The night air inside the Tower's domain was peculiar—cool enough to feel refreshing, but never cold. Viktor walked through what had become a garden, his boots pressing into soft green grass that hadn't existed two days ago.

The artificial moon hung overhead, casting everything in silver-blue light that made the world look dreamlike.

In the center of the clearing, a bonfire crackled. Not for warmth—the temperature here could be controlled with a thought—but for atmosphere. The orange flames danced and popped, sending sparks spiraling upward into the star-filled sky.

Mira sat on a log near the fire, her dark hair catching the flickering light. She wore a simple white blouse that strained slightly across her massive chest, the top two buttons undone.

Her green eyes reflected the flames as she studied a large piece of parchment spread across her lap.

Beyond her, Viktor could see Rusty and Rustina hard at work.

The two slimes had taken humanoid forms—purple, translucent bodies that rippled with each movement. Rusty stood nearly six feet tall now, his form masculine and broad-shouldered. Rustina was smaller, more delicate, her shape distinctly feminine with curves that caught the moonlight.

They were building the forge.

Or trying to.

Viktor stopped, hands sliding into his pockets as he surveyed the construction. The framework was there—massive stone pillars, the outline of walls, the foundation for what would become a legendary smithy. But it was... slow.

'I expected it to be done by now,' Viktor thought, his brow furrowing.

When Rusty had built the initial manor structure, it had taken mere hours. But that had been from designs already stored in the slime's genetic memory—standard architecture, simple layouts.

This was different. The forge required precise specifications. Ventilation systems. Heat-resistant materials. The blueprint Mira held was complex, detailed, and completely new to Rusty's database.

What wasn't stored couldn't be instantly manifested. It had to be learned, processed, constructed piece by piece.

Viktor approached, his shadow stretching long across the grass. Mira looked up, and even in the moonlight, he could see the knowing smirk on her lips.

"So," she said, her voice carrying easily in the quiet night. "You overdid it with both of them."

Viktor stopped beside her, looking down at the blueprint rather than meeting her eyes. "Come on. Weren't you the one who wanted to farm energy points?"

"I did," Mira admitted, her green eyes tracking to Rusty and Rustina. The slimes were carefully shaping stone, their bodies molding and compressing the material with methodical precision. "But going at them for a whole day? Even the four of us combined couldn't last a night long. They might not even be able to work for two days."

Viktor chuckled, the sound dark and unapologetic. "You know, right? With each session, your stamina and strength increases. Pain tolerance. Healing speed. Everything improves."

"True, but—" Mira turned the blueprint toward him, her finger tapping a specific section. "—here. Look, husband. What is this supposed to be?"

Viktor leaned closer, squinting at the design. The moonlight made some of the ink lines hard to distinguish. He pointed. "That's the furnace panel. See, the airflow channels run beneath it, here and here. The heat distribution needs to be even, otherwise—"

'Kyuu!'

A small blob bounced toward them. It was Rusty. The purple slime had the consistency of gelatin and the enthusiasm of a puppy.

Viktor crouched, his hand extending. The slime blob jumped into his palm, bouncing once before settling. "Yeah, I see you. Good work on the foundation."

'Kyuu-kyuu!'

"Young Master?"

Viktor turned.

Helena approached from the direction of the manor, her brown hair tied back in a simple braid. She wore a modest cream-colored dress that somehow still managed to emphasize her enormous breasts—the fabric stretched tight across her chest, the neckline dipping low enough to show the valley of her cleavage.

In her hands, she carried a wooden tray laden with food. Steam rose from a bowl of soup, and the scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the air.

"You must be hungry, Young Master," Helena said, her warm brown eyes crinkling with maternal concern. She held the tray out, and Viktor could see the care she'd taken—the soup was garnished with herbs, the bread still warm, a small dish of honey on the side.

Viktor took the bowl, his fingers brushing hers. "Thanks. You should—wait, you need to check on Bella. Give her some blankets. She's sleeping in the stable, and—"

'"DON'T FOLLOW ME! WHAT THE HELL?!"'

The scream tore through the peaceful night like a blade.

Every head turned toward the manor.

Through the open doors, down the long hallway lit by magical sconces, a figure came running.

Elara.

Her dark hair flew behind her, no longer in its disguise. She'd washed out the black dye, revealing her natural chestnut brown. Her face was flushed, her amber eyes wide with panic and... was she crying?

She wore a simple nightgown—white, cotton, clearly borrowed from Helena. It billowed around her legs as she ran, the hem flying up to show her bare calves.

Behind her—

"WAIT! I JUST WANT TO BE FRIENDS!"

Bella.

The cat-girl was sprinting after Elara, her silver hair streaming behind her like a banner. Her yellow eyes gleamed in the moonlight—bright, predatory, intense.

And she was wearing only a towel.

A single white towel wrapped around her body, tucked between her breasts. It barely covered her—ending mid-thigh, showing off her pale, milky-white legs.

Legs that were covered in marks.

Red bite marks dotted her inner thighs. Hickeys—dark purple bruises—decorated her neck like a collar. Her skin had a flushed, well-used glow. Even her lips were swollen, bee-stung from hours of kissing and... other activities.

Behind both of them—

"PAPA! CATCH!"

Toby.

The eight-year-old was running full-tilt, his little legs pumping. In his hands, he held a bundle of clothes—Bella's clothes, presumably. His face was scrunched in concentration, clearly trying his best to help.

Elara burst out of the manor and into the garden, her bare feet slapping against the grass. She ran straight toward Viktor, her eyes locking onto him like a lifeline.

"SIR VIKTOR!" she gasped, stumbling to a stop in front of him. Her chest heaved, breasts bouncing beneath the thin nightgown. Sweat made the fabric cling to her skin. "STOP THAT WOMAN! SHE'S TALKING—WHO KNOWS WHAT!"

Bella arrived a heartbeat later, skidding to a stop. The towel slipped slightly, and she had to clutch it to keep from flashing everyone. "Wait—wait—" she panted, her cat ears flat against her head in embarrassment. "I just—I just want to be your friend, Miss Elara! Let's become good friends!"

Viktor's mouth twitched.

He looked at Bella. At her marked, disheveled state. At the towel barely containing her. At the desperation in her yellow eyes.

'I said to help me seduce Elara,' he thought, fighting back a laugh. 'Not chase her around the manor looking like a freshly-fucked mess.'

"PAPA!"

Toby's voice pulled Viktor's attention. The boy wound up like a pitcher and threw the bundle of clothes.

"HERE IT IS, PAPA!"

The clothes flew through the air in a perfect arc—

And Toby, having put all his momentum into the throw, toppled forward.

THUD.

He face-planted into the grass, his nose taking the brunt of the impact.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then—

"WAAAAAHHHHH!"

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