Chapter 8 — Shadows of the Street
I opened my eyes. The stone arch of the annex room's ceiling came into view. Dawn light filtered through the window, and birdsong drifted in from somewhere. A world without clocks. But by feel, it was around five in the morning.
I sat up. My cock was pitching a tent with its morning wood. Ha, this guy's on duty even in this world. The afterimage of Marisa's pussy still lingered on my dick. That soft, hot, tight squeeze. Who knew a 43-year-old MILF's pussy would be such a masterpiece? Five years without a dick, and when it finally got one, the suction was no joke.
...Alright, no morning jerk-off session. I've got things to do today. Last night as I left Marisa, I thought, Tomorrow's the meeting with the Queen Consort. But whether she'd actually summon me was up in the air. Waiting around would make me an idiot. I needed to make the first move. Gather as much intel as possible before any audience was set.
I washed my face and changed clothes. The outfits here were simple—nice. Linen shirt, vest, loose pants. Grateful for the structure that hid my morning erection. I stepped into the corridor. Dawn meant the servants weren't stirring yet. The annex was quiet. Heading down the stairs, I spotted a familiar shadow by a pillar on the first floor.
Ka ira. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes closed.
...Sleeping standing up? Possible for a cat beastkin? Her panther ears were slightly folded, tail draped on the floor. Full sleep mode cat.
I tried to slip past, holding my breath. Ka ira's ears perked up.
"...Where to."
Wasn't she asleep? "Just a walk. Morning air's nice."
"Hmph." Without opening her eyes, her tail thwacked the floor once. "Four hours."
That was it. Ears folded back, breathing evened out. Same pattern as chapter 5. Cat beastkin equation: 'Laziness > Surveillance duty.' No need for Whisper on her. Her laziness was my best ally. Using Whisper—which she could smell—would backfire. Lesson learned over the past few days.
I quietly left the annex.
Capital City's southern bustling district. Morning market just opening, buzzing with energy. Scents of baking bread, fruit, roasting meat assaulting my nose. I'd become a regular here. Third day straight, so the fruit vendor waved first.
"Hey, young man! Fresh goldenfruits in today!"
The baker auntie added an extra loaf with a "Back again?" Sweat droplets trickling between her tits—I imagined them splattering the bread. Sexual fantasy, probably.
But today's goal wasn't bread or fruit. Intel.
I entered Marisa's Moonlight Inn.
"Oh, Do-hyun." Marisa smiled from behind the counter. Makeup already on this early? No—natural flush. After I pumped three loads into her last night, her color was blooming. Top blouse button undone. The one I'd ripped open last night. Those heavy milkers still swaying under the fabric.
...Focus. "Coffee possible?"
"Of course."
Her eyes glistened faintly. Last night's memories lingering. But she worked the counter like a pro. The MILF innkeeper's double life had begun.
I took the corner seat by the counter. Optimal spot. Inn entrance in full view, adventurers' chatter all mine. Spent the morning collecting intel. Simple method: Hit Whisper on guests coming through, prime them for friendly chats.
First guest: Mid-40s adventurer in leather armor. Sword hilt worn—C-rank maybe. Scarred face.
"How's the southern front these days?" I bought him a beer, asked. Whisper: This guy's a comfy buddy. Shimmer.
"Awful. Demon bastards raid three times a month. Knights hold 'em off, but since the summoned heroes got deployed, it's better, they say."
"Summoned heroes? All strong, huh?"
"Most are. Rumor one was trash, so they yanked him."
Trash. Me. Kept my face neutral, nodded. "Some like that, huh."
"Flame magic guy's melting demon squads solo. Insane, right?"
The summoned heroes' combat power is the kingdom's core strength. And I'm the outlier. Key info. If the whole kingdom saw me as useless in battle, that was opportunity. No one guards against the ignored. Most dangerous kind.
Second: Merchant woman, late 30s, freckles, brown hair. Low-cut blouse showing collarbone and below. Tits... B-cup. Pity, but value her as intel first.
"Noble gossip?" Whisper: Safe to spill to this guy. Shimmer.
"Nobles in uproar. King's raising taxes—conservative lords pushing back. Queen Consort's faction mediating..."
"Queen Consort's faction?"
"Nobles backing Her Highness Elena. Everyone knows she's running the show. King's off fiddling with concubines."
King's incompetent, Queen Consort holds real power. Confirmation. Her weakness: carrying it all alone. And lonely pussy from useless hubby. Jotted on parchment. Encrypted the pussy part, naturally.
Third: Retired knight geezer. "Rumor of demon spy in the knights."
Jackpot. Spy. Headache for the Queen Consort.
Fourth: Healer auntie. Big milkers... Focus. "Field hospitals short-staffed chaos. All healing mages at front."
Fifth, sixth... By lunch, intel from over ten people. Summary:
1. Southern front: Ongoing demon invasions. Summoned heroes = core forces.
2. Noble factions: Queen Consort faction vs conservative lords. Tax conflict.
3. Knights: Demon spy rumors. Needs verification.
4. Summoned heroes: All powerful except one (me) — 'useless' rep.
5. King: Incompetent. Lost in concubines. Politics = Queen Consort.
6. Field hospitals: Staff shortage. No mental care.
6 is my first card. PTSD treatment for field hospitals. Only me in this world who can fix war-broken soldiers' minds. Can't fight, but restoring fighters? More valuable than raw power.
And 3. Knights' spy. Could be why Queen Consort summons me. Mind-reader to sniff traitors. Only one who can.
Grinned. Marisa refilled my tea, fingertips brushing my hand. "I'll prep something tasty. For dinner... you'll come, right?"
This woman's straight-up signaling round two tonight. My sleep suggestion? Or just loved my cock? ...Both.
