I swaggered into Lord Crestmoore's villa, mithril swords—Wind's Rebuke and Thunder's Edge—clinking in my spatial ring, N'Nazmuz's 30 kg curse dragging my steps like a jilted Gromble. A spiritual pressure slammed us, Wood Qi roots coiling like a living trap. My knees buckled, and Bera, Lila, and Tira—patched up with Alchemy Guild elixirs—stiffened, their Fire and Earth Qi flickering.
Lord Crestmoore, a Peak Immortal Wood cultivator, loomed like a verdant god, his aura thick as a jungle. This guy could sprout vines to crush a Wyrm.
Time to spin some charm.I straightened my olive-skinned frame, smoothed my gold-tipped braid, and flashed a smile slicker than Gromble oil.
"Lord Crestmoore, your hospitality humbles this Supreme Elf," I purred, voice dripping silver, gestures so refined you'd swear I'd waltzed at Solspire's court. Bera's jaw dropped, Lila gawked, and Tira's eyebrow arched sharper than a Krovar's claw.
"Allow me to present my… harem," I teased, sweeping an arm toward the girls with a wink."Harem?!" Bera choked, her Fire Qi flaring, skirt hugging her thighs. Lila's Earth Qi rumbled, tunic clinging to her hips.
"Your sword's too tiny for that," Tira snapped, smirking. Their glares could've splintered Zenoite, but I bowed deeper, chuckling.
The lord's vine-like beard twitched, his pressure easing as he laughed.
"Killyaen, you've got nerve," he growled, settling on an oak-carved throne.
"That Crystal Wyrm terrorized Crestmoore for years—raiding caravans, snatching maids." He eyed the girls, who shifted, their glares screaming you didn't solo it, elf. I grinned, letting them stew.
"But," he added, voice sharp as thorns, "your market stunt—wrecking stalls, splattering Glowvine sap—cost a fortune. Traders wanted blood. Be thankful you're not in chains or paying reparations."
I bowed again, courtly as hell. "My lord, my supreme heart weeps for the chaos. How may my harem—er, companions—make amends?" Bera sputtered, Lila muttered about burying me, and Tira's smirk widened.
The lord leaned forward, eyes glinting like dew."That glowing egg you scavenged," he said.
"It's no trinket. Keep it in your spatial ring—or store it in my private stables, where my tamed beasts are guarded by Beast Tamer Guild cultivators. I'll sign a Spirit Binding Contract, as will the tamers, ensuring the egg's safety and secrecy until you retrieve it."
I stroked my chin, playing scholar. The egg, pulsing in my ring beside Zenoite shards and Glowvine, was mine by scavenging right. Stables sounded safe.
"Gold-tipped offer, my lord. What's the catch?"
"Join Crestmoore's Mercenary Sect," he said. "Take missions from their boards. Tough ones yield rare herbs, metals, and Spirit Stones up to Level 3 and a lot more. Doing those missions, You'll strengthen Crestmoore and Valthorne." Tira stiffened, her Fire Qi sparking. "I'm bound for Adena's kingdom," she muttered. Bera and Lila exchanged looks, itching to bolt. But me? Missions meant gold coins and Spirit Stones—my kind of chaos.
"Done," I said, grinning. "Ladies, we're mercenaries now. Time to polish those curves—and your Qi." Tira groaned, but Bera and Lila nodded reluctantly, their rivalry simmering. Even Tira caved, grumbling, "Fine, elf boy, but don't cry when I outshine you."The lord ,after signing contract with me,waved us off, but two stunning servants—hips swaying like Tira's fire—escorted us to the stables.
The place reeked of beast musk, Zenoite cages housing snarling Krovars and winged Flaevyns.
A Middle Master Earth cultivator, stage clear from his gravelly voice, held a glowing Spirit Binding Contract. Bera, Lila, and Tira trailed, their glares hotter than a Lava Dragon's breath.
I placed the egg in a nest riddled with holes. "Spirit Stones go here," the cultivator said, pointing.
"They speed the egg's growth. Higher levels, faster progress." I nodded, dreaming of Spirit Stone piles. They weren't just currency; they were power.
I smirked at the girls. "Hmm, wonder if stones in your holes would make you grow faster… or is that my supreme imagination?" The cultivator roared, the servants giggled, but Bera's Fire Qi flared, Lila's earth spikes jabbed the ground, and Tira's fireball singed my braid.
"Dream on, pervert," Tira snapped, her dragon-thigh tattoo flashing. We signed the contract—me, the cultivator, the servants, the girls—its runes binding us to secrecy and safety. The egg was secure.
Next, I hit Crestmoore's auction house, a gaudy Zenoite-laced hall buzzing with merchants, cultists, and smugglers. My ring held the Wyrm's Beast Core, scales, fangs, eyes, claws, and a Zenoite brick shard from an Opeka Krovar.
The Core, pulsing like the egg, was my ticket to Spirit Stones and gold. I'd auction it all in six days, hunting more relics meantime. Fame and fortune? My kind of prank.
The auctioneer, a Middle Scholar Wind cultivator, stage clear from his breezy gestures, eyed my loot. "This Core's Middle-grade," he said, whistling. "Could fetch Level 4 Spirit Stones—or a noble's favor." I smirked. "Spread the word: Killyaen's hoard's legendary." He scribbled notes as I listed the scales, claws, eyes, fangs, and brick shard, its blue veins pulsing.A merchant offered gold for the claws, but I scoffed. "Auction only. Spirit Stones and gold coins are my love."
