"Wow..."
She had gone far more spectacularly than the first time. It wasn't just the rhythmic spasms or the "fountain"—her pants and the chair were completely soaked with her juices and a sudden release of fluid. I had merely pressed my hardened member against her lower abdomen while the blunt protrusion of the chair stimulated her from below, but Uris seemed to have experienced a pleasure she had never known, losing herself entirely.
"Mas...ter..."
Uris, still lost in the illusion, stared into space with a dazed expression and muttered in a low, husky voice. Her face was a complete mess of ecstasy. She seemed thoroughly satisfied. Although thirty minutes remained on the clock, the magic circle ceased operation, as if determining her mind could take no more.
I pulled away, adjusted myself, and pulled my trousers back up. Time to clean up. I used a cleansing spell on her clothes and the chair. With a flash of magic, the stains were vanished—though the heavy scent and the dampness of her undergarments would take a bit longer to fully dissipate from the air.
I glanced at the dildo on the side.
'To think her immersion nearly broke just because I offered her a dildo.'
I hadn't imagined Uris would be sensitive enough to the lack of scent that the illusion would flicker. It was almost absurd that sticking a real member in her face was what brought the stability back to normal. I'd have to figure out a workaround—maybe masculine-scented oils for the props?
"At this rate, I'm going to end up having to actually take her for real," I muttered.
Uris wouldn't know. She wouldn't know that the "cock" she sucked in the fantasy was the real deal.
'She can never find out.'
If she did, the Iron-Blooded Knight might just trade her training sword for a real one and come for my head. I finished tidying up and waited. It took another thirty minutes for her to finally stir.
"Ugh..."
Uris woke with a soft groan. When she opened her eyes, she didn't see the bandit's prison, but the ceiling of Max's Illusion Theater. She was lying on the bed. The phantom sensations still lingered in her lower belly—the pressure, the clinking of shackles that had stolen her freedom, and the bandit's rough voice. Even the jeers of the subordinates watching her defeat were still vivid.
And yet, the quiet reality before her eyes confirmed that everything she had just felt was an illusion.
"Ah..."
A deep sense of hollowness washed over her. It was just a fantasy. A feeling of profound lethargy, as strong as the pleasure that had colored her mind, draped over her body.
"A dream... right. It was just a dream."
A fleeting illusion she couldn't grasp no matter how hard she tried. While she could return here whenever she wished, the fact that it wasn't real sat heavy in a corner of her heart.
'But... it's because it wasn't real that I could let my desires run wild like that.'
Why was she feeling regret now? She had enjoyed it precisely because it was a safe, fake space.
"I have to go back to being the worshipped knight again."
Even though she was just a weak woman who had been utterly defeated by a man's touch. But... what if she could experience that for real? If she were truly pinned down and taken by a man... what kind of pleasure would greet her then?
Despite the "experience" in the fantasy, her body was still that of a virgin, tightly closed and pure. If that seal were broken by a real man, the shame would be incomparable to a dream. Just the thought made her feel a phantom trickle of moisture.
Then, she noticed something.
"...Eh?"
She wrinkled her nose at a lingering taste in her mouth. It was the exact same taste as the "reward" her Master, the bandit, had given her in the dream.
"How... why?"
It was strange. If it were purely an illusion, that taste shouldn't be lingering. It was so faint she could barely detect it, a trace only a Master-level knight's heightened senses could catch.
"...Was it not entirely a fantasy?"
She felt the corners of her mouth twitch upward. She remembered the mage, Max, grabbing her arm before she went under.
—Remember this sensation.
He had said he would use a small real sensation to amplify the fantasy.
"Could it be?"
She slowly lifted her head and looked at Max.
"Ah, you're awake?"
Max, the Illusion Mage. A high-level caster who provided her with these visions. Could this man be...?
Her thoughts cut off as her eyes dropped to his trousers. A massive "tent" was pitched there, and a small damp spot was visible. Just how much pre-cum had he leaked?
"Manager, are you... perhaps..."
"Ah, my apologies. While tidying up, my body... reacted naturally."
"Reacted?"
"Yes. Well, you are the Iron-Blooded Knight, always so upright. Seeing you in such a... disheveled state, I couldn't help but get excited. It's proving difficult to calm down."
"Ah..."
It dawned on her that this man, unlike anyone else, knew her deepest shames. Even if he claimed he couldn't see the fantasy, he was the one who cleaned up after her. He knew better than anyone what kind of state she was in.
