Moen opened his eyes.

This was already the nth time he had woken up from a brief slumber.

Even though it had only been a single day, he felt as if he had endured a century.

At this moment, it was already the second morning—or perhaps noon. Bright light streamed into the room through the glazed windows, casting gentle rays on the side of Moen's face, akin to divine light bestowed by a great deity.

His expression was clean and pure, and his eyes, tranquil like a still lake, were untouched by any trace of desire.

Even though the silver-haired girl was quietly putting on her clothes beside him, her exposed skin radiating enticing allure, he did not even have the slightest urge to turn and glance at her.

Ha, women.

Form is emptiness; emptiness is form.

Feminine charm—merely a stumbling block impeding the growth of a true man.

He neither needed it nor cared about it.

He had already transcended it.

At this moment, even if a hundred beauties stripped themselves bare and seductively postured before him, his heart would remain utterly unmoved.

After all, he had long since devoted himself to the great holy…

…Alright, in truth, he was just completely drained.

This time, it was the real deal—absolutely nothing left.

Recalling the passions of the previous night, Moen felt an overwhelming urge to cry. His wide, lifeless fish-like eyes were filled with humiliation and helplessness.

Three whole hours!

The girl had pinned him beneath her and ravaged him for three entire hours!

Three hours of madness and indulgence, like a relentless storm, had drained him of everything.

By the end, the…uh, substance that came out was practically no different from water.

Even though he had rested for so long afterward, upon opening his eyes, he still found himself in sage mode.

Is this even fair? Is there any justice left in the laws of nature?

So what if you’re just a little stronger than I am, a little more dominant, a little more regal?

What’s there to be smug about? If I hadn’t been completely worn out before, if I hadn’t been weakened, I surely would have…

“How much longer are you going to sleep?”

At this moment, the girl had quietly approached Moen’s side. She lightly kicked his arm with the tip of her foot, a cold expression on her face.

“Can’t stand up? Need me to help you?”

“Who… Who said I can’t stand up?!”

Moen was incensed by her words. He immediately launched himself upright in a flashy kip-up move, though his legs wobbled, his vision blurred, and his waist nearly gave out.

But at the very least, he would not lose in terms of momentum.

Puffing out his chest and squaring his shoulders, Moen raised his head and glared angrily, projecting an air of defiance as he declared:

“I’m perfectly fine right now!”

“Is that so?”

Celicia arched an elegant brow but said no more. She turned away and began tidying up the chaotic aftermath.

Last night’s wildness had left the entire room in shambles.

As Moen watched Celicia’s graceful face, he found himself momentarily spellbound.

He had to admit that, although the sequelae were a bit much to bear, what had happened last night had been undeniably thrilling.

The girl’s commanding demeanor, her unrestrained passion, her unabashed moans of pleasure, and the moment when, reaching the pinnacle of ecstasy, the boundless ice fields within her melted away into a flood of springtime torrents that nearly drowned everything…

Just thinking about it caused Moen’s supposedly unshakeable sage mode—one that even a battalion of beauties could not disrupt—to show signs of unraveling.

But at this very moment, Celicia had reverted to the cold and aloof demeanor Moen knew so well.

Her expression was frosty, her movements elegant. Despite walking somewhat stiffly or occasionally wincing from some hidden discomfort, she exuded an air of nobility in her pale gown as she strode through the wreckage-strewn room like a regal queen surveying her domain.

Even as her steps inadvertently passed over the occasional stain from their night of uninhibited passion, her expression remained unchanged.

It was as though she didn’t care one bit about what had happened last night.

Moen couldn’t tell whether Celicia’s forwardness the previous night stemmed from residual alcohol and uncontrolled desire or from some deeper feelings she harbored for him. But now, as she acted as if nothing had ever occurred, he couldn’t help but feel a little disheartened.

“So you really don’t care at all?”

Gazing at Celicia’s icy eyes that now concealed her true emotions, Moen suddenly had a bold idea.

“How about I test her?”

He decided to take action immediately.

Donning his clothes, Moen slowly approached Celicia, his face breaking into a mischievous smile.

“Celicia~”

“What?”

“I have something to tell you.”

“And that is?”

“Come a bit closer, and I’ll let you know.”

Moen stopped directly in front of Celicia, so close that they could feel each other’s breath.

Still unsatisfied, he leaned in closer and studied her expression with cautious care.

At this distance, Moen only needed to tilt his head slightly to effortlessly capture the girl’s tender lips. For this princess, who normally kept even trusted companions like Weier at arm’s length, such proximity already crossed an inviolate boundary.

Yet Celicia showed no sign of resistance, seemingly indifferent to how close this man had come. She only furrowed her brows in irritation at Moen’s sluggish movements and said crisply:

“Spit it out already, and stop wasting time!”

“What I want to say is…”

At these words, Moen’s lips curled into a sly smirk. Leaning even closer to Celicia’s ear, he imitated her tone from last night and whispered:

“...Yap~”

There was a brief silence.

It was as if nothing had happened.

Moen straightened up in confusion and looked at Celicia.

And then the smile froze on his face.

Because on that snow-white complexion of hers, streaks of crimson began blooming like the fiery hues of a sunset, rapidly spreading across her usually cold and composed face. Even her swan-like neck turned a deep shade of red.

The sight was irresistibly charming and irresistibly cute.

But the price of such cuteness was…rage smoldering beneath the surface of her icy gaze, now erupting like molten lava.

Wait, how was I supposed to know the reaction would be this dramatic?

Moen’s body began trembling with fear as he frantically tried to explain, shouting:

“I was just joking! I didn’t mean to tease you! I just…”

Too late.

A colossal force struck Moen square in the stomach, making his bulging eyes nearly pop out of their sockets.

And just before he was sent flying, he heard Celicia’s voice, brimming with humiliated anger:

“Moen Campbell, forget everything about last night!”

“If you can’t forget, I’ll help you—forcibly!”

“By some *physical* methods!”

…

…

“It’s been the whole night!”

Outside the door, Weier turned her gaze toward the rising sun with growing apprehension.

Counting on her fingers, she muttered:

“Based on the time, surely the president should have sobered up by now. But if she’s awake, why hasn’t she called me to unlock the door? Since this barrier can’t block out sound from the transmitter stones.”

“Could it be—did something bad happen?”

As though struck by a sudden thought, Weier covered her cherry-red lips with both hands, exclaiming:

“Don’t tell me…Moen Campbell has been beaten to death!”

At the very notion, even if she wasn’t particularly fond of Moen Campbell, Weier felt her nerves tighten. She hurriedly deactivated the barrier.

But before she could open the door, there was a resounding crash as a figure burst through the door, flying like a missile.

The figure hurtled across the courtyard before smashing into the outer wall, leaving behind a rubble-strewn pile of debris, from which only a suggestive silhouette of hips remained exposed.

“Is that…Moen Campbell?”

Weier’s wide, astonished eyes filled with disbelief.

Judging by his remaining aura, he seemed to be alive.

But why had he abruptly been sent flying out at this hour?

Could it be…had the president been ruthlessly tormenting him all night?

Visions of Moen Campbell tied up and whipped to submission by Celicia danced through Weier’s mind. Flushing slightly at the image, she turned to glance back into the room.

And then gasped.

The room was in utter disarray; smashed tables, shattered chairs, and broken stools littered the floor. Even the reinforced king-sized bed—one Weier had especially prepared for the president—had collapsed entirely.

Just how intense had the battle been to leave the room in such a state?

Her gaze returned to the rubble-ensconced figure outside, and a single crystalline tear of pity slid down Weier’s cheek.

“Poor you, Moen Campbell…you must have endured so much suffering last night.”