Black Gorge's Laughable Horde
The sword-sharp winds of the northernmost north were fierce enough to freeze a man's lungs solid. The carriage we rode in came to a perfectly calm and honest stop right in the heart of Black Gorge, the final destination marked on the map specified by the imperial edict.
"C-Cadel! Monsters ahead and behind us! The entire gorge is their nest!"
The guard knight standing watch outside the carriage shouted in a pallid panic.
The beasts weren't intelligently closing a net around us. They were just starved monsters crammed into this narrow gorge, swarming like animals from all sides at the scent of fresh humans.
I casually lifted the thick leather curtain of the carriage, feigning nonchalance. Beneath the ashen sky stretched gargoyle variants with stone-like hides, house-sized frost trolls, and packs of hundreds of dire wolves drawn by the smell of blood. It was a natural disaster that could shred a full regular knight legion without surprise—a black wave crashing down relentlessly.
No side paths in this terrain. A perfect deathtrap, meticulously planned by that emperor bastard.
I'd already foreseen this obvious hellscape 100% last night while skimming the topographic map at camp.
And yet, the sole reason I'd crawled into this idiotic trap without complaint was simple.
I absolutely trusted that the 18-year-old girl sitting beside me was overwhelmingly stronger than tens of thousands of those trash monsters.
Traps only work on prey within the realm of common sense. For all the scheming to lay this snare, it was just a pathetic zoo—truly "striking a rock with an egg."
I clicked my tongue cynically.
My only real worry wasn't getting my head chomped off by those hideous vermin. It was the environmental damage compensation Reina might rack up pulverizing this entire cliff, and the nightmare of post-battle reports for clearing that mountain of corpses.
It felt just like being dragged into school cleaning duty during break as the homeroom teacher, thick irritation swelling up.
"...Shut up."
Reina, glued to my side, muttered low.
The gorge shook with the monsters' chilling roars outside, knights screaming in despair, but this off-spec beast couldn't care less about our dire straits.
I didn't need to turn; the prickling on my cheek and nape told me everything. Her cool, obsessive purple gaze clung stickily to the side of my face peering out the window—specifically, somewhere around my lips.
The monsters' howls were probably just background buzz from flies interrupting our intimate time.
A sigh laced with annoyance slipped out softly, then Reina slyly laid her hand over my thigh.
The smooth, tough texture of the obsidian-hued dragon leather gloves I'd fitted her with this morning crept over my leg, sending a chill current racing up my spine.
"Reina."
"Yeah?"
"Can you clean up that trash in five minutes?"
At my dry question, Reina's lips curved up in delight. She leaned her upper body slightly toward me.
Whoosh—.
Piercing the frigid northern air, her thick lavender scent, fishy killing intent, and some indescribable lethal pheromone swallowed the cramped carriage space whole.
"Three minutes. Or one, if that's what Cadel wants."
"Don't get cocky—do it right. Mess up your form, and it's 100 laps around the training grounds."
"Tch. Fine."
I scolded her in my strict homeroom teacher voice, lightly pushed her shoulder away, and flung open the carriage door.
A flesh-cutting gale blasted in. Reina stepped out lightly.
The drooling monsters tightening their encirclement froze instinctively, sensing the shift in the air.
I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and recited our pre-set rule.
"Hey, kiddo. Gloves."
"...Yeah."
At my permission, a chilling madness flickered in Reina's purple eyes.
Fixing her gaze on me, she slowly raised her right hand.
Then, instead of a weapon, she bit the tip of the index finger on her leather glove between her red lips.
Well, well.
The black leather glove pulled free slowly, languidly sensual, from her lips.
The faint friction of leather peeling from skin. The gap revealing her transparently pale, slender bare hand.
And that blind, blatant beastly stare looking up at me with the glove in her mouth.
Objectively, it was a fatally alluring pose that could stop breath cold.
But to a 37-year-old high school teacher's battle-hardened mind, it was just a cheeky student playing grown-up provocateur.
This visual tease couldn't pierce my ironclad walls or stir a 17-year-old's hormones.
Seen it all before. Quit posing and clean up already.
I snorted inwardly, gazing down at her dryly.
At my zero-impact reaction, Reina pouted slightly, then slipped off the other glove smoothly.
She handed me both gloves tenderly, like precious treasures, her explosive killing intent tucked behind her back.
The warmth from the heated leather.
"Be right back, Cadel. Don't look anywhere else—just me."
Reina whispered, lightly gripping and releasing my tailcoat collar.
It was a viciously obsessive warning not to dare glance elsewhere, and the thrilled ecstasy of a beast finally unleashed by its master's leave.
"...Hurry up and clean. It's cold."
At my weary reply, Reina flashed a bright smile and turned.
In that instant, the world's rules shattered.
"...!"
Reina reached bare-handed into empty air, and the surrounding space literally caved in.
Her monstrous mana and power, suppressed by dragon leather, exploded like a limiter-removed strategic weapon, ripping the atmosphere.
