Corin swung his legs off the bed carefully, testing his weight. His ribs protested with a dull ache, and his shoulder throbbed where the crossbow bolt had punched through, but nothing felt broken or torn. The auburn-haired maid watched him with those warm brown eyes, ready to steady him if he stumbled.
"Easy now," she said. "You've been abed for three days. Your legs might not remember how to work properly."
She was right. His first few steps were unsteady, like a newborn colt learning to walk. But after a few moments the muscles remembered their purpose and he found his balance. The maid stayed close anyway, one hand hovering near his elbow just in case.
"This way, young master."
She led him to the door, pulling it open to reveal a corridor that took his breath away. The hallway stretched at least thirty feet in either direction, wide enough for three people to walk abreast.
The walls were the same dressed stone as his room, but here they were decorated with tapestries showing hunting scenes and noble gatherings. Brass oil lamps hung from iron brackets every ten feet, their flames casting dancing shadows across polished flagstones.
Windows on the left side looked out over what appeared to be a courtyard. Through the thick glass panes, Corin could see manicured gardens with hedges trimmed into geometric shapes, gravel paths winding between flower beds that burst with colors he couldn't name. A fountain stood in the center, water arcing from the mouth of a stone lion.
'This place is massive,' he thought, taking it all in. Lady Catherine wasn't just wealthy - she was nobility, the kind of rich that built estates instead of houses.
They passed several doors, all closed, before reaching a grand staircase that descended to the ground floor. The banister was carved oak, the steps wide and shallow, clearly designed for women in long skirts rather than practicality.
Portraits lined the stairwell wall - stern-faced men in elaborate clothing, beautiful women draped in silk and jewels, all staring down with the kind of painted superiority that only old money could afford.
At the bottom of the stairs, the entrance hall opened up into something that belonged in a castle. The ceiling vaulted twenty feet overhead, supported by timber beams as thick as tree trunks. A chandelier hung from iron chains, holding at least thirty candles that weren't currently lit. The floor was checkered marble - white and black squares that created a dizzying pattern.
Two more maids were there, polishing silver candlesticks at a side table. They looked up as Corin and his escort approached, and he got his first good look at the household staff in proper light.
The first was the blonde from earlier, the one with freckles dusting her heart-shaped face. Her white cap sat slightly askew, revealing curls of hair so pale they were almost silver. She had a pert nose and full lips that curved into a smile when she saw him walking. The rough wool dress did nothing to hide the swell of her breast or the curve of her hips - she was built like the farm girls from his memories, all soft curves and healthy flesh.
The second maid was older, maybe mid-twenties, with sharp features and intelligent dark eyes. Her hair was black as coal where it peeked from beneath her cap, and her face had the kind of classical beauty that painters tried to capture - high cheekbones, straight nose, lips that looked perpetually pursed in judgment. She was taller than the blonde, willowy rather than curvy, with long fingers that handled the candlestick.
'Damn,' Corin thought, his eyes traveling over both of them appreciatively. 'Lady Catherine has good taste in staff.'
"Morning, Elara," the blonde said brightly, nodding to Corin's escort. "Is the young master well enough to be walking?"
So his maid's name was Elara. It suited her - warm and earthy, like fresh bread.
"He's doing better than expected," Elara replied, her hand still hovering protectively near Corin's elbow. "We're heading to the bathhouse for a proper cleaning before the healer arrives."
The dark-haired maid raised one elegant eyebrow. "Be gentle with him, Elara. The mistress wants him presentable, not scrubbed raw."
"I know how to bathe someone, Mira," Elara said with a hint of defensiveness. "I've been doing it for three days now."
Mira's lips twitched in what might have been amusement. "Of course you have."
The blonde giggled, covering her mouth with one hand. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she looked between Elara and Corin. "I'm sure you've been very... thorough."
Elara's cheeks flushed pink. "Hush, Senna. Don't make it sound improper."
Corin filed away the names. Elara, his primary caretaker. Mira, the elegant one with the sharp tongue. Senna, the bubbly blonde who clearly enjoyed teasing her fellow maids. All three were attractive in different ways. Besides the system, he was loving the eye candy surrounding him.
'Focus,' he told himself, even as his gaze lingered on the way Senna's dress pulled tight across her chest when she leaned forward to polish the candlestick. 'You're injured and weak. Not exactly in prime seduction mode.'
But damn if he wasn't already cataloging possibilities. The system's explanation of Corruption and Lust points echoed in his mind. Every sexual act increased his power. Every boundary crossed made him stronger. And he was surrounded by beautiful women in a world that didn't have HR departments or sexual harassment lawsuits. Hopefully.
