Ritchie had never lingered in this post-climax glow.
With Lina, she never tired like this. With Rosa, it was either round two or done.
He found this oddly satisfying. The only issue was their soaked pants, now chilling in the wind.
Time passed. Randy grew heavier, asleep from exhaustion, her hips occasionally twitching.
Ritchie felt calm, fulfilled. He carefully removed the disc from his head, cursing his earlier stupidity.
Freed, he closed his arms, letting Randy rest in them. Not as comfy as a bed, but better than dangling from straps.
His shields blocked the wind.
Surviving the night seemed assured.
Morning came, and Randy woke, face crimson. She'd slept with him inside her all night.
Seeing his closed arms and shields guarding her from the cold, warmth filled her. But the sticky, wet feeling between her legs mortified her.
She tried to move, but her legs, curled all night, were numb and weak, like her body.
Sighing bitterly, she recalled camp rumors: sex with Ritchie was thrilling but exhausting.
"Let me down," she said, spitting lightly.
Ritchie, awake but pretending otherwise, sheepishly lifted her hips, helping her stretch her legs and slide out.
Neither spoke. Ritchie stayed in his armor, embarrassed. Randy slipped into the woods to clean up, equally shy.
An hour later, they set out again, a newfound unspoken understanding between them. Often, Ritchie knew what Randy wanted from a glance.
They crept cautiously through the morning.
At around three in the afternoon, Randy halted him, searched briefly, then frantically pounded his armor. "Quick, nine o'clock, two kilometers!"
Such a close detection meant a sudden battle, often the deadliest kind.
Ritchie didn't hesitate.
Two kilometers wasn't far, but a mountain stood in the way. Reaching the summit, he saw six figures below: five enemies in Valedian "Iron Crusader" armors, facing Vice-Captain Marilyn alone.
Marilyn wore her heirloom "Swan" armor—pure white, with elongated limbs and winged back, a rare design for her equally rare class.
When Diana first mentioned Marilyn, Ritchie thought he'd misheard. Only after repeated explanations did he grasp the concept of a defensive light knight.
Marilyn, the squad's least flashy member, wielded dual two-meter rapier-like swords with sprawling, thorn-like guards, resembling loose wicker shields studded with barbs.
Seeing her fight now, Ritchie was awestruck, realizing the squad's hidden depths. If the unassuming Marilyn was this formidable, the others' strength was unimaginable.
"Don't just stand there! Save her!" Randy's shout snapped him out of it. Marilyn was in dire straits.
Fighting five alone was grueling. Only the complex terrain kept her from collapsing, limiting the enemies' movements.
"What do I do?" Ritchie asked, overwhelmed. These weren't rookies but seasoned knights.
Randy, experienced, had assessed their strength. Freeing herself from his lap, she unloaded the energy crystals. "Ditch the disc. I'll climb on your back. Charge down the slope—use the momentum to scatter their formation. Hold one of them off, any way you can. I'll aid Marilyn. If I pin one enemy, she can take them out fast."
"What about the others?" Ritchie asked. Even if he held one, Marilyn would face three.
"How should I know? I'm not a strategist. Plans change in battle," Randy snapped, her irritation masking anxiety and uncertainty.
"Fine, I'll follow orders," Ritchie sighed, placing the disc carefully in some bushes.
He shifted Randy to his back. Now fully unburdened, he crept toward the battlefield, stopping at a steep, straight slope.
"Hold tight, I'm charging," he warned Randy.
Tilting his shields at a forty-five-degree angle, he barreled down.
Heavy thuds echoed as he surged like a tiger. The straight slope let him use his Slide Step, boosting his speed.
Even without armor, his armor weighed over a ton, the shields adding six hundred kilos. Charging from a dozens-of-meters-high slope, his impact was immense.
The battlefield below was cramped, offering no room to dodge.
Bang… bang… bang…
Ritchie slammed into the enemies. The first knight, wielding a lance, took the brunt. Lances excelled in offense, not defense. Caught off guard, he met Ritchie's shield bash head-on—a fatal mistake.
The Valedian knight flew like a broken kite, crashing into a tree, snapping it in half.
Ritchie's momentum carried him into another enemy.
This knight, wielding a massive double-handed axe, was ready. He swung at Ritchie, but the hasty blow lacked full power and was blocked by Ritchie's shield. Still, it numbed Ritchie's right side.
The downhill charge smashed the paralyzed Ritchie into the axe knight.
Both staggered back half a step. Then, a deafening boom. Fire and smoke erupted from the oversized gun under Ritchie's shield.
The gun misfired, a walnut-sized bullet blasting into the knight's hand.
The armor's hand, with only three fingers for gripping weapons, was its weakest point. Steel and mana tendons shattered, rendering it useless. A one-handed knight couldn't wield a double-handed axe.
Stunned, Ritchie quickly recovered, abandoning the crippled knight to charge the one he'd knocked down.
Another shield bash targeted the grounded knight, too slow to rise. A loud bang followed, but this time neither gained the upper hand. The Valedian knight hit the ground again, but Ritchie was floored by a rushed shockwave.
Struggling to rise, chest tight from the penetrating shockwave, Ritchie cursed his lack of armor. With it, the hit would've been nothing.
A screeching metal grind rang out, followed by a clattering crash.
An Iron Crusader was torn apart, its knight sliced in half.
The battle turned in an instant. Marilyn's thorned guards doubled as strangling cables—her "Death Thorns" technique. Powerful but slow, it was unusable against five foes.
Randy's timely mental shock stunned one knight briefly, giving Marilyn the opening she needed.
One enemy dismembered, another crippled by Ritchie, and one tangled up, left only two against Marilyn.
Her steady style turned ruthless for a quick win. Risking blows to her left arm and leg, she closed in on the axe knight. Handless and back-turned, should be an easy target.
Her left rapier darted, piercing under his arm. Blood sprayed as she withdrew.
Spinning, she lunged at the grounded knight.
He reacted fast, rolling away to escape. The two remaining Valedian knights rushed to aid.
One dashed to the fallen knight; the other thrust a lance at Marilyn's back, its tip glowing blue; a lethal strike meant to save and kill.
At the last second, Marilyn twisted, dodging the lance and its shockwave, which blasted a meter-wide, bottomless crater behind her.
That hit would've killed her.
Her feint, killing the axe knight and targeting the grounded one, was bait for the strongest foe. Now close, she wouldn't let him escape.
Her guards unraveled into five-to-six-meter strangling cables. With her rapiers, they sealed every escape route.
The lance knight, a fierce fighter, saw no retreat. Dropping his weapon, he raised his arms as shields, charging into the trap.
Metal screamed as his arms were shredded—hands, wrists, elbows pulverized. Fragments rained down.
Hearing Miss Marilyn's words, Ritchie roughly understood the situation.
The group was split into two teams. One relied on brute strength, filled with elite fighters charging head-on. The other took a detour through the mountains, consisting of Miss Marilyn, the odd cross-dressing Robin, who was decently skilled, and Nora and Rosa, who were slightly less capable.
This setup implied that Miss Marilyn was the most likely to be sacrificed.