This world is known as Him-Ambar, a name derived from the ancient Elvish tongue, meaning "the cool world." It is a realm adorned with numerous continents, the grandest of which is called the Central Continent. Stretching from west to east, the Central Continent is divided into three vast regions: Rosenland, Esta, and Tsincho. To the east lies Tsincho, a land steeped in the mystique of the Orient, birthplace of ninjas, swordmasters, and the art of papermaking. At the heart of the continent, Esta unfurls as a desert expanse, teeming with camels, sands, and oases—a cradle of fantastical beings like djinn and the very origin of human civilization. To the southwest of the Central Continent lies another, smaller landmass called Inka. Its northwest borders the northeast of Esta, while its northeast touches the southwest of Tsincho. Inka is the realm of ascetic warrior monks who practice the art of yoga.
Rosenland, situated in the western reaches of the Central Continent, is a land of knights, castles, and the timeless dance of sword and sorcery. Among its mightiest realms stands the knightly kingdom of Grance.
Today, within a secluded cave in Grance, a goblin merchant awaits something—or someone. Before long, the rhythmic clack-clack-clack of high-heeled boots echoes from the cave's entrance. A towering silhouette, nearly six feet tall in her heels, emerges at the threshold. The figure is a breathtaking beauty of twenty-eight years, exuding an aura of commanding elegance and regal poise.
Draped in a luxurious black leather cloak, its edges adorned with embroidered white fur, she carries an air of opulence and nobility. The cloak is fastened at her throat, where the fur trim converges, lending a refined flourish. A sliver of the cloak's opening reveals a glimpse of the black leather attire beneath, hinting at her penchant for dark, meticulously crafted garments. Concealed beneath the cloak is a gothic, one-piece leather bodysuit, paired with thigh-high heeled boots and elbow-length gloves—though these details remain veiled by the cloak's flowing folds. Atop the cloak sits a hood, its rim lined with the same plush fur, enveloping her head and obscuring her tresses. The hood's shadow casts her face into mystery, rendering her features nearly indiscernible in the dim light.As the statuesque beauty, towering over 190 centimeters in her high heels, steps into the cave, her hood seems imbued with enchantment, gracefully retracting on its own and melding seamlessly into her cloak. This reveals her cascading, voluminous waves of hair, allowing her breathtaking visage to come into full view.
Her hair, a deep, mesmerizing purple, flows in lustrous, silken waves down to her waist, exuding an irresistible allure. The front is styled into a sweeping, wavy fringe on one side, while the other reveals a full, pristine forehead and hairline, radiating an untouchable, aristocratic nobility. Her full lips and the eyeshadow adorning her eyes share the same gothic purple hue, applied with precision—delicate at the inner corners, bold and upturned at the outer edges, striking a balance of sensuality and dominance. Her facial structure is strikingly defined, with deep-set eye sockets, a high, elegant nose bridge, and a pert nasal tip, all contributing to a commanding, three-dimensional presence.
Her eyes are long and almond-shaped, with downward-slanting inner corners and upward-flicked outer edges, framed by dense, particularly lush lashes at the outer corners. This distinctive shape naturally conveys the aura of a formidable queen. Her thick, arched eyebrows, low at the inner ends and rising sharply at the tails, blend strength with a hint of softness, their proximity to her eyes—barely above them—intensifying her imposing gaze. That gaze, brimming with regal authority and heroic valor, compels anyone who meets it to avert their eyes, unable to withstand its power. Her skin possesses an otherworldly pallor and delicate tenderness, exuding the majestic pressure of a being beyond mere humanity. The purple eyeshadow, deliberately bold and mature, enhances her air of seasoned authority, while a narrower ring of black eyeshadow encircling her eyes adds a striking dual-tone effect.
Though her appearance suggests a mere twenty-eight years, her sophisticated makeup lends an air of seasoned maturity. With such adornments, she could easily pass for a seasoned countess or a queen who has witnessed the ebb and flow of countless eras. Yet, her face bears not a single wrinkle, and to assume she is over thirty-five based solely on her poised demeanor and makeup would astonish onlookers, who might marvel at how she maintains such flawless beauty. Her skin, after all, is as supple and radiant as that of a woman not yet twenty, practically ethereal in its perfection.
