CHAPTER 16: THE SEVEN THORNS

The creak of wood woke me before the light even slipped through the narrow window. I blinked, breath still heavy. For a moment, I thought it was another nightmare beginning—clinking chains, Azrakan’s fetid breath, Hikari’s muffled screams. But no. Nothing. Just the silence of a fortress asleep.

I pushed myself up slowly, my back stiff, and muttered through my teeth:

- "... First real night since... fuck, I don’t even remember when. No monsters, no demon laughter, no Hikari..."

My gaze slid, against my will, to the neighboring bed. Ayame. Lying on her side, her brown hair scattered across the too-hard pillow, her kimono slightly open, exposing the full curve of her chest. With each breath, a fold of fabric slipped lower, almost revealing the dark tip of her breast.

I turned away sharply. Not now. Not here. If I stayed a second longer staring at her sleep, I’d really lose it.

I pushed the door open.

The corridor swallowed me at once in a raw, martial atmosphere. The hard rhythm of boots hammering stone, the metallic clank of weapons brushing against armor, the acrid scent of iron, sweat, and oiled leather. Nothing like the sticky, suffocating stench of dungeons—here, every stone oozed discipline and war.

A horn blast suddenly tore through the air. Deep, prolonged, it vibrated down to my bones. The call.

The door behind me flew open.

Hikari burst out, already dressed, though her fingers trembled on her staff. Her red eyes, still swollen from yesterday’s tears, widened. She clutched the staff to her chest, her round breasts pressing against the ivory fabric.

— "Nii-san... what was that?!"

Before I could answer, Miyu strode in, her katana on her shoulder. Her still-messy hair stuck to her damp neck, but her carnivorous smile was already gleaming.

— "Probably that meeting he mentioned yesterday!" she sneered, her eyes gleaming with restless excitement.

Reina emerged next, upright, her icy scepter in hand. She said nothing. No frown, no complaint: just that cold impassiveness glued to her skin.

And then Ayame. She appeared last, but every move was deliberate. She slowly closed her kimono, smoothing the fabric over her round hips, then tightened her obi with a steady gesture. Her chest swelled beneath the silk—imposing, dignified, almost provocative. Her brown eyes swept over us one by one.

— "Let’s go."

Her deep voice erased everything else: Hikari’s fear, Miyu’s laughter, Reina’s silence. Even my own breathing settled.

Once inside the HQ, the entire hall held its breath. The torches spat tawny light that carved shadows across the stone. In front of us, dozens of soldiers stood aligned, silent as statues, lances raised toward the ceiling. And above, on the platform... them.

Seven.

Seven silhouettes that alone crushed the air.

Albrecht, the man from yesterday, stepped forward. His red cape spread like a banner, his steel-blue eyes locked on us.

— "Heroes. These lands have been fire and blood for generations. If you intend to walk among us, you must learn. These are the ones who bear this fortress on their shoulders."

He turned to his left and gave a nod.

The first stepped forward with a supple, almost lazy gait. His slim figure nearly vanished inside his dark cape. When he tilted his hood back, a young face appeared, marked by a smile that wasn’t reassuring in the slightest: a sly, thin, overly confident smirk.

His voice slid through the hall, low, clear, but dragging, as if he were already mocking us.

— "Name’s Kael. I’ll be handling your training."

His gaze immediately landed on Hikari and Reina, with an ironic gleam.

— "Two pretty flowers? Hm. Let’s see if you can hold a dagger without trembling."

Reina held his stare, glacial:

— "As long as you don’t waste my time."

Hikari blushed, clutching her staff tight against her chest.

— "I-I... I’ll do my best...!"

Kael shrugged lightly, his smirk widening.

— "That’ll do. Better a trembling hand than no hand at all."

Beside him, a bald colossus burst into guttural laughter. His scar-riddled torso gleamed beneath his plated cuirass. He hefted his sword like a toy, the massive blade scraping against the stone of the platform.

— "Thorn! Heavy sword. I like blood and steel."

His fiery eyes locked on Miyu.

— "You, little flame-girl. You’re with me. I like it when it burns."

Miyu snickered, her breasts bouncing beneath her half-open kimono as she stepped forward.

— "Heh... if you get burned, that’s your problem."

Thorn roared with laughter, his scars twisting over his skin.

Then a woman stepped forward. Tall, slender, her black hair slid down her back to her waist. She held a massive scythe, resting on her shoulder as casually as if it were a walking stick. Her dark eyes swept the hall before fixing on Ayame.

— "Selene." Her voice was low, clear, without embellishment. "I’ve wielded the scythe for twenty years. I’ll be in charge of your training."

She tilted her head slightly, watching Ayame with calm, almost clinical interest.

— "You... you’ve carried death before. It shows. You’ll understand quickly."

Ayame straightened her kimono, dignified, and answered in a grave but simple tone:

— "Then I’ll follow you."

Their voices crossed, sharp, without theatrics. Two women who knew what it meant to carry death, recognizing each other in silence.

To my right, a glimmer caught me.

A woman stepped forward, wielding a black-gold lance. Her silver hair, tied in a long ponytail, whipped against her back with each sure step. Athletic, lithe, her sculpted thighs showed through the light armor clinging to her body. Her gray eyes speared into mine, piercing, as if she had already judged me in an instant.

— "Elyra," she said simply. Her voice was clear, calm, unadorned. "I’ll handle your lance training."

She gave me a long look, then raised an amused eyebrow.

— "You’ve got strength. But that’s not enough. A lance is about technique... and will."

— "Hm. You look like you’ll be fun to train."