'Maybe he DOES see the fantasies...'
Otherwise, he couldn't prepare the next sessions so perfectly. But to the current Uris, that didn't matter. The old Uris would have scolded him for being indecent, but the current Uris, addicted to the pleasure of the illusion, felt strangely grateful.
She stared blankly at the bulge in his pants. Was it the lingering heat of the dream? She couldn't take her eyes off it. She bit her lip, a sudden, wild urge to strip those pants off and see what was inside.
The scent... a familiar scent, almost identical to the "Master's" taste in her mouth, seemed to be wafting from him.
'The same smell?'
As if possessed, Uris leaned closer to Max.
Sniff.
She moved in and inhaled deeply, and before she could stop herself, the word slipped out.
"Master...?"
"Pardon?"
The realization hit her like a lightning strike. Her face turned a violent shade of crimson. She had said the one thing she absolutely should not have said in reality.
Am I crazy? Uris, get a grip! How can you bring the fantasy into the real world!
She waved her hands frantically, shaking her head. "I-it's nothing!"
The mage looked at her, bewildered.
"I just... smelled something familiar and lost my head for a second..." she rambled, barely aware of what she was saying.
"Would you like to shower? I've used magic to clean you, but a proper wash might be better."
"Yes... I'll do that."
She fled into the shower. But the entire time she washed, she couldn't forget the taste in her mouth and the scent of Max that had filled her nose.
'The scent was the same before, wasn't it?'
If—just if...
"If the owner of this shop is my Master..."
Just the thought made her core throb with heat.
The daughter of the Marquis of Sylvestra, sister to Heron, and hailed as the greatest human spiritist—Helen de Sylvestra.
A silver-haired, blue-eyed beauty, she was the top student at the Imperial Academy, where only the elite gathered. Despite being a first-year, her grades outstripped fourth-year seniors. Her skill with spirits exceeded that of her professors. At twenty-one, her achievements were so vast that everyone agreed she was the one who would lead the next evolution of spirit arts.
Perhaps because she had only ever known success, she viewed "losers" with absolute disgust. To her, they were beneath notice, meant to be crushed rather than helped. Especially the idiots at the bottom of the Academy rankings.
"I smell a loser."
It was unpleasant just being in the same space as them. Helen wanted to escape the "pathetic" types in her class.
"Miss Helen, I have a question—"
"Get lost. You stink."
She drove away the fools seeking her help with venomous words. That was how you dealt with losers. But...
'There are some you can't just drive away.'
Her only source of stress was her brother, Heron de Sylvestra. A knight who remained a perpetual second-place loser, unable to step out of the shadow of the Iron-Blooded Knight, Uris. Unlike her, he lost constantly yet refused to let go of his pride.
—The Sylvestra family must always be the best.
With that motto etched into her heart, her brother's stagnation was an open wound.
—Khahat! This time for sure, your brother will bring home the win!
He always shouted with confidence, but she had never seen him win. She knew that Uris was a symbol of victory for a reason—no one but a legendary Hero could beat her. But that didn't mean he had to lose every single time without a proper fight.
That was why, when she met Uris at the palace recently, her tone had been ice-cold. Uris was the person who kept staining her family's name by beating her brother.
She had never enjoyed the mock battles. 'What's so good about losing?' But for the first time, she had gone to watch to support Heron.
—Helen, if you're there, I feel like I can win.
Of course, Heron lost.
"I lasted two minutes longer than usual today! It's thanks to you, Helen."
Heron tried to pat her head, but she hated his optimistic attitude.
"Don't touch me. You didn't even win."
"Don't be so stiff. One needs to have composure even in defeat."
"You're too soft, Brother. I wish you were harder on yourself."
"Helen, you're the one who's too strict. I'm telling you, you need to relax."
This was why she hated him. His baseless optimism. His needless "composure." Was he not even frustrated?
"I don't have time for that. Someone has to uphold the family honor you've dragged through the mud."
She was annoyed. She hadn't come to support him just to say these things.
"I'm sorry."
Helen looked at Heron. His sheepish smile reminded her of the losers she despised at school. Her brow furrowed deeper.
"Whatever. I'm going home. Don't follow me."
As she left the training grounds, she happened to spot Uris's back as the knight disappeared in a hurry.
"Where is she going in such a rush?"
Curiosity flared.