The SSS-Class Crow Mage Returns After a Month
The grand throne in the living room, now transformed into a temple, was littered with the savage yet sacred remnants of an orgiastic storm. Shredded kimono fragments, puddles of fluids—love juices and semen—drying on the floor, and the lingering heat from three women mingled with the musky scent of an unfamiliar male, turning the entire space into a colossal womb of femininity.
Jinwoo sat upon the throne, gazing down with satisfaction at the three naked women sprawled exhausted at his feet, gasping for breath. Aki lay completely lost to the world, her head pillowed on his thigh in slumber, while Chiharu and Koharu pressed their cheeks against his legs, lost in the afterglow of pleasure, their bodies twitching faintly.
"Rise."
At his low command, the three women's bodies jerked reflexively, then rose unsteadily like marionettes jerked by strings.
"The time has come to return to my lair."
He stood from the throne and headed toward the basement. The three women followed silently in his wake, utterly nude like shrine maidens attending a god. Semen from their recent fierce coupling still trickled slowly down their thighs.
Standing at the center of the cold basement, Jinwoo unfurled the Magic Grimoire in midair. The pages flipped furiously on their own before halting at the section governing "dimensions" and "space." As he murmured an ancient incantation in a low voice, strings of crimson-black script erupted from the grimoire, etching a massive magic circle into the floor.
"Krrrr..."
With a sinister sound like space itself screaming in agony, the center of the magic circle darkened to pitch black. The void soon swirled into a crimson-black vortex, its heart forming a summoning gate that faintly revealed the landscape on the other side—like the maw of hell.
Jinwoo turned before the gate, looking down at the three women kneeling reverently at his feet.
"While I am away, guard this temple well. Keep your bodies and minds ever pure... and ever lewd, in preparation for my next descent."
"Yes, Master."
The three answered in unison. Aki stepped forward first, as befitted the matriarch of this harem, bowing her head deeply.
"Worry not, Master. Your first temple and your bitches are under my perfect care. Please... return safely."
Chiharu clenched her fists, her eyes burning with resolve.
"Anyone who dares trespass in Master's domain will be torn to shreds by these fangs, no matter who they are."
Koharu whispered in a voice on the verge of tears, enraptured in ecstasy.
"I shall pray for your return... with every fiber of my body and soul... ♡"
Jinwoo stroked each of their heads once, then plunged without hesitation into the crimson-black whirlpool.
The mother and daughters remained prostrate, motionless, seeing him off until his form vanished completely beyond the gate.
With a sensation like space twisting, Jinwoo's feet touched solid ground. The sticky, sweet feminine scent that had filled the Yamashita residence in Japan was gone, replaced by the cool, dry air unique to a long-vacant room, laced with faint dust and the ozone tang of lingering magic.
He stood at the heart of his hidden Magic Workshop deep within his Korean villa. It was no glamorous mage's study—just a cramped, windowless space with a rickety wooden desk and chair, and a small refrigerator humming softly in the corner, stocked only with the bare essentials for his craft. The magic circle he'd just traversed glowed faintly on the floor.
He drew a deep breath. The cool, dry air filling his lungs—worlds apart from the hot, humid haze thick with bitches' heat—finally made it real: he was home in his lair.
Behind him, the summoning gate dissolved like smoke, leaving no trace.
The hunter had returned to his den after a successful "hunt."
Jinwoo unlocked the workshop's iron door and stepped out. Beyond lay an utterly mundane, modern living space.
Right outside was the living room: a massive TV and plush sofa against one wall, a high-end gaming desk dominating the opposite side—the room's true heart—and a bed tucked in the corner, crudely partitioned off.
A fine layer of dust coated every surface, proof of his absence. The stagnant air held everything frozen in the moment he'd left.
He felt the stark contrast to the hot, pulsing temple of flesh he'd built in Japan—this cold, silent fortress that was his alone.
Jinwoo brushed off any lingering sweet feminine scent from his clothes and approached the dust-veiled desk at the workshop's center.
He reached into empty air, opening the Magic Grimoire's subspatial pocket. From the dark rift, he withdrew the spoils of this hunt, placing them one by one on the desk.
First came the kappa's liver and gall, proof of Chiharu's "wager hunt," sealed in a special magical container. Even contained, the vivid green gall and dark-red liver faintly exuded eerie yokai energy. Next, the compound bow Chiharu had wielded in her deathmatch with the kappa—its complex pulleys and cables shattered, the high-tech carbon riser grotesquely twisted. A symbol of her pride, defeat, and submission. Finally, hefty gold ingots from Japan: mere wealth to mortals, but precious materials brimming with magical affinity for him.
"My hunting hound deserves fangs to match."
Murmuring low, Jinwoo began the first stage of magical crafting. He placed his hand on the broken compound bow. Crimson-black mana flowed from his palm, and the mechanical weapon vibrated like a scream. Pulleys, cables, screws—all disassembled midair, crumbling to ash and vanishing. Only the carbon riser remained beneath his hand.
He opened the container with the kappa's organs. A fishy, bizarre yokai stench spread through the workshop. Without hesitation, he placed the still-vivid viscera atop the riser and crushed them with the grimoire's power. With a sizzle, green and crimson fluids seeped into the carbon fibers, the riser devouring the yokai essence like a living predator gorging on prey.
Finally, he added the gold ingots. Though untouched by fire, they melted like wax under his mana, flowing like a golden river over the yokai-soaked riser.
All materials now fused. Jinwoo closed his eyes, channeling the grimoire's power into synthesis and fusion. The sticky, grotesque mass on the desk levitated, writhing as it shed excess and merged into a new form. The angular machinery vanished, replaced by the sleek, obsidian-carved curves of a recurve bow.
The body gleamed abyss-black, pregnant with yokai essence. Molten gold traced intricate, vein-like patterns across its surface like a living tree's arteries. Finally, he wove dark essence from the void into a pitch-black bowstring. Twang—not a normal sound, but a suppressed yokai wail echoing through the workshop.
This was no mere weapon. It hungered for its master's mana, scented monstrous blood, and pierced prey souls—a cursed artifact of magic.
Jinwoo hefted the finished bow, a satisfied smile curling his lips. In his mind, he pictured Chiharu receiving it, and the other two watching.
Chiharu, this girl will surely wail in joy. Her proof of defeat reborn in her master's hands as such a mighty, beautiful symbol. Each time she draws it, she'll recall that moment of subjugation—the humiliation and ecstasy—and become an ever more faithful hound.
His thoughts drifted to Aki and Koharu.
Aki will smile and bless her daughter outwardly, but inwardly burn with jealousy. As harem matriarch, yet Master's first 'special' gift goes to her girl. Tonight in my bedchamber, she'll prove her worth with every service her voluptuous body can offer, desperate to show she's the more useful bitch than her daughter. Ah, how delicious that desperation will be.
And my sweet shrine maiden, Koharu... Gazing on her sister's holy relic, pure envy and longing for divine favor stolen away will seize her. Blaming her own inadequacies, she'll cling to me more blindly. To claim the next gift, she'll offer herself in ways more bizarre, more lewd, more purely devoted than her sister.
Jinwoo's smile deepened. This bow was no simple reward for Chiharu. It was an invisible spark of rivalry tossed among the three bitches. They would envy, scheme, and vie solely for his favor—offering themselves ever more desperately, ever more lasciviously, with everything they had.
The hunt was over, but true "training" had only just begun.