Rumble—!!
A merciless gravity field slammed down on the entire gorge.
House-sized frost trolls splattered flat without a scream, pulped into the ground. Dire wolves shot skyward only to burst midair, crushed by invisible fists.
Clang, thud.
Dull sounds of weapons dropping behind me echoed repeatedly.
I glanced back. The escort knights stood frozen like statues, not one daring a cry.
Elite ducal guards, continent's finest by name, but witnessing the lady's rumored true power short-circuited their brains—reality unprocessable.
Their lifelong forged pride and ego crumpled like paper before that overwhelming calamity. I could see it plain.
Some collapsed in helplessness from the suffocating pressure; others fainted upright, eyes rolled back white.
Well, not unreasonable. Standing firm on two legs after that would be weirder.
I tsked inwardly at the dazed knights.
Then, chin propped leisurely, fiddling with the still-warm gloves in hand, I watched the overwhelming slaughter unfold.
In the gorge's hellish center, rain of blood and gore, Reina danced lightly like waltzing a spring garden, drawing her holy sword Hesperos.
Each casual swing of her bare hand vaporized dozens of monsters formless; cliffs sliced like tofu chunks.
The imperial death trap, so carefully prepared, reduced to perfect irrelevance by a few strokes from an 18-year-old yandere girl.
Chin propped, fiddling the warm gloves, I watched numbly.
Carnage of blood spraying, flesh flying everywhere—but to me, just tedious routine like grading PE practicals.
Shoulders still tense. Elbow angle's good as corrected days ago, but smashing cliffs? That's environmental fines incoming later. Sigh, such a high-maintenance problem child.
Marking mental red-pen deductions, the farce ended anticlimactically.
Not even a full minute.
Even the massive boulder pile blocking the entrance powdered under her final slash.
The gorge fell eerily silent, like a lie.
Under the gray sky, amid blood pools and corpse mountains, Reina turned slowly.
Not a drop of blood on her silver hair after that slaughter.
The dark greaves I'd coaxed onto her whiny self stayed spotless, mocking my efforts.
Only her flushed cheeks from euphoria and adrenaline, ragged breaths, betrayed the frenzy.
Thud. Thud.
Reina approached, stepping through blood.
Knight escorts recoiled in terror, but I stood firm, welcoming her.
Before me, Reina extended both hands—the ones that just rent hundreds of lives—like a child awaiting praise, eyes sparkling.
Her thick body scent mixed with blood assaulted my nose again.
"I said no environmental damage. What're we supposed to do with cliffs carved like that?"
"...Hehe. But it took less than a minute."
Ignoring the scolding, Reina beamed, stepping closer.
I noticed her outstretched bare hands trembling faintly.
Adrenaline afterglow, sure—but mostly that vicious thirst for her leash again.
The sole safety lock controlling her overwhelming power.
That chilling sense of belonging—that only I could bind and dominate her in this mad world—glinted in her blind upward gaze.
"Haa..."
I sighed shortly, lifting the gloves in my hand.
Enveloping her small, chilled right hand in mine.
Ugh.
The instant skin met, my docile 17-year-old body screamed warnings wildly.
Visual teases left my 37-year-old mind unmoved, but direct touch from this stunning beauty's soft flesh shook it defenseless.
Her feverish heat pierced the cold air, palm to palm; electric thrill raced my spine, lower belly tightening taut.
Damn. Not now, of all times.
This leash-proof 17-year-old body blithely ignored its master's reason at skinship; I nearly cracked a pathetic face.
I bit my tongue hard, crushing the beastly revolt desperately.
Masking my pounding heart and tremors from transmitting fingertip, I forced on a perfectly rational, strict homeroom mode expression.
Ignoring the dizzying sensation, I slowly, meticulously slipped each leather finger over hers.
Swish. Swish.
The soft leather friction echoed eerily in the silent gorge.
Index, middle, ring. Smoothing over knuckles, pushing fully, tying the wrist strap tight.
Repeating for the left, she finally exhaled deeply in relief, tension melting.
"...Good."
Reina clutched my tailcoat sleeve with gloved hands, humming happily.
The hellish monster reverted perfectly to a leashed beast wagging its tail at its master's feet.
In that grotesquely perfect bondage none could deny, I brushed dust from her forehead lightly.
"Cleanup done. Good work."
"Yeah. I did great, right?"
"Yeah, you did. Now let's get out of this dump and set up camp."
Gripping Reina, who clung to my hem unrelentingly, I clapped to snap the dazed retainers back to attention.
The imperial "foolproof" snare, schemed over sleepless nights, ended not even a proper warm-up for an 18-year-old kid's PE class.
Alright, time to draft that Evans family special: a 'business-grade nuke report' telling the palace, "Thanks for the easy homework. Next time, make it challenging."'
Leaving the blood-soaked gorge behind, I began outlining the report mentally.
Firmly holding the hand of this sly, pretty time bomb who stared fixedly at my lips the whole way.