain? Her elite regen healing in seconds flat? Those suppressants hit like pure drugs.

Dazed, she snatched the dagger and killed the bum. She'd been stabbed due to her chronic carelessness, not lack of self-defense skills.

Killing him didn't matter. That afternoon's shopping, sights, snacks—all erased by the pure bliss wave.

She was hooked like skydivers or extreme sports junkies on Earth.

Instead of indirect thrills, she got raw, unfiltered surges—dozens, hundreds of times stronger—from actual body damage.

Her brain broke right there. Back home, she was a non-drug addict craving a fix.

No hobby, social event could match it. That stabbing rush. The brain pleasure.

Trapped in the memory, she decided: this wouldn't do.

She grabbed a greatsword from storage under "training" pretense, learned swordsmanship, and told her parents she'd join the temple.

"As a holy knight, I'll get hurt plenty. Pushed to my limits often."

Zero faith, just craving holy-knight beatdowns. Grounds for outrage among believers, but she enlisted anyway.

Thus, the current Beatrice was forged.

Craving ruin but hating permanent loss. A cosplaying masochist with body-damage fetish.

Of course, addicted or not, she was otherwise a perfect lady.

Little interest in sex, didn't wanna die. Without unbreakable regen, no fetish would've formed.

Doctrine? Ignored. No good deeds or justice. Atheist using holy power from a temple gig.

Lived free. Kill annoyances. Get hit. Heal. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Revel in pleasure.

Temple life was peak bliss daily.

Caged bird in a mansion where servants made even skinned knees rare—now fighting monsters, bleeding freely. Unrestrained wants fulfilled. Happy.

Complaints? Worth less than the monthly hundreds of gold from her family. None. No sanctions.

Growing stronger, big injuries grew rare, birthing a bad habit.

"Just one taste."

Stronger with holy power and swordplay, she'd fake slips for injury-heal bliss. Pathetic hobby.

No real peril, no thrill. Minor hurts bored her. Strong as she was, she started inviting attacks.

Soon, fellow knights and priests noticed. Blocking arrows with her body. Taking hits/spells for others. Charging frontlines, tanking to slice monsters.

Why dodge when invincible? Half-assed defense. Offense plus heals = fine.

Thrill-chasing, she joined orc hunts, spider nests, even dragon raids—beyond her level, but whatever. Destructive hits galore, healers nearby = no death.

Near-death haze? Near-amputation? Toys for pleasure now.

She'd never really die. Right?

Never.

Until meeting Choo Ye-jun that day.

With cold eyes, he stared at the chattering woman. This... person? More like a feral pup. He'd met the weirdest fuck in either life.

At this point, killing her might make her die happy. What even hurts her? Chop limbs, she'll squirt and regen blissed out...?

What the fuck. Scary.

"If you cut this vein, again—"

"Shut— the fuck— up already."

"Yes♡"

"You're a real psycho bitch... Fuck, I'm repeating myself in disbelief."

"Ehe, excitement maybe♡ I've kept my secrets locked for my future husband, so spilling a bit feels so refreshing—"

"Who said I'd marry you?"

"Eh?"

He shook his head.

"Beat your ass on sight, tried to kill you, fought, barely know your name from hours ago. Why the hell would I?"

"B-but I'm pretty!! You took my virginity and won't marry me? My family'll disown me!!!"

Ye-jun eyed her boredly.

"So? You got holy knight status already? Just don't get kicked from the temple."

"Eeeek...! Boo-hoo...!!" Beatrice's voice cracked, tears welling.

Wow, this spoiled princess. Crying over not getting her nonsense? How often rejected in her pampered life? Jesus...

"If you're gonna cry, do it where I can't see. Tell me your lodging or whatever. I need sleep."

Beatrice glanced at the darkening sky.

"Ah! It's this late already."

"Hey, you planning to go back like that?"

She looked down. Dried cum, dirt, blood, shredded undies and armor scraps. Wrecked.

Wiped with her hand, but cum and grime smeared more.

"Ah..."

What. Why.

"Anything to wipe with... please..."

"Agh, fuck—"

"Uw, sorry Master... They'll stare suspiciously in town like this..."

...He tossed her a towel. "Thank you..." Trailing her after cleaning up (his shirt stolen amid her whines for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠clothes), he crashed into bed at the temple. Exhausted. What a... long-ass day.