After sifting through the overwhelming flood of information from the 'Baron of Corruption' technique, Nero finally stopped to catch his breath.
Stripping off his travel-worn clothes, he let the room's cool air ease his tension.
Just as his thoughts began to drift, a voice called from downstairs.
"Nero!"
Startled, he quickly grabbed a pair of shorts and hurried to the staircase, still shirtless.
Rafaella stood at the bottom, looking up at him. For a moment, her gaze faltered, landing on his bare torso. A soft blush spread across her cheeks, which she quickly concealed. Raising her chin, she spoke as if nothing had happened.
"Don't bother bathing now," she said evenly. "The water will freeze at night here. Just get dressed and come down for dinner."
Nero nodded, though his attention involuntarily drifted to the white tunic she switched into. The garment appeared worn, with frayed stitching that revealed glimpses of what lay beneath. From his vantage point, he caught a teasing glimpse of her fair skin and soft cleavage peeking through the gaps in the fabric.
Before he could stop himself, his gaze lingered on it.
It was such a captivating sight. A shadowy slit formed from her rosy fair mounds pressed together.
Rafaella's eyes narrowed, and she followed his line of sight. When she realized what he was drooling over, she quickly covered her chest with her hands. She shot him an icy glare, her expression flashing between embarrassment and anger.
Nero flushed with shame, opened his mouth to apologize, but the words failed. Instead, he turned on his heel and fled to his room, cursing himself.
"Dammit," he muttered as he paced back and forth.
How was he even supposed to control himself back there? They were like sugary marshmallows beckoning him to eat them. Sigh, his Incubi bloodline was overwhelming his reason and turning ordinary moments into battles against himself for control.
Nero groaned, pulling a shirt over his head and running a frustrated hand through his hair.
After five minutes of forcing himself to calm down, Nero descended the stairs, preparing himself for whatever awkwardness awaited him.
The dining table was adorned with steaming stew, fresh bread, and roasted vegetables. However, the inviting aroma couldn't dispel the silence that heightened every creak and scrape in the spacious room.
Alvin sat at the head of the table, his broad frame and stern expression making him resemble more of a guard than a host. A little girl fidgeted beside him, stealing glances at the unfamiliar stranger at the table.
"This is my daughter, Irene," Alvin said without preamble. His voice was as rigid as his posture. "Say hello to big brother Nero, Irene. He'll be staying with us until he leaves for the academy."
"Hello," the girl offered a hesitant greeting, glancing at Nero before lowering her head shyly.
"Hi, Irene," Nero gently replied, smiling.
Irene's shy eyes nervously darted between Nero and the table.
The girl fidgeted with her hands, peeking at Nero with bright, curious eyes before quickly averting her gaze. Irene's shyness was a stark contrast to her father's imposing demeanor.
Nero, unused to the concept of siblings, found her endearing. Yet his tension kept him from uttering anything. Similarly, the bear-like Alvin just sat there, saying those three sentences were already more than enough.
Rafaella moved around the table with grace, delicately placing plates in their designated spots. A thick scarf rested on her shoulders, causing Nero's chest to tighten at the sight. It left a foul taste in his mouth to realize that she had to cover herself because of him.
The silence, broken only by the occasional clink of cutlery, was oppressive for him.
Eventually, Rafaella broke the silence with a warm voice.
"Irene is six, and her little brother Ivan is four. Normally, they'd wreak havoc, but running around the trading caravans has worn them out. Ivan already had his fill at Lissy's place and fallen asleep, while Irene waited for us to eat," Rafaella said, ruffling the girl's hair.
He appreciated her attempt to lighten the mood, but Nero couldn't find the words to respond. The weight of earlier incidents hung over him like a dark cloud, suffocating any attempt at conversation.
Watching him remain silent, Rafaella sighed, her tone softening.
