Despite another night of debauchery, Elaviel's attitude toward Truman remained largely unchanged by morning. Her thunderous, piercing as ever, still cut deep, though it lacked the former icy distance.
If anything, he'd gone from a mere sinner to a familiar sinner.
Truman was crestfallen. A whole night's effort for this measly progress? What happened to the saying that a woman's heart is reached through her body? Utter nonsense!
But there was good news: though Elaviel's curse had faded significantly after their night, the remnants clung stubbornly, resisting erasure. The sin-purging plan had to continue.
Truman mentally tipped his hat to that Senia woman—his guardian angel!
During the day, visitors arrived: the couple who'd sold him the apartment. They'd clearly realized the significance of an angel's descent. With crowds flocking to witness miracles and the church set for renovation, property values would soar.
Houses were king in any era.
After heated negotiations, they insisted on buying back the place, nearly resorting to force—until Elaviel's glare sent them scurrying.
Talk about security…
As Truman saw the dejected couple out, he noticed a banner near the church below: "Welcome Young Master Murong."
Young Master Murong? Wasn't Murong the biggest clan in Harvest City?
...
Though physical intimacy alone couldn't bridge the gap with Elaviel, Truman, a product of the information age, knew plenty of girl-chasing tricks. Unsure if they'd work on a mythical being, he threw everything at the wall.
Beyond the necklace, he'd gifted her clothes, bracelets, hairpins—nearly bankrupting himself. Elaviel's demeanor hadn't softened much, though her tone grew slightly gentler. At least during their romps, she no longer resisted outright.
When Truman cooked, Elaviel, unable to refuse his pleas, would reluctantly sit and taste a bite or two.
His culinary skills, honed as a shut-in nerd and perfected over five years in this world, were so good neighbors sometimes begged for leftovers.
Elaviel's face remained impassive, but for certain dishes, she'd nod slightly, murmuring "passable" or "decent." That alone thrilled Truman.
So the real path to a woman's heart was her stomach, not her body…
Damn misleading ancestors!
Seizing this insight, Truman stocked up on ingredients, concocting delectable dishes and coaxing Elaviel to eat with excuses like "fueling up for the coming battle."
Seeing his eager expression and oil-stained apron, Elaviel found herself unable to refuse. She let him take her hand, sitting to sample each dish.
It was a novel experience. Born with knowledge didn't mean omniscience. As a being with emotions, she was curious about food, nothing more—or so she told herself.
Truman grinned as she tried every dish. Her expression barely shifted, but she didn't dislike it. He washed dishes cheerfully, the picture of a dutiful husband.
From behind came Elaviel's voice: "Next time… less salt."
Another day passed, and Truman handed Elaviel a stack of documents, his voice weary. "Vivi, Your Highness, here's a summary of the holy city's recent status and a route map to the Federation. Might be useful."
Dark circles shadowed his eyes. Elaviel, almost reflexively, said, "No need for flattery…"
"Because you'll still hate me, right?" Truman grinned, finishing her thought. "Hate or love, nothing stops my devotion. Just get used to my kindness, Your Highness."
Elaviel didn't know how to respond, her gaze complex. Avoiding his eyes, she took the files, scanning the thick, annotated pages.
She was accustomed to worship, not love from a single person…
...
Murong Xuan was the eldest son of Harvest City's mayor, groomed as the family heir. Unlike other spoiled scions, he wasn't arrogant or hedonistic.
Polite and disciplined, he focused on cultivation, reaching the third transcendent realm in his early twenties—a prodigy unseen in Harvest City for decades.
With flawless looks, talent, and character, plus a top-tier family, Murong Xuan was a catch. Yet he remained ascetic, untouched by scandal.
Until today.
Returning from Capital City, Murong Xuan heard of an angel's descent in the slums. Having seen many races, he was still curious about the elusive angels, absent for decades.
"Pity I wasn't back sooner. That Capital City invite came at the worst time," he sighed, regretting missing the mysterious being. On a whim, he decided to visit the slums and question witnesses.
