Becoming a Commission Devil with Suspicious Horse-Level Wealth, But Not Artist Shopping Today
I'd resolved to become a commission devil with enough cash to make a single horse seem suspiciously affordable, but that didn't mean kicking off artist shopping right then and there. Even if I'd wanted to, I couldn't. First off, I had to submit a proposal to the academy and secure approval. ...For the record, final approval comes down from the imperial family. Dean Myurvel had only been delegated the academy's 'operations.' Strictly speaking, the Imperial Academy belongs to the Emperor. So yeah, this wasn't getting sorted overnight. I didn't even know how to scout great artists in the first place. No prowling SNS for commission work like back in the 21st century. Finding talent was one headache; evaluating it was another. I was a total outsider to architecture, sculpture, painting... every damn field. Hell, I barely knew the hot art trends sweeping the empire right now.
For the moment, I had one goal: hand off the rest to the experts and, while they handled it, put up a few ultra-realistic statues. Art movements? What fits? Didn't matter. Just tell them to copy reality as faithfully as possible. That'd do it. The humans in this world—modern incarnation or not—were straight-up walking erotica. Not hyperbole; dead serious. So a spot-on mimicry would naturally spit out figures right up my alley. It's the ultimate scam: the requests are so nitpicky and trashy they'd earn side-eye, yet the end results match anyway. Overkill to build a whole structure for a few statues? That's peak hobbying, from what I'd heard. Audiophiles go full custom house and power plant at the extreme. You buy display cases for a figure collection anyway. Just scale it up a tad.
"So, do you know any artists, by chance?"
"Mm? Mmph, mmf."
"...My apologies. Please finish your meal."
What the hell was I doing? Ask the person you're talking to, idiot. Riley nodded with a muffled "mm-hmm" and dove back into her food. Watching that meat vanish into her mouth in huge gulps, I couldn't help but admire inwardly. People really are better when they're pretty. How else do you explain plump and juicy being my first thought despite the devouring?
After sorting the money disposal at the church, we'd headed to a nearby restaurant for dinner. Recommended by the otaku-friendly gyaru.
"Um... but hey."
As we kept eating, Beni piped up like something had just occurred to her.
"Isn't horse meat taboo for you, Riley? I heard it's sacred in your tribe."
Not entirely wrong. Their horse worship ran so deep that aura-wielding warriors rode them into battle—inefficient as hell. Not regular horses, mind you; ones modded with parasites straight out of a tentacle brainwash flick. Even modded, they still lagged behind two-legged fighting. Anyway, you can guess: this was a horse meat joint. "You've come all the way to Safel Dulla; gotta try the local specialty," per the head priestess. Fair; it's one of the empire's three horse cuisine hubs—though locals hate lumping in with the others when they're undisputed number one.
"Nah, dead ones are just corpses. Bowing to a corpse is weird, right?"
"Huh? Oh, uh... y-yeah, I guess..."
Beni's face twisted comically at the ironclad logic. Hard to argue there.
"B-but you're not turning it into meat after it dies; you're killing it to make meat, right?"
She had a counter ready, apparently.
"No need to worry about that."
Not that it held water, but I shook my head and jumped in.
"People call it 'horse worship,' but strictly, it's not the horse itself—it's 'mounted combat' they revere."
"Mounted combat?"
"More precisely, maybe the bond between rider and mount."
Not the physical beast you pet, but the abstract bond born from horse-human action. That's why, back in class when Riley hurled that spear, I didn't make her apologize to the provoking kid alone. If they sanctify the bond, calling her a "horse-fucking bitch" hits like blasphemy. Defiling the bond is defiling god—beyond pissing on a Jesus statue; it's hopping in a time machine to 1st-century Jerusalem and direct-attacking Christ. Even Beni would've gotten a pass chucking that spear. Against Groomha folk, infamous for fists-first? Natural causes, anyone?
"So... as long as you don't butcher it mid-ride, it's fine."
"Yeah, eating post-death's okay. The bond ends naturally."
The butcher gets offed first, of course. Riley didn't say it, but Beni got the gist. She nodded, spooked, and chewed a piece of horse.
"Mmm! Good stuff!"
Peaceful meal resumed until Riley patted her slightly bloated belly. Damn, that's hot nearly escaped, but I swallowed it. Couldn't help my eyes drifting to those percussionist tits jiggling wildly from the motion. So alluring they seemed to sparkle...