"Nero, I understand that being away from home for the first time is difficult. It will take time for you to adjust to life here. But treat this as a chance for you to grow, not just in combat or concocting, but as a person. You need to control yourself and leave certain… habits behind."
Her words stung, even though they were told gently.
Nero swallowed hard, feeling his nerves relax slightly. Rafaella was letting him off the hook with a subtle warning, and it seemed she hadn't informed her husband yet. He glanced at Alvin, but the blank expression on his face revealed that he knew nothing about what Nero had done to his wife.
However, as if reminded by Rafaella's comment, Alvin turned to Nero. "Don't even think about hunting past the thicket of Thawnkardians," he said firmly. "You're not in Agroville anymore."
"But I-"
"I don't care how skilled you think you are, it's unsafe," Alvin cut him off. "Hunting without a license is also illegal. Granny clarified that you're under my watch until you leave for the academy. End of discussion."
"I see. I guess I have no choice but to listen to you while I'm in Crafts Wood," Nero said slowly through his clenched jaw.
"If you're thinking about returning to Agroville, forget it," Alvin continued. "Granny Orias forbade it. You won't set foot there until she says so, unless I decide keeping you here is unsafe. Here in Crafts Wood, you only need to focus on training with me, learning healing and potion-making from Rafaella, and assisting with the diary. Wake up early in the morning. We'll set a schedule once I've assessed your abilities."
Alvin's calm words weren't cruel, but they felt suffocating to Nero.
The dinner proceeded in silence, the weight of their conversation bearing down on him.
After dinner, Alvin tucked Irene into bed, and Nero headed straight to his room without a word to anyone.
He sat cross-legged on his futon, his fingers drumming absently on his thighs.
Spending an entire year stuck in Crafts Wood with slow progress was eating away at Nero. And to top it off, he was stuck under Alvin, of all people. It wasn't that he disliked him exactly, but since he had gained incubus senses, it kept nagging at him. There was something about Alvin, something Nero couldn't put his finger on yet.
However, Nero eventually ignored his annoyance and pondered Alvin's words again.
His original plan had been simple: wait for Granny's temper to cool, then sneak back to Agroville whenever he could, resume things with Sharron, and gather the SP he needed. However, he never thought Granny would resort to locking him in Crafts Wood with Alvin as his warden.
For a moment, he entertained the idea that Granny might have shared his affair with Sharron, but then he shook his head. That didn't seem like something she would do. Granny wasn't one to risk a scandal that could tarnish his future. She'd rather put him in line with her cane and sharp tongue than involve anyone else.
Perhaps Granny had casually suggested to Alvin and Rafaella that they take him in for training, and they agreed with little thought. But even if that were true, how did she convince them to completely cut off my return trips to Agroville? Not even allowing him to travel there under Alvin's watch? What kind of reasoning could justify such an overbearing arrangement?
But what if, unbeknownst to me, Granny trusted Alvin and Rafaella enough to share the truth about me and Sharron? But if that were the case, shouldn't Rafaella insist on sending me back to Agroville for my earlier indiscretions? Instead, she gave me a subtle warning, without involving her husband. And shouldn't the stern Alvin at least warn me against repeating what I did there?
Maybe I am looking at this situation from the wrong perspective. What if Alvin and Rafaella were the ones who requested that I be in Crafts Wood? And Granny seized the opportunity to send me away on the condition they keep me sealed here for the entire year.
That explanation felt more plausible.
Nero's gaze wandered around the tidy room. Didn't Rafaella mention earlier that she had cleaned it herself? That meant they expected me to return with them from Agroville.
But why? Why go through the trouble of bringing me here? Was there more to their motivations, or was it as simple as needing an extra pair of hands in the diary?
Nero let out a sharp exhale and shook his head. Perhaps he was overthinking it. Maybe their business is booming, and they need help. He fit the bill and was trustworthy.
Either way, nothing changed. He was stuck here for a year, whether he liked it or not.