A sentient Zenoite Krovar, Middle Master Earth, stage in its rumbling voice, offered coins for the brick shard. "Wave-carved relics lie in the quarry," it growled, eyes glinting. My amulet pulsed—destiny crap?—but I waved it off. "Auction or nothing. Spirit Stones over all." The Krovar slunk off, muttering about "blue relics." Trouble brewing.
Instead of a tavern, we dove into the quarry's depths, craving training and secrets. The cave's Zenoite veins glowed faintly, air thick with damp Qi. Bera's Fire Qi lit our path, Lila's Earth Qi scanned for traps, and Tira's Fire Qi crackled, her skirt framing her backside's crack—a five-meter canyon in my supreme, perverted imagination.
"Focus, pervert," Tira snapped, catching my stare. I winked, N'Nazmuz's 30 kg pressure slowing my steps.
We sparred, my mithril swords clashing with Bera's fireballs, Lila's earth spikes, and Tira's flaming kicks, N'Nazmuz's curse draining stamina but juicing my slashes. Then, Skarva's bandits—six Middle Knight Fire cultivators, axes blazing their stages—ambushed us.
"Payback, elf!" Skarva, a Middle Master Fire cultivator, snarled, her whip crackling. My groin guard—Marko's "Supreme Sword Sleeps Here"—quivered.
I grinned, swords flashing. "Ladies, let's dance!" Tira's fireballs scorched, Bera's flames roared, and Lila's earth walls blocked axes. N'Nazmuz's pressure slowed me, but Heaven Splitter cleaved an axe, my curse-enhanced strength shining. We lured the bandits deeper, where a Beginner Grand Master Earth Stone Lizard—stage clear from its rumbling roar—awoke, Zenoite-crusted tail thrashing.
"Scatter!" I yelled, dodging its boulder-like claws.The lizard pulverized five bandits, their screams echoing as rocks crushed them. Skarva, whip blazing, dodged its tail, her Fire Qi searing its hide. She plunged her blade into its eye, felling the beast with a roar.
Bloodied but alive, she turned—only to find us surrounding her, swords and Qi ready. Bera's flames crackled, Lila's spikes loomed, Tira's fireball hovered, and my blades gleamed.
"Mercy," Skarva rasped, dropping her whip. I smirked, savoring her fear. Killing her would be easy, but watching her squirm, knowing she couldn't touch me? Sweeter than gold.
"Sign this," I said, pulling a Spirit Binding Contract, its runes glowing. "No attacks, no intermediaries, or your life's mine." Bera scribed the terms, Lila etched runic seals, and Tira's Fire Qi fused them. Skarva signed, her hand shaking, eyes burning with humiliated rage. I leaned in, whispering,
"Try me, Skarva. I'll carve your defeat into Crestmoore's Zenoite." Her jaw clenched, but she nodded, bound by the contract's deadly vow. I stored it in my ring.
"Supreme Elf spares you," I crowed, winking. "Scurry, before my harem gets jealous." Tira snorted, "Jealous of that? Her whip's got more sparkle than her."
Bera smirked, "And less curve than my flames."
Lila snorted, "She's dirt compared to us."
Skarva fled, her silhouette fading, her struggle to resist attacking me a prize worth more than her corpse.
I turned to the lizard's corpse, my scavenger's heart racing. "Gold mine!" I crowed, drawing Wind's Rebuke. I sliced its Zenoite-crusted hide, carved out claws, pried fangs, scooped eyes, and extracted a pulsing Middle-grade Beast Core—ripe for Spirit Stones. Blood splattered my cloak, but I hummed, grinning like a madman. Bera gagged, her Fire Qi dimming.
"How can you enjoy this, elf?" Lila's Earth Qi trembled, her face twisted.
"You're colder than Zenoite." Tira's fireball flickered, her eyes wide.
"He's a damn vulture, grinning over guts." I winked, tossing a fang into my ring—used, gone, consumable.
"Ladies, this is art. Spirit Stones don't grow on trees!"
They shook their heads, muttering about my twisted soul, as I piled hide, claws, fangs, eyes, and Core in my ring. Gold coins danced in my head.
We camped on a Zenoite slab, Bera's Fire Qi warming the air. My stomach growled, but Spirit Stones and gold fueled me. Tira stretched, her backside's crack a canyon under her skirt, sparking a row.
"Harem?" she smirked, mock-sweet. Bera doused me with pouch water, her Fire Qi steaming it.
"That's for your silver tongue!" Lila flicked dirt onto my braid. "And Tira's… crack."
Tira choked, Fire Qi flaring. "My what?" she snapped, twisting to glare at her rear's curves. "Her crack," Lila drawled, pointing.
"A five-meter quarry show." Bera cackled, skirt riding up.
"Tira, that crack's got us praying to Aurelion!" I grinned, tossing a pebble.
"Five meters… I'd love to crawl into that canyon… hahaha!" Tira grabbed my wrist, her Fire Qi scorching my backside—ow, my supreme cheeks!
"Pervert!" she snarled, fireball singeing my braid. N'Nazmuz's pressure slowed my dodge. Bera's flames crackled.
"My hips bury that!" Lila smirked, "And my curves crush you all!"
The girls roared, chanting "Crack Queen!" I crowed, "My supreme sword loves this chaos!" earning a dirt clod from Lila. The cave echoed with laughter, my amulet pulsing faintly—destiny, ignored.
We looted the bandits' gold coins—mine!—and a Level 2 Spirit Stone, stored in my ring, consumed. My amulet pulsed near a wave-carved rock—ruin junk?—but I scoffed, "Bad mushrooms." We planned to explore deeper at dawn, gold and Spirit Stones my only love. Adena could wait. This cave was my stage.