Later that night.
"So you're saying that slave actually managed to stop a Soul Evolver?" Vienna asked, reclining on her velvet lounge chair, her wine glass swirling lazily in hand.
"Yes, Mistress," Hilga replied, standing respectfully in the center of the lavish bedroom. "If it weren't for him, the thief might've escaped. He obstructed the thief at just the right moment."
Vienna's crimson eyes gleamed with subtle curiosity. "I see. Did you manage to uncover the thief's identity or motive?"
Hilga shook her head. "No. He's unusually tight-lipped. But we're certain he's an Ogre trained in advanced stealth—likely affiliated with one of the hidden thief clans."
Vienna tapped her fingernail against the glass thoughtfully. "An Ogre… daring enough to infiltrate my vault. Interesting. What could they possibly want from me?"
Hilga stepped forward slightly. "Mistress, I recommend summoning an Inquisitor. That thief won't break through normal means. We might extract something useful directly from his mind."
Vienna gave a single nod. "A sound plan. Go ahead and arrange it. I'll approve the expense—better to pay gold than bleed ignorance."
Hilga bowed deeply. "Understood, Mistress."
As she turned to leave, Vienna's voice halted her.
"One more thing. Send that slave to me before you go."
Hilga paused at the doorway. "You mean... slave Vahn?"
"Yes. Him."
Hilga didn't question further. She simply nodded and stepped out with professional grace.
....
**Knock, knock.**
A few moments later, a gentle rap echoed against the door.
Vienna rose from her elegant seat and opened it, revealing Vahn standing before her. His gaze instinctively flickered to her voluptuous figure before he forced it downward, wary of inviting trouble.
"So, you're Vahn, right?" she asked, her voice dripping with sultry amusement.
"Y-Yes, Mistress. I am," he replied, his voice catching in his throat.
Her eyes lingered on his scarred face before she tilted her head. "You claimed to have skilled hands, didn't you? Now's your chance to prove it."
Without waiting for a response, she turned and settled onto the bed, her plush curves pressing into the soft cushions.
Vahn's pulse spiked. "Damn it."
He had the "Omniscient Viewpoint" trait, but it wasn't helping him now—he couldn't just conjure a masterful massage technique out of thin air. That skill belonged to the Protagonist, who hadn't yet revealed it to Vienna.
Her voice snapped him back to reality. "Why the hesitation? Consider this a privilege for your deeds today. Touching me should be your honor." She glanced over her shoulder, one eyebrow arched.
Swallowing hard, Vahn stepped forward. He climbed onto the bed, doing his best to ignore the intoxicating sight before him.
Her dress clung to her frame, elegant yet teasing—long enough to cover but designed to accentuate every curve. The scent of her skin, warm and subtly floral, filled the air.
His fingers hovered uncertainly.
And finally, he pressed onto her supple flesh near the spine.
And the moment he did, he finally got to know how soft and tender a female body is.
Not to mention, she was a voluptuous enchantress. Just a slightest touch sent blood rushed to the groin.
"Stupid Henry! This is not the time for this," Vahn cursed inwardly, trying desperately to suppress the hormonal storm wreaking havoc on his focus.
But how could he? When a woman of such caliber—no, such temptation—laid before him, half-draped in elegance and authority?
Still, he forced a breath, steeling himself.
Slowly, he began again, letting his hands glide along her upper back, applying pressure with as much control as he could muster.
The scent of her perfume was intoxicating, a blend of female hormones and something sweeter he couldn't name. Her muscles, though graceful, bore the weight of tension, betraying her composed exterior.
Just as he was settling into rhythm, Vienna's sharp voice cracked through the silence.
"What do you think you're doing, Slave? Is that your so-called special massage? Don't make me regret calling you. Do it properly—or I'll feed you to the Frogmen."
Vahn stiffened, cold sweat running down his spine.
"P-Please, Mistress! I'm just starting. Give me a moment... I promise I'll do better!" he stammered, panic rising.
But the pressure got to him. Instead of correcting his technique, his hands grew clumsier, his rhythm uneven. The more he tried to focus, the more his thoughts betrayed him.
He was at war with his instincts—Vienna's presence, her voice, and the situation itself were unlike anything he'd ever faced.
Not to forget—he had no massage skill whatsoever.
At that moment, Vahn couldn't help but curse the heavens... or more precisely, the protagonist: Archon.
That smug bastard always had exactly what he needed at the right time.
Sword technique? Check. Hidden lineage? Check. Conveniently timed power-ups from "secret training in childhood"? Also check.
And now? Vahn could already imagine it: Archon showing up with that perfect smirk, casually offering his "Master-Level Massage Technique" to Vienna, earning a mountain of favor, and walking away like the world owed him everything.
"How the hell did he even learn massage in the first place?!" Vahn's thoughts spiraled in fury. "For god' sake, you're a fallen noble, not a spa apprentice!"
It was plot armor—plain and simple. Everything bent in Archon's favor.
The more he thought about it, the more Vahn's blood boiled with injustice. The perfect posture. The glowing praise. The harem of elite women all nodding in awe at the protagonist's every word...
And just then—
Ding!
[ Congratulations! Trait Activated: Envy ]
Before Vahn could react, the world twisted around him. The soft bed, the silky sheets, Vienna's intoxicating perfume—gone. In an instant, he found himself standing in a cold stone room.
And in front of him stood… Hilga.
Her arms crossed, her eyes sharp as blades. She stared down at him as if just finished barking.
Vahn blinked in confusion.
"What the hell?!" he muttered, baffled. "How did I end up here?"
The system didn't respond.
But Hilga did.
Her voice cut through the air like a whip:
"Bastard slave, why aren't you speaking anymore? You think you're so important now that Mistress favors you over me?"
She took a step forward, her heavy heels thudding against the stone floor with menace.
"No," she sneered. "Remember your place. You're just a slave. And you will always be just that