Beneath her ears dangle a pair of rectangular golden earrings, each about ten centimeters long. Upon closer inspection, every detail of her adornments—from her eyeshadow to her attire—reflects the quintessential gothic style, a hallmark of dark sorcerers and vampires.
"Asi, I trust you're well?" the commanding beauty said to the goblin.
Baroness Dominax, you too are in good health," the goblin replied. Dominax was the surname of this noblewoman.
"What have you brought? Show me," she prompted.
"Of course," the goblin merchant said, opening his treasure-laden sack. "As usual, skirts, robes, headscarves, veils, and these jewels."
Dominax—a name tied to a vampire lineage. In this world, vampires exist, divided into three tiers: common vampires, high vampires, and royal vampires. The creatures often mistaken for vampires—those reduced to ash by sunlight—are not true vampires but their thralls or blood slaves. When a human is bitten by a vampire, there's a chance of contracting their blood poison. Left untreated, the victim transforms into a blood slave, vulnerable to sunlight and bound to their vampire master's will.
However, if a vampire, after draining a portion of a human's blood, reciprocates by injecting their own blood—a ritual known as the "blood kiss"—a true vampire is born. True vampires are not destroyed by sunlight but are scorched and pained by it. Creating a vampire is an art; drawing too much blood risks the fledgling's survival, while injecting too much weakens the sire, as blood is their life force. Thus, vampires often limit the blood they take, resulting in a world filled with weaker, lesser vampires. Moreover, each generation's transformation dilutes the bloodline, as pure blood is rarely used. The more human blood remains, the feebler the vampire, some so frail they lack any physical edge over humans yet suffer sunlight's torment.
When a vampire's blood purity exceeds 50%, they become high vampires, immune to sunlight's lethal touch, though it still causes discomfort. They possess strength, agility, endurance, and senses several times greater than a human's, along with "bloodline abilities" tied to their specific blood. Blood is the source of a vampire's power.
A vampire with 100% pure blood is a royal vampire, also called "regal" or "noble." Their physical prowess mirrors that of high vampires, but their bloodline abilities are extraordinarily potent, and sunlight affects them only as a mild psychological burden, allowing them to roam freely under the sun.
Baroness Dominax was a royal vampire of the Dominax family. The family had previously been led by two male patriarchs and lacked artisans skilled in crafting women's adornments. For reasons of her own, the Baroness harbored a deep disdain for other vampires, often relying on wandering goblin merchants like Asi to procure exquisite garments and jewelry from across the world.
As she inspected the clothing and jewels in Asi's sack, her feminine sensibilities stirred with delight at the fine craftsmanship. "Well done, these are fit for the highest nobility," she said, tossing the goblin a pouch. "Fifty gold coins. I'm pleased—keep the change."
"Thank you, Baroness!" the goblin replied, grinning as he pocketed the coins. At that moment, the Baroness's preternatural vampire hearing caught a distant sound. With a sultry smirk, she purred, "So, they've come for me? I thought they were marching to war."
"What do you mean?" the goblin asked, puzzled.
"When I arrived, I noticed an army of a thousand men nearby, with several formidable figures among them. I assumed they were bound for battle, but it seems they're heading straight for this cave."
"A… a thousand men?!" the goblin stammered, horrified. A vampire's hearing, akin to their symbolic kin, the bat, is extraordinarily acute, capable of detecting ultrasonic frequencies. While all vampires surpass human hearing, royal and high vampires possess senses dozens of times sharper. The sounds she heard were unmistakable.
"No need to fear," the Baroness said in her commanding, regal tone. "Ten thousand men would fall in the blink of an eye. You've nothing to worry about."
"Y-yes…27… I-I'll find a way to escape," the goblin muttered. "Of course, they're not here for a goblin, are they?" With a coy, queenly wink, she dismissed him. The goblin vanished into the darkness.
