The sensation brought by the Double Dragon Marks was equally doubled.

Roswitha only needed to lightly slide her fingertips across Leon's skin to provoke a reaction as dramatic as lightning igniting a wildfire.

Leon bit down on his lower lip, his brows tightly furrowed, fists clenched as he arduously restrained his instincts and impulses.

However, the current from the Dragon Marks surged like a flood, crashing through his already faltering rationality.

Roswitha didn’t even need to engage in much foreplay. Simply looking down at him with that condescending smile was enough to ignite the blazing fire in his heart.

“Double Dragon Marks… What kind of experience is that, Leon? Can you tell me?”

Her smile was beguiling, bewitching, like an enchantress capable of stealing one’s very soul.

When the Dragon Clan became excited, their minds fixated on only two things:

Destruction and conquest.

Nothing else existed in their thoughts.

And at this moment, Roswitha was engulfed in the throes of such exhilaration.

Leon was suppressing his impulses, but Roswitha was equally restraining her Dragon Clan instincts.

How she craved to merge her flesh and blood with her prey standing before her… How much she yearned to utterly destroy his body, his will, his pride… How desperately she wanted to force him to beg for mercy in the most unbearable way, reveling in the satisfaction of her inner desire for domination.

But she couldn’t—

Not yet.

She needed to take her time, savor every step, and revel in the sacrificial dismantling of the one beneath her.

His endurance, his resistance, the expression he wore—so desperate to surrender his reason and indulge in the queen's embrace, yet clinging fiercely to his fragile pride as a Dragon Slayer. To Roswitha, all of it was spoils of her vengeance.

Reaching out, she swept the back of her hand gently across Leon’s fevered cheek.

Admiring his stubborn yet resolute face, she offered a genuine compliment to her nominal husband:

“You still look as handsome as you did two years ago, Leon. The scars on your face have faded a bit, but you’ve gained a hint of exhaustion and world-weariness. It makes you even more mature, like a man in his prime.”

The mere touch was already teasing the fire within Leon.

He clenched his jaw, desperately guarding the final vestiges of his rationality.

But he knew full well—

In the end, he wouldn’t be able to resist the resonance of the Dragon Marks.

What’s more, Roswitha had tampered with his armor, adding another layer of Dragon Marks.

Under the double impact—

No one could possibly hold out.

And this secluded mountainside, far from the sacred Castle, was utterly deserted.

Roswitha could unleash her wild side freely, unrestrained and without care.

“Ah! Damn it—”

Leon let out a low growl as the reaction of the Dragon Marks intensified, leaving him increasingly unable to resist.

Roswitha’s eyes curved into crescent moons, filled to the brim with endless ambiguity and warmth.

“Leon! Leon~ Leon…”

The Dragon Marks were assaulting Roswitha’s reason as well, to the point where she unconsciously began murmuring his name.

Suddenly, the queen’s waist weakened, and she slumped onto the chestplate of the Black Gold Chariot.

Her breasts were pressed slightly out of shape against the unyielding armor.

Leon secretly sighed in relief. Thankfully, there was still a layer of armor separating Roswitha and himself; otherwise… their Dragon Marks would have had direct and intimate contact by now.

But Leon’s relief came far too early.

Roswitha leaned closer toward his face, strands of her silver hair falling from the side of her cheek. The tips brushed lightly against Leon’s forehead and nose.

Ticklish, tantalizing.

Yet what tickled more was Leon’s heart.

Their lips were mere millimeters apart, barely the width of a finger.

Leon could even feel the warm breaths Roswitha exhaled against his face.

Such an unprecedented initiative from her—

So close, so very close.

Close enough that if either of their breaths grew a little heavier, their lips would touch.

“Roswitha…”

“Leon… I, I—”

Her eyes trembled, glistening like water, as though she wanted to say something.

But the words caught in her throat.

At last, she straightened up and coldly said,

“Hmph, this is just revenge, Leon.”

Whether she was speaking to Leon or to herself, not even she seemed to know.

Leon’s vision grew increasingly blurred, his breathing heavier.

Before the Dragon Marks completely devoured his consciousness, the last thing he saw was the tender, passionate dragon eyes of Roswitha.

Flesh and metal, heat and coldness, brazenly intertwined in that secluded mountain cabin.

Outside, thousands of ancient trees swayed in the breeze, birds chirped, and cicadas sang—

As if nature itself were offering an airtight cover for the pair concealed within.

...

Leon eventually awoke, his muscles aching deeply as though every bone in his body had been broken and reset.

He gritted his teeth against the pain, sat up, and leaned against the cool stone wall.

Raising his head to look ahead, he saw that Roswitha, too, seemed to have just recovered from their earlier exertions. She stood there, methodically dressing herself.

The glow from the Dragon Marks flickered like the flame of a dying campfire at dawn before ultimately extinguishing.

Once fully clothed, Roswitha began carefully placing the scattered parts of the Black Gold Chariot back into the case they had come from.

Her hands moved precisely yet gently, her focus intent.

After securely placing the case back in its spot, Roswitha slowly walked over to a position about three meters in front of Leon, then perched herself gracefully against the edge of a display shelf.

The queen looked equally fatigued, her face still a little flushed, with her tail lying weakly by her side.

Her long silver hair was slightly tousled.

Leon rested the back of his head against the icy stone wall, his eyelids heavy, but still, he met Roswitha’s gaze directly.

A subtle tension hung between them, as though the passionate storm mere moments ago had never even happened.

“I’d like to rest before heading back,” Leon said.

“Mm.”

Her voice was hoarse, likely strained from shouting too intensely earlier.

Observing her weary expression, Leon noted that her mood seemed unusually low.

He’d noticed this during their prior encounters as well. Upon reflection, it made sense—

After all, by shaming Leon through such means, she was also eroding her own boundaries and inner resolve.

The satisfaction of revenge only lingered in the heat of the moment, not thereafter.

Still, Leon neither asked nor expressed any concern toward Roswitha.

In a few minutes, she’d return to her usual self—the aloof, cunning Silver Dragon Queen.

Leon sat silently in the corner, his head bowed, saying nothing.

Shff—

The rustling sound of fabric sliding against skin filled the room.

Leon assumed Roswitha was about to leave and looked up.

To his surprise, Roswitha was crawling toward him… inch by inch.

Her palms and knees contacted the ground, her tail trailing lazily behind her. Though Leon had clearly seen her movements, she pretended to act with cautious stealth, edging closer to him like a wary yet mischievous little cat.

Leon pursed his lips and retreated slightly, “What are you doing?”

She reached him at last, bracing one hand on his thigh while using the other to lift his chin gently.

Their noses were close, just as they had been during the earlier chaotic moment when they had nearly kissed.

But now, the warmth and tenderness once shining in Roswitha’s eyes had given way to something else—

A familiar sense of mockery and mischief.

Just as Leon had predicted, her melancholia dissolved, and she had reverted to the Silver Dragon Queen he knew all too well—calculating, sharp, enthralling.

With a sly smile, she murmured,

“Leon, your body… really isn’t what it used to be, is it?”