CHAPTER 135: SPILLED BEANS

Isolde and Ariana were still sprawled across the mattress, tangled in a chaotic mess of sheets and limbs.

It was, frankly, a sight that would stop any man’s heart.

Isolde lay on her stomach, the sheet kicked down to her ankles. Her nightgown had ridden up completely, leaving her bare ass exposed to the cool air—round, pale, and marked with a faint red handprint on the left cheek from last night. One arm hung off the side of the bed, while her face was buried in the pillow, silver hair fanning out like a silk river.

Ariana was curled against her, using Isolde’s back as a pillow. Her position was even more compromised. She was on her back, legs splayed wide in a loose M-shape, her sheer chemise bunched up around her chest. Her breasts spilled out over the neckline, rising and falling with soft snores, while her lower half was completely bare, revealing the soft curve of her thighs and the sensitive skin that was still slightly flushed pink.

Oliver stared for a moment, appreciating the view.

They really have no guard when they sleep, he thought, a smirk tugging at his lips.

He walked over to the bed. He didn’t shake them gently. instead, he leaned down and smacked Isolde’s exposed ass with a sharp THWACK.

"Mmmph!" Isolde jerked awake, lifting her head. "Who... dares...?"

At the same time, he pinched Ariana’s nose shut.

"Nggh... nnn!" Ariana flailed, gasping as she woke up sputtering.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauties," Oliver said, crossing his arms. "The Princess was here, we planned a revolution, and you two were drooling on the pillows."

Isolde rolled over, rubbing her sore cheek and glaring at him with sleepy, crimson eyes. "You have a death wish, waking me like that."

Ariana sat up, realized her state of undress, and squeaked, hurriedly pulling her chemise down to cover herself. "P-Princess?! She was here? In the room?!"

"Downstairs," Oliver corrected. "Get dressed. We need to talk."

****

Ten minutes later, the girls were (mostly) decent and sitting around the small table in the room. Seraphine poured tea while Oliver leaned against the wall.

"So," Oliver said, recounting the conversation. "Elisha agreed to the plan. Next time we enter Velanthris, it won’t be an army. It’ll be small, elite squads."

Isolde took a sip of tea, her eyes sharpening. "Smart. That dungeon feeds on chaos. Smaller groups mean less noise, less mana interference, and fewer idiots triggering traps."

"Exactly," Oliver nodded. "But that’s not the only thing."

He looked at the group.

"She told me that Amy—the Saintess—is suspicious. She wanted to come here today."

Ariana gasped softly. "Does she know?"

"She suspects," Oliver said. "Elisha kept her away for now, but she invited me to the palace to meet her. Said Amy looked ’desperate.’"

Isolde set her cup down, a dangerous glint in her eyes. "Desperate to find you? Or desperate to confirm you’re dead so she can move on?"

"I don’t know," Oliver muttered. "But if I go to the palace... maintaining this disguise is going to be hell."

Seraphine, standing silently in the corner, suddenly spoke up.

"Analysis: Master is inadvertently collecting females."

Oliver choked on air. "I am not collecting—"

"From her interaction patterns," Seraphine continued, ignoring him, "there is a 70% probability that she suspects you are her former classmate, Oliver Shaw. Furthermore, micro-expressions observed during previous encounters suggest a high likelihood of romantic fixation."

Isolde smirked, leaning back in her chair. "Indeed. You are quite the player, Master."

"What nonsense!" Oliver retorted, slamming his hand lightly on the table. "We never had that kind of relationship! Didn’t I tell you? I was just some background character back in my world. And here? I was a laughingstock. An F-rank nobody."

"Hey! You never know," Isolde said, waving a finger playfully. "No one can know what’s inside a girl’s mind. Maybe she had a secret crush on the quiet boy in the back."

"Huh. As if," Oliver scoffed.

While Oliver and Isolde went back and forth, neither noticed the color draining from Ariana’s face. She sat frozen, her eyes darting between Oliver and Isolde, her brain trying to process the words she just heard.

Classmate... My world... F-rank...

The pieces clicked.

"WHAT?!!"

Ariana screamed so loud the windows rattled. She shot up from her chair, pointing a trembling finger at Oliver.

"You... You are an Otherworlder?!"

The tavern went dead silent. Several heads turned toward their table, eyes wide with curiosity.