That's when he met her—a person he'd never forget.
...
In the winter sun, Murong Xuan saw a golden-haired girl, eighteen or nineteen, standing amid swirling snow. She gazed skyward, her aura cold and distant, as if peering across continents. Her profile alone was breathtaking, stirring his long-dormant heart.
He'd traveled the Middle Kingdom's cities, yet never seen such beauty, her ethereal presence otherworldly.
For the first time, he felt love at first sight. Murong Xuan couldn't let her slip away.
"Um… hello, miss. I'm Murong Xuan. Are you admiring the snow too?"
Speaking to her felt daunting. With his status, women flocked to him, but now he fumbled, relying on scant experience.
She turned, hearing him, and his heart raced. Her exquisite face and transcendent aura made her the center of any scene.
But she didn't reply, standing silently. Murong Xuan waited patiently.
Elaviel wasn't in her usual white-gold robe. Instead, she wore a brown toggle-coat, pleated mini-skirt, and black thigh-high stockings Truman had bought, her wings and halo hidden. She looked like a stunning JK schoolgirl.
Truman called it a style change, and since it aided her sin-cleansing, Elaviel didn't object—her robe reeked of him and needed airing.
Her priority was restoring her rank and power. Teetering on the edge of her mythical throne, she couldn't even stay invisible to mortals. Even a casual stroll drew annoying humans. This one was slightly better than the rest, but still just another mortal.
"Sigh…"
Feeling Truman's leering gaze from the apartment window, she frowned, sighing softly.
Murong Xuan, misinterpreting, thought his sincerity had won her over. But she brushed past him, heading for the apartment and climbing the stairs.
"She's a commoner's daughter? Such a woman shouldn't be wasted here. I'll give her the best life!"
Far from embarrassed, Murong Xuan was smitten by her aloofness, forgetting his original mission. He was determined to win her heart.
"Find out everything about the residents in that building. I want to review each file personally," he ordered his waiting servant, buzzing with excitement and impatience.
Unbeknownst to the poor young master, in the room he fixated on, sultry moans seeped through the door.
"Ngh~ you never… go easy…" Elaviel's flustered tone echoed in the room. Her pleated skirt was hiked to her waist, her black stockings torn, revealing plump buttocks and thighs, the tight fabric accentuating her curves.
The ripped stockings clung to her, dripping with allure.
"You went out to see the snow alone, Your Highness. I was worried…" Truman said, feigning concern.
"Worried about what… nghhh~"
Did a mythical being like her need a mortal's protection?
Truman gripped her waist, thrusting vigorously, her pantyhose-clad rear quivering, flesh spilling from the tears, like a jock bullying his high-school girlfriend.
"Of course, I'm scared someone'll steal you away! You're so gorgeous, Vivi, who wouldn't want a taste?"
Recalling the men approaching her downstairs, Truman's possessiveness flared. He rammed into her harder, drawing sultry moans.
Rip!
Her stockings tore further under his relentless pounding.
"You bought these clothes… just to tear them?" Elaviel squinted at the ruined fabric, frowning.
"Heh, no dress outshines you, Your Highness. I rip them to get to your charm faster!"
His brazen voice rang out, rough hands slipping under her sweater, sinking into her breasts, fingers teasing her nipples, coaxing soft whimpers.
Unable to hold back, Truman spun her to face him, hands hooking her thighs. Kissing her deeply, he lifted and dropped her onto his hips, the loud slap, slap, slap of flesh reverberating.
Each deep thrust was soul-shaking, grinding her core, an ecstasy no female could resist—pleasure etched into her marrow.
"Your Highness, you're like a saintess!"
"What… ngh! What saintess?"
"The kind… who lifts her ass for a goblin's pounding!"
"Ngh! Aaah! Wait, stop! It's… it's coming!"
Her wings fluttered, pressing against his lower back, as if to keep him inside, like she'd reached paradise.