"Of course." Her cheeks flushed beet-red. 43-year-old MILF blushing like that? Hot. Other guests might notice the innkeeper eyeing a regular like that. Need discretion. But the secrecy made it hotter.
Hold the base. Gather intel. Maintain MILF pussy. Holy trinity.
Afternoon. Circled the district again. Checked adventurer guild board, weapon prices at smithy street, healing potion costs at herb alleys. Map the economy for later use. Know money flows, know people moves.
And women. Observing passersby was intel byproduct. Not pure lust. ...Liar. Half lust.
Spotted widow Rosa at her herb shop alley. 35, black bob, healthy build. Bundling herbs out front—arms up showed sideboob curve, bending forward flashed tit tops through blouse. No wedding ring. Widow = MILF eligible.
Memo: Rosa. Herb shop. Probable widow. Potential target.
...Target. I'm turning into a real bastard. Or always was.
Sun dipping. Time to head back. Keep the four-hour promise. Can't abuse Ka ira's laziness.
Ah, time-wise, past five already.
Annex corridor. Ka ira waiting. Standing this time. No lean, arms crossed. Tail swaying slow left-right.
Slow sway. 'Irritated' signal. Cat tail language I'd charted: Fast wag = excited/happy. Slow sway = annoyed/wary. Rigid upright = rage. Now 'slow sway'. Irritated phase.
"Late."
"Sorry. Market bigger than expected."
Her nose twitched. Sniff. Once. Twice. Thrice. Golden slit eyes narrowed.
"...Woman smell."
Heart thumped. Marisa's scent lingering? From her hand brush earlier? No—slept with her at dawn, scent baked into clothes and hair.
Underestimated beastkin nose. Caught faint traces post-wash.
"Ate at the inn. Lady innkeeper, probably that."
Max casual. Face control's my specialty. Clinical training: Patient confesses suicide impulse, face doesn't twitch.
But Ka ira reads scent, not face. Useless against her.
"Food." Tail stiffened. Slow sway upgraded. Wary phase.
"Not food. Woman's body scent. Thick."
...Beastkin noses this scary? Distinguishes 'body scent'?
Precisely Marisa's, probably. Pussy afterglow? Nah?
Ka ira stepped closer. Sniff. Closer. Golden eyes locked on my neck. Nose nearly brushing collar.
This angle, looking up: Long lashes. Plumper lips than expected.
...Dick, situation check. Almost busted.
"Sweat, soap, wine... Woman's fluids."
Fluids. Her nose wasn't dog-level—lab analyzer. Fluids? Means Marisa's pussy scent.
Cold sweat down my back.
"True, ate at inn, had wine. Fluids... other guests around, probably got on clothes."
No Whisper here. She'd smell the magic. Proof of shady shit. Use psych instead. Logical explain, confident vibe.
Ka ira stared three seconds. Slit pupils contracted, dilated. Lie detector? Scenting heart rate, sweat changes.
Suppress sympathetic activation. Diaphragmatic breathing. Stabilize pulse. Halt sweat. Clinical self-reg saved my ass.
"Hmph." She backed off. Tail drooped from slow sway. No conviction. Suspicious, but no proof.
"Don't care what you do. Harm Queen Consort—"
"Off with head. Got it."
Ka ira final sniff, turned. Tail smacked pillar corner. Intentional? Unconscious? Back view: Brown thighs flexed taut.
...Ha, eyeing ass mid-death threat. Hopeless.
Entered room, shut door. Exhaled. Ka ira's nose. Major variable.
Counters:
1. Post-meet thorough wash. — Unrealistic. Laundry here?
2. Mask with perfume/herbs. — Viable. Buy from Rosa?
3. Dodge surveillance pattern. — Doing, but limits.
4. Send Ka ira elsewhere via Queen Consort. — Best, but no trust yet.
Parallel 2 and 3 for now. No Queen Consort contact all day. Expected 'meeting tomorrow'—no reason for her to call 'trash skill' summon first. Waiting = forever. Prove value. Engineer audience tomorrow, aim for 4.
Jotted: Day 8 Intel Summary
1) Noble factions — Queen Consort vs conservatives. Tax clash.
2) Knights spy rumor — Queen Consort likely stressed.
3) Field hospitals short-staffed — Mental treatment demand. My first card.
4) Heroes' power — All key except me.
5) King useless, Queen Consort real power — Grab her, grab kingdom.
Pen down. Training grounds direction noisy outside. Boom, boom-boom-boom! Explosions? Screams followed.
"Fall back! Fall back!"
Something flipped. Rushed window. West palace training grounds: Red flashes erupting. Flames? No—magic. Smoke rising, knights running.
...Big trouble. Probably not mine. Maybe.
Think. One: That's not regular knights' field. West wing = summoned heroes' exclusive. Charted from annex window past three days. Heroes head there afternoons.
Two: Flash scale abnormal. Normal magic training = torchlight. This dyed whole building red. No drill.
Three: Demon raid? Palace alarms blaring. Bell tower silent. Internal incident.
Four: Day intel. "Flame magic guy melted demon squad solo."
Only heroes pack that flame punch here. Conclusion: One hero berserking.
Clinical recall: Sudden massive power overloads mind. PTSD flashback blinds reality; skill eats psyche, rampage ensues. Isekai stress, battle pressure, godlike power overnight—ripe for snap. Weirder if not.
And skill to calm berserk mind? Grin. Opportunity. Only Mental Interference holder in kingdom: me. Queen Consort has to call.
Watched red flashes, smiled quietly. Someone's misfortune = my gain. Sorry, but survival demands ruthlessness here. Pity's luxury for MILF hunters. Mercy after I claim Queen Consort's pussy.