Ruolin’s Seduction Scheme

The mage's resistance proved tougher than expected, but Duwei had a plan.

"Watch him close—don't let him slip away. He's a mage, but as long as you keep his mana drained, he's weaker than a commoner," Duwei instructed the two knights tasked with guarding the captive. "Every so often, douse him with cold water. Make sure he gets no sleep or chance to meditate—keep him alert, rattled."

Mana was mental strength. When it ran dry, humans regained it through sleep—or, for mages, meditation. Deny that, and a mage was just a frail shell.

Duwei then returned to his room. At the door, he met Mard, his loyal servant, flanked by two knights with sly, knowing grins.

"What's up?" Duwei asked with a mild smile.

"Milord, everything's set. Are you… heading in now?" one knight replied, his tone laced with eager flattery.

Duwei quirked his lips, missing their implication. With a wave, he stepped inside. Mard promptly shut the door behind him.

This cheap tavern offered no grand suites, but the tidied room was decent enough. What caught Duwei off guard—and clarified his men's smirks—lay within.

There, on a chair, sat the long-legged girl, slumped and listless, hands and feet bound. His thoughtful crew, keen to stoke their master's interest, hadn't used mere rope but sturdy sinew.

As this little menace approached, fear gripped Ruolin for real.

He looked young—too young, perhaps, for the worst she imagined. Yet she knew her allure's pull on men all too well.

Her true worry wasn't that he'd lust after her fiery looks. No, she feared he was too green, too uninterested in women, to give her a chance to wield her greatest weapon.

At twenty, Ruolin was a sly vixen—a seasoned rogue of the road. She knew her beauty's power over men and wielded it deftly. Amid the empire's countless adventuring bands and mercenary outfits, her tiny crew was a speck. Keeping it afloat—and independent—hinged on her knack for leveraging her feminine charms.

She didn't mind the occasional small sacrifice, so long as the payoff was worth it. That curved blade from a smitten mercenary captain, this mage she'd snagged—both drawn by her looks.

A cunning fox, she dazzled men with her appeal, all while guarding her limits, rarely losing more than she gained.

Snaring a mage was her proudest coup yet. In her short career, it vaulted her ragtag team up two tiers of might.

This trek to Cote Province was a dodge—fleeing north after she'd bewitched a lovesick baron. He'd gifted her that enchanted armor, ancestral treasure, after she'd teased him dry. Before he could claim more, she'd vanished.

Bad luck, then, to stumble into this mess down south. A noble with a hefty guard in this backwater? One crass enough to taunt her publicly? And her mage-boosted crew folding so fast?

Damn it, she fumed. That mage bragged he was unmatched when he drooled over me—then got flattened by a kid!

If she'd swallowed that whistle and let it slide, maybe she'd have dodged this.

Perhaps landing the mage had puffed her up too much.

Watching this half-grown noble boy close in, Ruolin sighed inwardly and steeled herself. Fine. If he wants to… violate me, I'll treat it like a ghost pinned me down and move on.

Worse than that, though, was losing her three magical treasures. The blade from the mercenary, the armor from the baron—painful, but bearable.

But that magic-breaking bow and arrows? Family heirlooms.

As he neared and his hand reached out, Ruolin exhaled, bracing for "sacrifice." She weighed her play: feign terror to feed his conquest itch? Wield pitiful tears for sympathy? Or go soft and submissive?

Her mind raced… Given his age, innocence might work best. A shy blush, fearful eyes, guileless gaze—perfect for a teenage boy. Maybe she'd not only escape but snag a perk.

She launched her act: eyes shut, lips parted, lashes trembling like a scared rabbit's, oozing fragile charm. At twenty, playing the ingénue felt off, but this kid likely lacked experience. His modest escort suggested no grand lineage—perhaps just a rural noble with an old title.

Ruolin trusted this look. It'd soften him, spark pity—or lust, which she could twist her way.

"Please, don't…" she whimpered as his hand slid from her shoulder down her back, perfectly timed. She writhed subtly—moves honed to stoke a green boy's hunger.

His fingers undid the armor's clasps, loosening the sinew. The leather slipped free, her lithe curves bared.

She knew her body's draw and how to flaunt it. Beneath, a thin bandeau hugged her full, proud chest. She arched slightly, cracking an eye to peek…

His hands worked down her ribs, untying each cord. The armor came off fully. Tension coiled—would he lunge, pin her down, grope her next?

Amid nerves, a faint thrill stirred. He's young, but not bad-looking…

Lost in thought, a realization hit.

Too calm.

Yes—too calm!

His hands were steady, deliberate, gentle. Stripping her armor, he didn't cop a feel. Even brushing sensitive spots, his breath stayed even—unruffled.

Ruolin's eyes snapped open. To her dismay, her performance had flopped. The boy stood before her, engrossed in her armor, studying it with rapt focus—not a shred of attention spared for her.

Damn it! she seethed. Doesn't he see me now?

She thrust her chest out. The bandeau strained, hints of peaks teasing through as her pulse quickened. Bare skin gleamed, cleavage deep—Isn't he a man? Blind?

She coughed lightly to snag his gaze. No dice. More coughs—louder, throat raw. This noble's defective!

He was young, sure, but old enough to know "things," right?

At last, as her coughs neared a croak—

"Throat hurt?" Duwei asked offhandedly.

He looked up, eyes meeting hers.

But that glint in them—pure, mocking mischief…