The thought of running away briefly crossed his mind. The idea of Alvin completely confining him in Crafts Wood was bullshit because eventually, he had to leave the village for his duties. Nobody could stop him if he timed his escape right.
I could approach traders here or wait for Carlos to arrive to borrow a mount and a map. They would allow me to avoid the monster-infested routes and rush back to Agroville.
But what good would it do? Granny won't let him stay, realizing he has returned to restart his affair with Sharron. She'd probably kick him out even more forcefully next time.
It was pointless.
Maybe staying here wasn't all bad. If he could find a way to earn SP in Crafts Wood, there is no reason to get back to Agroville. After all, there is a limit to how much SP I can get from Sharron, even if I choose to corrupt and break her completely.
Anyway, by the time Carlos arrives here, I will have enough time to check whether anyone is doable. Let's see how things work for me in Crafts Wood.
The thought comforted him. He lay back on the futon, staring up at the ceiling, letting his mind finally quiet down.
Outside, the misty cold of the night blanketed sprawling estate, turning the world beyond his window into a shroud of gray. The icy fog clung to the glass and seeped into the walls, leaving the room colder than it had any right to be. For the first time, he truly missed the comfort of a proper bed.
He cursed Alvin and Rafaella under his breath for not providing something better.
The biting chill continued to invade through the thin walls, gnawing at his skin. With a resigned sigh, he wrapped himself tightly in the thick blanket, cocooning himself against the freezing air.
A dim glow of moonlight filtered weakly through the fogged-up window, barely lighting the room. Nero closed his eyes, his thoughts slowing as the day's weight dragged him toward sleep.
The sharp buzz of the alarm clock broke the stillness of the morning. Nero groaned, burying his face deeper into the pillow, but the sound refused to relent. With a resigned sigh, he flung off the thick blanket and shuffled over to silence the clock with an annoyed tap.
After rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he folded the futon neatly back into the closet and headed downstairs to wash up.
When Nero stepped outside, he saw Alvin standing in the clearing near the house, stretching against the chilly morning mist. His breath formed small clouds in the crisp air.
"Warm up for five minutes, then pick one," Alvin instructed, gesturing toward training equipment lined up nearby.
Ignoring the chill that cut through his clothes, Nero rolled his shoulders and began his warm-up routine. Once his muscles loosened, he approached the weapons and chose a wooden spear. He tested its weight with a few experimental swings before turning to Alvin.
Alvin strapped a buckler to his arm and took a steady stance. "Whenever you're ready," he said calmly.
Nero wasted no time. With a sharp lunge, he charged forward, his wooden spear cutting through the air in a swift arc.
Dewdrops clung to the estate greenery like jewels, catching the dawn's rays filtering through the lingering fog. The mist was beginning to lift, revealing a landscape washed in soft light. But Nero had no time for the surrounding beauty. He focused on Alvin, who blocked and parried all his strikes comfortably.
Nero's breath came in quick, ragged bursts as he held the spear in a fighting stance. His arms ached, and his palms throbbed from the repeated impact of the wooden spear against the buckler. For nearly an hour, he had launched relentless stabs and slashes, but nothing got past Alvin's unyielding defense. This was even worse than their occassional spar in Agroville because Alvin had yet to move from his position. It was as if he just stood there predicting all his moves before he made them and countered them with his buckler.
He had no delusion about winning in physical combat against an awakened like Alvin, who primarily seemed to focus on his vessel. But Alvin wasn't using any ability. He was simply using his experience and his better proficiency in martial arts to deter him. The more he attacked, the more he realized his inadequacies and how sloppy his overall technique was.
He tried to pause and steady his breath, but Alvin didn't give him a chance and suddenly surged forward.
Surprised, Nero instinctively swung a wide slash to break the charge, but Alvin deflected the spear effortlessly and countered with a swift punch at his face. He barely stepped back in time to avoid the fist flashing before his eyes.
Before he could regain his footing, Alvin was already inside the melee range.