Fuck. My cheeks burned instantly, and her smile widened as if she relished my embarrassment.

A harsh scrape echoed.

Saved, I thought.

An old man straightened, his robe threadbare, his white beard trembling, but his eyes gleamed with icy clarity. His gnarled staff thudded against the stone. His voice grated, but rang out like a bell.

— "Maeron. Magic is the true power. And you brats are nothing without it."

He pointed a crooked finger at each of us.

— "Tomorrow morning, all of you, together, will learn to breathe your mana..."

Miyu burst out laughing, insolent:

— "Another old geezer..."

A sharp crack of the staff made the walls shudder. The hall vibrated, my teeth clacked, even my heart skipped a beat.

— "Say that again?"

Total silence. Miyu averted her gaze, cheeks flushed despite her forced grin.

I thought it was over. But a subtle movement caught my eye.

At the back of the platform, a slim man clad in dark leather had been watching us silently all along. His blond hair was braided at the nape, and a runic bow rested against his shoulder. His clear eyes pierced us as though he were already sighting each of us.

He simply nodded, his voice calm, low:

— "Ilyas. I won’t take a pupil. But if you need a sure eye... or a shot that never misses... I’ll be there."

Then he sat back down without another word. No smile, no threat. Just a quiet, almost reassuring presence, in stark contrast to the others.

— "There are your masters. They are the seven thorns of this fortress. Each of them has stood against hordes you can’t even imagine. They will shape you in the days to come."

Albrecht’s steel-blue eyes gleamed.

— "It’s up to you to prove you deserve the title of hero."

A deep rumble rose from the ranks of soldiers—not a cheer, but a martial vibration that shook the whole hall.

Albrecht straightened to his full height, his broad shoulders crushing the air around him. His red cape cracked in the icy draft sweeping the chamber, and his voice rolled like contained thunder.

— "So here it is."

He swept the hall with a gaze so hard not a single soldier dared to blink.

— "Enjoy this fortress. Rest, train. Eat, fuck, sleep, I don’t care. But never forget..."

A brutal silence fell, as if every torch had just been snuffed out.

— "One day, the enemy will strike at our gates. And when that day comes, you’ll be on the front line."

The floor shook beneath the roar that followed. Not scattered shouts, but one unified clamor, a martial wave that slammed into our chests. Dozens of throats roared in unison, helmets and lances hammered against stone in a rhythm of war.

— "FOR THE KINGDOM! FOR THE KINGDOM!"

I staggered back a step, goosebumps racing over my skin. The walls trembled with their voices, their gazes fell upon us like blades.

Albrecht raised one hand, and the din ceased instantly. Not a breath, not an echo, as if silence itself had been hacked apart with an axe.

— "Dismissed."

The word cracked, and the soldiers obeyed at once, dispersing with glacial discipline.

We stood frozen a moment at the foot of the platform, still crushed by the weight of what we had just lived. I could hear nothing but my own heart, pounding like a drum.

Just after the meeting, Elyra led me through several corridors to a side door, wasting no words.

Beyond it, a paved yard opened, enclosed by a low stone wall. A few shredded dummies stood to the side, weapons buried in their straw guts. Military trophies—dented helmets, blackened armor fragments, torn banners—adorned the walls. The air smelled of iron, sweat, and aged leather.

She set her golden-black lance against the wall, then folded her arms, looking me up and down. Her gray eyes pinned me with an intensity that made me swallow hard.

— "Well then, Hero... show me how you hold your lance."

I cleared my throat, gripped Aurelia, and tried a stance. Too tight, too high.

Ridiculous.

Elyra let out a bright little laugh. She shook her head, amused.

— "No, not like that."

Before I could defend myself, she slipped behind me. Her hands seized mine with steady firmness. Her chest crushed against my back. The shock was instant, violent: two firm, heavy breasts pressing without restraint through her light armor. My stomach clenched at once, my cock stiffened, uncontrollable.

Her breath grazed my ear.

— "Relax." Her voice vibrated against my nape. "A lance isn’t a stick you strangle. It’s an extension of your body. Let it breathe with you."

Fuck. My fingers trembled. I tried to loosen my grip, but my whole body was strung tight as a bow.

She chuckled softly at the feel of it.

— "You’re blushing, Hero." Her chest pressed harder into me, deliberate. "That’s cute."

I bit my lip. Her hand guided mine along the polished shaft, her hips pressed against my lower back. I felt every curve of her body. Each movement sent a jolt deep into my gut.

— "Hold it straight. Like this."

I tried. My lance carved a clumsy arc. Miss.

Elyra shook her head, took my hand again, and this time pressed her chest flush against my shoulder, her chin brushing my temple. Her metallic, warm scent filled my nose.

— "Again," she whispered.

I tried. My breath hitched. Aurelia sliced the air a little better, but I faltered.

She laughed, not pulling away. Instead, her arm slid around my waist to correct my stance. Her hip pressed against mine, her body heat spreading through our clothes.

— "Not bad." Her voice was low, almost a murmur. "But you’re too stiff. You need to be supple, fluid."

Her chest rolled against my back as she inhaled.

— "See? Breathe with me. The lance will follow."

I nearly dropped Aurelia. My heart thundered too fast. My cheeks burned. I prayed she hadn’t noticed the state of my crotch.

Her smile, though, told me she had noticed everything.

At last, she stepped back, reclaimed her weapon, and shot me a frank wink.

— "Not bad, Hero," she said, spinning her lance with elegant ease. "You’re going to be fun to train."

I panted, unable to hide my fluster. Her gray eyes narrowed in delight, and I knew this was only the beginning of a new torment.