Leon knew all too well just how forward one could become after falling under the enchantment of the Blood Desire.

After all, he had experienced it firsthand two years ago.

What he hadn’t expected, however, was that two years later, Roswitha would completely flip the script, reversing positions with him entirely.

As the rippling waves of heart-shaped light locked onto him, Leon’s previously tense body relaxed at once.

The Dragon Mark pulsing on his chest began to resonate.

Roswitha’s nightgown was gauzy and thin. A faint purple glow seeped through it, its luminescence teasingly outlining the supple perfection of her curves from an ideal, tantalizing angle.

Roswitha smirked triumphantly. She reached out and playfully pinched Leon’s nose. “I used to be the one forcing and threatening you. But soon, you’ll willingly act like a clingy little puppy. You’ll beg me, coax me, and plead with me to give you what you want~”

Her fingertip traced downward from Leon’s nose, gliding over his lips, along his jawline, down to his throat, and finally coming to a rest on his chest. “So... what will it be, oh brave and righteous Dragon Slayer? Will you be able to restrain yourself later? Hmm?”

Leon watched as the glow of Roswitha’s Dragon Mark grew brighter and brighter. He knew he wouldn’t be able to resist her in the end.

Clenching his fists tightly, his nails barely broke the surface of his skin, the faint prick of pain serving as his desperate attempt to cling to what little clarity remained.

Of course, it was nothing more than a futile resistance before his inevitable fall.

In Leon’s eyes, Roswitha’s image slowly shifted. The cunning and calculating woman who had always had the upper hand over him melted away, revealing a delicate, endearing maiden who stirred his deepest affections.

How beautiful she was. How breathtaking. No words of praise could ever do her justice.

He wanted… He so desperately wanted to hold her… to kiss her… to lose himself entirely with her—

Rustle—

Leon relaxed his fists, his hands instinctively sliding up along Roswitha’s smooth, slender legs. His palms grazed the warmth of her knees, brushed over the slick fabric of her nightgown, and finally came to rest lightly around her narrow waist.

His eyes locked onto her tender, inviting lips. Slowly, he leaned in closer.

Roswitha, too, began to lean in, meeting him halfway.

The next second, he could even feel the soft warmth of her breath fluttering gently across his face.

Yet—

A sudden touch of coolness brushed against his lips.

Roswitha had placed a single finger there, halting him.

Her smile was nothing short of devilish. “Do you want to kiss me?”

Leon’s pupils trembled, his lips parting softly as he murmured weakly, “Yes… I want to…”

“How badly do you want to? Hmm?”

“So badly... so, so badly…”

“But me? I’m not giving in so easily.”

It seemed Roswitha wasn’t in any rush to proceed to the next step.

She enjoyed teasing Leon by only brushing against him without fully engaging, which made the fire of desire within him burn even fiercer.

As if to prolong his torment, Roswitha raised her right hand, her fingers conjuring a flicker of luminous magic that transformed into a small mirror.

Leon glanced sideways at the mirror, his breathing labored. “This… what is this…”

“A magical trinket for recording short scenes. I picked it up the last time I visited Sky City,” Roswitha replied matter-of-factly.

She set the mirror against the back of the sofa, angling it just perfectly to capture every moment of Leon’s eventual capitulation.

After securing the mirror in place, Roswitha withdrew her hand, letting it trail lightly along Leon’s cheek. Her voice was sultry, dripping seduction, as she whispered,

“Well then, tell me again, my dear Dragon Slayer—do you… want to kiss me?”

This dragoness was outright planning to immortalize his disgrace, to use it as ammunition for future taunts and torment.

Leon’s remaining shreds of rationality screamed at him to refuse.

But how could he? The enchantment of the Blood Desire had overwhelmed even Roswitha back then. Against its magic, what chance did he have?

The craving to be close to Roswitha had rooted itself in his mind, a drug that pulsed with every beat of his heart.

Though his soul rebelled against it with every fiber, the words that spilled from his lips betrayed him:

“I want to kiss you… so badly, Roswitha…”

“Words alone won’t cut it, you know. You’ll have to beg me. Plead with me. Make me happy, and then—maybe—I’ll let you kiss me.”

“Please… Roswitha, please, I’m begging you… I’m begging…”

Roswitha tilted her head, her arms curling languidly around his neck as she leaned in. Their gazes met—her silver and black eyes locking onto his. For a moment, Leon saw his own pitiful reflection mirrored in her pupils.

“Is that how you beg a girl?” She scoffed softly. “Oh, well. Twenty years of life spent fighting dragons—I suppose expecting you to know how to please me might be asking too much.”

Roswitha exhaled a soft breath toward his face.

The sweet, fleeting scent from her lips grazed his senses, sending his pulse racing further out of control.

Unconsciously, Leon tightened his grip around Roswitha’s waist, moving in to press his lips to hers again.

But just as before, Roswitha merely tilted her head back, revealing the long, alabaster curve of her neck.

Leon’s position left him no choice; he could only reach her neck.

At that moment, though, simply being able to touch her felt like a gracious blessing.

Leon began to lay reverent kisses along her neck, his lips brushing against the faint rhythm of her pulse.

Roswitha swept her hair over her shoulder, offering Leon freer access.

She laughed indulgently. “Look at yourself now, Leon. How pitiful. You’ve thrown away all your pride and dignity for a kiss from me, a dragoness. Do you still deserve the honor and pride of being the great Dragon Slayer?”

Leon’s movements faltered for a brief instant. His fading rationality seized this sliver of control.

But only for a fleeting moment.

He buried his face even deeper into her neck, trying to escape her scornful words.

Roswitha, however, had no intention of letting him savor the moment uninterrupted.

She raised her palm to his forehead, gently pushing him back.

“So this is what I must have looked like back then, when I was under your Blood Desire,” she mused with a faint smile. “You never expected you’d end up like this yourself, did you? My noble Dragon Slayer?”

Leon had abandoned all pretense of resistance by now.

He seized Roswitha’s wrist, bringing her fingertip to his lips before biting down lightly.

The pressure was soft, barely grazing her skin, driven more by his desperation to maintain some form of physical connection with her.

Roswitha let out a short, amused gasp, her brow knitting slightly.

After all, fingertips were impossibly delicate, their nerves hypersensitive.

Chuckling softly, she deactivated the recording spell, picking up the wine she’d left behind earlier. Tilting her head back, she drained the glass in a single, fluid motion.

The wine gone, Roswitha exhaled deeply, slipping her fingers free from Leon’s mouth and wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

“Come now, Leon. Show me the true face of your downfall, my little pup.”

The violet glow in her eyes shimmered with increasing intensity, and Leon sank completely into the radiant trap she had set for him.

Deeper and deeper.

Further and further…

In the haze of his surrender, fleeting memories surfaced, tracing back two years.

To the damp, shadowed dungeons where he and Roswitha had first crossed paths.

It was a moment scorched into his mind—like a sinner pleading with a saint for absolution.

Perhaps, from that very moment their eyes had met, the gears of fate had begun to turn.

Everything that followed had long been predestined.