Ansal desperately wanted to preserve every trace of the Silverhaired Maiden’s peerless beauty.
“What do you think you’re grabbing me for?”
“Huh? What—”
Unconsciously, Ansal’s hand had clamped around Verlith’s slender wrist.
Instead of embarrassment, a lecherous grin spread across Ansal’s face.
“Let’s be real—you’re making it damn hard for a guy to keep his cool right now. At least help me out with this little problem you stirred up. Your fault, your responsibility.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“So you call me ‘bro’ but wanna jump me? Three words for you: FAKE. FRIEND. ZONE!”
“What?”
“—SCRAM!!”
Verlith’s mood had clearly plummeted. She cursed viciously.
“...Whoa, easy!”
Her foot shot up without warning, stomping down on Ansal from above.
“Need it ‘solved’? I’ll solve it permanently by crushing it.”
“Holy shit! Our friendship boat just capsized! OW—stop! You’ll end my bloodline! AHHH—OOOOWWW—”
“...”
“...”
“You’re a masochist? You actually get turned on by this?!” The Silverhaired Maiden’s pink eyes widened in disbelief.
“Not my fault—” Ansal protested with an innocent pout.
“ANSAL!”
“Y-yes?!”
“Disappear. From my sight. NOW.”
“Sir, yes sir!”
Ansal scrambled up. In his panic, his foot caught on a tree root. He lurched forward—straight into Verlith, who stood rigid with suppressed fury.
THUD.
By some mysterious, irresistible force, Ansal toppled Verlith. He jolted upright, straddling her waist.
“Ansal!” Verlith snarled beneath him, face flushed crimson with rage that somehow made her look pitiable. “Has your little ‘friend’ outgrown its usefulness? As your dear companion, I’d be happy to remove that burden... permanently.”
“It’s not what it looks like—” Ansal stammered, inwardly wondering if Verlith had turned into a castration-happy maniac after his own... accident.
Suddenly, both froze. Their heads snapped toward the bushes to their left.
A gleaming blade sliced through the foliage.
“Who cried for help just now?!”
A group pushed through the branches. What they saw:
A golden-haired youth, trousers half-undone, pinning a silver-haired beauty in a flimsy slip. The young girl’s rare, exquisite face twisted in shame and distress. And the boy’s hidden part... was visibly, defiantly stirring.
“Whoa! Check this out! They’re totally doing the nasty! Look at her—she’s about to cry! Must be forced!”
“Disgusting! Assaulting a girl in broad daylight!”
“And such a gorgeous one too. What a waste...”
“Waste? You’re just jealous it’s not you! Bet you wanna yell ‘let her go, I’ll take over’!”
“N-no! That’s your sick fantasy!”
“Yours, you pervert!”
Amid the bickering, burly men emerged. A dozen mercenaries clad in practical chainmail—iron rings interlocked to guard shoulders, arms, and knees. Wide-bladed sabers hung at their backs; large-caliber breechloaders sat at their waists. Each bore a mercenary insignia on their chest.
Behind them stepped a poised young woman, subtly shielded by the group.
Her ankle-length, emerald-green gown cinched at the waist. Chestnut hair cascaded down her back, swaying gently like a painting come to life.
Verlith’s gaze lingered on her.
“Save that girl,” the chestnut-haired maiden commanded.
“On it!” The mercenaries charged Ansal.
Both realized their playful scuffle had been mistaken for assault. Ansal frantically looked down at Verlith, pleading silently for explanation. She only smirked back. *Uh-oh.* He yanked up his pants and bolted.
“Don’t let him escape! Grab him!” the chestnut-haired girl ordered.
Two brutes tackled Ansal, wrenching his arms behind his back and slamming him face-first into the dirt. He writhed until a sharp knee to his ribs silenced him.
“OWWW—!”
“Serves you right,” the maiden sneered. She turned to Verlith, helping her up. “Don’t be scared. We’ve caught the criminal.” She whispered comfort, then noticed Verlith’s thin underdress. Her mind raced: *He must’ve torn her clothes off against her will... If we’d arrived later—* She cut off the thought, glaring at Ansal. “Don’t hold back. Teach him girls aren’t toys to break!”
She half-carried Verlith away, cradling her like a wounded bird. Verlith leaned into the girl’s soft frame, inhaling her herbal scent, wearing an expression of shattered innocence. But her downturned face hid a smirk—and a triumphant glance at Ansal getting pummeled. Ansal caught it and nearly choked on his rage.
*Explaining’s useless,* Ansal realized as fists rained down. *These thugs only believe their eyes. That ‘accident’? Looks 100% guilty.* He curled protectively around his vital spots. *Stomach—guard! / Neck strike—oh shit—block! / Heh... just flesh wounds...*
“Wait.”
Verlith’s slender, flower-stem ankles appeared before Ansal’s eyes. *My true friend!* he thought tearfully. *She can’t bear to see me suffer!*
Her boot slammed into his face.
She ground the sole into his cheek, leaving deep tread marks. “Scum like him’s used to beatings—see how perfectly he guards himself? Don’t be fooled! Pin his arms and hit harder! Just don’t kill him.” Verlith sniffled theatrically.
“Leave it to us—we’ll re-educate him!”
“Nooo... how cou’ oo do dish to me...” Ansal’s voice warbled through swollen lips.
Verlith stomped him twice more, then shot him a *you-deserve-this* glare before walking off with the chestnut-haired girl. The mercenaries hoisted Ansal up as the others followed, sparing him one last pitying look.
*You poor bastard,* their glances seemed to say.
Only the forest remained—filled with the mercenaries’ boisterous laughter and Ansal’s ragged, fading screams.
