As Truman expected, Elaviel didn't let emotion sway her. Despite his violation, she prioritized the bigger picture, her immense power restrained by rigid doctrine. Religion's a curse, he thought, though without it, Elaviel wouldn't exist—a paradox.
The outcome matched his predictions. She didn't cancel his sentence, merely postponed it. If he could purge her sin and help defeat Senia, his execution would wait until they reached the holy city.
"Dead either way, huh…" he muttered, but surviving a mythical being's wrath this long was already absurd. He couldn't ask for more.
Back home, Truman collapsed onto the sofa, heart still racing, rubbing his chest. A thought struck him. "Uh, Your Highness, just a small question—if the curse lingers, how long can you sustain your existence?"
Elaviel, perched on the sofa's far end, considered, her regal face thoughtful. "About ten days, give or take."
"Ten days? No time to waste then! Let's get that curse out now, Your Highness!" Truman leapt to her side, grinning mischievously, pressing close.
Bang!
A crash echoed. Sylvia rushed to help Truman, who'd been hurled against the wall, rubbing his bruises.
"Your Highness, what was that? I'm trying to help!" he whined, wincing, totally not itching to plow her divine body again.
"Help…" Elaviel bit her lip, memories stirring. "You've helped enough."
"You wrong me, Your Highness! Last night was to aid you. My constitution needs direct contact to lift the curse—not me taking advantage!" Truman knew her rigid honor meant she wouldn't kill him lightly, so he shed his facade, his tone turning cheeky. Only boldness would keep him alive.
Elaviel hadn't expected such shamelessness. His drooling leer clashed with his sanctimonious tone, utterly repulsive.
"We'll discuss this later. No need to rush."
She wasn't ready, still wavering. Perhaps, with the curse weakened, she could prevail alone?
No, she definitely could. She'd never let this vile mortal touch her again!
The next day, in the apartment.
"Ngh… ah… Your Highness, you're amazing. Can you grip harder? I'm so lucky, ugh!"
"Stop making weird noises. Shut your mouth."
Elaviel perched on the bed's edge, tense as if on pins and needles. She turned her head, offering Truman only her stunning profile, her radiant golden hair swaying with her hand's movements.
Her slender fingers wrapped around his erect cock, reluctantly stroking up and down under his guidance, delivering indescribable pleasure.
Her face was a mask of disgust, brows furrowed, breathing uneven.
Even Truman hadn't expected her to yield so quickly. He'd thought she'd hold out for a couple of days, but when he had Sylvia jerk him off on the bed, Elaviel intervened. Frowning, she sat down, signaling she could do it too.
It wasn't a sudden shift. To her, a handjob was far less blasphemous than full intercourse—within her tolerance, something she could grit her teeth through.
"Your Highness, see? It's working—the marks are fading!"
Elaviel glanced aside, avoiding the sight of his throbbing shaft. The black veins on her hand were indeed receding, but at a glacial pace, far too slow to resolve with just hand play.
Why not use skin contact to lift the curse? Simple: the sin curse only activated when Elaviel was aroused. Mere touch didn't trigger it, so Truman's All-Proof Immunity couldn't purge it.
In short, she needed to be in the throes of desire, touching him, for the curse to lift. The only way was for Truman to stoke her lust.
"Ngh~ Your Highness's technique is still rough. This won't do. Sylvia, darling, can you teach her?"
Truman grinned at the trembling cowgirl standing nearby. She'd been eager to join but was sidelined by Elaviel's arrival, now pouting on the sidelines.
"M-Me?" Sylvia squeaked, her massive breasts jiggling. She never imagined teaching a mythical being.
Shaking, she approached, avoiding Elaviel's lofty gaze. Her soft hands caressed Truman's cock gently.
"Y-Your Highness… Elaviel, see, you tease the tip and stimulate the balls below. Master will release his juices soon. You do it like this… and that…"
Four delicate hands worked his thick shaft in a mesmerizing rhythm, delivering exquisite pleasure. Normally, Truman would've erupted, but he held back, teasing the naive angel by keeping his load.
Elaviel learned swiftly. No task was too complex for a mythical being if she applied herself. Yet she frowned, puzzled that his cock showed no sign of release.
She didn't know why she cared about making him cum. Perhaps Truman's jab about her skills stung—having lost to Senia, she couldn't bear losing to a lowlife mortal too.
"I did as you said. Why isn't it working?" Her amber eyes fixed on Sylvia, like a dragon eyeing a rabbit, making her quiver speechlessly.
