Superhuman Nonchalant Behavior

The air inside the commander's tent shifted the moment Vastarael and Phaenora stepped in.

Xander, who had been seated on a sturdy wooden chair, pouring over strategy maps, froze mid-thought. His usually sharp, composed demeanor melted into something unrecognizable, his mouth slightly ajar, his hand dropping the quill he'd been holding.

"Uh…" was all he managed to say.

Farrynelle, standing nearby with her arms crossed, noticed Xander's reaction instantly. Her sharp blue eyes narrowed as she turned to see what—or rather, who—had entered.

The sight of Phaenora, clad in nothing but a long, oversized gray shirt that might as well have been a spotlight for her figure, made Farrynelle's jaw tighten.

And then came the jealousy.

It wasn't the mild kind, either. This wasn't some petty, fleeting envy. This was the kind of jealousy that clawed its way into a woman's thoughts and demanded to be acknowledged.

Women often saw beauty as a double-edged sword, especially in a world like theirs. Beauty could be power, a weapon as sharp as any blade. But it could also be a burden, a standard to uphold, a never-ending battle against imperfection.

For most women, their ideal figure was a careful balance of attributes. Some wanted to be slender and graceful. Others aspired to strength and curves...

There were those who wished for symmetry above all else, flawless proportions that would turn heads wherever they went.

Farrynelle, by all accounts, was stunning. Her natural lightning blue hair cascaded like a waterfall of embers, her face held the kind of sharp, striking beauty that made people look twice, and her lean figure was the epitome of warrior grace.

She was strong but if there was one thing she'd always felt self-conscious about, it was her chest.

Not that she had a small bust size. Hers were actually massive...

Phaenora, on the other hand, was the kind of woman who seemed designed to break every unspoken rule of fairness.

She didn't just have beauty; she owned it. Her face was so symmetrical it could have been carved by the gods themselves, her hair practically shimmering with an otherworldly glow. And her body? Well, that was an entirely different realm of perfection.

Her bust was outrageous. Not just large, but perfectly shaped, the kind that seemed to defy gravity itself. Her waist was narrow, accentuating the generous curve of her hips, and her thighs were thick and smooth. The way she moved, even in something as simple as a shirt, was a symphony of grace and sensuality.

Compared to Phaenora, Farrynelle couldn't help but feel… overshadowed.

"Who is that?" Xander finally managed to choke out, his eyes darting from Phaenora to Vastarael as if trying to piece together the impossible scene before him.

"This is Phaenora," Vastarael said flatly, already anticipating the incoming storm. "She's my—"

"Helper," Phaenora finished for him, flashing a radiant smile that lit up the entire tent. "And also his companion, his partner, his—"

"Enough," Vastarael interrupted, rubbing his temples.

Xander still looked utterly starstruck. It wasn't just her appearance that had stunned him. It was as though she walked into a room and demanded the attention of every single person without even trying.

Meanwhile, Farrynelle's jaw was tight, her arms crossed even tighter. She felt invisible in the presence of Phaenora, which was a sensation she hated.

Farrynelle had always been proud of herself. Her strength, her resilience, her fiery personality. But standing there, watching Phaenora soak up all the attention without lifting a finger, she couldn't help but feel that her own beauty, her own power, had been rendered insignificant.

Xander finally tore his gaze away, looking anywhere but at Phaenora as he cleared his throat.

"Uh, so… the strategy meeting."

"Yes," Vastarael said, eager to steer the conversation back to something resembling normalcy.

But Phaenora wasn't done. She leaned against the table, her long hair spilling over her shoulders, her shirt riding just enough to reveal a tantalizing hint of her thighs. She caught Farrynelle's glare and smirked, as if to say;

'I know exactly what I'm doing.'

Farrynelle bristled. For all her beauty, strength, and confidence, she couldn't compete with that. Phaenora radiated a kind of effortless allure that made everyone around her feel either captivated or inadequate.

Or both.

"You must be Farrynelle," Phaenora said, her voice smooth and teasing. "I've heard a lot about you."

Farrynelle forced a smile.

"And I've just heard about you."

In that moment, Farrynelle vowed to herself that she would not let Phaenora's overwhelming presence overshadow her.

But that didn't make it any easier to stomach.

°°°°°°°°

The commander's tent was alive with discussion, maps spread out across the large central table as Vastarael, Xander, Farrynelle, Phaenora, and Peccavi deliberated their next move.

Their focus was the massive bridge stretching from their current island to the second, a marvel of ancient architecture surrounded by icy mist. It was both a blessing and a curse. While it provided a direct path, it also served as a death trap for anyone unprepared.

The bridge was heavily patrolled by ferocious ice-element Krepsunas with armored hides and a tendency to hunt in packs. Crossing it with their army was going to require more than brute force. It demanded strategy and precision.

Vastarael stood by the table, his eyes scanning the maps while his white hair caught the faint light of the room. He exuded calm focus, entirely unbothered by the chaos of the planning session. What did seem out of place, however, was Phaenora.