"Hey! Hey!" Oliver hissed, panic flashing across his face. He lunged across the table and clamped a hand over her mouth. "Why are you screaming?! Do you want the whole city to know?"

But Ariana was in no mood to be hushed. She pried his hand away, her voice dropping to a frantic whisper that was somehow louder than a shout.

"You... you are one of the Heroes? The ones summoned by the Empire?"

Oliver looked at her wide, panicked eyes. He let out a long, defeated sigh.

"Sigh... Well, since it’s already out, there’s no point hiding it from you anymore."

He looked her in the eye.

"Yes."

Ariana’s face went slack. It was as if someone had told her the sun rose from the west, or that pigs had learned to fly. She stared at him, then at Isolde, then back at him, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.

"Well, the cat’s out of the bag," Isolde said, standing up and smoothing her dress. "This is going to be a long conversation. Let’s go to the room before she screams again."

"Agreed," Seraphine stated. "Privacy is optimal for sensitive data disclosure."

****

Back in the safety of their suite, with the door locked and a silence ward erected by Isolde, the atmosphere was heavy.

Ariana sat on the edge of the bed, knees pressed together, looking like a student called to the principal’s office. Oliver sat opposite her, leaning forward, hands clasped.

"So," Oliver began quietly. "You want to know the truth?"

Ariana nodded dumbly.

And so, he told her.

He recounted everything. How he was just a normal student on Earth, living a mundane life until the summoning circle appeared beneath his feet. He spoke of the awe of the palace, the arrogant gods, and the cruelty of the status screen that labeled him ’F-Rank.’

"They laughed," Oliver said, his voice void of emotion but heavy with memory. "The King, the nobles... even my own classmates. They treated me like a mistake."

He told her about the dungeon. The betrayal. How the people he thought were comrades kicked him out of the teleportation circle to save themselves.

"I was left there to die," Oliver whispered. "In the dark. Surrounded by monsters."

Ariana’s hands covered her mouth, tears pricking her eyes.

"But I survived," he said, looking at Isolde. "I crawled through the abyss. I learned to carve runes into my own flesh. And then... I found her."

He gestured to the silver-haired woman leaning against the wall.

"I broke her seal. We escaped. And we came here."

When he finished, the room was silent.

Ariana sat there, stunned. Her mouth was hanging open so wide you could practically fit an entire egg inside it. She looked from Oliver—the man she thought was just a talented adventurer—to Isolde.

"So..." Ariana stammered, her voice shaking. "You... you aren’t just a powerful mage."

She turned her wide eyes toward Isolde.

"You are a Princess. The Princess of Tenebris."

"Yes," Isolde replied coolly.

Ariana’s brain seemed to short-circuit. She did the math. Tenebris was a legend. A myth from history books.

"T-Then..." Ariana pointed a trembling finger at her. "You... You are an ancient existence! You’re even older than this nation! You’re centuries old!"

Whack!

Faster than the eye could follow, Isolde’s fist came down on top of Ariana’s head.

"Oww!" Ariana yelped, clutching her skull.

"Hey," Isolde said with a terrifyingly sweet smile, a vein throbbing on her forehead. "Are you telling me I am old?"

Ariana, teary-eyed and rubbing the bump on her head, looked up.

"Are you not?" she blurted out involuntarily.

Whack!

Another smack landed, cleaner and harder than the first.

"Ow! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!"

"Listen carefully, little girl," Isolde said, looming over her with a dark aura. "I was sealed in a stasis field. My body hasn’t aged a day past twenty. I am young. Vibrant. And eternal."

Seraphine tilted her head. "Fact check: Chronological age exceeds 500 years. Biological stasis confirmed at approximate age 20. Technical classification: Antique."

Isolde turned her glare to the construct. "Do you want me to disassemble you?"

Oliver chuckled, the heaviness of the story lifting with their banter. "Well, now you know, Ariana. I’m not just Oliver the adventurer. I’m Oliver the ’dead’ hero."

Ariana looked at him—really looked at him. The scars, the tired eyes, the strength he hid behind his casual attitude.

"You..." she whispered. "You went through all that... and you’re still fighting?"

"I survived," Oliver said simply. "That’s enough for now."

"And besides, its all in the past. No point in brooding over it."