"No choice, Bloodwing—time to shift," she murmured. Her cloak began to move of its own accord, transforming swiftly. This was no ordinary garment; its ability to reshape itself explained the hood's earlier retraction upon entering the cave. The cloak sprouted sleeves near her hands, revealing her elbow-length leather gloves. The knot at her throat loosened, retying at her waist, unveiling her captivating bust. In an instant, the cumbersome cloak became a sleek trench coat, its inner lining blood-red, as if woven from blood itself.
The coat's former midline seam now formed an "X," with V-shaped openings above and below, accentuating the Baroness's flawless figure. Her gothic leather bodysuit, clinging tightly to her curves, was now visible—her form a perfect hourglass. Standing 180 centimeters tall barefoot, her frame was larger than that of petite women, her bust and hips far exceeding average. Her expansive chest supported breasts between 38E and 38F, closer to the latter, while her hips, wider than her shoulders, were strikingly prominent yet proportionate on her tall frame, rendering her allure irresistible.
Her thigh-high heeled boots exposed legs of golden-ratio perfection—long, shapely, and impossibly sensual. By raw measurement, her legs were thicker than those of shorter women; at her height, slimmer legs would appear spindly. Yet, their proportions were flawless—long, luscious, and lithe, with a tantalizing blend of firmness and softness. These were the epitome of legs: alabaster, voluptuous, and endlessly captivating.
But this vision of perfection had no audience, for Asi had fled, and her enemies were only now approaching.
A troop of torch-bearing soldiers appeared before the Baroness, who sat nonchalantly on a rock, legs crossed, awaiting their arrival.
"There's the vampire! Capture her alive!" they shouted.
"How curious," Sophia mused, her voice laced with playful mischief. Despite the dozen enemies closing in, she remained seated, striking a coy, puzzled expression like a mischievous girl. "My meeting with Asi was supposed to be a secret."
"Have you ever heard the name Sophia von Dominax?" she asked, her cold smile dripping with menace as she licked her lips, eyeing the weapon-wielding foes with wicked delight.
As she spoke, an enemy lunged, his sword slashing down. It struck her trench coat with a heavy thud. "Got her!" the human cried, elated—until a faint silver-blue rapier, glowing and hovering in midair, pierced his chest. Unbeknownst to him, his full-force strike had been effortlessly deflected by the vampire's shape-shifting coat.
With a swish, the floating blade decapitated several foes in an instant, while Sophia remained seated, legs still crossed. "Oh, this is no fun. Let's take it outside." Her coat lifted, carrying her aloft. The rapier, named Moonshine, returned to her hand. Her keen hearing detected over thirty enemies in the cave. "Too cramped. I need open space." Like a bat, she swooped through the cave, cutting down foes as she sped toward the exit.
Meanwhile, outside in the forest, a mounted mage addressed a man on foot, clad in a black trench coat and a tall, conical hat—a witch hunter, also known as a demon hunter. These hunters, marked by their distinctive high-crowned hats, pursued not only rogue witches but all dark creatures: werewolves, vampires, dark sorcerers, demons, and zombies. They were the bane of the supernatural.
"Master Garth, should we send more men into the cave?" the mage asked.
"Pointless," Garth, the witch hunter, replied. "Killing a high vampire takes at least a hundred men, and our orders are to capture her alive. That cave can hold fifty at most. Sending more is just feeding them to her." A seasoned vampire hunter, Garth had slain three high vampires. With fewer than 300 high vampires worldwide and only about 40 witch hunters in Rosenland capable of facing them one-on-one, his expertise was rare.
Before he could finish, blood sprayed from the cave's mouth. A gothic queen with a perfect figure soared out, rapier in hand, as two severed heads rolled from the entrance.
"Quite the crowd! This party will be fun. Time to change for the occasion," Sophia said from midair. Dark, shadowy mist enveloped her, and when it cleared, she wore a revealing black-and-gold battle armor, evoking the aura of an evil queen from legend. The armor, primarily black, was adorned with golden bat wings and dragon motifs. Its upper half resembled a sleeveless, triangular breastplate, akin to a bunny costume or a one-piece swimsuit, encasing her lower torso and half her chest with curved metal plates, leaving her upper chest and cleavage exposed. The triangular cut bared the tops of her voluptuous thighs, exuding sensuality.
