“You’re looking pretty proud of yourself,” the king remarks dryly, reading over a slip of paper with one hand and waving his quill over a random stack of paperwork with the other.

Bryant scowls. “Get to it.”

He lifts his eyes from the paper. There’s a matching scowl on the fool’s own lips and a serious glower in his eye. An intimidation game? Please. As if the Empty King actually holds any genuine power.

“Stop making a mess of my kingdom.”

“Your kingdom?”

The scowl deepens. As if Bryant could give a fuck. They both know the king’s a puppet. A “chess piece” as the game likes to call it.

The king brandishes the slip of paper in his hand. “The Tearrorbol are a protected species. Five years’ in the cell. You have three verified cases.” He tosses the paper. It flits uselessly to the steps.

Bryant scoffs.

“And those are your lightest infraction. That cave network on our kingdom’s borders? Are you trying to incite a war?”

He needed the oralchim core native to the cave. The asking price was ridiculous.

“You’re not going to put me in jail. You need me.”

The fool grumbles to himself about rena and the queen for a moment. Nothing useful in terms of flags; it’s too soon for her appearance. Bryant knows where she is, of course. Or, more accurately, where she will be after the first wave. Can’t do anything about that quest point right now. Part of the reason he wasted his time returning to the capital was for an update on that situation. Any cheat to expedite the main quest he’ll gladly capitalize on.

“No, I’m not.”

As he thought; a waste of time.

The Empty King shifts his glower to Ambrie. She crosses her arms, awarding him an expression that says bite me. The pompous, arrogant type. Not the kinky, meet me upstairs in five minutes, type. So, the bitch does have standards.

“Your actions have consequences,” he says to Ambrie. Turning back to Bryant, he continues. “I have confiscated your payment for the next Wave. You’re in the wrong kingdom if you expect us to condone petty theft.”

“That’s bullshit!”

“You’re dismissed.”

“What makes you think that I’m going to fight your stupid wave if I’m not getting paid?”

The king smacks his hand straight up, pinky down. Bryant smacks the floor, an enormous pressure against his back. The hilt of his sword digs into his waist.

“I have had just about enough of your bullshit,” the king spits. Lumbering from the throne, he waddles over to Bryant and kneels down to match his eyes. The pressure intensifies. His armour creaks in protest. “I don’t give a fuck what you think you can do. Like it or not, you signed a contract. You will be at the site of the wave when it hits. You will do whatever it takes to defeat the Wave. Or you will die.”

“Oh yeah? What does the Queen think about that?”

“You find her, you ask. Now, get the fuck out of my castle.”

The same force of pressure that knocked him down plucks him up and throws him through the doors of the audience hall. They slam shut as he staggers to his feet. Bryant swirls around and goes to draw his sword. He’s smacked back. One step, then three.

Fuck this bullshit.

Bryant storms from the castle, not bothering to wait for Ambrie and the other baggage to catch up. Fuck that Empty King. Fuck that bastard who is only ever ridiculed in the chat and holds no actual authority. Humiliating him? And in front of his party, no less. If he weren’t an essential NPC…

“He can’t leave the city,” Amber strokes his arm, purring into his ear. He has to restrain himself from reflexively tossing her into the next century. Bitch came out of nowhere. “He probably has nothing better going on right now.”

“Forget it. Next time I won’t waste my time.”

She cuddles into his arm, squeezing her breasts against his armour and dipping her nipple another few millimeters into view.

The tease hasn’t granted him a touch yet.

Storming through the doors of the Adventurer’s Guild, he marches straight to the front desk. The receptionist, pretty in the plain way, flits through a bunch of paperwork and tedious nonsense. She finally gets to his point after having him parrot yes a ton of times and sign his signature on a bunch of forms, leading him to a door where his requested party member stands inside. By this point, he’s recollected some of his composure.

Perhaps this stopover won’t be a complete waste of time.

C-cup. The puppy ears are a nice touch.

The mage bows before brandishing a wooden staff. Newb should be onto steel or cobalt by now. She points it at the practice dummy, firing off a blast of water from one of the two flasks strapped to her belt. They pierce through the practice dummy’s heart. Water seeps across the shoulder.

“Basic,” he scoffs. “Can you fill this room with water?”

