Chapter 7

　　Suddenly, she was thinking of that night again. Memories she thought had been lost in the haze of this inexplicable arousal kept resurfacing. Over the course of the day, Sylvia had recalled who had kissed whom first, the expression on his face as he undressed her, and even how many times she had climaxed before he found his own release. He had swept back his longish hair, teased the space between her wantonly spread legs, then taken her hand and guided it to her own body.

　　Sylvia had not resisted with any particular force. Only moments before, she had been made to hold that formidable pillar of flesh, her only crime having been to glance at it once. She had thought that touching her own body would be more bearable.

　　She was quickly proven wrong. A moan escaped her as her own fingers, clumsy and unyielding by comparison, brushed against the sensitive, erect flesh already slick with her desire. The strangeness of the sensation was magnified as her fingers, entangled with Owen’s strong ones, stimulated her own body.

　　"If you touch yourself right here, you can come on your own. Like this, gently at first."

　　Following the memory of Owen’s instruction, Sylvia’s hand pushed through the sopping fabric and parted the tightly closed flesh. She was wetter than she had expected, and her hand slipped. With no time to dwell on the shame of masturbating for the first time, Sylvia surrendered to the pleasure and moved her fingers. As she slowly circled her finger over the spot he had shown her, a pleasure so intense it made the hair on her arms stand on end shot through her.

　　Lying on her stomach, her knees pressed together, Sylvia soon felt that something was missing. The place that burned with a feverish heat was not the small pearl of flesh, but somewhere deeper inside.

　　Should I try putting a finger inside?

　　Her heart hammered against her ribs. But it suddenly felt absurd to be so demure when she was no longer a virgin.

　　"It is only natural."

　　Perhaps, as Owen had told her that night when she had tried to stifle her moans, it truly was. Her reason clouded, Sylvia soon pushed a finger into the tight opening. In her ears, Owen’s phantom moans grew rougher, as if he too were nearing a climax. To the rhythm of that sound, Sylvia moved the finger buried inside her, mimicking the way Owen had moved within her that night.

　　It was her own finger, and she was thoroughly wet, so there was little friction and not much sensation. But the sound of Owen’s moans—hallucination or not—had been a steady presence, arousing her so completely that she felt he was right behind her. She could not stop.

　　"Hah, hngh…"

　　Her own breathing grew ragged, matching his suppressed moans and gasps. As she rocked her hips, she felt like a truly wanton woman. She could hear the slap of flesh against flesh, but she could not tell if the sound came from her fantasy or from between her own legs.

　　"Aah!"

　　The Owen in her fantasy let out a much rougher moan. Emboldened, Sylvia pushed two fingers inside herself. The second finger met with resistance. The feeling of a foreign object was greater than the pleasure, and her excitement was just beginning to wane when a new sound broke through.

　　"Owen! What are you doing? Evening training is about to start!"

　　Knock, knock, knock!

　　The sound of someone pounding on a door echoed in her mind, and for the first time, a voice other than Owen’s intruded upon her hallucination. Owen’s cut off abruptly, but that alone was enough to make Sylvia freeze solid.

　　No… it cannot be.

　　As the arousal washed away, the wetness between her legs became utterly unpleasant. Sylvia pulled out her slick fingers and let out an irritated breath, wiping them on her skirt.

　　"This is madness." Her voice trembled, her head felt ready to burst. "Do not tell me that was not a hallucination."

　　She muttered the words, staring blankly at the clock. She could not identify the voice of the man who had called for Owen, but his mention of evening training suggested he was one of the knights. Furthermore, the time on the clock roughly matched their training schedule.

　　"I knew it! I am cursed!" Sylvia shouted fiercely. Owen must have done something to her body. She did not know how, but there was no other explanation. These bizarre occurrences had begun only after she had slept with him. The reason she heard his moans whenever she was aroused was not because she had fallen madly in love with him in one night, but because that degenerate with the deceptively handsome face had placed a curse upon her. Sylvia clenched her fists, trembling with a sense of betrayal. She regretted the brief flicker of guilt she had felt for running away that morning.

