Leon lay on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling of the hotel room.

Ten minutes ago, his identity was no longer that of the mightiest Dragon Slayer. He was no longer Roswitha's pretend husband, nor the father of NoaMuen and Aurora.

He was now an honorable--drowner.

When Roswitha casually mentioned that she'd bought a new swimsuit, Leon still managed to remain calm.

"It's just clothing," he told himself. "An external object. How much could it really trigger my... weaknesses?"

All he had to do was resist looking, right?

A man who couldn't even suppress his own "switch" wasn't really an excellent man.

But life had never been kind about following plans.

The swimsuit turned out to be just a pretext, a ruse for Roswitha's lesson. The real killing move had always been the Dragon Mark blazing on their chests.

The moment Leon felt the Dragon Mark resonate, he seized what little clarity he had left and loudly admonished the dragoness,

"Melkevi! Just because I bear your Dragon Mark, does that mean you can do whatever you want to me?!"

Roswitha extended a finger and replied smugly, "Of course. And Leon, remember this: as long as you have the Dragon Mark, it’s forever yours."

"You’re just being completely unreasonable!"

"I couldn’t care less about reason, and frankly, you don't deserve it."

With that declaration, the queen sashayed into the bathroom, claiming it was time to change into the swimsuit she'd secretly purchased.

Before she went in, she ordered Leon to play the role of a drowning victim and lie there on the bed, waiting for her—an "heroic" lifeguard—to come rescue him.

Perfect. The role-playing had evolved from teacher and nurse outfits to now seaside lifeguards. It seemed every profession in the world had become potential fodder for their marital games.

The Dragon Mark on his chest shimmered faintly, and Leon felt an unrelenting heat spread through his body. His breathing grew heavier, his heartbeat quickened.

Every pore on his skin seemed to exhale steam, and every inch burned of his body burned with unbearable warmth.

Luckily, they were staying at a hotel by the sea. The cool ocean breeze slipped through the room, brushing against his forehead and giving him just enough respite to retain a sliver of rationality.

But after battling wits with Roswitha for so long, Leon knew all too well that any fragments of clarity at such a moment were nothing short of torment.

It was like a single ray of light in utter darkness—far from salvation, it only emphasized the weight of despair. Any streak of lucidity amidst this haze became a doubled-edged curse, deepening his anguish.

If his whole reasoning had been consumed entirely by the Mark's resonance—if both his body and mind plunged without hesitation into fulfilling that unspoken "duty"—then perhaps he wouldn't feel any suffering. After all, in that state, thought was no longer possible.

The real torture was now: when that faint trace of awareness forced Leon to painfully anticipate exactly what he and Roswitha were about to do.

*Sigh.*

Back in the first phase, General Lei had been a cautious early-game ally, eventually maxing out his gear in the late-game to blitz and nearly topple the dragoness's stronghold.

But in the phase 2, the dragoness had received an epic buff patch, while the overpowered General Lei was dramatically nerfed. Now, he was no match for Roswitha.

Comebacks weren’t entirely impossible, of course. But... tough, very tough.

The sound of running water from the bathroom suddenly ceased.

The creak of the door snapped Leon out of his drifting thoughts, causing him to prop himself up slightly and glance toward the bathroom door.

A silver-haired beauty emerged, wrapped in a bathrobe, her damp hair cascading loosely as she slowly walked toward the bed.

Barefoot, her jade-like feet left faint wet prints with every step.

Through the bathrobe trailed a pair of shapely, delicate calves, their surface still softly misting with steam.

Her skin was stunningly pale and smooth—so much so that even water droplets seemed unable to cling to it, instead rolling effortlessly down. From her temple, down her cheekbones, to her jawline... they journeyed along her elegant swan-like neck before vanishing into the plush valley of her chest.

The robe’s neckline dipped seductively low, revealing the faintest corner of the Dragon Mark on her chest, along with a tantalizing hint of porcelain softness.

She’d clearly dressed this way on purpose. Roswitha fresh out of the bath had long become routine for Leon. After all, they'd been living under one roof for some time now. He often caught glimpses of her post-shower appearance.

So... where was this "new swimsuit" she teased about?

Bring it out already!

Was she bluffing the whole time?

Leon lay back down, his voice laced with mild mockery. "Don’t tell me your so-called new swimsuit is just this bathrobe. Ha, is that all you’ve got?

