As Hathaway's ecstatic moans reached their peak, Roger immediately felt a surge of scorching warmth flood from the depths of her core. The intense heat overwhelmed his senses, pushing him over the edge. "Oh—!" Roger groaned involuntarily. Moments later, his hips jerked as he released a torrent of semen, leaving his seed inside Hathaway's body.
Exhausted and limp, he collapsed onto her, breathless. Hathaway remained lost in the aftershocks of her climax. This virgin body is too damn sensitive. I barely lasted this long despite fighting tooth and nail, Roger thought bitterly.
"Darling, you… were incredible," Hathaway murmured, patting his sweat-slicked back.
Roger forced a smirk. "Of course. A man can fail at anything else, but never this."
Hathaway wrapped her arms around his neck. "I want more."
His eyes widened. Without hesitation, he scrambled off the bed. "Have mercy on me! Let's just call this a… mutually beneficial impulse. Don't cling to me. Understand?"
Her lips puckered in a pout. "Look how terrified you are."
Roger exhaled sharply. "Get dressed. Time to leave."
Hathaway rose sluggishly, her hungry gaze never leaving him. "The thrill of an affair is so exhilarating—especially with a pretty boy like you. Now I see why noblewomen indulge in such pleasures."
Roger remained silent, buttoning his shirt with deliberate calm. He'd resisted so long, yet she'd still conquered him. Now, post-clarity brought only dread. Hathaway's no ordinary woman. Touch her again, and I might not live to regret it.
After dressing, they descended to the shopfront. Roger dismissed her with the same detached courtesy shown to regular patrons. Fatigue weighted his bones—the encounter had drained him physically and mentally. He locked up early and retreated to bed.
When he awoke hours later, moonlight bathed the room. Jerking upright, he shook off residual grogginess and began meditative cultivation. Power is everything in this magical world. With true strength, wealth and influence become trivial pursuits.
I must advance faster. Master the five-star magic—Stormbreaker Blade—before the solstice.
He set the goal firmly, losing himself in energy circulation until dawn's cacophony intruded. Outside, excited chatter buzzed through the streets. Roger ignored it—neighbors' dramas never concerned him. After washing up, he opened his shop with practiced routine, the night's risks temporarily shelved.
Several neighbors sat around a wooden table outside, chatting animatedly with gestures and laughter.
When Roger opened the door, a gray-haired teenager about his age stood up and said, "Roger, you're still useless, just stuck guarding your lousy shop every day. Look at me—I've been accepted into the Magic Guild."
Roger's face darkened. "You looking for a beating this early? What I do isn't your business, and don't talk down to me."
Simord wore a smug grin. "So what if I'm talking down to you? I'm just being honest."
"Crack, crack..." Roger clenched his fists, his knuckles cracking sharply.
Simord had reason to be proud—getting into the Magic Guild was no small feat.
The Magic Guild never accepted just anyone. You had to have unique abilities to even have a chance.
Or you needed a recommendation from some big shot.
But trying to get in on pure skill? For Roger, that was harder than becoming a millionaire.
When Roger was eight and twelve, he took the public tests held by the Magic Guild.
Unfortunately, he failed both times and never made it into the Guild.
Being in the Magic Guild came with plenty of perks—priority access to cultivation resources.
They also issued missions that members could complete to earn various rewards.
"The Magic Guild offers many advantages. Most importantly, they control nearly all the cultivation resources. Even the royal family can't compare," Roger thought to himself.
Hearing Simord brag made Roger restless. The idea of joining the Guild started to take root.
He hadn't qualified before.
But now, with the help of the God-Level Tailor, if he trained seriously, he might eventually make it in.
His only worry was being rejected twice already.
If he tried to apply again, he might just get kicked out on the spot.
"I'm already a Level Five Mage. You'd better show me some respect," Simord said arrogantly.
His parents stood nearby, not stopping their son from bullying Roger but looking proud instead.
Roger glared at Simord. "Why didn't you have the guts to talk to me like this before?"
They'd been neighbors since childhood, with a pretty average relationship, often fighting.
Simord had been slow to react as a kid. Although he had better talent than Roger, he always lost.
Now the tables had turned. Simord could completely dominate Roger.
With the Magic Guild backing him, even the town's nobles had to give Simord face.
He could pick on Roger whenever he wanted.
Like right now.
"Not happy about it? Come on, let's fight," Simord said, swinging his fists as he stepped up to Roger.
Simord's parents immediately gathered around, excited to watch the showdown.
Roger remained calm. "Looks like if I don't fight you, you're not going to leave me alone."
Simord crossed his arms. "I know you're scared, but there's no need to be. It's just a fight. Nobody's going to die."
"Fine, let's do it. Whoever chickens out is a loser. What if I win?" Roger asked with a faint, teasing smile.
"Hahaha!" Simord burst out laughing and pointed at him. "Are you crazy? I'm a Level Five Mage. What could you possibly use to beat me? Bragging?"
Roger was too lazy to waste words. He raised his fist and got into a boxing stance.
Seeing that Roger was about to throw a punch, Simord stood calmly, ready to cast magic at any moment.
"The Guild Leader is here!" Roger suddenly pointed to the west.
Hearing that the Guild Leader had arrived, Simord was shocked and quickly turned to look in that direction.
But he didn't see the Guild Leader anywhere.
"Bang!"
At that moment, Roger suddenly kicked Simord in the back.
With full force, the kick sent Simord flying, soaring four or five meters high, tracing an arc through the air before crashing hard into an open roadside drainage ditch across the street.
Because Simord fell headfirst into the ditch, he felt like his head was going to be smashed to pieces. The pain blanked his mind, and his whole body convulsed.
Simord's parents were terrified when they saw this.
They had thought Simord would easily beat Roger, but didn't expect Roger to resort to trickery and a sneak attack.
One kick and Simord was down.
Ignoring Simord's parents, Roger crossed the street and stopped beside him.
"5, 4, 3, 2, 1!" Roger crouched down and stared at Simord, counting down five seconds.
If Simord didn't get up within five seconds, Roger could declare himself the winner.
That's how fights worked—whoever knocked the other down first won.
Roger's way of winning wasn't exactly honorable.
But it was effective.
"I... I... I'm going to... kill... you!" Simord, with his head down, groaned in pain.
His parents hurried over, checking on him.
Simord's fate highlighted the biggest weakness of a Mage.
Their defense was just too low.
When caught off guard and attacked up close, there was no time to fight back; they'd just get pinned to the ground.
Especially since Roger had ambushed him.
Roger curled his lip, sneering, "Can't beat me, huh? Now you want to kill me? Can't handle losing?"
"You... you attacked me first! This isn't over!" Simord snapped angrily, his neck crooked.
"Hmph, what a dumb dog," Roger muttered as he walked away.
Simord's neck was badly sprained, and his back was fractured from Roger's kick. He couldn't even stand on his own and had to be supported by his parents.
If he wanted revenge, he'd have to wait until he healed.