One of the dog ears pivot up as though tuning into a distant noise. “Too much work,” she mutters after a moment.

“Too much work?”

She’s supposed to be appealing herself to him.

He sends the escort to fill a bucket and hand it to him. He thrusts it at her. Last chance.

“Put your head in this and stay put for one minute.”

She looks from him to the bucket, then back. Crossing her legs on the floor, she tilts the rim over her head and lowers it to sit above her shoulders. The water stays put.

Bryant orders some food. Five minutes pass. The food arrives. Ten minutes pass. She keeps still. Thirty minutes later, he’s taking some practice swings with his sword as the others mill about. One of the ranged swings dips near the bucket. The mage reacts, swatting the spell aside with her staff. He stops practicing, eyeing her up.

“We’ll take you. For now.”

She touches the bucket, fiddling with the rim.

“Leave it on. It suits you.”

Ambrie takes her usual place at his arm as he sheaths his sword, positively glowing at his maltreatment of the new bitch.

Enough time wasted, Bryant forges the shortest possible route to the dungeon, devastating everything ignorant enough to dawdle in his path. The exercise does some good at cheering him up, but otherwise just serves to waste more of his time. It’s past midday when they finally reach the dungeon – the dumbass still balancing the bucket over her head.

Entering the dungeon, he navigates directly to the trap room where a horde of monsters await. Cleaving through the heart of a pouncing Calikat, he waits for the twitch of death, kicks the corpse from his blade, and slashes through the neck of another. The trap is cleared within minutes, no thanks to any of his followers.

Forget it; they’re not part of the storyline anyways.

Ambrie squeezes her breasts between her elbows as she claps. That trick of hers is starting to wear out fast. As the others span out to harvest the corpses, Bucket Mage wanders over to the pool of water surrounding the circumference of the room. She kneels down, gingerly lifting the paw of one Calikat from the blood-stained water.

“You were sooo amazing!” Ambrie chirps, clutching his non blood-spattered arm and attempting to distract him from the charm notification blitzing the edge of his vision. “I bet that nasty wave won’t give you any trouble!”

Stating the obvious. Again.

“Hey!” he calls out to the mage. “Get that fucking bucket off your head and do something useful.”

The water mage stiffens. Tilting her head, she removes the bucket and blicks two wide, emerald eyes around the room. Ambrie pouts.

“The bucket suits her…”

Resisting the roll of his eyes, Bryant squeezes her hips and smirks. “We hired the bitch for a reason, remember?” He whispers into her ear. “You can play with her later.”

She giggles stupidly about how his breath tickles, but is satisfied for the moment. Shaking his head, he rounds up the crew and leads them through the passageways to the second layer of the dungeon.

Useless, the lot of them. He’d have completed this dungeon in the first week if it weren’t for Ambrie. The bitch’s charm and status spells detoured him from the Main Quest significantly. Then the Adventurer’s Guild had some bullshit about his request for a Water Elementalist being difficult to fulfill and the only member qualified being delayed by another job.

Like hell he actually believes that bullshit.

He has to shout for the bucket mage to do her job. She appears from behind the rest of his crew and dips her head meekly. When she reaches the front, she presents him a bunch of Quirrill needles.

So, the bitch actually paid some attention.

He draws his sword and unlocks the next branch of the Rapier Mode. The Quirrill needles quiver and vanish into the weapon like a vacuum.

The mage’s eyes widen. He smirks. About time someone appreciates his abilities.

“See that lake? Bless us; we’re diving in.”

It sounded a lot cooler in his head.

She cocks her ears again. Frowns. But, instead of offering some stupid excuse, raises her staff to each person’s forehead and mutters a word beneath her breath. She does his last.

He leads them beneath the surface, using the illumination of Ambrie’s spell to guide him. Soon enough, they emerge within the pool of a secondary cave tucked beneath the surface of the dungeon.

Upon clambering onto the dirt smattered ledge, he turns around to notice three of his companions do the same. Bucket Mage remains in the water, ears cocked at attention like a drowned meerkat. Without warning, she plunges back into the water.

A minute passes without hint of resurfacing.

“Fuck. Stay here.”

Drawing his sword, he dives beneath the surface. Treading the water as he centres his bearings, his eyes land on the swish of a furry tail.

