Della's Deluscent Dream and Whispers of Rebellion
Idwild's eyes went wide as she stared at Della. "Uh... so... you're pregnant?"
Della nodded proudly. "Yes!"
"Wh-who... who's the... dad...?"
"That's a secret!"
Idwild just tilted her head in utter confusion. Della... with some random guy...? Who the hell...? The girl who didn't even know how to do it properly and just rubbed her thighs together...?
"Uh... so... how did you... figure out you're pregnant...?"
"Well, see..." Della leaned in and whispered into Idwild's ear again.
Idwild blinked. "By... swallowing fluids... the baby... forms in your belly...?"
Idwild scratched her temple with a dopey grin, like a total airhead. She broke into a sweat, racking her brain for how to explain this to Della in a way she'd get without getting hurt.
"Della... babies don't form in your belly like that..."
"What do you mean? When you're pregnant, your belly sticks out, right? So where else would it come from?"
"Um... well... it forms lower down, not in the belly... how do I explain this... uh..."
Idwild's armpits and underboobs grew damp with embarrassed sweat. She scratched her head frantically, then suddenly bolted upright in bed.
"Oh, right...! Come here, Della... I wanna show you something..."
Idwild shuffled to her wardrobe and flung the door open. A avalanche of junk tumbled out.
"Urk..."
She kicked through the pile up to her ankles, digging for something. In the chaos, a hidden wooden box popped open, spilling her secret stash: the skimpy bikini she'd used to seduce Bertrand, and wooden dildos of all sizes and thicknesses—from small chili pepper vibes to zucchini or cucumber levels, all smoothly curved.
"What's that, Idwild? Laundry mallet?"
"Y-you... don't need to know... hehe..."
Idwild hurriedly swept them back into the box, sweating bullets. Her back was soaked through.
"Ah... here it is..."
She pulled out a tattered magazine from the wardrobe depths, its edges frayed from endless reading, cover bursting with colorful illustrations.
"What's that?"
"Come here... I'll show you how babies are made..."
Idwild grabbed Della's wrist and plopped down on the bed side-by-side. She flipped straight to her go-to page with practiced ease.
Della screamed and squeezed her eyes shut. "What is this?!"
"Della... don't close your eyes... I just thought you didn't know, so..."
Della peeked through slitted lids, scanning the explicit drawings. "Oh my god... these positions are even possible...?"
"No, look here..."
Della's eyes widened at Idwild's pointing finger, until her nose was practically buried in the page.
"So... it's not by swallowing it or putting it in the back that makes a baby...?"
"Exactly... looks like you went in the wrong hole if you were trying to get pregnant..."
Della's face crumpled like she might cry any second. How'd it build up in my stomach then...
"Try again... this time tell him to go deep in the front..."
"I guess so... I didn't know and kept..."
"It's fine... everyone's clueless at first... hehe..."
Della eyed the giggling Idwild. "How'd you do it your first time? Did it go well?"
"Me...? Uh... dunno if it was 'good,' but... it wasn't bad, I guess..."
"I see... wonder who with?"
"Hehe... can't say..."
Idwild flashed an awkward grin and shoved the magazine deep back into the wardrobe.
"Suddenly so sweaty... gotta re-bath and crash..."
She flapped her soaked shirt at Della, hand extended. "Hey... mind lending that... orb thing? Boobs are heavy, shoulders keep knotting up..."
"In my drawer. Wash it with soap first...!"
"Yeah... I'll clean it after too... hehe..."
Idwild rummaged in Della's desk drawer, snatched Ukun's massage orb, and headed out.
Left alone, Della stroked her belly in a daze. "Hiiiing... thought a baby was coming and got so excited..."
Della's bathhouse ran smoothly and steadily. Customers never stopped coming—not even folks from Bue and Fribourg who traveled just for it. City hall clerks and guards came in groups, and Hardo's mercenaries dropped by too.
The crew had grown from four—including the captain—to over ten, a proper squad now. Word of their chimera extermination had requests pouring in.
Hardo was always grateful to me for it, and he diligently brought back all the juicy street rumors.
Sitting side-by-side in the hot bath with me, Hardo shared news from the capital.
"Right after Princess Elua's coronation, the nobles did their oaths of fealty."
"Makes sense. Oaths are to the king personally, not the kingdom—so new ruler, new oaths."