Truman stifled a laugh, feigning realization. "Must be because you didn't greet the cock! Sylvia, how could you hold back?"
Sylvia pouted, inwardly grumbling there's no such rule—Master's making it up…
Elaviel's brows knitted, sensing something off. She knew little of human coupling or male anatomy. Maybe this was a real technique? It was just words—no loss to her…
Angels excelled at self-deception.
After much hesitation, Elaviel spoke. Her red lips parted, eyes lowered, gazing at the veiny, imposing cock. Softly, she said, "Hello, cock… please come…"
Such shameful, adorable words from a pure angel's mouth were too much for Truman. Heat surged, and thick, musky cum erupted under the exquisite four-hand symphony.
"Ngh~ Master's cum!"
Sylvia yelped, lunging to envelop the tip with her mouth, throat bobbing as she gulped, delivering the perfect finale.
"Good girl, Sylvia. Master's proud~" Truman purred, stroking her head, unloading every last drop.
Elaviel stared at the cum-smeared patch on her hand, the black veins fading visibly. If her earlier handjob reduced them at 1% speed, this was at least 5%!
In a daze, she brought her hand to Sylvia's lips, fingers grazing the overflowing cream.
After the absurd romp, Truman regained his composure. Seeing Elaviel's hand still sticky, he grabbed tissues to clean it.
"Your Highness, your hand's dirty. Let me wipe it."
He reached for her delicate hand, fawning like a groveling pup, but she swatted him away.
Undeterred, Truman held himself to the gold standard of simping.
Though a quintessential nerdy loser in both lives, Truman had one standout trait: decisive action. He either didn't bother thinking or dove in with maximum speed and efficiency.
Realizing Elaviel relied on his touch to lift the curse, he saw a problem. This arrangement couldn't last. Once the curse was gone and she returned to the holy city, he'd face the gallows for defiling her, doomed forever.
Even if he earned merit helping her, he'd likely only get a reduced sentence—lifelong atonement at best.
How to change this fate? The answer came quickly: win Elaviel's heart.
It sounded ludicrous—a mortal wooing a mythical being in days? Anyone would call it a joke. Mythical beings, from the Middle Kingdom's exiled immortals to the Federation's demon kings or the Alliance's forbidden mentors, were solitary. Even legendary heroes barely registered in their eyes, let alone formed bonds.
But Truman didn't see it as pure delusion.
First, his goal was modest: earn enough goodwill for Elaviel to show mercy after he helped purge her sin and return her to the holy city—not a full conquest.
Second, their physical intimacy gave him a massive edge over other mortals—a solid advantage.
Finally, unlike mythical beings who'd existed for decades or centuries, Elaviel was newly born. Like many fantasy beings, she possessed innate knowledge of the world, but it remained alien to her. Her heart wasn't as steadfast as other titans'. She was vulnerable now, and he was her only ally.
In short, Truman figured since he was backed into a corner, he might as well go all out to win over this angelic Highness, hoping to earn enough favor to avoid being discarded like a used tool.
He grabbed a blank notebook from the table, neatly writing "Angel Conquest Manual" in bold letters. After a moment's thought, he tore out the page and rewrote it as "Mythical Being Conquest Manual," detailing specific strategies and flattery tactics before calling it done.
Action was key. That morning, he splurged at a nearby exchange, buying a necklace with an amber gem that reminded him of Elaviel's eyes. It cost a third of his savings, but he snapped it up without hesitation.
The shopkeeper beamed, grabbing his hand like they were brothers, asking if it was for his wife.
"Not yet, but she will be," Truman replied smoothly.
Whether in public or private, he'd play the part fully. Who knew if Elaviel was watching?
The boss gave him a thumbs-up, impressed. "A romantic like you is rare these days. I'm sure she'll see your sincerity. In all my years, I've never met someone as generous and devoted as you. Even I'm touched."
"So, how about a discount?"
"No chance."
Back home, Truman eagerly offered Elaviel the necklace, only to face her cold rejection—she didn't need such things.
He pleaded, even claiming it was a tribute to the Church's angels, until she stopped refusing outright, though she didn't accept it either.
"No need for flattery. I'll always hate you."
Elaviel gritted her teeth, struggling to contain her emotions around him.
"Being hated by Your Highness is an achievement. It's better than being ignored. If yin births yang, love might rise from hate's ashes. After all, I'm always thinking of you, and I believe you'll see my love."
Truman grinned shamelessly, his audacity leaving her momentarily at a loss. She turned away, ignoring him.
...