SOTBW - 1

Najane panted heavily, gripping her longsword tighter. Her limbs were sticky, covered in the blue blood of the Serith. Her arms and legs trembled from the prolonged battle that had begun at dusk, yet she couldn’t stop fighting.

The field—the vast space between the outer wall and the fortress wall—was teeming with Serith. They swarmed together, attacking the soldiers in an attempt to breach the outer wall. Thankfully, there were only a few fully grown Serith. Most were larvae.

Planting her feet firmly, she drove her sword into the carapace of a Serith larva trying to sink its teeth into the neck of a young boy soldier. The Serith howled, its glowing eyes locking onto Najane in fury. She tried to pull her sword back, but it was stuck, as if embedded in a block of iron.

Undeterred, Najane pressed her body against the creature and drew a dagger from her thigh. In one swift motion, she plunged the blade into the soft skin of its neck and twisted. The larva let out a horrific scream as its thick, tough veins tore apart with a sickening sound.

Blue blood, reeking of iron, gushed out and drenched Najane’s helmet. The larva collapsed in a heap and died.

Najane yanked her longsword free with a rough motion and turned toward the boy soldier. He had collapsed on the ground, his pants wet with fear. She wanted to extend a hand to help him up, but her own strength was at its limit.

All around, the final death cries of soldiers echoed endlessly. Everyone was fighting desperately to survive. They had to hold on until sunrise. If they failed to defend this place, the fortress would fall.

Grabbing a shield drenched in red blood that someone had dropped, Najane let out a battle cry and charged at another Serith. The cold was so bitter that she’d lost all feeling in her hands and feet. The corpses beneath her feet seemed endless, clutching at her ankles with every step.

The smarter Serith didn’t attack the soldiers; instead, they grabbed corpses in their jaws and fled beyond the walls. Their sole purpose was clear: to feast on human flesh and blood. For a larva to grow into a fully matured Serith, it needed to consume humans.

The Serith had originally been sealed in the north. Ages ago, through the sacrifices of ancient heroes, the endlessly multiplying Serith were confined to a frozen land by a magical barrier. But that barrier had broken, and the Serith had returned to the world. Dozens of nations had been destroyed, and countless humans massacred by the creatures.

The survivors had retreated to the Astien Empire and the Kingdom of Bastronia. Refugees, in particular, sought safety in Bastronia, a land of towering mountains and sheer valleys. There, a fortress built by Aron Noctis, one of the Astrun, served as humanity’s final sanctuary.

Overwhelmed by exhaustion, Najane’s vision blurred, but she refused to let go of her sword. She relentlessly slashed and stabbed the larvae, which were clumsy and slow in attacking humans.

But five days of ceaseless fighting without proper rest had left her body on the brink of collapse. Her head, burdened by the weight of her helmet, drooped forward, and hunger gnawed at her, making her legs falter.

Hold on. Just kill one more Serith. If I die here, if I let myself fall now...

Then, a loud voice rang out from high above.

“The sun is rising! The sun is rising!”

The piercing clang of a bell jolted Najane’s head upright. She looked to the sky and saw the faint blue light of dawn spreading. Around her, it was clear that more soldiers had survived than Serith.

She watched as archers took down the remaining Serith that hadn’t managed to flee. Struggling, she removed her helmet, letting the cool breeze blow through her sweat-soaked hair.

At last, Najane lowered her sword and tilted her slender neck back, her body too drained to move. All she wanted was to sleep for three days straight. But when night came again, the Serith would return, and the knights would fight until they were on the verge of death once more.

Humans were no longer the rulers of this world. They were helpless before the Serith. All they could do was send soldiers to the front lines and defend the fortress.

But even this was only a temporary measure. Each night, the number of Serith attacking under cover of darkness grew larger.

The age for conscripts had already dropped from sixteen to fourteen, but what could those young boys and girls possibly do? Without proper training, the boy soldiers were nothing more than prey for the Serith. As a result, the fortress was perpetually short on soldiers.

Najane pulled off her tattered leather gloves, brushing back her disheveled hair. The skin on her palms had peeled again, and fresh blood welled up in the raw wounds.

As she absently rubbed her rough palms, Najane suddenly felt someone’s gaze and lifted her head. A few steps away, a man stood covered in blue blood.

It was Maximón Elgort, the commander of the Romsoa Order of Knights, the pride of the Noctis Fortress. Najane quickly clenched her fists, hiding her injured hands. But Maximón planted his sword—its blade stained with congealed blue blood—firmly into the frozen ground and approached her.

Without a word, he forced her hand open, inspecting the wound. His dark green eyes, as usual, showed no emotion. Yet his gentle examination of her injury left Najane flustered. Maximón’s behavior confused her, leaving her unsure how to react.

Awkwardly, she pulled her hand away and gave a sheepish smile.

“It’s fine. I just peeled off too much callus the other day, so it’s a little raw.”

In truth, it hurt terribly, but she feigned indifference. Maximón’s gaze shifted to her bruised jawline, and in his usual flat tone, he asked, “Your heat.”

It was as if he were asking about a meal. At the crude mention of her heat cycle, Najane flinched. Thankfully, no one else was around; everyone was busy clearing the Serith corpses and searching for survivors.

Najane ran a hand over her chest, where the cursed sigil was embedded, and answered calmly, “Not yet. But the time is coming soon.”

“Go back to your quarters. I’ll come straight there once I’ve finished here.”

