"So, what have you figured out?" Arthur inquired, studying Sina as she gradually rose from the damp ground, her clothing still drenched from the downpour of his cum.
"Oh, I remembered," Sina straightened herself as she stood up, "Just like you said, I decided to reach out to the Aukurama village. But, you won't believe it, they flat out rejected the idea of sharing their water supply. It seems they want absolutely no connection with our village," she reported.
'Well, I guess that settles it. No other options now,' Arthur mused silently, a faint exhale escaping his lips. 'Hey Anemo, could you let me know how many E points I have left?' he inquired.
{You currently have 50,578 E points in your savings. Do you want to make a trade?}
'Not just yet,' Arthur rose from the bed, slipping his pants back on. He then directed his attention to Sina, saying, "Shall we? I'm sure my mother is wondering where I am."
"As you wish," Sina complied, trailing after him. But as she neared the door, he unexpectedly halted.
"Wait, tidy up first," he instructed, swinging open the door and striding out, leaving her to examine her body. Gradually, she began the process of wiping the semen from her clothes.
Stepping out into the fresh morning air, the gentle warmth of the sun embraced him. Asarth, accompanied by a group of village women, stood there with purposeful intent. They clustered around a makeshift table, jotting down notes about essential village requirements.
As Arthur descended the weathered stairs, his voice carried a mix of surprise and curiosity, "Aunty, weren't you supposed to gather supplies for the festival?" He closed the distance between them, his steps purposeful.
Amidst her cold demeanor, a tender gleam flickered in Asarth's eyes, transforming her stern expression into a slight smile. With a gentle touch, she placed her hand on Arthur's head, her voice laced with warmth, "Look at you, all grown up… I couldn't be any more proud of you".
Her touch left a lingering warmth on Arthur's head as she withdrew her hand. "I've already gathered the supplies. I'm just making the rounds to find someone willing to step up as the festival's chief," she continued, passing the paper and ink to a woman standing behind her. This woman bore a scar across her face, a mark of strength and resilience.
Arthur's eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of amusement in his voice, "I never thought the festival would turn into a battle royale."
A chuckle escaped Asarth's lips, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "The women thought that since you're the first man joining in, we could add a little twist to the rules. It's all in good spirits, though—it's going to be a tournament," she explained, her gaze shifting momentarily to the entrance of a nearby building. Emerging from it was Sina, her movements deliberate as she adjusted her attire.
"I'll catch up with you later, Arthur. You might want to go check on Luna; she's been really concerned," Asarth's voice carried a note of concern before she turned to depart, her companions trailing in her wake.
A resigned sigh escaped Arthur's lips, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Naturally, it couldn't be straightforward. They're not about to make things simple for me. I should have seen it coming," he muttered under his breath. His gaze shifted to the side, his senses alert as if he could sense a change in the atmosphere.
"Master, is something wrong?" Sina inquired, her footsteps slowing as she closed the gap between them.
"Is there a training ground somewhere in this forest?" Arthur's question hung in the air, a hint of curiosity in his tone.
Sina's brow furrowed slightly as she considered his question. "Well… not that I can recall. Why do you ask?" she replied, a touch of uncertainty in her voice.
"Curious," Arthur mused aloud, his pace picking up as he strode purposefully toward the edge of the forest. Sina, true to her unwavering devotion, trailed behind him without hesitation or query.
...
The forest that embraced the Village of Elnora stretched out as far as the eye could see. Nature's tapestry was woven with trees of various kinds, their leaves whispering secrets to the wind.
The air held a crispness that tickled the senses, carrying scents of pine and earth. A meandering path, beaten down by the feet of countless adventurers, led from the Village into the heart of the woods.
Inhabitants of nearby villages and brave adventurers flocked to this place, drawn by the allure of its dungeons and the promise of treasures within.
These dungeons, nestled within the depths of the forest, had become a source of sustenance for the daring souls who ventured into them. The adventurers affectionately dubbed the forest "Monstat," a testament to the countless battles fought and victories won amidst its trees.
Sunlight filtered through the dense canopy, casting dappled patterns on the forest floor. Birds sang in harmonious melodies, their songs interweaving with the rustling leaves.
Yet, the forest's beauty masked its dangers. Tales of lurking creatures and unseen perils circulated amongst the adventurers, a reminder that nature's embrace was not always gentle. The adventurers acknowledged these risks with a solemn understanding, for they had tasted both triumph and defeat within Monstat's shadowy embrace.
"Stay still, you idiot!" The woman's voice pierced the air, a mixture of frustration and determination lacing her words. In the backdrop, the man's grunts resonated like the distant rumble of a storm, his resistance palpable even from a distance.
A second woman chimed in, her voice carrying a hint of strained impatience. "Why's he struggling so much? Shouldn't he be all excited or something?".
In the heart of the forest, a scenario unfolded that defied the norm. Two women hailing from Elnora, driven by motives known only to them, had ensnared an unwitting adventurer.
With makeshift restraints, they had bound him, his form subdued and pressed against the earthy ground. The dappled sunlight filtered through the leaves overhead, casting playful shadows that danced across their determined faces.
Their hands worked with a mixture of desperation and urgency, fumbling slightly as they attempted to disrobe the adventurer.
His attire clung tenaciously to his form, as if unwilling to relinquish its wearer. The man's resistance manifested in the tense lines of his body, a silent proclamation of his refusal to yield.