Her lower half sported matching black-and-gold metallic thigh-high heeled boots, covering two-thirds of her thighs, calves, and feet. The uncovered thigh roots, framed between the armor's edge and the boots, showcased her lush, tantalizing flesh.
The humans below had no time to admire the airborne beauty'sphysics/astronomy. Their focus was survival—defeating this foe."Is her bloodline ability flight?" the mage asked Garth.
"Not necessarily, Master Gail," Garth replied. "It could be a flight spell, but if it's flight, she might be from the Julius family." Most vampires cannot fly, except the Julius family, whose bloodline grants that ability. Magic, however, can enable anyone to fly.
"If it's magic, I'd sense it," Gail said.
"Then she's likely a high vampire from the Julius family—one of the Twelve Royal Clans. They're no easy foe."
The Twelve Royal Clans trace back to the first undead, a necromantic entity from Esta 10,000 years ago, the source of all vampire power. Legend holds that twelve mighty warriors defeated this being, dividing its power to form the clans. Despite his words, Garth was confident. He'd killed high vampires before, and with Gail—Grance's third-strongest mage, a member of Rosenland's elite 20-mage council, capable of facing an army—plus high-tier swordsmen, assassins, and clerics, even a royal vampire seemed manageable. But before he could finish the thought, Sophia dove down, her silver-blue rapier a whirlwind. In a blink, she unleashed a tide of blood, reducing dozens to gore, severed limbs, and rolling heads. Her swordsmanship transcended human limits—perhaps the world's finest, Garth realized.
"Disrespect my ladyship? Die!" Sophia raised her blade, but a powerful lightning bolt struck, exploding in a cloud of smoke. "Oh, a mage! Impressive, not your average spellcaster!" she said, unscathed, soaring higher with her coat's aid, clapping loudly as if watching a child's game.
"Demoness, take this!" Gail launched a two-meter-wide fireball, an advanced spell called Maximized Explosive Fireball. Most mages require incantations, but Gail used Silent Casting, a technique allowing spellcasting via gestures alone. He could silently cast nearly all his spells.
"Scary! A Maximized Explosive Fireball! Even an ice dragon would be crippled!" Sophia said, admiring the fireball's near-Mach speed. Without moving, she conjured a four-meter fireball, still clapping.
"She… used Fixed Casting for that scale?" Gail gasped. Casting requires gestures, incantations, or materials. Silent Casting speeds spells with minimal energy loss, but without gestures, Fixed Casting—casting without movement—is nearly impossible and halves a spell's potency. Even Gail, a master, could only Fixed Cast minor spells. Yet Sophia's larger fireball, cast effortlessly, mocked him.
No time for anger—her fireball obliterated his and hurtled toward him. Gail raised a magical shield. Boom! The explosion killed four soldiers nearby.
"Phew, joking, right?" Gail panted, drenched in sweat. Her fireball's remnant power dwarfed his. Her magical prowess surpassed even his mentor, Grance's chief mage, Clement, a member of Rosenland's six-mage council. Garth, seeing trouble, fired his flintlock at the taunting vampire. The bullet struck her coat and fell harmlessly.
"Damn!" Garth drew his vampire-slaying whip, a weapon lethal to vampires, capable of killing lesser ones in one strike. Under Gail's magical cover, he landed a precise hit on Sophia's unprotected upper chest, triggering a small holy energy explosion.
"Ow, that really hurts!" Sophia said, rubbing her chest. As a second whip strike came, a high-tier swordsman swung a greatsword at her.
"I'd rather not be cleaved—whip me instead," she quipped, deflecting the greatsword with her rapier and killing the kingdom's top-20 swordsman with a single blind-angle strike. The whip hit her chest again, exploding.
"Oh, you're naughty," she teased. "Let me return the favor." Her rapier morphed into a segmented silver whip with bladed edges—Moonshine, a legendary hunter's weapon from a century ago, owned by Ricardo van Dyne. It tore Garth in half, shredding a dozen soldiers as it retracted.
