CHAPTER 45: WE DID NOT HAVE SEX, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!

"Did you two have rough sex?!"

The words that fell from Lickthorn’s mouth hit Finn harder than any demonic chicken peck ever could. Not because he was offended—oh no. He just wished they were true.

"Wh-what?!" Finn stumbled back, hands up like he was dodging a spell. "I—I WISH! I mean—I DON’T! I mean—IT DIDN’T HAPPEN!"

Chestelle’s eyes widened, but not with excitement—jealousy. Full-blown monster girl heat. Her fingers curled toward her mouth. "So you did it with her. You stuck your genitals into one another."

"NO ONE HAD SEX!" Finn cried. "All she did was dive off who knows where and beat a chicken to death! That’s it!"

Lickthorn leaned in, starry-eyed. "So that’s what post-orgasmic divine bliss looks like..." She started to drool.

"PLEASE stop saying weird sex stuff in public!" Finn snapped. "There are people! There are books! There’s a dead chicken! Have some respect!"

Though deep down... even he had to admit... this was exactly how he’d act if the roles were reversed. Was he mad because they were perverts, or because they were perverts before he could be?

Chestelle giggled. "Lickthorn’s just mad she wasn’t the first girl to get railed into a coma~"

Finn’s jaw dropped. "I—I’m gonna pass out. I think I’m gonna pass out for real."

Arsenio, still wheezing from the stairs, raised a weak hand. "Can we... not say ’unconscious’ and ’railed’ in the same sentence? Like, ever again?"

Finn groaned, eyes twitching. "This is the weirdest post-battle regroup of all time."

Majestria let out a soft little snore on his back.

While the others kept arguing over divine orgasms, monster girl jealousy, and Finn’s imaginary sex life, one thing suddenly dawned on him.

Where the hell was Beard Man?

Finn scanned the room and spotted a crowd of wizards surrounding someone across the chaos. That someone... was holding none other than Beard Man in their arms.

Finn sighed in relief and walked over, Majestria still sleeping on his back like a drunk princess.

As he approached, he noticed the wizards’ expressions—shocked, amazed, almost reverent.

Beard Man noticed Finn first, raising his bushy eyebrows. "Piss Boy? You’re still alive?"

Finn blinked. "I dunno. What’s it look like?"

Beard Man let out a soft grunt of approval. "Hmph."

That one grunt threw Finn off more than any insult. Either the chests scrambled his brain, or Beard Man was... impressed?

Finn didn’t care. Or at least, that’s what he told himself. Same with Majestria being nice to him earlier. Probably nothing. Definitely nothing.

Then the wizard holding Beard Man gasped. "Y-you know him?"

Beard Man scowled at the man like he was stupid. "Of course I know this buffoon! He’s the one who delivered me to this place."

All the wizards around him stared at Finn.

Mouths dropped. Eyes widened. Silence.

They all looked at Finn like he was a walking and breathing prophet.

And then—like divine slapstick karma—the wizards all bowed at once.

They hit the floor with a series of thuds, robes fluttering, beards bouncing, and noses squashing into the wood like they’d just found religion.

"We’re so sorry for how we treated you earlier!" one of them sobbed.

"We didn’t know you were on such a great task! We should’ve known better!"

"I’m so sorry for calling you ’human fungus!’" another whimpered. "You helped us even when we treated you like garbage..."

Finn just stood there, still tired holding onto Majestria thick thighs, as a dozen wizards bowed before him like he was some long-lost arcane prophet.

He’d never been praised like this before. At least, not in a long time. Definitely not in Moistvile.

The wizard holding Beard Man gingerly handed him over, head bowed low. "I am not worthy to stand before you. Or... or to hold such a precious burden."

Finn blinked, taking Beard Man like someone just handed him the baby prophet. "Uh... thanks? It really wasn’t that big of a deal..."

"It is!" Arsenio suddenly cut in, stepping beside him like a proud PR agent. "Delivering that head was a mission of immense honor! Every wizard respects the one entrusted with the Sacred Severed Thing!"

Finn’s eye twitched. "Then why didn’t you say that before?! We got into a whole dumbass fight with these guys when we—!"

Then it clicked.

Wait.

Wait.

This whole time, the guild listed the quest as a Dung-rank mission.

The lowest of the low. Below rat extermination. Below "scrub the outhouse." It was literally called ’Deliver this suspicious item to the Cursed Woods’.

So why was a delivery of this importance given to him? Something wasn’t adding up.

"I’m filing a complaint," Finn muttered darkly. "Maybe slap Ardin again. Or maybe... Seraphina..."

Just thinking her name made his chest feel all fuzzy and hormonal. Like his nipples might feel emotion.

Finn sighed dreamily. This was spiraling out of control.

All the talking, praising, and Finn daydreaming about Seraphina’s massive boobs hugging his face like a holy relic—

interrupted.

Again.

And this time? It actually pissed him off.

His head snapped toward the massive, busted-open doors Celemothy had crashed through earlier. (Because of Finn, obviously. But no one needed to know that part.)

And standing there...

Was no way.

No other than Ezgar.

The same demon general who got bodied by Finn and slammed into a table like a complete loser.

One horn was snapped, his clothes torn, and he stood hunched like a grandpa with a lifetime subscription to Back Pain Monthly.

He held his lower back and glared at the room like everyone owed him money—

but especially Finn.

Finn stared at him deadpan, arms still full of Beard Man, Majestria snoring on his back, as if the sheer audacity of this demon still being alive was a personal insult.

Ezgar wheezed, raised a shaky claw, and declared:

"You will all pay for what you did here! Your actions will not go unpunished!"

He jabbed a finger toward Finn, trembling with rage. "Especially you! You ruined everything! You better count your days, mortal, because when the Demon Lor—"

FLAP. FLAP.

A shadow loomed behind him.

Ezgar stopped. His voice caught in his throat like a toad swallowed a ping-pong ball. He slowly turned, trembling.

Finn squinted toward the doorway.

And his jaw hit the floor.

His brain stalled.

His whole body did a soft internal reboot.

Because looming in the entrance was—