Drunken Confessions (iii) [R18]

Warning: The content of the following chapter has visual descriptions that might not suit certain readers, I request readers below 18 years of age to skip it. 

She scoffed at his comment and asked, "Did you dream of them too?"

His drunken honesty betrayed him, and he blurted out, "Ever since my first spring dream." Vivian's eyes flared with fury, but before she could lash out, he stumbled over his words, trying to explain,

"But I didn't know they were as big as melons… so tempting," only embarrassing her further.

When she dismissed him with a scoff, his smirk returned. "If they've grown like melons from all our sparring, I suppose I'll have to take responsibility," he added with a sly grin. "Maybe I'll just have to put up with them for the rest of my life."

Her lips curved into a reluctant smile, a reaction she couldn't suppress. Ethan noticed instantly, chuckling softly, his breath warm against her skin.

"You need to like your body more," he murmured, his drunken grin widening. "Even you can't deny its perfection."

Ethan paused, his gaze lingering on her breasts, now flushed pink and her buds tender from his earlier attentions. His smirk deepened, his thoughts uninhibited by the haze of alcohol. "

At least our children will be well-fed," he quipped, his tone audacious and followed by a low chuckle, clearly enjoying the vivid fantasy forming in his mind.

Vivian's face burned scarlet, her reaction only feeding Ethan's drunken confidence. His gaze narrowed, feigning exaggerated curiosity.

"What's this?" he asked, leaning closer as though inspecting her. "Did you catch a cold? Or is it something else entirely?" His words hung provocatively, each syllable dripping with playful provocation, his grin widening at her silence.

Leaning back, his smirk softened into something more contemplative, his drunken imagination taking flight.

"You know, Vivi," he began, his tone turning teasingly bold, "I'd love to see you with a big belly, still squeezing into that Imperial Guard armor. Majestic, absurd, and entirely you."

Her flustered silence was all the encouragement he needed. Ethan's laughter rolled through the tent, low and shameless, but tinged with a surprising reverence.

"Twins run in my family," he added unabashedly. "Imagine you, with that belly stretching your uniform as you try to wield a sword. Would it hold, or should we sell tickets for the spectacle?"

His laughter deepened, shameless and unrestrained. Vivian straightened, indignation flaring as she met his gaze. Her voice, trembling with frustration and pride, cut through the haze.

"If it ever came to that, I'd carry them with the same dignity I carry my station.I won't let you make a joke of my vulnerability. I've faced worse and stood tall."

Ethan's grin only widened at her declaration, his amusement deepening. "Ah, so you're agreeing to have my children now?" he teased, his tone laced with triumph.

Realization dawned on Vivian, her eyes widening as she realized she had walked directly into his drunken trap.

Her silence emboldened him further. His laughter softened into something more intimate as he leaned closer, his voice taking on a mocking yet possessive edge.

"There it is," he murmured, his smirk returning. "Don't go back on your word now, Vivi."

Ethan's hands roamed her stomach with reverence, brushing the buckle of her belt as his thoughts wandered. He massaged her toned belly with a blend of drunken fascination and yearning, as though imagining the life it could one day carry.

Vivian flinched at his touch, but Ethan only grinned, his fingers tracing lazy circles.

"Relax," he drawled, his tone light. "No plans to unpack that treasure tonight. A camp's no place for wonders like this." His hands lingered, warm and insistent. "Tonight, this is enough… your beauty is more than I deserve."

His kisses trailed back to her neck, each touch fueled by passion and conviction. "You've always been mine," he declared, his drunken haze intensifying his words.

When exhaustion claimed him, his boldness softened into a childlike vulnerability. He wrapped her in an unyielding embrace, her bare chest pressed to his. Even in sleep, his arms tightened as if to keep her from slipping away.

Vivian, trapped in his slumbering grasp, felt his breath warm against her neck and his weight pressing into her.

For a moment, she wondered how someone so bold could exude such tenderness. The alcohol had stripped his walls, revealing a sincerity she hadn't expected.

As she shifted slightly, his grip instinctively tightened. Even asleep, he mumbled softly, his voice pleading, as if holding onto the moment. The weight of him—literal and figurative—settled over her like an indelible mark she wasn't sure she could erase.