Gail's face fell. Only 200 soldiers remained; their strongest—Garth and the swordsman—were dead. His mana was half-depleted, his confidence shattered. He'd even fantasized about capturing and toying with her perfect body—those 38E-to-F-cup breasts, unlike any he'd touched. Now, escape via teleportation was his only option.
"You're not leaving, naughty mage," Sophia said from 20 meters away, across dozens of soldiers.
Mind-reading? At this distance? Before Gail could process, she was upon him, ending his life.
With the mage dead, the remaining soldiers fled like scattered beasts. Sophia, uninterested in chasing small prey, let them go. "Fun, fun! More adventures like this!" she exclaimed, ever the playful noblewoman.
"Hm, someone didn't run." Her acute hearing caught a human heartbeat. She strode to a supply cart, ripped off its cover, and found a trembling man, barely 174 centimeters—short compared to her 180-centimeter frame. "Don't kill me! Take my blood, lady!" he pleaded, too scared to flee.
Sophia chuckled. "Isaac, get up." She hoisted him like a chicken.
"How… how do you know my name?" Isaac stammered, unaware she'd read his mind. Beyond greed, lust, and cowardice, he wasn't evil—just the type whose blood would taste sweet, untainted by malice. Unlike most vampires, the Dominax family's unique bloodline ability let them glean memories from blood, making vile minds unpalatable.
"I know all your thoughts, little Zack," she said, using his nickname.
"All?!" Isaac paled, realizing she'd seen his lustful fantasies about her.
Sophia snickered. "Don't worry, Zack. I won't roast you like that mage," she said, gesturing to Gail's ashen remains. "You're not evil, just lustful. That mage was corrupt, murderous, power-hungry, and cruel. I wouldn't touch his blood."
So the rumors about Gail were true? She saw through him instantly and killed him? Terrifying…
"Zack, one question: how did you humans know I'd be in this cave?"
"I-I don't know… don't kill me! You can read my mind…"
"If you don't want to die, stop stuttering," she said, blowing a kiss and winking.
"Yes!" Isaac shouted, tense.
"You're honest, Zack, with no intent to deceive. Of course you don't know. That lewd mage was just following his mentor Clement's orders."
Master Clement? The chief mage sent this army after her? No wonder… Isaac thought.
Sophia laughed at his mental correction from "demoness" to "lady." "So, that mage was plotting to bind and ravish me with the cart's tools. Want to be the hero who binds a vampire?"
"I-I—" Isaac's mind raced, unsure how to respond without dooming himself.
"Relax, I won't kill you, little Isaac, as long as you don't betray me."
"I-I—"
"Haha, you're too fun! Fine, don't betray me unless I'm harming humanity or breaking moral codes. Deal?" She extended a nail by two centimeters—a vampire trait for combat—and tapped his forehead. "Betrayal means disobeying me."
"Yes, lady! I won't betray you," Isaac said, sweating but sincere.
"So honest. Want to be my knight?"
"You… understand knighthood?" Isaac had dreamed of being a knight, but serving a vampire was another matter.
"You're a greedy, lustful, cowardly dreamer—my favorite kind of pet. I, Sophia von Dominax, Lady of Valhaz in the Grand Duchy of Silania, have the right to knight you."
She's the leader of the most secretive of the Twelve Clans! The Dominax, lords of Valhaz, the Land of the Dead, were infamous, though few hunters returned from their domain. Unlike shadowy clans, their existence was undeniable.
"If you can, but I won't harm my people," Isaac said, realizing she wasn't the monstrous vampire of legend but someone he could reason with.
"Kneel." Isaac knelt, and Sophia tapped his shoulders with Moonshine. "I, Grand Duchess of Silania, Elector of the Aramanti Empire, Princess and Duchess of Valhaz, Duchess of Modova, Head of House Dominax, Grand Master of the Dracula Order, Member of the Blood Council, Sophia von Dominax, dub you my knight. You are bound to serve me, provided it does not harm humanity."
