Ayame voices her approval of my reluctance to abuse the potentially misguided Blossom’s offer, “I’m starting to see you in a new light, Quinlan. Maybe you really are somewhat of a gentleman?”
“Of course I am… I was my grandma’s favorite grandson.”
“Let me guess, you are an only child?”
“… Yes.”
She giggles and refocuses her effort on undressing Blossom. I don’t think the dog-kin needs help with that, but it seems Ayame is eager to fulfill her self-given role of elder sister, though I wouldn’t be surprised if she is the younger one between the two of them in reality.
I begin inspecting my gains amidst hearing some of Blossom’s blissful and cute tittering as Ayame wipes her body with the bathing rag. They are having fun.
All in all I’ve received 1233 XP in this battle, more than what I got for the greenskin massacre. I don’t really agree with the system’s values as I fought with my life on the line for more than an hour back then, but no one asked for my opinion, sadly. Furthermore, I understand that the goblins were low level thus they gave little XP.
[Name: Quinlan Noir]
[Race: Primordial]
[Title: -]
[Primordial Level: 6 → 9. XP 17/816]
[Primary Class: Assassin lvl 6 → 7]
[Secondary Classes:
– Slave Master lvl 5 → 7
– Warrior lvl 7 → 9
– Thief lvl 2]
[Vitality: 29]
[Strength: 25]
[Agility: 29] (26 + 10%)
[Intelligence: 18]
[Wisdom: 18]
[Unused Skill Points: 19]
[Unused Attribute Points: 15]
Three levels gained from that short scuffle and my life was arguably not even in danger. What a nice haul. I decide to retain my unused points for now because if I wish to become a mage at some point I can’t neglect Wisdom and Intelligence either, but I don’t know how to unlock such a class. I will make sure to ask Ayame tomorrow.
My Assassin class only leveled up once while my Warrior got two. It must be because I didn’t stealth attack anyone, just brute forced my way through. It still gains some levels just from murdering, thankfully, but not as much as I would get for unseen kills.
This raises a question, though. Previously I thought that non-primordials would have the equal amount of Normal Levels to their Class Levels, such as Ayame being a level 14 human with a level 14 Samurai class, but an Assassin should have differing values based on this information.
Well, it doesn’t matter much, at least for now. I don’t want to interrupt the girls’ fun time to ask my boring questions.
After a few minutes they are done with Blossom’s washing. I can hear that she is trying to dress back up into her filthy rags again, to which Ayame objects vehemently. After a bit of reassuring speech that no one will be mad at her, Blossom accepts a pair of Ayame’s undergarments that we’ve bought previously.
I can finally turn my head without feeling guilty about it, and I observe a rather curious sight.
Blossom is already inside Ayame’s undergarments, but it’s like trying to stuff a pillow into a teacup. Ayame herself isn’t flat at all- she’s the definition of beautiful, elegant modesty in that area- but Blossom, well, she is truly blossomed. The delicate fabric strains and stretches, the bra looking like it’s about to give up on life.
Ayame stands back, hands on her hips, looking both proud and exasperated. “It’s like trying to fit a watermelon into a coin purse,” she mutters, more to herself than anything, then continues under her breath, “damn… For some reason I feel like I’ve been greatly insulted as a woman just now…”
Blossom tugs at the hem of the undershirt, which barely covers half of what it’s supposed to. “Blossom thinks it’s a little snug,” she says, blushing adorably.
“A little snug?” Ayame repeats, incredulous. “Blossom, that thing looks like it’s holding on for dear life. I’m surprised the seams haven’t torn apart yet.”
I can’t help but chuckle at the sight. Blossom’s voluptuous curves make Ayame’s undergarments look comically inadequate. The undershirt has become an unintentional crop top, and the bra cups are more like… suggestions than actual support.
Blossom gives a shy smile, adjusting the straps that are digging into her shoulders. “Well, at least it’s clean, right? Blossom doesn’t want to dirty Master’s place.”
Ayame rolls her eyes, but there’s a grin tugging at her lips. “Clean, yes. Functional, no.”
I come to their rescue as I say; “Ayame, give her one of my shirts and a pair of boxers for the time being.”
Blossom’s eyes brighten up, her expression filled with hope. “Is that really alright for a slave like Blossom?”
“Yes, it’s alright,” I say, still chuckling. “We can’t have you bursting out of Ayame’s clothes every time you move.”
Blossom beams with gratitude as Ayame hands her my items. When she finally changes into my clothes, I see that the shirt is baggy and the boxers are loose, a perfectly cozy fit for a good night’s rest.
“Let’s go back to sleep, ladies. Tomorrow is a big day.” I suggest.
“You are right.” Ayame agrees and climbs into the bed.
I follow her example and relax my body in the comforts of the rather soft pillow for a medieval item. After a few seconds I realize that we’ve forgotten about the newcomer. I sit up only to see her lying on the floor next to our bed.
Blossom is already curled up on the hard floor, a stark contrast to the coziness of the bed. Her long, blonde hair cascades around her like a silken waterfall, highlighting the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. She’s wearing my oversized shirt and boxers, which look like a tent on her petite frame. The shirt has slipped off one shoulder, revealing her smooth, tanned skin.
Her fluffy tail wraps around her legs as if trying to provide some semblance of warmth and comfort.
Her large, expressive eyes are half-closed, hinting at her exhaustion, but there’s still a hint of nervousness and alertness in them. She clutches her hands to her chest, and her ears twitch occasionally, picking up the faintest sounds in the room.