No, they really are shining.
Wild feast like that? Grease splatters everywhere. Problem: Riley's upper body had zero fabric to absorb it. Under the lights, her cleavage gleamed like oiled up—definitely some kind of oil.
...The gulp wasn't from meat smell, that's for sure.
"Riley, aren't you covered in grease?"
"Huh? Oh yeah."
"Here, wipe it off."
I feigned utmost calm, handing her my handkerchief from my pocket. Wipe it myself? Insane. Imagine from Earth's view: grown man dabbing another dude's collarbone. Sure, Riley had kid-like traits, but not everyone knew. We were already drawing eyes—table that inhaled a whole horse. Couldn't risk it.
"Mm... it's sticking, won't come off easy..."
And tricking the innocent into that? Straight harassment. Ethics before law.
...Fantasizing while she digs the cloth between her tits? Harmless. No victims.
Damn, her movements are rough. If she messes up, that bikini might slip...
"Captain?"
"Y-yes, Beni."
I yanked my mind back. No room for suspicion.
"Let's head out."
"Okay."
Meal done, we stepped outside. Early spring; sun down quick, streets dim. Beni gawked at the bill—jaw practically unhinged. Fair price for that carnage. Cheap, even, with pastures next door.
"You saw her wolf it down two weeks ago; why the shock?"
"Food budget... you're really okay...? For real?"
"I'm no saint. I deduct living expenses first before donating."
Subtract expected costs, buffers for surprises, then split the rest. Fat salary means solid donations left... but yeah, my personal spend's hefty too. Mostly chow.
"And it's a bargain for a whole horse."
"Sensei, does this buy a horse?"
"Nah. Same breed? Factor slaughter and cooking labor, maybe. But your dream horse? Price tier's different."
Meat breeds vs. war steeds. Upkeep during growth? Latter's pricier, obviously.
"Oh..."
Riley slumped. As imperial guest, she could radio up for support... but.
"One thing: implanting parasites in horses is illegal here."
"What...? So just plain horses?"
"Yes. No sanctioning that hazard."
Only Groomha County legalizes rogue tuning that might rampage on the rider. Half-kill the horse, aura-puppet it like a zombie. Unique to that county.
"Empire folk are so frail..."
"G-Groomha's too barbaric, isn't it...?"
After a month glued to Riley—more large dog than human—Beni was comfy enough. She'd once dreamed impossible aggression at Riley, but...
"Hmm, Beni talking smack now? You've grown!"
"Eeeek?!"
Words bow to fists, always. Riley locked her in a headlock.
Ah, damn. Jealous. Neck choke and tit smother?
"Don't bully her too much."
"Pfft... gack, huff... hngh..."
No solo fun; I palmed Riley's back, channeling aura. It snaked her skin, coiled her arm, wrenched it off Beni's neck. Beni escaped, coughing, backing up three meters—and relaxed. Undertrained against warriors, clearly.
I pulled my hand off Riley's back. God, wanna tongue from traps to glutes. Savored the thought silently.
"Anyway, back to the dorm—"
Licking for real? Career suicide. Social death or literal, judge's call. Fantasies only. Reincarnation ramped these up; multitasking mouth and mind leveled up. Or combat band grind.
"...?"
Not that. My words halted mid-sentence. We'd hit a narrow, deserted alley—shortcut to dorms, slicing the entertainment district.
One minute in this empty path, just us three. Then, from the dim corner ahead, a staggering silhouette.
Beni oblivious; Riley clocked my gaze, spotted it late.
"Blood?"
"Huh? B-blood... oh god?!"
Beni paled at Riley's mutter, whipping around.
Blood-soaked woman, clutching side and throat, shambling our way. Liquids dripped between fingers, from parted lips. Dark, but blood, surely.
"Agh, ah."
Wind whistled from her throat. Eyes on us—trying to speak? Tripped on cobble or leg gave out; she faceplanted short of us. Crimson splattered.
"Kyaaah?!"
"Still screaming like a total wuss."
"Not the time! Th-there's a person...!"
Two surveys, two incidents. What luck?
Blew the racing streak...?
Bloodied woman down. Beast ears twitching atop her head. I could only pinch my brow.