The walk to the Fortress was, to put it mildly, awkward.
Vael had assumed being the 'Consort' of the terrifying Captain Astra would involve riding a majestic warhorse. Instead, he was being towed by the wrist, pulled along like a particularly fragile laundry bag. Astra was moving at a military double-time, her massive boots crushing pine needles while her armored body served as a mobile shield.
"Astra, please," Vael gasped, trying to keep up. "I'm not going to run away. And I can see about two inches in front of me."
"Nonsense," Astra growled, her focus solely on Vael's safety. She had decided his continued existence was the most precious resource in the world. "The path here is full of tripping hazards. And brigands. And probably aggressive squirrels. You must remain within my Aura of Protection."
She then did something truly alarming: she stopped, bent down, and adjusted his spectacles with a huge, black-metal gauntlet that had recently been holding a deadly sword. The sheer tenderness of the action, combined with the absurdity of the heavy armor, made Vael's stomach flip.
"There. Perfect. Now, hold closer. The fortress is just ahead."
The Legion's Fortress of Kylos was exactly what Vael expected: a brutal, grey, towering monument to pain and stone. It was also completely silent. As they passed through the outer gate, they were instantly surrounded by a dozen soldiers, all heavily armored, but their eyes were directed not at Vael, but at their Captain.
The soldiers were a mix of hardened men and equally fierce women, and their expressions ran the gamut from confusion to utter, slack-jawed shock.
The Captain is... holding hands? With a civilian? And she looks… cheerful?
Astra, usually stern enough to freeze water with a glance, was radiating a terrifying, almost manic happiness. Her eyes sparkled, and there was a slight, terrifying upward curve to her lips that Vael recognized as her attempt at a joyful smile.
The soldiers parted, forming a stunned path. It was then Vael saw the most intimidating person yet: a woman who stood slightly behind the others, leaning against a stone pillar.
She was tall, with short, practical black hair and a set of sharp, assessing eyes. Her armor was lighter than Astra's, prioritizing speed over brute force, and she carried two wicked-looking shortswords strapped to her back. This was the Vice-Captain—the one who clearly ran the show when the Captain was busy being terrifying.
She straightened up, her face a perfect mask of utter disbelief.
"Captain Astra," the Vice-Captain stated, her voice dry and cutting like shattered glass. "Welcome back. We had reports of a potential trespasser in the North Woods. Did you... bring him home?"
Astra beamed, a look Vael was still getting used to. "Vice-Captain Lyra! Excellent timing! I have brought back my Consort."
Lyra (The Vice-Captain) raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her sharp gaze raking over Vael, from his simple modern attire to his generally lean and unwarlike physique.
"Your... Consort?" Lyra repeated, tasting the word like spoiled meat. "Forgive me, Captain, but he looks rather... fragile. Are you certain he's not a frightened goat you've mistaken for a man?"
The other soldiers immediately stifled their laughter, but the tension was thick enough to chew.
Astra's smile vanished, replaced by an expression of fierce, immediate possessiveness. She stepped forward, shielding Vael with her body.
"Lyra, watch your tongue," Astra snapped, her hand instinctively resting on the hilt of her enormous sword. "This man is weak only to the eye. You would do well to find a stronger man who can match your own skill, rather than criticizing my choice."
Lyra's eyes narrowed, shifting from Vael to Astra, sensing the profound change. "Captain, with all due respect, you could choose any Duke, any General. A strong protector! Why... this?"
Astra softened her gaze, turning back to Vael with that disorienting, melting affection. She spoke not just to Lyra, but to every soldier gathered there, her voice ringing with deep sincerity.
"Because, Lyra, he gave me something that no sword, no victory, and no powerful man ever could." Astra paused, her breath hitching slightly. "He saw the fire that burns me for duty. He didn't see the Captain or the steel; he saw the sorrow my heart keeps. He spoke a truth about my soul that I didn't even know I was carrying."
Lyra was stunned. Her Captain—the unflappable, iron-willed warrior—was talking about her feelings to the entire Legion, and it was all because of the skinny man hiding behind her.
Lyra's sharp eyes shifted back to Vael. She looked at his simple clothes, his spectacles, and his nervously sweating face.
"What is this magic?" Lyra demanded, stepping closer. She pointed a shortsword dangerously close to Vael's face, forcing Astra to tense up defensively. "What did you do to her, civilian? Did you use some kind of weak-man sorcery?"
Vael jumped, shrinking back slightly. Oh no. This is the moment I have to lie.
"I... I just," Vael stammered, rubbing his temple. He didn't want to explain God Aethel's ridiculously specific Harem Quest. "I simply... spoke my mind. I merely wrote her a short piece of... well, we call it Poetry."
Lyra's brow furrowed in confusion. "Poetry? What in the blazes is that? Is that some kind of weak-realm chant? Show me. What did you write that could make Captain Astra talk about her 'sorrow'?"
Vael was trapped. He knew if he showed the poem, the effect might hit Lyra too, and that was too much chaos for Day One.
A single poem turns a woman into a wife. I can't just spam this thing! It's too powerful! God Aethel didn't mention the emotional whiplash!
"I... I can't," Vael mumbled. "It's not something you just 'show.' It was a momentary expression, between two people. It was... about War and Love."
Lyra scoffed, a truly contemptuous sound. "War and Love? Those two words have nothing in common! Show me, little poet, or I will consider this whole scene a psychological weapon against the Legion. And I will demonstrate what a real weapon does."
Astra immediately stepped in front of Vael, blocking him. "He will not show you, Lyra! He is mine! And what he wrote is the truth. If you want to understand, find your own truth. But leave my Consort alone!"
The tension peaked. Vael realized two things:
The poems worked too well, instantly turning lethal women into terrifyingly possessive wives.
The real difficulty of his 100-Wife Harem Quest wasn't writing the poem—it was dealing with the incredible, aggressive jealousy of his first acquisition!
This is going to be far more dangerous than fighting a demon king, Vael thought, his voice dripping with nervous realization. I'm going to die from a wife-related incident.