 The cold air of dawn slipped through the edges of the tent, carrying with it the faint stirrings of the waking camp. Vivian stirred, her emerald eyes fluttering open to the soft glow of pre-dawn light filtering through the canvas walls.

Her heart skipped as the memories of the night before rushed back in vivid detail. Ethan's arms still encircled her, his breath steady and warm against her neck. The marks on her skin—a testament to his drunken adoration—tingled faintly, a reminder of the vulnerability she rarely allowed herself to feel.

Her torso, especially her breasts, bore deep red and blue marks, the bruising an echo of Ethan's whispered praises and unfiltered touch. She flushed deeply as she remembered how his drunken murmurs had turned almost poetic, calling her breasts beautiful and perfect, his lips leaving trails of warmth that now tingled with soreness.

The contrast between his playful adoration and the reverence in his voice left her both embarrassed and inexplicably flattered. She glanced down at him, his golden blonde hair tousled, his expression peaceful in sleep. For a moment, she lingered, her emotions a tangle of frustration, warmth, and confusion. She hated that part of her relished the feeling of being so close to him, even if only for a fleeting night.

Quietly, carefully, she slipped out of his grasp. His arms loosened reluctantly, and he mumbled something incoherent before settling deeper into the bed. Vivian tucked the blanket snugly around him, ensuring he stayed warm in the biting northern chill.

She slipped her undershirt over her sore breasts, relieved it hadn't been torn, and quickly redressed herself, her fingers trembling as she buttoned her uniform, the dull ache of bruises still tingling from Ethan's attention. Finally, she clasped her cape over her shoulders, pulling the hood low to partially cover her face.

As she stepped out into the icy air, the first rays of dawn painted the horizon in soft hues of orange and pink. The camp lay silent, the troops still lost in their slumber. Only a few drowsy guards lingered near the tents, their eyes too heavy with sleep to notice her.

Vivian's breath misted in the cold air as she moved with deliberate, measured steps toward the Imperial guards' section. Each stride felt heavier than the last, her thoughts swirling with everything she left behind and everything ahead.

Memories of Ethan's previous drunken confession bubbled to the surface. She recalled her graduation, a day of triumph and pride that marked a turning point in her life. She had graduated ahead of her class, the only one among her peers to be placed into the prestigious Imperial Guards. Her classmates had celebrated her success with a beautiful farewell, filled with laughter and camaraderie, honoring her as the first to achieve such heights.

Back then, Flora wasn't even a part of their story; she came much later. Vivian's connection with Ethan had been deeper—rooted in competition, camaraderie, and mutual respect.

Ethan had been there that day, his sharp blue eyes shining with admiration and something unspoken. He had been her rival, her motivator, always pushing her to be better.

That night, drunk and uninhibited, he had confessed his jealousy over her sparring with other men. "You should never duel anyone but me," he had demanded, his voice laced with possessive earnestness.

She had laughed, dismissing him, but his coaxing and sincerity had worn her down, and she reluctantly agreed.

Perhaps that was why, even ten years later, she still sparred only with him outside of her battalion—a silent bond forged in that fleeting, vulnerable moment.

Ethan had always been generous with kisses when drunk—playful and bold, yet never crossing a line—until last night.

Her first kiss had been with him, and his forgotten first kiss had been hers.

Luckily, his attention had remained fixated on her breasts otherwise it would have been worse—a noble's honor needs to be preserved.

Yet, as she replayed his touch in her mind, she marveled at his strength, even in his drunken state. It was as though his sheer determination had melted away her defenses, leaving her bewildered and begrudgingly impressed.

For the first time since her graduation, she had seen Ethan utterly vulnerable, stripped of his carefully constructed defenses.

Despite her frustration, a faint warmth stirred in her heart, treasuring the raw honesty of those moments, even as she bristled at the thought of how he always forgot his drunken actions once sober.

"Idiot," she muttered under her breath, the word carrying a mix of fondness and irritation.

She kicked at a loose pebble, watching it skitter across the frozen ground. He was an infuriating man, so focused on appearances and control, yet so unguarded in his rare vulnerable moments. She hated the way he got under her skin, the way his words lingered long after they were spoken.

And yet, as much as she wanted to be angry, a faint warmth stirred in her heart. She had felt it last night, in the quiet reverence of his touch, in the honesty of his drunken murmurs. It was a feeling she had buried for years, too focused on her duty and too wary of the pain it might bring to confront.