What followed was a suffocating assault of calculated strikes. Nero desperately tried to create distance and shake him off, but Alvin was like a python coiled around his prey, mirroring his every move.
He couldn't keep up with Alvin's relentless strikes, and his inexperience in hand-to-hand combat became apparent. Mistakes soon began to pile up, and his footing slipped.
That was all he remembered before Alvin knocked his feet off and slammed him to the ground. The impact knocked the wind out of him, leaving him sprawled on the wet grass, gasping for breath.
Alvin loomed over him, his expression calm but firm.
"Your basics with the spear are solid," he said evenly. "But your combat experience is insufficient, and your lack of good martial arts is visible. We can fix both with continuous training. However, your bad habits should be discarded. You waste stamina on bursts of meaningless offense instead of conserving it for calculated strikes. You can't rely solely on instincts alone, but overthinking every move mid-battle will kill you."
He stepped back, brushing dew from his pants. "After healing lessons, train based on today's spar with the wooden puppet. I want to see progress tomorrow. For now, catch your breath and go help Rafaella."
With that, Alvin turned and left Nero sprawled on the wet grass.
The critique stung, but Nero felt it was fair. Slowly, he sat up, brushing dirt from his clothes.
As Nero returned to the house, he heard Rafaella's voice calling his name.
"Nero! Over here," she called, waving him with her left hand from the cattle shed.
Curious, he walked toward her, only to stop short when she pointed to a spade leaning against the wall, its blade smeared with dried dung.
"Pick that up," she said, gesturing toward the tool.
Nero blinked at her, then at the spade.
"Why?" he asked, picking up the spade with disgust.
"I'll pump water from the front. You scrape everything into the drain," she said, walking to the other side of the shed with a hose in hand.
Nero froze, staring at the spade with a mix of disbelief.
This… is this why they brought me here? To scrape dung off the floor?
Sensing his hesitation, Rafaella glanced back with a smile. "Don't worry. They're tame," she said reassuringly. Then, with a touch of urgency, she added, "We need to finish quickly. Lissy will be here soon, and we've got to start milk deliveries at seven."
Nero looked at her pitifully, clinging to a thread of hope she would recognize his reluctance.
Instead, his action achieved the opposite.
Rafaella's expression shifted when she caught him staring. Her hand instinctively moved to cover the neckline of her frayed tunic, realizing she wasn't wearing her scarf.
That single gesture shattered him.
Great, she thinks, I'm some creep.
Sigh, there was no escaping it now. Nero grabbed the spade and stomped into the shed to avoid her glare.
The stench inside hit him like a battering ram. A vile mix of dung and urine clung that made his eyes water and his stomach churn. The culprits, nine botaurs, and their younglings, alongside three hulking Taurus, stood around lazily, as if proud of the mess they'd made.
Each had competed to see who could shit the floor the most.
Wonderful. A herd full of overachievers, he thought bitterly.
Nero started his work by wrinkling his nose and trying his best to escape the smell.
Rafaella's hose sprayed water across the floor, helping loosen the muck. But the mixture pooled around his boots, soaking his pants. The smell clung to him like a second skin. Only his pride and his experience with gore from hunting kept him from gagging.
As he worked, scraping dung into the drain with a fury born of frustration, Granny's fancy motivational speech echoed in his mind.
She knew! Nero realized, his jaw tightening. That fossil knew this would happen! She set me up, damn it!
Fueled by anger, he attacked the task with renewed vigor, scraping and shoveling until the last pile of filth was cleared.
After half an hour of backbreaking labor, the polished stone floor was finally clean.
He leaned heavily on the spade, his chest heaving from the work, when a soft, amused voice chimed from behind him.
"Is this the new guy?"
The unfamiliar and amused voice made him flinch. Startled, Nero turned around and spotted a woman framed in the shed's entrance, a bucket balanced casually in one hand.
Her honey-brown eyes were curious, and a teasing smile played at the corners of her lips.
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