　　"What am I to do about this?"

　　After punishing her innocent pillow with several sharp blows, Sylvia’s head shot up. Her mind, still feverish with arousal, insisted that she must find Owen at once. A man who would place such a depraved curse on a woman could not possibly be trusted to be discreet. Before rumors could spread, she had to silence him and settle this.

　　Though she was only a Supporter, Sylvia knew a few self-defense techniques. By casting spells upon herself, she could likely defend herself against Owen long enough. Even if she were caught trying to find proof of his perversion, she could probably survive until help arrived.

　　In the end, she washed herself clean, dressed in sturdy clothes, armed herself with a dagger and a self-defense magic scroll, and set out for the Imperial Palace. By urging the coachman to hurry, she arrived at the Knights’ Order before evening training had concluded. The sounds of sparring echoed loudly. Sylvia pulled a thick cloak over her head and entered the old building that served as the dormitories. Nobles like Sylvia and Heston, who maintained mansions in the capital, did not reside here, but such knights were exceedingly rare in the 1st Division, which was frequently dispatched for monster subjugations.

　　Recalling the feel of Owen’s mana, Sylvia bit her fingertip and drew a magic circle on the back of her hand with her own blood. She had never imagined using such a high-level detection spell for this purpose, but her determination to find him was so great that the spell activated instantly. A compass of blood appeared on her skin, pointing the way.

　　Sylvia diligently climbed stairs and opened doors. The magic circle indicated only the direction, not the path, so she wandered the building for some time. She was searching the second floor, sweating as the compass pointed insistently west, when she heard the sound of footsteps thundering up the stairs from the floor below.

　　"Are you mad?"

　　The sound of men’s laughter. It seemed training had ended earlier than usual. Sylvia spun around, frantically searching for a place to hide. If it became known that she had been caught sneaking into the men’s dormitory dressed as she was, she would surely be sold off that very day. There was a hidden staircase at the east end of the hall, and she started to flee toward it.

　　"Is it true?"

　　"Yes. Smirking one moment, furious the next. A complete madman."

　　"Did he eat something foul? Since when does Summers get angry?"

　　"He wept publicly in the training grounds two days ago."

　　"Something is amiss."

　　If it had not been for the coincidental mention of Summers’s name, she would have fled. Instead, Sylvia cast a spell to erase her presence, pressed her body tightly against the wall, and decided to listen a little longer.

　　"Something is amiss, indeed. Do you think he is in his right mind? He has gone mad from all the slaughter."

　　"By that logic, Lockwood should have lost his mind first."

　　"Well, Lockwood has that Supporter, does he not?"

　　The conversation quickly veered into a familiar, unpleasant direction. The tone was one of mock praise, unable to conceal a sneer. Sylvia knew the sort of things such men said.

　　"True. Appleton would risk her life to protect Lockwood’s sanity."

　　"A waste of effort, in the end."

　　"But why would Lockwood get engaged to another woman when he has someone like her? Is Appleton not lovely? Her figure, as well… small, but nicely filled out. I have been tempted to try my luck myself."

　　"You fool. Do you wish to be crushed by Lockwood? Do you not remember what happened to Tekkash?"

　　"Exactly. Why keep her on a leash if he has no intention of claiming her himself?"

　　"The wealthy ones are always the worst."

　　Such lewd talk was truly nothing to her. With a blank expression, Sylvia, still under the invisibility spell, committed their faces to memory. She waited until the men’s backs had completely vanished up the stairs before releasing the magic. Buckley, Gefael, Walden. She was committing the three names to memory when she turned her head.

　　"What are you doing there?"

　　Agh!

　　A familiar face was looking down at her with an expression of pure pity. Leaning casually against the opposite wall with his arms crossed was the very man who had made her grind her teeth and rush all the way here: Owen Summers.

* * *