Helena's shoulders sagged. She exhaled shakily, not even having the energy to be angry. Just defeated. Humiliated.

She turned away from Mira, taking a step toward the door. Her hand still pressed against her ass, each movement making her wince.

"Young master will be doing his training," Helena said, her voice hollow and mechanical. "He'll take a bath afterwards. I'm going to prepare it."

She took another agonizing step.

"Until then... go check on him."

Mira's eyes widened. "Wait—how can I—"

But Helena's back was already to her.

And what a back it was.

Even through the pain, even through the destruction, Helena's body was a work of art. Her hourglass physique curved dramatically—thick waist flaring into massive hips and that criminally fat ass. Her milky white skin glowed in the dawn light, unmarred except for the finger bruises.

The perfect arch of her spine created that ideal fuck-me curve—the kind that made men want to grab her hips and rail her from behind.

Mira felt a spike of jealousy.

Her own body was thick, yes. Fertile and soft. But Helena's was... different. More mature. More perfectly built for breeding and rough use. The kind of body that belonged in a brothel servicing men day and night.

Mira's gaze dropped lower.

To Helena's ass.

Those massive cheeks jiggled with each careful step. But between them—visible even from behind—that gap.

Her asshole didn't close.

The brown ring gaped slightly, the muscle too stretched and abused to seal properly. Mira could actually see inside slightly, see the pink flesh and the cum still leaking out in thin trickles.

All night. Viktor's cock had been inside that hole all night.

The thought made Mira's pussy clench hard.

"What the hell are you looking at?!"

Helena's voice cracked like a whip.

She'd turned around, catching Mira staring directly at her gaping asshole with an expression somewhere between horror and fascination.

Mira's eyes snapped up, face flooding with crimson. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish, no words coming out. Her hands fluttered uselessly, trying to gesture some explanation.

Helena's face matched her own—bright red, eyes wide with mortification and anger.

"I—I wasn't—I mean—" Mira stammered, taking a step back.

"Just go!" Helena's voice came out strangled. "Go meet the young master!"

Mira didn't need to be told twice.

Yes, even if Helena hadn't told her, she wanted to.

She had decided.

She wanted him but was embarrassed to say it openly just now.

She spun and bolted toward the door, practically sprinting. Her thick thighs rubbed together as she ran, her massive tits bouncing wildly under the dirty dress, but she didn't care.

She'd just been caught staring at another woman's destroyed asshole with jealous fascination.

The shame burned hotter than any arousal.

Mira burst through the door and into the courtyard, the cool morning air hitting her flushed face. She kept running—past the overgrown garden, past the crumbling fountain—anywhere that wasn't back in that room with Helena's accusing, humiliated stare.

Behind her, Helena stood frozen in place.

Her hand still pressed against her gaping ass. Fresh tears streaming down her cheeks. Her whole body trembling with the effort to stay upright.

She'd been caught. Seen. Witnessed in her most degrading state by none other than the new maid she thought to intimidate.

And the worst part?

It was all due to her young master.

'I-I need to set boundaries today at all cost!'

----

Sun was yet to fully fill the horizon,

"Haah... That's just... fuck..." Victor's legs pumped against the dirt path, his breathing steady but labored. One mile.

Well, technically he was just circling his own damn garden like a hamster in a wheel, but fuck it—a mile was a mile.

His feet slowed to a stop near the overgrown herb patch. He bent backward, hands pressing into his lower back as he stretched. A deep breath in through his nose, out through his mouth.

Not too bad. Not gasping like a dying fish at least.

His eyes dropped to his stomach.

Soft. The belly that had been firm just days ago now had a slight jiggle to it. Loose skin hung where belly used to be tighter.

Visible changes in less than three days since arriving in this backwards shithole.

He pinched the flesh, watching it dimple under his fingers. The body was loosing fat faster than he'd thought.

His mind drifted as he caught his breath.

Those bandits yesterday weren't random. They had to be working under one of the nearby bandit pavilions offering franchises to low-class third tier groups.

Though calling them "pavilions" felt generous—they called themselves guilds right now. Harold Guild. Pretentious bastards.

But Victor knew better. He knew what was coming.

In the future, after the old king croaked, this whole kingdom would shatter like dropped pottery. Every count, viscount, and duke would carve out their own little kingdom.

The soldiers were already spread thin, loyalty bought with coin that barely existed. It was only a matter of time.

Harold Guild would drop the pretense. They'd become Harold Bandit Pavilion openly. A small prefecture, basically a kingdom for criminals. And they weren't the only ones.

The whole continent would fracture.

Then Leo would make his move. The crown prince—well, future crown prince—would sit his ass on the throne and do what no one expected.

Instead of trying to hold together the rotting corpse of the old kingdom, he'd expand. Aggressively.

Eldoria Kingdom would become Eldoria Empire. Leo would eat every separated kingdom piece by piece, then keep going.

Other kingdoms on the continent would fall. Including the ones formed by former Eldorian nobles.

Count Redwood would form his own kingdom too. Which technically made Victor—or Viktor, or whoever the fuck this body belonged to—a prince.

At least that's how it played out in the future he remembered.

But that was a decade away. Maybe more.

Right now, Leo was probably still in the succession battle with his siblings. Multiple heirs fighting for daddy's approval.

Which meant if Victor played it smart, he could back a different horse. Support another heir. Get in on the ground floor before the empire shit kicked off.

But loyalty? In a medieval political clusterfuck?

Yeah, no.

Entering the capital was a death sentence until he was strong enough.

Victor straightened up, rolling his shoulders.

Then the smell hit him.

"Fuck this." He looked down at himself, practically naked except for his underwear. The fabric clung to his ass and balls, damp and uncomfortable. "I smell like a hobo's taint."

He walked toward the herb patch, scanning the overgrown mess. Sage. Mint. Something that looked like basil but probably wasn't.

Good enough.

He crouched down, grabbing a handful of the herbs that through his power twisted together, leaves blending, stems merging. The light intensified for a heartbeat—then condensed.

A new plant formed in his palm. Hybrid. Something that didn't exist a second ago.

He crushed it between his fingers. The leaves broke apart easily, releasing thick juice that coated his skin. He rubbed it together, mixing it into a rough paste.

Then he repeated the process. Grabbed more herbs. Lifted his hand. Watched them condense and merge again. Crushed them. Made another paste.

And again.

Three pastes total.

Victor smeared it across his chest, under his arms, down his stomach. The paste was cool against his overheated skin.

He took a breath, tilting his head back toward the sky.

Blue. Clear. A few clouds drifting lazily.

[ Race Integration: 12/100% reached ('''Non-Accessible Notification.) (Integrate Demonic Lust) ]

'Hm...'

"Why the hell am I suddenly feeling horny..."

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