Opeka's Harvest Moon Festival lit up the square like a Dragon-God's fever dream. Lanterns carved with Aurelion's flames and Azurion's waves bobbed above the crowd, casting a glow over merchants hawking spiced Gromble skewers and kids chasing each other with stick-swords. The air buzzed with laughter, ale, and the faint crackle of the bonfire.
I strutted through the chaos, my wooden sword at my hip, eyes locked on the Black Stone Tavern where Bera and Lila were holding court. Bera's apron strained against her legendary chest, a sight that could start wars. Lila's dress clung to her hips and thighs, her curves a close rival that could tempt a monk into sin. Those two were a tavern riot waiting to happen, and I was the match.
"Evening, ladies," I grinned, leaning against the bar. "You're making the festival look dull by comparison." I braced for a thrown apple, but instead, Bera stepped close, her Fire Qi sparking in her eyes, her chest brushing my arm.
"Cut the charm, Killyaen," Bera said, her voice low and dangerous. "Time to settle something. Tell us—who's the fairest in Opeka? Me, with curves that drive men wild?" She pressed closer, her ample chest pushing against me, soft and warm, sending my brain into a tailspin.Before I could answer, Lila shoved in from the other side, her smirk sharp as a Teridian blade.
"Oh, please, Bera. Killy, be honest—my figure's the one that haunts your dreams, isn't it? Sleek thighs, a chest that's just right, and hips that could make a Dragon-God beg."
Her slightly smaller but firm breasts pressed against my other arm, her thighs grazing mine, and I was in paradise, pinned between two goddesses.I grinned, savoring the chaos. "Ladies, you're both so divine, I'd need a lifetime to decide."
That was the wrong answer. Bera's eyes narrowed, and Lila's smirk turned feral. They started jostling for space, each trying to edge the other out. Bera's chest pressed harder, a glorious weight that made my knees weak, while Lila's thighs and breasts pinned me from the other side, her curves no less intoxicating.
The tavern crowd started hooting, sensing a show.The shoving escalated. Bera grabbed Lila's arm, tugging her back, while Lila pushed against Bera's shoulder, their glares locked. I was the lucky bastard in the middle, reveling in the feel of Bera's softness and Lila's taut frame. Hair was pulled, elbows flew, and I was grinning like a fool, soaking in every second of their tussle. "Keep going, ladies," I murmured, "I'm in no rush."
That was my mistake. Bera froze, catching my smirk, and Lila's eyes flicked to mine, realizing I was the only one enjoying this.
"You perverted little—" Bera growled, and Lila finished, "—Supreme Elf wannabe!" In a flash, they turned on me, their rivalry forgotten. Bera's fist, laced with a tingle of Fire Qi, slammed into my chest, while Lila's Earth-Qi-charged shove hit my side.
The combined force sent me flying backward, crashing into the wooden bar counter with a bone-rattling thud. Pain exploded through my back and ribs, the bar creaking under my weight, and mugs rattled as the crowd erupted in laughter.I groaned, slumped against the bar, my vision swimming. "Worth it," I muttered, still tasting the memory of their curves. Bera and Lila stood united, arms crossed, smirking like they'd just slain a Zenoite Krovar.
"You'll pay for that, Killy," Lila called, while Bera added,
"Next time, we'll break the bar with you." I managed a weak wink, my ribs screaming, already plotting how to turn this into my next prank.
Janko was my real target tonight. The "Glitter-Grub Wretch" was still fuming from my Firepetal-feather prank, his face smudged with faint paint whiskers that refused to fade. The festival was my stage, and I'd cooked up something special—no Moonflower sap, moozze tails, Gromble oil, Starbloom, or Firepetal seeds. I'd swiped a jar of Glowvine nectar from Vuk's stash, sticky and shimmering like liquid starlight, mixed with crushed Luminous Oak pollen that itched like a bastard. I'd packed it into a rigged ale mug with a false bottom, bribing a kid to slip it onto Janko's table with a note: "Drink to the Whisker King's Glory." One sip, and he'd be a glowing, scratching mess.I hauled myself up, wincing as my ribs protested, and spotted Janko near the bonfire, half-drunk and bragging. Perfect.
I grabbed a lute from Marko, the blacksmith, each step to the tavern stage a stab of pain. "Time for a ballad," I announced, strumming a chord through gritted teeth. The crowd hushed, eager for the Supreme Elf's next stunt.
"This one's for our favorite feline, the Glitter-Grub Wretch!" I launched into a tune, my voice strained but sharp:
"Oh, Janko's whiskers glow by night,
A sparkling cat, a sorry sight!
