The King Of All Pussy



I maintain my serious and determined expression. With a firm voice, I enumerate the names of my precious wives, whose image and memories remain vivid in my mind.

"[1] - Kinzy - A dark elf with snow-white hair and gentle, delicate features.

[2] - Hinizy - An elf with penetrating red eyes, porcelain-white skin, and long red hair that seems to blaze like flames.

[3] - Arianazy and Antrazy - Two elves with white skin and intense green eyes, adorning their long braided hair with flowers, evoking beauty and a connection to nature.

[4] - Wildy - An adorable elf with silver eyes, cascading blonde hair, and dark skin, exuding a captivating and innocent aura despite her young and delicate appearance, a LOLI."

As the words leave my lips, half of the court instantly disappears, in the blink of an eye. The loyal members to the empire have probably scattered throughout the kingdom at high speed, determined to find and bring back my precious wives.

After the initial turmoil, the hall falls into a tense silence. Time is running out, and urgency permeates the air.

"Ding! Ding!"

[Have sex on the throne!]

Requirement: A blade witch, virgin with red hair and white skin with a cold personality, her mission is to break that cold personality in front of everyone in the hall, by having a long and powerful public sex.

[Reward]: [Randomly generated!]

After reading the mission information that appeared in the system, I look at Aelius Veridius once again and say, "Bring me a witch with a blade, a virgin with red hair, and a cold personality!"

Upon hearing my words, he stares at me and asks, "Why do you need an assassin at this moment?"

I smile at him and reply, "You will understand when she's here. Bring her to me! NOW!"

Aelius shows deep hatred towards me, I can tell by the gleam in his eyes, but he turns around and extends his fingers, causing another shadow that was in the hall to disappear. Now, all I have to do is wait.

[--------------------------------------------------]

Sound of footsteps. Cold floor.

A scream coming from behind. Someone has spotted me. Doors flash by as I run through the wide corridor. Stone arch ahead — my escape route from the barracks. Suddenly blocked by the arrival of a patrol. Not good.

I turn around and go back the way I came. More soldiers coming toward me. My fingers itch, but they are too many. I open a door, then close and lock it with a wooden plank.

A blade is just one of an assassin's weapons, echoes the voice in my head, ingrained from years of training. Know the target. Know the terrain. Anything can serve as a tool to ensure the kill.

I cross the room. Some kind of trophy room. Well protected, with a side door leading to a corridor. Behind me, I hear armor against the wooden floor. The iron hinges and sturdy structure should buy me plenty of time— My thought is interrupted by the sound of wood being shattered by heavy ax blows. Further ahead, the other door opens and more soldiers appear.

There are many, and they are well prepared. They knew I would come.

These soldiers wear the colors of Crownol but bear the emblem of a house that rebelled against the Trax. Confident in their strength, they chose to paint rather than prepare. I draw my blades that gleam with energy.

The ones in front slow down, panting, weapons raised. Behind them, the ones who broke down the door do the same. They close in, in a rehearsed formation. Six in front. Seven behind. It won't be easy.

It's more fun when it's challenging.

His voice echoes again. Think fast. Move even faster. Plan before attacking, then attack on instinct.I think you should take a look at

"ZUSWSSH!"

I throw a blade. It hits the chandelier hanging from the ceiling, breaking the chain and causing it to fall onto the soldiers behind.

"Bang!"

Two bodies hit the ground. Candles scatter, creating shadows and attracting eyes betrayed by reflections. I leap onto the nearest soldier and plunge my dagger into his chest. He chokes as blood fills his lungs.

I withdraw my blade from his body and throw it at the second chandelier. It too crashes to the ground, extinguishing the last source of light. At the same time, I dodge a strike from a soldier, letting him hit the two men who were approaching from behind me.

Surprised shouts and confusion echo from the stones as they fight in the darkness, uncertain of who is friend or foe.

I don't have that problem.

Adapt where others don't. Confuse them, and they will be betrayed by their instincts.

I advance, close to the ground, and retrieve my blade. It finds a throat, then an eye, then a kidney, before being interrupted by screams.

"Idiots! She's here!"

As the remaining soldiers stagger toward me, I close my eyes, calculate the location of my second blade, focus, and leap.

They shout in confusion as I disappear before them. I land behind them, retrieve the dagger, and spin around, slicing ankles. I'm rewarded with three more cries of pain, bringing down three more. It never gets tiring.

I switch the dagger to my other hand and leap, diving over them and striking the shoulders of the man who shouted, then knocking him down with a backward somersault. He falls to the ground as I throw both blades into the faces of two others.

The tip of a spear hits my head. I flinch, slightly dizzy. With a flourish, the soldier who threw me off balance attempts to strike my heart with the spear's tip. I leap again, hovering in the air, and my hand grasps a blade, tearing it from the face where I left it.

As I spin around to attack, an axe tries to hit my ribs, and I hear the clanging of metal as I fall backward. The massive man wielding the weapon raises it again, and I jump once more toward the other blade. I retrieve it just as another soldier hurls a mace at me, crushing the face of one of his comrades. The weapon's spikes scratch my arm, drawing blood.

I roll backward and crouch down. Four remain standing, scattered before me. Many are wounded but still alive. They all try to see me in the darkness. Now they can keep up with my daggers and with me.

Never face a fair fight. A cornered assassin is a dead assassin. I glance briefly at the exits.

Then she enters the room.

Through the side door. Accompanied by two bodyguards, each holding a crossbow. She has a torch in one hand and a sword in the other. A smug smirk on her face. Even in the darkness, she exudes charm and confidence. All eyes immediately turn to her.

My target.

"Well, what a disappointment," she says, slowly. If all the Trax has to try and catch me is an assassin at the end of her career, then they must be truly desperate.

Her taunt is punctuated by footsteps coming from outside the room. Reinforcements, closing in fast. She clearly underestimated what it took to corner me.

But that won't be any consolation if I end up dead.

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Your gift is the motivation for my creation. Give me more motivation!

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