The Past Crushing My Chest
At the heart of Yugten—Frostwood Citadel, or rather, it would be more accurate to say Yugten was built around the Frostwood tree itself—stood that tree. Its owner? The imperial family. So no matter how much the military or civilians were involved, or whether it actually turned a profit or not, any business directly tied to the Frostwood was imperial business. Why bring this up now? Because forging entry permits to that Frostwood Citadel wasn't just falsifying official documents—it was impersonating the imperial family.
Get caught doing something like that? The courtroom wouldn't decide your sentence. Death was the baseline, and then they'd figure out who else to drag down with you.
The supervisor who'd slipped the captured woman in among the laborers confessed that a friend had asked him to lend her another worker's permit for a bit. This world didn't have advanced photography, and of course, the permits didn't have identifying photos. They were just metal badges with a plausible design and the owner's name crudely engraved on them. If you named the right person when submitting it—or even gave your real name—and the guards didn't check the badge properly, you could slip through.
...Up to that point, four heads would roll. The one who took the fake permit, the one who handed it over, the one who lent it, and the one who asked for the favor. And... depending on the circumstances, the two guards at the gate might not escape heavy punishment either.
If they hadn't spotted the scheme, there were only a few possibilities. One: They didn't properly check the name on the badge or the badge itself. Two: They checked the name but got fooled when she gave a fake one.
The first was obvious negligence—punishment guaranteed. The second didn't look much brighter. It wasn't a completely forged permit—though they'd still bear responsibility for missing it, there'd be some leniency—and it was someone else's badge that was already used by a regular worker entering the citadel. In other words, impersonating a known laborer. No excuse like "we don't know faces, so fake names are impossible to spot" would fly. One might be a rookie private, but the other was a veteran nearing three full years.
The biggest issue? Another regular laborer was in the group. They'd know she wasn't the usual face, but if she gave the same name, at least one should've felt something off. So it came down to two options: Everyone was in on it... or they gave a totally different name, and the guards just didn't check properly.
What could be done? Nothing. Best to align stories: It wasn't me who sniffed it out—it was the guards. They couldn't be that harsh on a regular trading partner vouched for by their usual contacts, right? Sure, they bent the rules a bit, but this was overkill. They deserved some punishment for screwing up, but this could've cost lives if luck was bad.
Of course, that meant recruiting the other laborers too. But convincing them wasn't hard. Just repeat what I explained, add a bit more about what'd happen next, and done.
As I said, outsiders had two conclusions: All laborers complicit, or guards slacking. Which way would the military lean? And how "thoroughly" would they investigate?
It took less than a minute for the laborers to unanimously praise the sharp-eyed guards who'd rooted out the saboteur scum.
And just like that, the issue was resolved. Sure, the "enthusiastic interrogation" of the impostor was left, but that had nothing to do with me anymore. Enthusiastic questioning (※hot), pointed questioning (※sharp), or suffocating questioning (※drowning)—that was for the unit's folks.
So I ignored it and focused on my own headache.
"......"
For some reason, a conversation from my past life popped into my head.
That was the core of Zhuge Liang's Tripartite Division strategy. I got the theory solid.
...Though I ended up without real advice on my original question, just a lingering unease.
And now, I was recalling that day again.
I faced straight ahead. In my eyes reflected two figures against the backdrop of a decent inn room. Two beds filled the corner of my vision behind them.
"Everyone."
I spoke calmly. "As I said before, I'm here at the academy to help students. I can't shove them to the floor and take the bed."
So you two get on top. Claim the higher ground over me. Looking down from above sometimes would be even better.
"B-but then I'm the same. I can't just leave a noble and sleep in bed myself......"
But my hopes were thoroughly betrayed. Beni, I thought you were a good girl...!
Should've known from how your trembling masochism-baiting vibe stirred sadistic urges. Like a tame cat jumping on the hearth first. Or wait—no, the problem with tame bitches is they don't climb the hearth...?
Anyway, with trusted Beni blocking my path...
The real problem? She wasn't alone.
"Honestly, beds are uncomfortable. Even in the dorm, I sleep on the floor with blankets!"
My plan shattered at the barbarian tank who tossed dignity aside—or never had it.
"Same here. Beds aren't bad, but sometimes the floor feels better......"
Not an excuse I made up to claim the floor, by the way. Truth is, I occasionally sleep on the floor under His Majesty's portrait or a small goddess statue instead of on the bed.
Solo life sucks without my beauty roommates, overflowing with downsides. But no prying eyes means unleashing desires freely—nice perk. Only portraits or statues I can easily get (and own without suspicion) are those two.
...Okay, people do side-eye it a bit. Packing His Majesty's framed portrait for academy dispatch got me stares like "shady chick" from seniors. Especially the kindness-corrupter No.1 degradation machine.
