“Mmm…”

Her lips tingled. A feather-light itch traced her neck—like a mischievous child teasing her slender throat with a plume.

Aelina blinked awake, drowsy eyes meeting a pair of glistening ones.

The Elven Princess startled, jerking upright. A silvery thread of drool stretched between their lips. Biting her finger, her doe-like eyes welled with tears as she gazed at Aelina. She was the Elven Queen’s granddaughter—adorably plump-cheeked.

Before Aelina could speak, the girl stammered, voice trembling: “S-sorry, Master! I couldn’t help kissing your lips… I swear it was accidental!” Tears brimmed in her reddened eyes, spilling down her flushed, round cheeks.

Aelina pressed a hand to her forehead with a sigh. “Could you please get off me first?”

“Ah! Sorry, sorry, Master!” The little Elf scrambled up, kneeling beside the bed, her pristine bow perked high. “Waaah… don’t punish me! I’ll scrub floors and windows—fifty times a day!”

“Who told you I’d do… *that* to little girls?” Aelina murmured, heart aching at the girl’s innocent face. Merely voicing it felt criminal.

“B-big sister Lilith…”

The Elven Princess’s face flushed tomato-red.

“Lilith!”

From the rug—where she’d contributed one-third of the morning’s mess—a Succubus uncoiled slowly. Voluptuous, drowsy-eyed, sinfully alluring. Crimson flames flickered anew in her gaze as she met Aelina’s. “Master? Something wrong?” She hid a crimson smile behind her hand, giggling. “I merely… forgot to mention it was *my* exclusive punishment.”

Her smirk didn’t tempt sin—it demanded it.

Just as Aelina opened her mouth to scold her, the wooden door swung open. Golden dawn light spilled in. A stern Silver Dragon Maid stepped through, silver-white thigh-high socks gleaming, dewdrops clinging to her snow-white hem. Behind her followed three maids: fair as snow, sun-kissed wheat, deep ebony.

“Master,” the Head Maid intoned with poised grace. “Today is your two hundred and fiftieth wedding day.”

“Dress me.”

“At once.”

Relief washed over Aelina. Only the Head Maid was truly dependable.

Maids whisked away the velvet quilt, gently nudging aside the slumbering princesses. They slipped Aelina into a flowing gown, laced thick leather gauntlets and boots onto her, then ushered her outside. Her chamber opened directly to a sky-high garden. A transparent dome sheltered emerald flora; the rotating palace ensured eternal sunlight.

Beyond lay endless meadow. Aelina descended jade-white steps. Her brides stood waiting, delicately lifting varied gowns, bowing beautiful heads in silent supplication.

What a breathtaking spring bloom! A riot of colors—coquettish, youthful, elegant, noble. Each blossom uniquely lovely. Aelina drifted among them, fingertips brushing plump buds.

The Head Maid murmured near her ear: “The third daughter of the Western Dragon King… they thank you for your technology. And this is a daughter of the sea…”

Aelina barely heard. She kissed each floral heart, savoring distinct sweetnesses, lost in the blossoming sea.

A warm breeze stirred the petals. Dew gathered under gentle sun. Then the wind sharpened—flowers tossed, shattered petals swirling onto emerald grass. Each bloom, in throes of ecstasy, wept crimson nectar…

Almost there… so close…

“Aelina? Aelina!”

A Golden Fur dog barked frantically, pawing the garden gate.

“Head Maid! Make that Golden Fur watchdog stop!”

“Aelina! Aelina!”—each cry sharper than the last.

The shrill shouts scattered the blossoms. They vanished on the wind.

“Make him stop!”

“Aelina? Aelina!”

A cold system chime cut through: *“Your Golden Fur lackey is calling you for the eighteenth time.”*

What a mood killer.

Aelina slowly opened her starry eyes. Fro’s face burned crimson, trussed tightly inside a sack hanging from the carriage wall. Less a sleeping bag—more a prison sack. A straitjacket woven with a dozen copper-buckled leather straps. Even an elephant couldn’t break free.

“Hm?”

“Aelina! What is this? Why am I hanging like a bat?”

“My doing.”

“Why? Let me down!”

Aelina’s delicate nose twitched. A faint sweet fragrance hung in the air—warm, blissful, stirring deep urges. It came from her secretions… though dialed to absolute minimum.

She cracked the window. Crisp autumn air flooded in. “It’s a cultivation method.”

“Cultivation? What training ties you like a dumpling and hangs you like cured meat?”

“Don’t you feel heat coursing through you? Tingling warmth in your bones?” Aelina’s tone was utterly serious—no trace of a girl fresh from a harem dream. “It’s ‘true qi.’ Mending your injuries. When it fades, you’ll be stronger.”

“Huh? Really?” Fro hesitated. “I… do feel tingling heat.”

*Foolish dog. Of course you do.*

“I’ll pick wild fruit. Stay. Don’t move.”

Aelina stood, Molecular Reconstructor in hand, boots crunching frost-dusted grass as she vanished into the misty forest.

“Hey! I can’t even wiggle! Aelina! Where are you going? How long?! I’m about to burst! Aelina! Aelina!”

His cries faded. A cold smirk touched Aelina’s lips. She wasn’t naive. If the Golden Ape lost control—pinning her down, front and back, top and bottom—her harem dreams would shatter.

Backpack slung, she scanned the ground, tucking unfamiliar plants inside. To build a grand harem here… she needed power.

Still too weak. Three days of steel data only yielded lighter armor, sharper blades—a dead end. Durant’s magical warhammer? Destroyed. She knew nothing of magic.

She needed energy. Not muscle—primitive, crude. She’d tried black powder: sulfur, charcoal, saltpeter. Yesterday, she’d shouted, “Run! I’m doing science!” while shoving the Elf behind cover. Result? Fireproof material. All other formulas failed. Useless.

So she turned to electricity. A crude magnetite generator—humanity’s ancient method—worked *perfectly* here. Current matched calculations exactly. She forged weak magnets from heated iron rods.

But stronger current demanded better storage. Batteries. Her primitive versions held almost nothing.

With a real battery… electric crossbows. Free hands to wield the Molecular Reconstructor in battle—not just reload. Wasting it felt criminal.

She desperately needed an energy-storing material.

Meanwhile, Fro—trussed like a silkworm—contemplated wetting the sack. Aelina wouldn’t return for hours.

Suddenly, the Silverhaired Maiden burst from the mist, leaped onto the carriage, dumped Fro’s Full Armor with a clatter, and raised the Molecular Reconstructor.

“Hurry! Armor on!” Shadowy figures emerged beyond the fog.

“Bandits?”

Ignoring his bursting bladder, Fro scrambled into the armor, snatched his sword, and charged out. “Who dares take another step?!”

Dawn light pierced the horizon. Fro saw seven gaunt faces—ragged peasants, sallow cheeks etched with hunger and plea.

“We’re sorry… we meant no harm.”

“Honorable Elf soldier… please… spare us food.”

Aelina patted Fro’s shoulder. “Give them dried rations. Ask about Thundergrass.”

A fresh wave of urgency hit Fro. “Again?! Thundergrass is just village gossip! Can I… relieve myself first?”

“Hold it.”