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

Chapter 691: Chapter 691- Saving the Princess

She had been running for hours. Her body was depleted. Her mana was gone. Her blood sugar was crashing. She was a princess who had never missed a meal in her life, and now she was kneeling in mud watching a man feed a woman whose pussy was leaking blood and seed, and her belly was growling so loud that the birds had stopped singing.

Raven looked at her.

He smiled.

"Come on," he said. His voice was warm. Inviting. The voice of a man offering food to a starving child. He held up a piece of chicken. The golden skin glistened. The steam rose. The scent crossed the pond. "Eat it."

The princess trembled.

She looked at the chicken. At the juice. At the man. At the woman. At the cock— resting on Latina’s stomach, twelve inches, dark, slick. At the transaction. At the exchange.

She was a princess. She had been raised on silver plates and crystal glasses. She had eaten from the hands of servants. She had never taken food from a stranger. From a man. From a naked man whose cock was resting on a woman’s bloody stomach.

Her belly growled again.

She moved.

Not toward the forest. Not away. Toward him. On her hands and knees. Through the mud. Through the grass. Around the pond. She crawled. Like an animal. Like a starving creature that has abandoned pride and dignity and royal blood in favor of the most basic, most fundamental, most undeniable need: food.

She reached him.

She looked at the chicken. At his hand. At his face. At his black eyes. At the calm.

She ate.

Her mouth opened. He placed the chicken on her tongue. Her teeth closed. She chewed. The taste— salt, fat, herbs, the crispy skin, the tender meat— flooded her mouth. Her eyes closed. Her jaw worked. She chewed. She swallowed. The warmth spread through her. From her stomach. To her chest. To her limbs. To her brain.

She opened her eyes.

He was looking at her.

He held a bowl. Small. Wooden. Filled with soup. Thick. Golden. The scent— chicken, herbs, cream— rose from the surface. The steam was warm on her face.

"Drink," he said.

She drank.

Her hands were shaking. She took the bowl. She raised it to her lips. She sipped. The warmth— liquid, immediate, spreading— hit her stomach. She sipped again. And again. The soup was hot. Too hot. She gasped.

"It is hot—" she coughed. The soup dribbled down her chin. Onto her torn dress. Onto her chest. "It is— hahh— too hot—"

He took a bite.

Of the chicken. He chewed. He leaned toward her. His mouth was full. He pressed his lips to hers. He pushed the chewed chicken into her mouth with his tongue. She gasped. Her eyes widened. The food— his food, chewed, warm, mixed with his saliva— entered her mouth. She tasted it. She tasted him. She tasted the chicken and the salt and the man.

She cried.

She ate it.

She swallowed. The chewed chicken went down her throat. She looked at him. At his face. At his smile. At the calm. At the cock— still on Latina’s stomach, still hard, still wet. At the woman— lying on the grass, her legs spread, her pussy leaking, her body covered in juice and bite marks.

He fucked Latina again.

While the princess watched. While the princess ate. He pushed Latina’s legs apart. He pushed in. He fucked her. Slowly. Steadily. The sound was wet. The sound was obscene.

PAH PAH PAH PAH—

Latina moaned. Her body responded. Her back arched. Her breasts heaved. Her pussy clenched.

He came.

A thick, heavy load. The seed erupted from his cock— pulse after pulse, filling her pussy, filling her womb. The white fluid overflowed— running out of her, down her ass, onto the grass. He pulled out. The cock emerged— slick, bloody, seed-dripping. The head was dark. The shaft was coated.

"Here," he said. His voice was gentle. Warm. "You did well. It is your reward."

He placed food in Latina’s mouth. More chicken. More bread. He fed her. While his seed leaked from her pussy. While the princess watched. While the transaction was clear— food for fucking. Feeding for taking. The exchange.

The princess saw it.

She understood. The food was not free. The soup was not free. The chicken was not free. Nothing was free. Everything was a transaction. Everything had a price. And the price was— she looked at Latina’s body. At the bite marks. At the seed. At the blood. At the swollen pussy. At the ahegao face that was slowly fading into something softer, something grateful, something that looked disturbingly close to happiness.

She tried to move.

Her legs were weak. Her body was exhausted. She had been running for hours. She had cast magic until her mana was empty. She had eaten nothing until five minutes ago. She was a princess who had never been hungry, who had never been hurt, who had never been alone, and now she was all three.

She stood.

She turned. She took a step toward the forest. Toward the road. Toward the capital. Toward— anywhere. Away from this. Away from the man and the woman and the cock and the seed and the food and the transaction.

A bear charged from the trees.

It was enormous. Brown. Its fur was matted. Its eyes were red— rabid, mad, the eyes of an animal that has been driven to violence by disease or hunger or something else. Its mouth was open. Its teeth were yellow. Its claws were long. It was running at full speed— four hundred pounds of muscle and fur and fury— directly at the princess.

She screamed.

The sound was high. Sharp. The scream of a girl who has never faced anything larger than a household dog and who is now staring at a charging bear. She stumbled backward. Her foot caught. She fell. Her body hit the mud. She raised her hands— instinctively, uselessly, the gesture of a person who knows they cannot fight but who cannot stop themselves from trying.

A magic bullet hit the bear’s shoulder.

The sound was not loud. Not explosive. It was a wet, crunching sound— the sound of something being erased.

The bear’s left shoulder disappeared. Not broken. Not shattered. Gone. The flesh, the bone, the muscle, the fur— all of it. Vanished. As if it had never existed.

The bear’s body lurched— its left side collapsed, the leg dangling, the shoulder a smooth, rounded stump where the joint had been. It screamed— an animal scream, high and terrible— and it fell. It hit the ground. It rolled. It lay still. Alive. But unable to move. Unable to charge. Unable to hurt.

The princess looked up.

Raven was standing.

He had jumped. Over the pond. Over the water. His body had cleared the gap— twelve feet, maybe fifteen— and he was landing on the near bank. His feet hit the mud. His body absorbed the impact. His legs bent. His coat— open, unbuttoned— billowed behind him. His cock— still hard, still slick— swung between his legs.

His walk was heavy.

Or maybe just his cock was... to her.