You’ll have to try harder to impress me."

As soon as his words fell, he felt the mattress dip slightly.

He knew someone had moved closer.

Roswitha knelt beside Leon, still wrapped in her bathrobe. Her lips curved into a playful smile as she gazed down at her "drowning" husband. In a slow and deliberate tone, she asked,

"You seem reaaally intrigued by my new swimsuit. If you truly want to see it, you could just ask me directly. After all, you’re my husband. No request is too much."

"No," Leon flatly corrected her. "I’m not your husband."

The queen tilted her head, a flicker of dissatisfaction crossing her elegant features.

This bastard’s getting more insolent. Deigning to call him "her husband" was already a generous boon on her part; how dare he act so indifferent?

"Then what are you?" Roswitha’s voice dipped lower, her tone carrying an edge.

The teasing ambiance that had been building now hung in awkward suspense.

"I’m a poor, helpless drowning victim. Isn’t that what you just said?" Leon replied innocently.

"…Oh, you’re right. My mistake, then," she huffed lightly.

Tying her hair back into a simple ponytail with a flick of her hand, Roswitha adjusted her posture. "Didn’t expect you to get into character so quickly. Fine then—let’s begin."

Leon scoffed under his breath and shut his eyes.

Before he could ready himself, however, an abrupt yelp jolted him back to alertness.

"Ah! Oh no!"

Leon flinched slightly, his already-quickened heartbeat now racing even faster.

"There’s a drowning victim right here! He’s passed out and looks like he needs urgent help!" exclaimed Roswitha excitedly.

Good grief—why was this dragoness always so wildly, gleefully over-the-top with her role-playing?

Truly, no one could dive into a scene faster or deeper than this drama queen.

Still mulling over her theatrics, Leon suddenly heard a sharp ‘RIP!’”

Roswitha tore his shirt open from the collar down.

"Dragoness!" Leon thought with exasperation. "This was an expensive shirt!"

But then again... since she’d been the one to foot the bill, he could only begrudgingly accept his fate.

"Step one—inspect the victim’s mouth and nose for any obstructions," Roswitha muttered to herself like a studious lifeguard in training.

Alright, it seemed like she was actually putting some effort into playing the part. Leon allowed himself a small, wary chuckle internally.

And yet, as always, the Dragon Queen’s flair for innovation far outpaced his expectations.

With one hand, she gently pinched Leon’s nose closed; with the other, she carefully pried open his mouth. As she examined him, her voice carried a devious lilt:

"Hmm… hard to see anything this way. Looks like I’ll have to conduct a *more thorough inspection*."

A more thorough inspection? How much more thorough could it possibly get? Was she about to grab a magnifying glass or something?

Leon kept his face neutral, forcing himself to remain composed.

But the next moment, a soft, inviting warmth engulfed his lips. Gentle and tender, it felt as though a delicate, playful fish was swimming freely along his mouth.

The sudden kiss caught Leon off guard, freezing him in place.

And unlike their usual fervent exchanges, this kiss came from her alone—full of care and attentiveness, without expecting reciprocity.

Unlike their typically passionate encounters, Roswitha’s kiss this time was graceful, soothing. It was as though she intended to dissipate his tension, bringing him peace with her every motion—a silent lullaby manifesting in touch.

Her movements were light and patient, her delicate gestures testing him ever so softly.

Not that there was truly a need to probe—both of them knew each other intimately by this point. Leon was well-acquainted with her body, just as she was perfectly attuned to his limits. Her subtle gentleness right now was less about exploration and more about setting the stage for what was to come.

Completely immersed in the moment, Roswitha indulged greedily in her kiss, savoring the texture of his every corner with abundance. She was like a brazen thief overcome with lust, plundering all that Leon had to offer.

Eventually, satisfied with her "inspection," Roswitha retreated, gracefully lifting her head. She tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear with practiced elegance, a sly smile gracing her features like the last hush of a sonnet’s closing line.

"Inspection… complete~," she purred.

Deftly, Roswitha let a single rosy fingertip trail down the contour of Leon’s jaw to his clavicle, across his chest, eventually pausing over the firm muscles of his abdomen.

Her silver eyes gleamed, her grin deepening as her tone turned sultry.

"Now then, my dear… it’s time to move on to the next stage of this rescue~."

Her voice was honeyed with an enticing blend of anticipation and playful seduction.