The thought should have bothered him more than it did.
Elara guided him past the maids, through a set of double doors that opened onto a covered walkway. The roof overhead was slate tile supported by timber posts, protecting them from the weather while keeping them technically outdoors. To the left, the manor's main building rose three stories high, all stone and leaded glass windows. To the right, the courtyard gardens spread out.
They passed a kitchen building - Corin could smell bread baking and hear the clatter of pots through open windows. Then a storage building with its doors closed tight. Finally, at the far end of the walkway, a smaller structure that looked more private than the rest.
"The bathhouse," Elara announced, pushing open a heavy wooden door.
The interior was surprisingly warm, heated by some method Corin couldn't immediately identify. The room was perhaps fifteen feet square, with walls of smooth plaster painted a soft cream color. A large wooden tub dominated the center, big enough for two people to sit comfortably. It was already filled with water that steamed gently in the cool morning air.
Shelves along one wall held supplies - folded linen towels, clay containers with their contents unlabeled, what looked like dried herbs bundled together. A small brazier burned in the corner, providing additional heat and explaining the room's temperature.
"We heat the water in the kitchen and carry it over in buckets," Elara explained, moving to the shelves. "The mistress insists on proper bathing facilities. Says it keeps illness away and improves morale."
She began gathering items from the shelves. First, a pale yellowish block about the size of Corin's fist, slightly translucent with a waxy texture. "This is our soap. Made from animal fat, ash lye, and lavender oil. The mistress has it specially made - most common folk just use rough sand and water."
Next, she lifted a large sea sponge, its surface pocked with hundreds of tiny holes. "For scrubbing. Much better than cloth or your bare hands."
Finally, she produced a wooden pail filled with what looked like dried flower petals. "We add these to the water. Chamomile and mint, mostly. Helps with soreness and makes you smell less like a stable."
Corin watched her preparations, his mind half on the supplies and half on the fact that he was about to be naked in a tub with this woman. His previous self, the real Corin, probably would have been paralyzed with anxiety. But Ethan... Ethan had spent years fantasizing about exactly these kinds of scenarios.
"Well then," Elara said, turning to face him with a businesslike expression. "I haven't been able to properly clean you these past three days - just sponge baths while you slept. Today we'll do it thoroughly. The healer will want to examine your wounds without three days of sweat and grime in the way."
She gestured to his lower half, where he still wore the loose linen pants someone had dressed him in. "You'll need to remove those so we can begin."
'Holy shit,' Corin thought, his pulse quickening. 'This is actually happening.'
But then a horrifying thought struck him cold. He'd been so focused on being in a new world with a sex-based power system that he hadn't considered one crucial detail: he had no idea what this body was working with.
What if Corin had been... inadequate? Below average? What if he was about to strip down and reveal equipment that wouldn't impress anyone, let alone seduce them?
In his old world, size mattered. Length, girth, performance - the internet had made sure everyone knew exactly what was considered acceptable and what wasn't. Porn had set standards that most men couldn't meet. And if this body was on the disappointing end of that spectrum...
'How am I supposed to build a corruption harem with a small dick?' he thought desperately. 'The system expects me to seduce women, but what if I'm literally not equipped for the job?'
While he spiraled into panic, Elara bent over to arrange the bathing supplies on a small stool beside the tub. The position made her rough wool dress pull taut across her backside, the fabric stretching to accommodate the full, rounded curves of her ass. The material rode up slightly, revealing the backs of her calves and suggesting the thickness of her thighs where they met.
She shifted her weight, reaching for the soap block, and the movement made everything jiggle slightly beneath the dress. Her hips were wide, built for childbearing as they'd say in this world, with an ass that looked soft and grabbable. The kind of rear that would feel amazing pressed against someone, that would fill both hands perfectly.
Corin's mouth went completely dry. His heart hammered in his chest, and he felt blood rushing south despite his anxiety about what he was packing. She stayed bent over for what felt like an eternity but was probably only seconds, completely oblivious to the show she was putting on.
When she finally straightened and turned around with the supplies in hand, her cheeks were slightly flushed from the exertion and the bathhouse heat. A few strands of auburn hair had escaped her cap, curling damply against her neck.
'Focus, focus, FOCUS,' he commanded himself, even as his body began responding in ways that would be very obvious very soon.
This was it. The moment of truth. He was about to find out if his new life as a corruption-powered protagonist was blessed or cursed by the equipment he'd been given.
Corin's hands moved to the waistband of his linen pants, fingers trembling slightly as he prepared to discover his fate.