She was seated comfortably on his lap, her hair cascading over her shoulders and mixing with the edges of the maps she was holding. The oversized gray shirt she wore had shifted slightly, revealing more of her smooth, pale thighs.

Every movement she made seemed deliberate; a subtle shift of her hips here, a casual tilt of her head there.

Despite this, Vastarael showed no sign of discomfort or distraction. He leaned forward to study the details of the bridge's layout, resting his forearm on the table as though Phaenora wasn't even there.

To be fair, he was used to it already. It was as if he was preparing for this moment the second Phaenora would get a physical body.

And she did.

Farrynelle, standing opposite them, crossed her arms tightly, her expression shifting between disbelief and irritation. Xander, on the other hand, couldn't tear his gaze away.

"How does he do it?" Xander muttered to himself, his voice barely audible. He glanced at Farrynelle, hoping for some kind of validation, but she was too busy glaring daggers at Phaenora.

Xander leaned closer to Farrynelle, whispering,

"If she sat on my lap like that…"

He let the thought trail off, shaking his head as though even imagining the scenario was dangerous. "I mean, seriously, how much self-control does he have? He's either a saint or dead inside."

"Shut up, Xander," Farrynelle hissed, though her sharp tone betrayed her own jealousy.

Jealousy for having a hotter body than hers of course.

Peccavi, perched nearby on a smaller chair, tilted her head, her eyes narrowing in curiosity.

""Lady Phaenora," she said, her voice dripping with formal disdain, "may I ask what you're doing to my lord?"

Phaenora looked up from the maps, her radiant smile as unbothered as Vastarael's demeanor.

"Helping, of course. Isn't that what a helper is supposed to do?"

"By sitting on him?" Peccavi's tone was incredulous.

"It's efficient," Phaenora replied, shifting slightly as she placed one of the maps closer to Vastarael's hand. "Besides, he doesn't seem to mind. Do you, Veneri?"

"Hmm?" Vastarael glanced at her briefly, his expression calm and neutral. "If you're going to hold those maps, at least hold them straight. The edges are curling."

Xander gawked, rubbing the back of his neck as if the sheer absurdity of the situation was physically affecting him.

"He doesn't even flinch. Unbelievable."

Farrynelle, her patience thinning, slammed her hand on the table, causing the maps to flutter.

"Can we focus on the Krepsunas, please?Or should we all just find someone to sit on our laps while we strategize?"

Phaenora's smirk widened and she leaned closer to Vastarael, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"See how much tension there is without me? I'm actually helping keep the mood light."

"You're helping," Vastarael said absentmindedly, pointing at a section of the map. "Here. This choke point on the bridge. If we position archers here and here, we can bottleneck the Krepsunas before they swarm us."

Peccavi frowned, still unimpressed. "But that leaves the center vulnerable. If the Krepsunas break through, they'll scatter our forces."

"That's where the heavy infantry comes in," Vastarael countered, finally leaning back slightly. Phaenora shifted with him, still perfectly balanced on his lap as though she belonged there. "We'll station them near the middle of the bridge, behind the archers. If the Krepsunas rush, the infantry will intercept and hold them while the mages attack from the flanks."

"And what about the mist?" Farrynelle interjected, ignoring Phaenora entirely. "It's too thick for long-range visibility. Our archers won't be able to aim properly."

Phaenora hummed softly, tracing a finger along the map.

"We could use a fire-based magic to clear the mist temporarily. It'll reveal our position, but it'll also disorient the Krepsunas. They rely on the mist to hunt."

Vastarael nodded, his golden eyes thoughtful.

"Good suggestion. Xander, can you coordinate with the mages on that?"

Xander blinked, momentarily stunned that Vastarael was still able to focus on strategy while Phaenora sat there like some kind of divine distraction.

"Y-yeah, sure. I'll take care of it. Since you'll be in charge of the mages, it should be fine."

"Great," Vastarael said. He shifted his gaze to Farrynelle. "And you'll lead the charge with the heavy infantry. You've got the experience and the discipline to keep them in line under pressure. Xander will help you. Phaenora, can you handle the archers?"

"Well... I need to use your Memory Extraction to learn how to use a bow. Can I use it?"

"Sure. Just be careful with it. These are humans so they can die from it."

"I know."

Farrynelle's irritation softened slightly, though her competitive edge remained sharp.

"Fine. But if this fails, it's on you, not me."

"It won't fail," Vastarael said confidently. "Unless we meet a powerful... you know what, I'm not going to say it. My Bane will doom us anyway and I don't want to make it worse."

Phaenora stretched lazily, arching her back just enough to draw everyone's attention—except Vastarael's.

"See? This is why I stick close to him. He's got everything under control."

Farrynelle rolled her eyes, Peccavi sighed in exasperation, and Xander just shook his head, muttering something about how he'd never understand Vastarael's superhuman composure.

And through it all, Vastarael remained as steady as ever. Whatever chaos Phaenora brought into the room, it was clear that he had learned to handle her and perhaps, in doing so, handle anything.

"Just put on reasonable wear when you meet the archers okay?"

Phaenora sighed in defeat. "Okay..."