By the time Oliver reached the city gates, the sun was already dipping below the rooftops, painting the horizon orange and red. His clothes were stiff with dried blood, his arms and shoulders aching from every movement. He'd rinsed his face at the river before entering, but it didn't do much — he still looked like someone who had just crawled out of a battlefield.

When he entered the Adventurer's Guild, the usual chatter dulled for a moment. A few adventurers turned, saw the bloodstains, the dull eyes, then went back to their drinks. It wasn't the first time they'd seen someone return from hell.

Behind the counter, Lena looked up — her smile froze halfway when she saw him.

"Oliver… you look like death. What the hell happened out there? Did the help arrive late?"

"Mission Complete. That's what happened." Oliver said, "And I won't take measly few silver coins for the reward."

"Hey! Is that what you should be worried about in your condition?" Lena said, "You go and rest for today. We will assess the mission level after other adventurer's testimony. And the reward will be given accordingly."

"Good to hear that." Oliver said as he turned away towards exit.

He waved a tired hand. "I'll give you the full briefing tomorrow. Right now, I just want a bath, a bed, and about ten hours of sleep."

"…Fine," she said finally, sighing. "Go get some rest. I'll file the temporary report. But don't skip tomorrow morning."

He managed a faint smirk. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Then he turned and left, his footsteps heavy but steady.

By the time he reached Serena's inn, the lights were already dimming. The smell of roasted meat and ale drifted from the diner; laughter and clinking mugs filled the air.

Serena was behind the counter, wiping glasses, when she saw him. Her smile faltered.

"Oliver? You look awful. Are you hurt—?"

He didn't even stop. He gave her a tired wave without saying a word and walked straight toward the stairs. His clothes were smeared with goblin blood, patches of dried green and brown staining his shirt and trousers.

Customers watched briefly, whispering among themselves, but none paid it much mind. Adventurers coming back bloody was just another normal sight.

Serena, though, couldn't shake the worry off her face.

"That idiot…" she muttered softly.

Oliver opened his room door and let out a long sigh.

The room was empty.

"…Did she go out?" he murmured, glancing around.

The faint smell of perfume still lingered — Isolde's. Her bed was neatly made.

He didn't bother undressing fully. He threw his bloodied jacket aside, leaned his spear against the wall, and collapsed onto the bed face-first.

"...Damn… my whole body's killing me…" he mumbled into the pillow.

For a moment, he just lay there, letting the silence sink in. The screams, the stench, the blood — they were still fresh behind his eyelids.

But exhaustion soon drowned everything.

~~~~

Oliver didn't even remember when his eyes began to close. His body felt heavier by the second — as if the bed itself was dragging him into the earth. The faint ache of bruises, the dull sting of cuts, and the exhaustion that came from fighting for his life were finally catching up.

Just as his consciousness began to fade, the door creaked open.

"Are you back, Isolde?" Oliver mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow. He didn't even bother turning his head. "Where did you go?"

"Oh~ Isolde would be late today," came a familiar, warm voice. "She took Nyra out to the amusement park."

Oliver cracked one eye open. "Oh. It's you, Miss Landlady." His words came out slow, lazy. "If you're here to complain about me dirtying the bedsheets, don't worry. I used a few cleaning spells. No bloodstains left behind."

And indeed, he had — his body was clean, though faint red marks still lingered where the cuts had been. His shirt and trousers were drying on the chair beside the bed, his only remaining article of clothing being a pair of dark underpants.

Serena sighed softly, stepping closer. "Of course not, you fool. I was worried about you. You looked completely worn out when you came in."

Oliver let out a dry chuckle, eyes still half-closed. "Don't ask. It was a long day. My whole body's aching like hell. I just need a bit of quiet before I collapse for good."

He shifted slightly on the mattress, his tone turning a touch apologetic. "Not to sound rude, but I'm not exactly in the mood for conversation right now."

Serena laughed under her breath. "Why would I take offense to that? You look like someone who fought an army."

She sat down carefully on the edge of his bed, the mattress dipping slightly under her weight. "But, you know," she added, crossing one leg over the other, "it might actually help if I stay a bit."

That made Oliver open both eyes this time, turning his head toward her with a tired smirk. "And what do you mean by that?"

"I mean," she said, her tone playfully smug, "I'm quite good with my hands. Back in my younger days, I worked as a masseuse." She gave a small laugh. "If you want, I could help ease those sore muscles of yours."

Oliver grinned faintly, too tired to resist the banter. "Well, I can't exactly say no to a massage from a beautiful woman like you, can I?"

"Ha~ naughty boy," Serena said, chuckling as she shook her head. "You never change."

She looked at him for a moment — really looked — taking in the faint lines of strain at the corners of his eyes, the exhaustion that sleep alone wouldn't wash away.

"Alright, hero," she said softly, her voice turning gentler. "Just relax. I'll help you loosen up a bit."

Serena stood up and walked toward the door. A few moments later, she returned carrying a small bottle of oil.

"This will help you loosen up," she said, holding it up.

Oliver lifted an eyebrow but said nothing, staying on his stomach, arms resting over the edge of the bed.

Serena climbed onto his back, straddling him lightly. She began to undress. First, she pulled off her top, revealing her body in a delicate yet provocative lingerie set. Her chest was full and heavy, barely held in place by the bra, straps straining at the hooks as if they might give way at any moment.

Oliver's gaze flicked up briefly, but he stayed on the bed, too exhausted to move.

Serena's body flowed downward in curves, her toned stomach leading to wide hips. The lace of her panties stretched across her firm, rounded hips, the fabric lost between the curve of her huge ass cheeks. Faint lines of hair were visible above the lace.

With a mischievous smile, Serena stepped onto the bed and straddled him from behind, her thighs settling on either side of his lying body. As she lowered herself gently onto his back, the bare skin of her ass pressed directly against him, sending a jolt of warmth and pressure through Oliver's body.

He hesitated, then turned his head just enough to see. Serena was grinning, in her lingerie, looking down at him playfully.

"Heh," she said, her voice teasing. "Can't get my clothes dirty, can I?"

Before he could respond, she poured oil into her hands, letting it spill down across his back. Her fingers pressed firmly into his muscles, gliding over tension and soreness. The slick, warm sensation spread across his skin as her hands worked expertly, kneading and rolling over every tight spot.

Oliver groaned softly, his body already starting to relax under the firm, deliberate pressure.

Serena's touch was confident, teasing, and skilled. Her fingers traced every muscle, pressing deep into knots, gliding over curves, and working oil into the skin until every part of his back was slick and warm. She leaned slightly into him, the heat of her body pressed along his spine, heightening the sensation of her massage.

"Relax," she whispered. "Let me take care of you."

Oliver's exhaustion and the lingering adrenaline from the dungeon fight melted slightly under her hands. He let out a low, satisfied groan, giving himself over to the warm, erotic tension building from her touch.

Her hands began to move, slick with oil, spreading it across his tense muscles. Each stroke was firm, deliberate, and tantalizingly slow, kneading the knots along his shoulders and spine. The direct contact of her skin pressed into him, her curves molding against his back, making every nerve in his body light up.

Oliver's breath hitched, soft moans escaping as her fingers glided lower, over the curve of his waist and the small of his back. "Ah… Serena… fuck… that feels… so good," he gasped, his hands instinctively gripping the sheets as pleasure rippled through him.

Serena leaned slightly forward, letting her breasts brush against his back as she worked the oil in deeper, her body weight and supple curves pressing every inch against him. Her hands moved with practiced skill, teasing, kneading, and sliding in a rhythm that left him trembling, every touch amplifying the heat pooling lower in his body.

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