"But... some nobles refused to swear to the princess—no, the queen."
"Really...?"
That was surprising. Why risk it? Oaths were sacred rituals back in the Revenge King's day, but now they were just formalities. Neither kings nor nobles expected real loyalty.
Still, skipping one meant theoretically losing your lands and title...
"Apparently nobles backing the Kusobo lords' independence push. Mostly barons, but a few counts mixed in—from lands near Kusobo."
"Hmm... what's with this independence obsession... What's the palace's stance? Probably stuck hemming and hawing over the noble council."
Hardo shook his head gravely. "The queen's mobilizing the legions."
Legions...? To fight noble private armies? Legions would crush them, sure—but nobles are scattered across the kingdom. This'd spark a massive civil war spanning the whole realm. Even the Demon King's war wasn't this widespread.
Neighboring states wouldn't just watch such chaos. Unless Elua's advisors had lost their minds, it'd stay saber-rattling.
I chatted more with Hardo on other matters. He asked if he could station a mercenary liaison in the inn—a desk in the corner for a sharp merc to take requests from guests.
With all the north-south traffic, it'd snag commissions easily. I mulled it over, then proposed: half-off my jobs if they did.
Hardo accepted without hesitation. Ballsy guy... what makes him think I won't abuse it?
Now the inn handles merc requests too. Celereja's divine healing was wild enough.
Big inns often have their own mercs anyway—loansharking, guarding, escorting, deliveries, gear repairs, you name it. More like a massive guild with beds than an inn.
I'd love to expand that way, but my staff's limits hold us back. Smart and diligent, sure—but not cut out for rough stuff.
We need grizzled vets who've seen it all. Maybe partner with Hardo's guild... hmm, worth pondering.
That night, Idwild dragged me to the barn claiming she needed milking help. But the milk she squeezed wasn't from cows.
After wringing me dry—and getting wrung herself—Idwild staggered back to the inn, blissful. "Feels alive again... hehe..."
Up in my room, Della ambushed me from the bed, milking me "properly" this time in the "right way"—guess she heard from someone.
"Oh, right—forgot the ledger."
Post-coitus, heading downstairs, Pelle slinked out of the shadows.
"What?"
"Mad?"
"Huh?"
"You said mean stuff back then."
She meant when she caught me kissing Francois and chewed me out.
"Nah. Not mad."
"Good."
No "sorry"? Too tough for her, I guess. Gotta cut her slack.
With us alone, I brought up what I'd held back. "Hey, Pelle. Don't assume I'd be fine if you left the inn."
She stared down at me, then glanced at the stairs.
"Do the ledger. Handle your business. I'll manage and head up."
She dropped to her knees and crawled between my legs.
"What're you—"
"Don't mind."
Soon, slurping away, she looked up. "Tastes... different. Just came from somewhere, huh?"
"Dunno..."
How much later...? Pelle wiped her mouth, relaxed, and climbed the stairs—just as Celereja returned.
"Bertrand... were you waiting for meee...?"
"Uh... y-yeah... kinda..."
"Heeeng... then... upstairs...? Or right here...?"
Celereja slipped a saintess robe strap off her shoulder with a wink.
Aigoo... what day is it...? Why's everyone like this...?
The sky was spotless, sun harsh but breeze crisp—peak autumn. Trees blazed red and gold, shedding leaves over my head in the wind.
Rosens' outskirts fields bustled with harvest. I perched on a stump, watching farmers reap.
Rosens was always trade-focused, farming minor. But last year's Golruk blockade forced emergency plots to avert starvation—and now they fruited.
Seemed like yesterday they tilled by hand, no oxen. Now wagons groaned under crops, pulled by teams of bulls.
Speaking of—Lambert's promotion exam and Illian Sergeant's long-term draft test were soon. Lambert, noble prodigy, was a lock. But Illian...?
Might need to help. Otherwise, she'd flunk, discharge by year's end.
Last guard group bathhouse visit, she looked so pitiful, shriveled, slinking to the women's side...
Why not swing by the guards? Grab some tea too.
As I stood, Marim blinked in from the south road, streaking toward me like a comet.
"Boss! Boss! Big trouble! Total chaos!"
"What mess, you little bean?"
"No, but right now..."
Before she finished, a racket erupted from the south road she'd come from.