Villain's Breeding System: Evolving 999+ Harem into an SSS-Rank Legion

Chapter 607: Chapter 607- Story of a Looser

Raven ignored them.

He pointed at the leech.

The magic circles focused. Black chains shot from the air. They wrapped around the leech. They bound it. The monster thrashed. It screamed—a wet, gurgling sound. The chains tightened. They pulled the leech toward Raven. They dragged it across the battlefield, crushing undead beneath its bulk.

The leech was twenty feet in front of him.

Raven walked toward it.

The two sisters watched from behind.

Vess was on her knees. Her sword was in her hand. Her eyes were wide. She was seeing his power for the first time. The power of the man who had fucked her. Who had marked her. Who had destroyed her. It was overwhelming. It was absolute. It was godlike.

Lena was trembling. Her hands were pressed against her stomach. She could feel the seed inside her. She could feel the pain in her ass. And she could feel the magic—the sheer, crushing weight of it—pressing down on the battlefield.

Raven reached the leech.

He placed his hand on its skull.

The leech was bound. It could not move. It could not bite. It could only tremble.

"Let’s read your mind," Raven said.

He closed his eyes.

His hand glowed. Purple light. The leech’s body went rigid. Then it began to convulse.

Memories poured out.

Images. Sounds. The leech’s mind was being torn open. Raven was pulling everything out. The location of the necromancer. The size of the army. The plan. The weaknesses.

The leech screamed.

"KHRRRRIIIIEEEEEKKKKKKKK!!"

The sound was not of this world. It was the scream of a monster having its soul ripped out. It filled the battlefield. It drowned out the clash of swords. It made the adventurers cover their ears. It made the undead falter.

Vess and Lena trembled.

They watched the man who had used their bodies now using his power. They were horrified. They were awed.

They were...

’M-my man...’

His.

The memory unfolded like a wet dream curdled into nightmare.

Deo was carrying the bags.

Four leather satchels slung across his narrow shoulders. Rocks and healing herbs and the heavy, jingling coin pouches that the others refused to touch. He was at the back of the party. Always the back. His robes were mud-stained at the hem. His fingers were raw from the straps.

Ahead of him, Brutus laughed.

The tanker was a wall of muscle. His armor was scarred. His axe was slung across his back like a child’s toy. He turned. He grabbed a stone from the path. He threw it.

"Hey, pack mule," he called. "Catch."

The stone hit Deo’s shin.

"Ah—!" Deo stumbled. The bags tangled. He fell to one knee.

"Clumsy bastard," Jarek said. The swordsman didn’t look back. His blade was out. He was cutting vines from the path. "Pick it up. And hurry. The dungeon won’t clear itself."

"Leave him," Kael murmured. The assassin was a shadow. His hood was up. His daggers gleamed at his hips. "He’s got his use. Someone has to carry the loot."

Deo bit his lip.

He gathered the bags. He stood. His knee was bleeding. He wiped it with his sleeve.

Then a hand touched his shoulder.

"Are you all right?" Mira asked.

Her voice was soft. Warm. Like honey left in the sun.

Deo looked up.

She was thick. That was the only word. Thick thighs wrapped in white healer’s skirts. Thick hips that swayed when she walked. And her tits—heavy, round, straining against the fabric of her healer’s tunic—were the kind that made men stupid. Her face was gentle. Wide eyes. A small mouth that smiled easily.

She was wiping his forehead with a cloth.

"You are sweating," she said. She chuckled. The sound was bright. "Here. Let me take one bag."

"No," Deo said quickly. His heart was thumping. "I— I can carry them. I am fine. Thank you, Mira."

She looked at him.

Her eyes lingered. She smiled. She patted his cheek.

"Such a hard worker," she said. Then she turned. Her thick ass swayed as she walked ahead. Deo watched it. His face burned.

His heart thumped harder.

He was in love.

He had been in love for three years.

The camp that night was loud.

Brutus was drinking. Jarek was sharpening his sword. Kael was counting coins by the fire. Mira was brewing tea. Deo was sorting the day’s haul—crystals, herbs, a few low-grade mana stones.

"Hey, healer," Brutus called. He was drunk. His shirt was off. His chest was a map of scars. "Come here. My shoulder is stiff. Heal it."

Mira set down her tea. She walked to him. She placed her hands on his shoulder. White light glowed. Brutus groaned.

"Ah, yeah," he said. "Right there. Your hands are warm, Mira. Warm and soft."

"Stop being a pig," Jarek said. But he was smiling.

Mira finished. She stepped back. Brutus’s hand brushed her thigh as she moved away. She didn’t react. She just returned to her tea.

Deo watched from the bags.

His heart ached. He wanted to say something. To tell Brutus to stop touching her. But he was weak. He was the sorcerer with only basic spells. He was the baggage carrier. He said nothing.

Later, Mira came to him.

She sat beside him. Her thigh pressed against his. Her tits were close enough that he could smell the lavender on her skin.

"You work too hard," she said.

"I don’t mind," Deo said. His voice was small.

She looked at him. Her eyes were dark in the firelight. She reached out. She took his hand. Her fingers were warm.

"One day," she said, "you will be a great sorcerer. I believe in you."

His heart stopped.

Then restarted. Thumping so hard he thought she could hear it.

"Mira," he whispered.

"Yes?"

"I— I—"

He couldn’t say it. He was too afraid. He looked at her lips. Her tits. Her gentle eyes.

She chuckled. She squeezed his hand. Then she stood and walked to her bedroll.

Deo didn’t sleep that night.

The proposal happened on a hill.

Three months later. After a dungeon clear. The sunset was red. The wind was soft.

Deo had bought a ring. A cheap silver thing. It had cost him two months of his share.

He was trembling. His knees were knocking. His hands were sweating.

Mira stood before him. She was in her white healer’s robes. The fabric clung to her thick tits. Her hair was down. She looked like a maiden. A pure, untouched, thick-hipped maiden who had wandered out of a temple.

"Mira," Deo said. His voice cracked. "I— I love you. I have loved you since the first day. I want— I want to marry you. Please. Will you marry me?"

He held out the ring.

His hand shook so violently the silver band caught the light.

Mira’s eyes went wide.

Her mouth opened. She looked—awkward. Trembling. Like a maiden who had never been touched. Her cheeks flushed pink. Her hands went to her chest. Her thick tits rose and fell.

"Deo," she whispered. "I— I don’t know what to say—"

"Say yes!" Brutus yelled from behind.

The others were there. Watching. Jarek was leaning against a tree. Kael was sitting on a rock. They were all grinning.

"Look at the pack mule," Jarek laughed. "Proposing. To our healer."

"She’s too good for you, Deo," Brutus called. But he was laughing. Not cruelly. Just—loudly.

Mira looked at them. Then at Deo. Her eyes were wet.

"Yes," she said.

She took the ring.

"Yes," she whispered. "I will marry you, Deo."