He chases ale, but gets my sting,
The Double-Whisker's no damn king!"
The crowd roared, ale mugs raised, as Janko's face turned redder than Rubirion's flames. He grabbed the rigged mug, too sloshed to suspect a trap, and took a swig. Pop! The false bottom gave way, and Glowvine nectar mixed with Luminous Oak pollen sprayed him, coating his face and clothes in a shimmering, itchy sheen. He howled, scratching like a mad Gromble, and the square erupted.
"Itchy-Cat Wretch now!" I hollered, clutching my side as I dodged a flung tankard. Janko charged, and I bolted, the curse's 30-kilogram weight and my bruised ribs making every step agony. N'Nazmuz's pressure was brutal, burning my stamina, but the thrill kept me moving.I'd trained for this—Goran's drills had me mastering Wind's Rebuke, my wooden sword slicing air despite the curse's drag.
That morning, he'd pushed me harder than ever, his Fire Qi flaring as he parried my strikes. "You're a beast, kid," he'd grunted, "but you're still sloppy. Focus, or you'll be a dead prankster." A graze from his sword had stung my arm, but by the festival, the curse's passive healing had smoothed it, though my ribs from Bera and Lila's attack were another story. The curse's healing was kicking in, but not fast enough to dull the pain completely.
Janko gave up the chase, too busy scratching and cursing. I limped back to the festival, drawn to the arm-wrestling ring where the crowd was cheering. My arms, forged by Goran's drills and the curse's strain, itched for a challenge despite the throbbing in my chest. I plowed through farmers and fishermen, my strength holding despite the pain.
By the final, I faced Marko, the blacksmith, his forearms like Zenoite pillars. The crowd buzzed, Bera and Lila catcalling from the sidelines, Janko smirking with the women, all hoping I'd crash after their bar-smashing stunt.
"Marko, let's make it fun," I grinned, wincing as I leaned in. "Loser strips to their smallclothes for the festival's last three days. Deal?" Marko's laugh boomed, and he nodded, his grip like a vice. The crowd went wild, women whistling, Janko chanting for my defeat. Bera yelled,
"Let's see those bruised ribs, Killy!" while Lila added,
"Hope you've got something to show after we wrecked you, pervert!"My arm burned under the curse's weight, my ribs screaming with every flex.
I was holding my own, muscles straining from months of training, Marko's face reddening as we locked in a stalemate. The crowd's roars fueled me, but then a sharp, searing pain erupted in my left buttock.
"Argh!" I yelped, my grip faltering as a fiery arrow—Bera's handiwork, laced with her Fire Qi—struck true, its sting burning like a Lava Dragon's breath. Marko seized the moment, slamming my hand down with a triumphant roar. The table cracked, and the square exploded in cheers.
Bera stood smugly nearby, her smirk wicked, clearly savoring her revenge for my earlier perversion.
"That's for enjoying our fight too much, Killy," she called, tossing her hair. Lila clapped, laughing, her eyes glinting with approval.
Janko was practically dancing, scratching his glowing face but grinning like he'd won the festival himself.I staggered to my feet, yanking the smoldering arrow from my backside with a theatrical wince, milking the crowd's laughter.
"Behold, the Supreme Elf, struck by love's fiery dart!" I bellowed, twirling the arrow and bowing low, ignoring the pain shooting through my ribs and rear.
I stripped to my smallclothes as promised, flexing for the crowd with a grin, my bruises and burn on full display. Women whistled, men roared, and even Bera and Lila couldn't hide their smirks.
"Three days of this glory, Opeka!" I shouted, strutting through the square, turning my defeat into a spectacle grander than any victory. Janko's curses and the crowd's cheers followed me, my legend growing with every step.
Vuk joined me at the bar later, chuckling as I gingerly sat, my backside still stinging. "That amulet pulsed again, didn't it?" he said, nodding at my chest. I shrugged, wincing as my ribs throbbed, but he pressed on. "Legends of the Middle Sea talks of cursed ruins, glowing relics, all tied to Solspire. You're more than Opeka's fool." My amulet throbbed faintly, like it agreed, and I frowned. Ruins sounded like a scholar's problem, not mine. Still, the pulse nagged, whispering of First Altars and destinies I didn't care to chase.I shoved it down, focusing on Bera's laugh and Lila's smirk, their earlier alliance against me already cracking as they shot each other glares.
Janko was still scratching, the crowd chanting "Itchy-Cat Wretch." Solspire, ruins, prophecies—those could wait. Right now, I was Opeka's Supreme Elf, smallclothes and all, and this festival was my throne.