But that was the past, and she couldn't afford to dwell on it. Straightening her shoulders, she turned her thoughts to the day ahead. There were preparations to oversee, strategies to finalize. Duty called, as it always did.

With one last glance toward the tent, she exhaled deeply and strode into the waking camp, the faint warmth in her chest carefully locked away. Whatever last night had been, it wouldn't distract her. Not now. Not ever.

Location: Village Near the Border

The cold morning light of Flora's wedding day filtered through the dense northern mists, casting the landscape in a muted glow. Despite the chill, the Shelb and Valenhart camps buzzed with activity as preparations for the ceremony reached their peak. But in the midst of the bustle, Magda Valoria von Shelb, with her crimson eyes sharp and unwavering, had other priorities.

Dressed in her practical traveling attire, Magda mounted her horse with practiced ease, flanked by Dame Vivian Whitestone and Calista Merren. The urgency in her expression left no room for argument as the three of them set out for a nearby village where disturbing rumors of mana disturbances had surfaced.

The journey was swift but tense, the crisp air biting at their faces. Vivian, her emerald eyes scanning the horizon, rode with a hand always near her weapon. Calista, her auburn hair streaked with silver, rode in silence, her mage's staff resting across her lap, its faint glow betraying her readiness for any confrontation.

When they reached the village, the sight that greeted them was nothing short of horrific.

The once-peaceful settlement lay in ruins. Smoke rose from charred homes, their frames reduced to skeletal remains. The cobblestone streets were smeared with claw marks and blood, a chilling testament to the ferocity of the attack. The bodies of beasts—mangled and warped by the violent mana fluctuations—were strewn across the village square, their grotesque forms twitching faintly even in death.

Villagers huddled together near the remains of the chapel, their faces etched with fear and exhaustion. Soldiers from the northern patrols moved among them, their expressions grim as they assisted the injured and assessed the damage. Luckily, most of the villagers had been saved thanks to the proximity of the patrols and their swift action.

Magda dismounted swiftly, her crimson eyes blazing as she took in the destruction. "What happened here?" she demanded, her voice steady but laced with urgency.

A soldier approached, his armor dented and smeared with blood. He saluted sharply before speaking. "Your Highness, the attack came just before dawn. A pack of mana-frenzied beasts descended on the village without warning. If not for our patrols being nearby, the casualties would have been far worse."

Calista stepped forward, her emerald eyes narrowing as she surveyed the wreckage. "These beasts weren't natural," she said, her voice cold and analytical. "The mana fluctuations in this area are amplifying their aggression and warping their forms. This wasn't a random attack—something is driving them. They weren't even attacking for food as they usually do. Most of the beasts turned on each other rather than the villagers or the cattle."

Vivian knelt beside one of the twisted carcasses, her sharp gaze tracing the unnatural scars that marred its hide. "Whatever it is," she muttered, "it's getting worse."

Magda's jaw tightened as she strode through the wreckage, her crimson eyes flicking between the ruins and the frightened villagers. The smell of smoke and blood filled the air, mingling with the faint hum of residual mana. The Ice Phoenix, the mana fluctuations, the beast attacks—each thread pulled at her mind, forming a picture that was still frustratingly incomplete.

She stopped in the center of the square, her gaze falling on a tattered banner that once hung proudly over the village chapel. Its edges were singed, the emblem of Valenhart barely visible beneath the soot. For a moment, Magda stood still, her breath visible in the frigid air, as the weight of what lay ahead settled on her shoulders.

"This isn't just a coincidence," she said finally, her voice low but resolute. "The Ice Phoenix, the mana disturbances, these attacks… they're all connected. And I will uncover the truth. No matter the cost."

Vivian hesitated, then turned to Magda. "Your Highness, I think it's better if we return to the castle. We don't have the means to stop this."

For once, Calista completely agreed, her expression unusually grim. "This land could become uninhabitable if this keeps escalating. We need more than just the three of us."

Magda's jaw tightened as their words hung in the air. Her crimson eyes flicked back to the devastation before her, a silent acknowledgment of their shared desperation. But even as doubt threatened to take root, her resolve remained unshaken.

As they turned back toward the camp, the morning light began to shine more brightly, illuminating the devastation behind them. The wedding bells would ring soon, but for Magda, the battle had already begun.