"Yes, my lady." Isaac, once a lowly stablehand, was now a knight, albeit to a dubious noble.
"Now, Zack, want to be the hero who binds a vampire?" she teased.
"I… do," he admitted, knowing she'd see through any lie.
"Fetch the red bag from the cart. It's got all the tools. Bind me."
Isaac found the bag, containing a manual on restraining vampires, ropes, a collar, shackles, handcuffs, a chastity belt, a chastity bra, an armbinder, and metallic plugs, all glowing silver-blue like Moonshine, crafted from similar materials.
"My lady—" Isaac hesitated.
"Go ahead! I'm heading to your capital to find out why Clement knew I'd be here. This adventure will be thrilling!"
"Yes, then—" "Make it real. Be rough. Make me look like your captive." Sophia dismissed her dragonbone armor, magically donned her leather bodysuit, and let Bloodwing revert to a cloak, falling to the ground for easier binding.
Isaac saw her clearly: her body encased in a black leather bodysuit, thigh-high heeled boots, and a corset over the suit, accentuating her curves. At over 190 centimeters in heels, she towered over his 174-centimeter frame. Her 38E-to-F-cup breasts, hips wider than her shoulders, and long, golden-ratio legs were perfection—a fiery, sensual goddess.
"Apologies," Isaac said, consulting the manual. He bound her gloved wrists behind her, tying loops below and above her elbows, pulling them tight to force her elbows together. More ropes bound her upper arms, securing them in a Y-shape behind her.
He paused—the manual instructed binding her chest. "Go ahead," Sophia said, reading his hesitation. "If you want to cop a feel, that's fine. I dislike duplicity." Reassured, Isaac wound ropes above and below her massive chest, linking them to her wrist bindings. He looped ropes from her back to her neck, down her cleavage, forming a Y-shape above her breasts. Additional ropes circled her torso below her breasts, tied to her arms, then ran over her shoulders, pressing her breasts' sides, threading through the lower ropes, and knotting behind. Her chest was fully restrained, tightening with any arm movement.
The ropes, designed to suppress vampires, sent a numbing current through her, even through the leather. Ordinary vampires would've been incinerated. Isaac, as permitted, groped her 38F breasts during the process.
He bound her waist tightly, accentuating its slenderness, linking the ropes to her elbow bindings so struggling tightened her waist further. With her consent, he tied ropes around her hips, looping them through her thighs to her groin, where she cooperatively parted her legs. He pulled the rope up, threading it through her buttocks' crease to connect to the upper ropes.
The tug stimulated her sensitive core. Raised in abstinence and disillusioned by vampire politics, Sophia, despite 800 years of knowledge about intimacy, had rarely experienced arousal, her pride deeming most beings beneath her. The electrified rope's jolt elicited an uncontrollable moan: "Ah—ah!" Isaac froze, fearing her wrath."Don't stop! Bind me tightly, make me a captive!" she commanded, refusing to seem weak before this human. The minor torment was nothing to her immense power.
Isaac complied, tightening the rope, prompting another moan. To preserve her authority, she stifled her pleasure. "Hurry, tighter!" He pulled again, linking the groin rope to her wrist bindings so lifting her arms would intensify the sensation. He connected the waist ropes to the groin ropes, ensuring breathing tightened them further. Unnoticed by Isaac, Sophia's suppressed arousal had soaked her bodysuit, concealed by its fabric.
"Now, lady—" "Wait!" she interrupted, suppressing ecstasy. The ropes weakened bound areas to human levels. She suspected even her full strength couldn't break them, crafted from Moonshine's material. Playing too far, she risked relying on this human—a humiliating prospect.
"Wait, you have no horse. Binding my legs would make carrying me impossible," she improvised, unwilling to admit her predicament.
"No leg binding then?"
"No, I must look captive. Shackle my feet!"
"Yes!" Isaac retrieved glowing silver-blue shackles and chains, locking them on her ankles. Like the ropes, they numbed her, weakening her legs to human strength. Unaccustomed, she collapsed.
"Lady Dominax, are you alright?" Isaac asked, alarmed.