But not enough to suspect ulterior motives or treason. Handy trump card too—if cornered, slam 'em with "You calling me a traitor?"
"Then both sleep on the floor?"
Endless parallel lines of argument, until Riley broke the three-way deadlock with a compromise.
Yeah. Ideally both on top sandwiching me, but... can't win 'em all. This regret? The essence of mature compromise.
"Th-then I'm the only one in bed? Better if I join too......"
But Beni chimed in. Wait, no...?
One on top was needed to savor being "lower"—wait, hold up, beauties flanking me on both sides?
"...If everyone's doing it, no issue."
Not my original intent, but I floated it like compromise was fine.
Space between beds wasn't huge. Close enough for contact, tighter with tossing.
I switched strategies, heart racing at possibilities.
"Uh, then... yeah, sounds good."
"Done!"
Far from plan A, but B wasn't bad. I hid my grin.
"This way, three of us fit plenty! I'm a genius!"
"Huh?"
...Moments later, Riley hoisted the beds and shoved them to the corner.
Shoulder-to-shoulder, ten could lie there. I gawked blankly at the space.
Wait. This isn't what I—
For some reason, my chest felt heavy.
I faced straight ahead. Heights mismatched, so I lowered my head, my gaze.
Normally taller than me, but ass-planted, I looked down. Long black hair draped. Tied at ends, it oddly resembled an animal tail. Reached military uniform thigh pocket—what past life folks called "hard tack pocket."
Sitting like that, it naturally dragged the ground. Wondered if uncomfortable, but she grew it because she liked it—no say.
"Hey, kid...?"
Her eyes looking up trembled side to side. More spasm than shake. Letizia Shtain's section looked utterly shocked.
So out of it, hair dipped in blood puddle unnoticed.
Senior, your hair's dirty. Better stand and back off.
I opened my mouth for that.
"...Guhk."
But words wouldn't come. Sound from throat, but not for human talk. Blood overflowed throat, refluxing nose and mouth—gross.
Masochist or not, vomit-level gore play? No thanks. Especially not from a four-limbed spider monster, not a pretty girl.
Still... stabbed higher up was lucky? First thing reaching womb being monster foreleg would've been worse.
Spinning. Intel guys slacking hard...
How's this wedge-grade? Stake-grade minimum.
I glanced down. Spider-like pointed foreleg protruded from belly and chest.
Firmly lodged, stemming blood somewhat. Mouth blood was the issue—should've exited wound.
Rallied scant remaining aura to control blood flow. Chilled hand infused light mana.
Left arm twisted, so right hand only. Not enough aura for full exoskeleton, but gloves hardened in response.
Punched the claw-foot thing. Lacked power to shatter. Thigh-thick—what this world's plump female thighs match.
But fine. Never planned to smash.
Clear metallic ring echoed across battlefield repeatedly.
...Wrong frequency. Not this.
......Yes, this.
Found right intensity—CEOI scale. Drumming hand in succession.
In frantic combat, percussion falters? Band crumbles, mage unit following orders too. Percussion can't waver.
Must play correctly, any situation, anything. Words my present-life master and superior drilled.
Each strike on sea-thing foreleg jolted torso. No pain oddly. Just heavy chest—like boulder atop.
That boulder wafted strangely lewd scent—
"......Ugh."
...Eyes opened to unfamiliar ceiling. Quick realization: inn room's.
"......"
Unwelcome era's dream. Even with heavy aura drain, should've held... but nah, short-range rocket punch unexpected.
Unit needs a priestess. Healed scarless, no aftereffects.
But no aftereffects—why chest still heavy...?
Reflexively looked down... met eyes with brown thigh squarely on my chest.
Kid's sleep habits wild...?
Sure, spaced out at sleep, but rolled here prone. Not straight—upside-down, legs skyward.
Legs splayed, one across my torso. Dream heaviness culprit?
Makes sense why beds uncomfortable tumbling like this.
"......Mm."
Thinking that, I absentmindedly swallowed.
Upside-down splay, ass-up prone, usual pants off in panties. Leg crossing me put me between thighs naturally.
Glance aside, crotch unavoidable. Small coverage—peek risk high.
Meanwhile, Riley fidgeted, toes tapping my jaw.
"Miss Riley. Awake?"
...I spoke cautiously.
"Miss Riley? If awake, could you move your leg? ...Asleep after all?"
...Surely payback for wrecking my dream fair?
"Nngh... Ah, Miss Riley. You're up. Where's the warrant officer?"
"Went to wash first."
"I see... Why staring at the ceiling like it'll crumble?"
"Dunno, thought maybe leak... Feet soaked for no reason."
"Leak? No stains..."
"Yeah. Totally baffling......"