Maximón gave the order with a matter-of-fact air, as if he had expected this. Najane hesitated for a moment before responding. Nearby, other soldiers were in the midst of separating the heads and bodies of the Serith. Due to their regenerative abilities, even beheading them wasn’t enough. Their severed necks had to be cauterized with fire to ensure they wouldn’t recover.

Najane wanted to help with their work, but as a knight fighting under the Romsoa Order, she had no choice but to obey the orders of its commander, Maximón.

“Understood…”

She glanced at Maximón’s back as he approached the busy soldiers, then quietly turned away. The morning sunlight was beginning to pour into the battlefield, but it didn’t feel warm at all. If anything, it felt colder.

Was it because the sweat on her body had cooled? She didn’t know. All Najane felt was exhaustion—so much so that even thinking about Maximón seemed like a heavy burden.

No. This wasn’t the time for that. Najane had to become stronger. To protect people from the Serith. To free herself from the wretched curse. And to find her younger sister Luna, who had been enslaved and taken to some unknown place.

With a quick glance back at Maximón, Najane grabbed her sword and left the battlefield as instructed. She tried to steel her resolve, but her steps felt heavy.

“You’re late.”

When Najane returned to her room after her bath, she was startled to find Maximón waiting for her with his usual shameless expression. She had expected him to return to the quarters no earlier than noon. As the commander of the Order of Knights, Maximón was always burdened with numerous duties.

“You’re back early,” she remarked.

“There’s urgent business to take care of in the quarters.”

Naturally, that “urgent business” referred to Najane’s heat cycle. Because of the curse, she would frequently go into heat, like a beast or a bitch in estrus, desperately craving coupling. Without tranquilizers laced with narcotics, it was severe enough to render ordinary daily life impossible. Thankfully, she had been managing to live like a normal person for now.

The solution to lifting the curse was surprisingly simple—regularly satisfying her sexual urges to prevent the heat cycle. That was all there was to it.

Hesitating for a moment, Najane closed the door with a loud thud. She was about to lock it when she heard breathing behind her. Startled, she turned to see Maximón standing close. Their proximity was disconcerting.

Trying to hide her unease, Najane looked up at him. Something about the way he stared at her felt off. She briefly wondered if there was something on her face and brushed her cheek lightly. But there was nothing there.

Feeling awkward, she lowered her hand. That was when Maximón leaned in, cupping her face with both hands as if he had been waiting for her to let her guard down.

“I’m going to kiss you. Tell me if you don’t want it,” he said, curtly and almost perfunctorily.

Najane closed her eyes silently. His palms, which had been gently cradling her cheeks, began to press more firmly.

The kiss was rough and faintly tasted of blood. Maximón kissed her with an urgency that bordered on desperation, unrefined and devoid of tenderness.

As she turned her head to catch her breath, Maximón followed her movements, relentless. His actions were ravenous, like someone dying of thirst, and Najane found herself gasping for air multiple times.

Maximón began to unfasten his clothes, almost tearing at the buttons, while his lips moved from her cheeks to her ears. The places his lips touched burned. His breath, as he bit and licked her earlobes, sent a tickling sensation below her navel.

Breathing heavily, Najane pushed against Maximón’s chest. His tongue, slippery like a snake, moved languidly inside her mouth. Her body felt feverish.

Maximón captured her lips again, their tongues tangling with wet, sticky sounds. Helplessly parting her lips, Najane found herself pulling him closer instead of voicing a desire for more.

He slipped his hand inside her clothes and swiftly pulled off her tunic. The bandages wrapped around her chest were torn apart, revealing her rounded breasts as they spilled gently to the sides.

She tried to undress herself further, but her strength faltered, and she stumbled. Maximón quickly wrapped his arms around her. Startled, she let out a small scream.

Her feet, which had momentarily left the ground, landed on the bed. Disheveled hair falling in her face, Najane looked up at Maximón, barely able to collect her thoughts.

He kissed her again, this time more aggressively. She opened her mouth submissively, letting him have his way. Maximón’s heated hands gripped her breasts tightly, causing her to flinch and let out a soft cry at the sudden pain.

His tongue traced a slow line down her neck, leaving a trail of heat and a tingling sensation that made her breath hitch. Slowly, he pushed her further into the corner, moving downward as he went.

At some point, Najane’s back pressed against the cold wall. The chill made her arch her back, causing her perfectly shaped breasts to spill forward into Maximón’s view. Without hesitation, Maximón began licking the already taut nipples, as if cleaning them with his tongue. His fingers circled the small areola, almost as if gauging her reaction, while maintaining eye contact.

She found it embarrassing. They were simply having sex out of necessity, without any emotions involved. But at moments like this, when they locked eyes as if they were lovers, Najane didn’t know what expression she should wear.

Maximón bit and sucked on her hardened nipples, looking at her. Najane tried not to watch him suckle her breasts like a child, but every time she averted her gaze, he would twist her nipples painfully.

He lavished attention on her breasts, almost as if savoring a favorite dish. By the time her nipples were swollen from the excessive sucking, Najane’s undergarments were always drenched with arousal. Even then, Maximón, who had reduced her to a languid mess, pressed a tender kiss to her cheek. It was slow and cautious, as if he were handling someone he cherished.

Though Najane often felt a sense of wretchedness from their emotionless encounters, she still couldn’t bring herself to reject Maximón. No, she wasn’t able to.

If she didn’t do this, she couldn’t lead a normal life.

At least with Maximón, she could entrust herself without fear. If it were anyone else, they would have surely turned her into a sex slave without hesitation.