"Fine. I'm… practicing being a captive," she said, struggling to stand, feigning composure.
"Good. The manual says the collar is mandatory, or we'll die. So—"
"Of course, put it on." Sophia realized the collar likely suppressed bloodline abilities and magic. Refusal would raise suspicion, so she consented.
Isaac fastened the glowing collar. It sealed magically, becoming a solid ring with no opening, impossible to remove. Sophia lost her connection to Bloodwing and Moonshine—a magic-suppressing collar.
"Put my cloak on," she said.
"Yes, my lady!" Isaac draped Bloodwing over her. Upon contact, she sensed it again. The collar blocked energy but not its presence. Bloodwing reconnected, concealing her bound form, the collar mistaken for a necklace. None would suspect the ropes beneath.
"Lady…" Isaac began.
"What?" Sophia was startled to realize she could no longer read minds. This collar was formidable—it didn't just suppress magic but her bloodline abilities too! Her telepathy was innate, not a spell, yet it was blocked. Now, she was truly at the mercy of this human. Is this what adventure feels like?
"Uh, should I put on the gag ball?" Isaac asked.
"Wait, fetch me a mirror. There's a package in the cave with a vanity mirror," Sophia said. Despite everything, she hadn't forgotten her original purpose: to buy feminine luxuries.
Isaac took some time but returned with the package she'd purchased from the goblin. It contained various undergarments and a vanity mirror. He handed her the mirror, and Bloodwing parted automatically, allowing Sophia to inspect herself. Bound in ropes, she looked even more alluring. "We'll need to travel a few days to reach the nearest encampment, right?" she recalled from Gail's thoughts.
"Yes, several days on foot," Isaac confirmed.
Sophia wanted to test if the bindings could be undone. "Try untying these ropes," she teased, her voice playful.
Isaac attempted to loosen the wrist ropes but was repelled by a powerful electric shock, his right hand twitching. "It won't work," he said, showing his spasming hand.
Damn, outwitted by humans, Sophia thought. "Where's the key to the shackles?"
"I think Master Gail had them—all the keys were with him," Isaac replied.
Sophia turned to look at "Master Gail"—a pile of ash on the ground.
Disaster! My legs are locked too? Damn it! "Fine, this makes it more thrilling," she said, feigning composure. "Since it's three or four days to the camp, you can't gag me outright. If people saw a stunning noblewoman like me captured, it'd cause a riot."
"That's true…" Isaac agreed.
"But you can use the veil and headscarf from my package to cover the gag!" The veil and scarf, bought to shield her from sunlight, now served an unexpected purpose.
"Right away!" Isaac said.
He retrieved a white, gold-embroidered noble headscarf and veil from the package. Bloodwing parted to allow him to drape them over her face, framing her features elegantly. Once done, Bloodwing closed again, concealing her bound form.
"Now… apologies," Isaac said, picking up the gag ball. Like the other restraints, it glowed silver-blue with holy energy. The gag had a keyhole with a wedge inserted. Realizing the keys were gone, Isaac left the wedge in, allowing the gag to be removed without one. He gently fastened it over Sophia's sensual purple lips. Click! The gag locked in place.
The holy energy stung her lips, a sensation both uncomfortable and oddly pleasant. The gag sealed her lips tightly, preventing even drool from escaping. "Mmm," Sophia tried to speak, but no words formed. The gag muffled her voice far more than typical restraints, which often left lips partially unsealed, allowing louder sounds.
Isaac lifted the veil, fully obscuring her stunning face, leaving only her commanding, regal eyes visible, piercing him with their dominance.
Ever the opportunist, Isaac scavenged the dead soldiers' belongings, collecting five gold coins—a fortune in a world where the average person earned one gold coin a month. He'd gained both a beautiful companion and wealth; today was lucky. The only downside? That companion could kill him at any moment (unaware she currently couldn't). Lucky or cursed, he wasn't sure.
"Alright, my lady, let's head to Windleaf Town to rest," Isaac said.
"Mmm," Sophia responded, taking a small step with her shackled, leather-booted legs. Isaac followed closely, like a knight trailing his mistress.