Chapter 937: The Meeting
The cheeky little dryad girl’s smile returned, becoming wide, radiant.
“Okay!” she beamed, lifting her arms again as she turned back toward Lysandra’s still form.
The dryad’s face scrunched tight, brows furrowing, cheeks puffed out in serious concentration. Her little feet floated just above the grass as sparkling light gathered around her again, pulsing with childish determination.
“Nhhng!”
A beat passed.
Then another.
…
Nothing happened.
Her eyes opened in confusion. She blinked. Once. Twice.
“Hmmmm…” she hummed, gaze narrowing. Then she turned to Serika and raised a single finger.
“Wait a sec!”
Before the warrior could ask what she meant, Rosie blasted into motion, a green comet of glowing light zipping through the dimensional tear she had created.
She burst out into the stronghold clearing of Thalorind a moment later, where the others still lay around Quinlan, most of them still not quite recovered from the madness that was today.
“Papa! Rosie needs more!” she squeaked, zipping directly at him. Instead of waiting for a response, her forehead crashed into his for a second time.
*Thump.*
The mothers gasped. Again.
Rosie’s glow surged once more as energy from her father flowed into her, drawn through that instinctive link she alone somehow understood.
She straightened, eyes shining blindingly bright, and shouted, “Rosie loves Daddy!” before immediately blasting back toward the tree trunk portal like a missile.
The women watched her glowing trail vanish into the bark.
“…Did… did she just siphon power from you?” Aurora asked blankly, blinking like she was trying to recalibrate reality.
“For a second time at that…” Ayame muttered.
Seraphiel giggled, “I mean, we can draw power from Quin too, but we kinda need his fresh seed to be injected into our womb to do so…”
The samurai woman sent a very serious, wry glance toward the cheeky elf.
Quinlan, still on the ground from earlier, simply shrugged with a huge grin on his face. “Isn’t our daughter just amazing?”
Lucille slowly raised an eyebrow. “You’re just going along with this, huh?”
“Eh, why not? She’s a unique little girl. I don’t even know if another of her kind exists in the whole universe. Let’s just see what she can do,” he replied without hesitation, the smile never leaving his face.
They couldn’t argue with that. Not really.
But then Aurora, brows pinching, glanced at the tree. “Can you follow her in?”
“I can, though not through that dimensional tear. However, to do so, I’ll have to sit still. Once I will my soul to enter, my body here will go limp until I return. I’ll be unconscious.”
That made the women pause, until Lucille turned toward Iris with a grin that spelled trouble.
“So, dearest Iris,” the blood-soaked berserker asked with mischief, “how do you feel about giving Quin a lap pillow while we go check on the literal miracle our daughter’s working?”
Iris, the Child of Reckoning, who had been silently observing all of this chaos from the edge, slowly turned her head toward the berserker.
The glare she sent in response was positively icy.
Lucille shivered involuntarily.
“Spicy little thing…” she muttered with a chuckle under her breath.
Knowing that roping the black-haired girl into giving her man a lap pillow was simply not going to happen, she turned to Lyra, who caught on immediately. The shy tanker gave a quiet nod with rapidly reddening cheeks and knelt beside Quinlan, removing her armor to reveal soft thighs beneath. She patted them while looking at one person in particular with nervous reverence.
“My Lord… if you’d like.”
Quinlan chuckled lowly and gave her a soft wink. “How could I ever say no? Thank you, Lyra.”
As Quinlan was busy moving over to place his head in the soft heaven that was the tanker girl’s pair of juicy thighs, Iris scoffed from the side. “He can lie on the grass like the rest of us. Why the lap pillow…?”
She was ignored entirely.
With a smirk at Iris’s adorable antics, Quinlan leaned back, resting his head on Lyra’s lap as he let out a peaceful sigh.
Then he closed his eyes.
As his breathing slowed, the others, Aurora, Lucille, Ayame, Seraphiel, Blossom, and even Iris, gathered in front of the open portal carved into Rosie’s enchanted tree.
They exchanged glances. One by one, they nodded.
And then, without a word, they stepped through.
Into Quinlan’s soul realm.
Feng stared with disbelief as six women stepped into the soul realm one after another.
Each one radiated sheer presence.
Even covered in streaks of blood, dirt, and fatigue, not a single one of them looked any less breathtaking. In fact, the stains only added to their allure, a kind of fierce, battle-hardened beauty that shone with danger, strength, and unmistakable femininity.
She could tell it instantly: they weren’t just pretty.
Warrior queens. Mage-goddesses. Soul-bound lovers. Whatever they were, one thing was clear: they were just as dangerous as they were beautiful.
And all of them were walking casually beside a smugly grinning Quinlan, whose attention was solely focused on Feng Jiai. He had entered with the ladies and now looked like the cat who not only got the cream, but had also personally married eight different flavors of it.
That grin… that damned grin was aimed right at her.
Feng’s eye twitched.
He had told her stories. Oh yes. Time and time again. Of his absurdly gorgeous, terrifying, impossibly awesome wives. Feng had rolled her eyes every single time, chalking it up to the eccentric fantasies of a delusional narcissist.
Eight peerless beauties? Please.
But now?
Now she understood.
One glance at the way some of them couldn’t stop stealing little looks at him made it obvious.
They were real.
They were his.
Feng’s chest tightened. Her throat clicked as she swallowed hard.
She didn’t know how to feel. The competition just spiked through the heavens.
Her gaze darted from face to face, taking them in:
A noble healer with golden hair and elven grace. A platinum-haired enchantress who practically sparkled with innate charisma. A soft-featured, fierce-eyed rogue girl fading in and out of visibility only to give Quinlan a new kiss or hug. Wait, what are those ears on top of her head?!
A dark armored woman with similarly dark hair and red eyes, contrasting starkly. She was simply breathtakingly beautiful, her wildness only adding to her overwhelming charm. A caramel-haired berserker who looked awfully fragile and feminine next to her large war axe and very bloody clothes.
And then…
Her eyes landed on the last one.
The one with the katana strapped to her waist.
Black hair tied high.
Eyes blue as a mountain spring.
Face strikingly familiar.
Feng’s breath hitched.
She looked like… well, like Feng. If Feng were five years older, half a head taller, managed to finally(!!!) grow her chest out like a proper, elegant lady, and chiseled by a life of relentless discipline. The samurai woman didn’t glance her way, too busy surveying the realm with a great deal of amazement present in her eyes, but Feng didn’t need confirmation.
This was her.
The woman Quinlan had once jokingly compared her to.
The one woman he used as an example to let Feng know that big breasts weren’t the end-all be-all… And looking at her now, this striking, sword-bearing goddess with calm fire in her eyes and a warrior’s grace in her every breath, Feng saw his vision clearly for the first time.
Big breasts?
They would’ve ruined Ayame’s appeal.
They would’ve stolen something from that poised, lethal symmetry. That fluid, whip-like sharpness. That dangerous, untouchable elegance.
She wasn’t beautiful despite her somewhat petite build. She was beautiful because of it.
Perfect as is.
And for the first time in a while, a new kind of hope stirred in Feng’s chest.
While the Gremlord quietly digested her new reality and re-evaluated her entire self-worth, the others had already turned their attention elsewhere.
To the little glowing figure at the heart of it all.
Rosie.
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