Part 3: Valkyrie Pride
She didn't try to stand.
Not right away.
She stayed half-pinned against the tree, one knee in the dirt, letting the silence stretch between them.
Her smile had faded, but not from fear. From satisfaction.
"You didn't flinch," she said. "Most men do when I hit back harder."
Yuji stepped away, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
"I don't play games I'm not ready to lose."
Sacha chuckled—low and raw. "That was a game?"
"That was the interview."
Sylvia walked over slowly, wary. She didn't sheath her blade.
Amelia didn't move at all. Her expression was unreadable, her gaze flicking between the two fighters like she was watching a mating ritual or a war. Or both.
Sacha pushed herself to her feet, stretching her neck until it popped.
"I was sent here to die," she said. "Tribe exile. Technically a punishment, but really just an excuse to make me disappear."
"Why?" Yuji asked.
"Because I said no."
She rolled her shoulders.
"They wanted me to marry some warmonger from the northern clans. Merge bloodlines. He'd already broken two wives. Said I'd be the third."
"And you broke him?"
"No. I beat him in front of the elders, then pissed on the ceremonial flame and left."
Sylvia blinked.
Yuji nodded slowly. "Reasonable reaction."
Sacha pointed at him. "You're different. The way you move. The way you think. You're not trying to dominate every room—but you could. That pisses me off."
Yuji crossed his arms. "You're welcome to keep being pissed from a distance."
She grinned. "Nah. I've got a better offer."
She stepped forward, slow and deliberate, and dropped to one knee.
Sylvia tensed.
Yuji raised an eyebrow.
"I don't follow weak men," Sacha said. "But I do recognize an warrior when I fight one. And I've got no tribe, no coin, and no chains. Just strength. I want it used for something more than ceremonial dick-measuring."
She looked up, eyes gleaming with challenge.
"So here's the deal: you want me in your party? You prove you can handle me."
Yuji's voice was calm. "And how exactly do I do that?"
Sacha stood again, eyes burning.
"You take me in ritual combat. Not with fists—with power. A Valkyrie dominance rite. Strength, body, and mana."
She smirked.
"You win? I swear loyalty. I follow orders. I fight beside you. I fuck when asked."
Sylvia bristled, but Yuji didn't react.
"And if I lose?" he asked.
"You get the same deal. Just with a broken bed and a story."
Yuji looked at the blood drying on his knuckles. Then back at her.
He didn't smile.
But his answer was clear.
"Fine. Let's finish this."
Part 4: Ritual of Conquest
They didn't do it in the woods.
That was for beasts and fools.
Yuji waited until nightfall, until they found shelter in the ruins of a watchtower on the Hollow's edge. Its stone walls still stood, mostly, and the moon carved silver lines through the cracks.
No fire. No audience.
Only him.
And her.
Sacha shed her armor piece by piece like she was stripping for war. Her body was a battlefield of scars and power—muscle carved not for beauty, but impact. Her eyes never left his as she stepped into the circle of runes he'd drawn with ash and bloodroot.
Yuji didn't speak.
He didn't undress theatrically. He removed his cloak, stepped out of his boots, and left the rest bare to the moonlight. No posturing. Just presence.
Sacha nodded once. "We speak the rite, or we let it happen?"
Yuji stepped forward, his mana already humming under his skin.
"We make it ours."
She smiled. "Good answer."
They clashed—not with fists, but with will.
The moment his fingers touched her skin, the ritual ignited.
Her core flared—deep red, wild, pulsing with berserker rage. His Fertility magic didn't fight it. It wrapped around it. Contained it. Pressed in from all sides without crushing.
Sacha growled, shoving him back with a pulse of physical magic—Kinetic Drive.
He staggered, then caught her arm and reversed the force—using her own weight to spin her, push her against the wall, pin her.
She struggled. Not in fear. But instinct.
She wanted to fight.
So he made her feel instead.
His mana surged into hers—dense, warm, overwhelming. It wasn't a flood. It was pressure. Every time she pushed, he absorbed it. Redirected it. Dominated it.
Their bodies locked. Mana twisted. Her breath caught.
She tried to bite him. He caught her jaw and held it just enough to say:
"No."
She shuddered.
Then—she let go.
Her legs gave, but he caught her.
Her mana dropped its defenses.
Not submission.
Trust.
The silver vines of his magic threaded into her veins, adapting, syncing. Her aura snapped to his like metal to a magnet. New channels formed.
She groaned as the power flowed, chest rising fast, eyes rolling back for just a second.
And when it ended, she collapsed into his arms—not limp, but changed.
She whispered one word against his skin.
"Yours."