He dodges a burst of energy, quickly locating the monster responsible for the projectile. Something of a cross between a seal and a swordfish, it twirls out of the girl’s return spell and swings its horn-like blade in a broad slash.

Bryant deflects the attack at once, tugging her out of range and into the security of his hip. She fits remarkably naturally, as though designed specifically for his body.

Reminding him of the situation, the monster unleashes another burst of energy. With the help of her tail, they manage to dodge in time.

In the game, this monster is a Lancuss. Capable of sniffing out the slightest hint of a magic signature, it will pursue its target at any lengths. Being semi-aquatic, the monster will not hesitate to follow its prey even onto land.

That horn, capable of absorbing and nullifying magic, is a rare drop. He’d be a fool to miss this chance.

Deflecting another attack, Bryant tightens his hold around her waist and hyper-focusses his attention. Already, the disadvantage of the terrain is weighing down his limbs.

They need to get to land. Stat.

As if sensing his intentions, the girl bows her head and murmurs something to herself. Suddenly sucked back several feet by an overpowering current, she takes advantage of the seconds purchased to press her lips against his forehead.

Kissably soft.

A strange sensation spreads from her lips throughout his body, filling him with a vitality of energy. He glances down at a  newly enchanted crimson tail.

Now, this is useful.

Her eyes, gleaming with a soft smile, quickly harden. She points at the rapidly approaching Lancuss, this time armed with company.

Wrapping his hand around hers, he retreats a swish of the tail to scan the surrounding environment. A small etching catches his interest, and in moments he has swum through a concealed passageway below to emerge in a different cave. Dragging them both onto the ground to shatter the spell, he retreats a handful of steps and brandishes his sword anew. With his reclaimed advantage, dispatching the monsters becomes a simple feat.

“You did it.”

Her voice sounds exhausted. He lowers his sword, and his glowing appreciation, to appraise her critically.  C-cup heaving with exertion. Palms buried beneath the packed dirt and quivering. A long, thin line of red seeping along the length of her thigh.

The Lancuss must have taken a bite out of her. Rummaging a potion from his bag, he dips the contents into his palm and massages his hand along the length of her soft skin. Fingers nudge the tatters of her skirt up and over her thigh to feel out the last of the scar line.

She instinctively stiffens at his touch, but the exhaustion weighs her down. A cute reaction. In the game, losing a bit of magic is negligible for a player. But for these NPCs, magic is part of their lifeblood. Even a slight drop can lead to dizziness, nausea, fatigue.

A stupid perk the developers added in for flavour.

He rests one hand on his sword, drawing up a touch of his own magic. “Rest up. I’ll keep watch.”

She falls asleep quickly to his command, chest rising and falling slowly, her lips pouted together. He chuckles, running a thumb over the pale pink. They have a nice bounce to them. Sexy.

So far, definitely the least useless of his hires. But soloing against a Lancuss? Stupidity. If the fool doesn’t recover her magic, they all drown.

This is why NPCs must be disposable.

He takes care of the Lancuss corpses first, then grinds some levels with the monsters in the cave network. First hour to himself in days and he’s spending it with monsters. A decent country babe or tavern wench would be nice. Though Ambrie isn’t interested in actually indulging him, she seems to think she possesses him. Even in the game, balancing the bitch’s jealously against scoring genuine additions to the team was a nightmare mechanic.

Men all across the server celebrated the day their game avatar could pierce her through the heart. The Wicked Bitch is Dead became a colourful tag that day.

The after party with the guys was a raucous. Man could he use their help on this one. Demian in particular. Dude was an encyclodia of knowledge. Couldn’t get a date to save his life, but he could itemize and strategize every single NPC based on combat and utility use, down to and including the DLC content and bit characters without a name.

That water mage. Demian would know something about her. Maybe. His hand tingles with the phantom of her waist. A part of him doesn’t want Demian to know. Doesn’t want anyone to know.

He returns to the entrance where she sleeps, her chest rising and falling slowly.

It’s just frustration.

That’s what he tells himself. What he has to tell himself. He’ll get out of the dungeon, get Ambrie off his tail, and hire a wench from the tavern. That’ll fix him up.

A lock of her pale blue hair strays to her lips. He brushes it away, fingers curving along her cheek and jawline.

Her skin is cold.