Morning light streamed through the inn's windows as Eron, Mira, and Sylva descended to the common room for breakfast. The Gilded Griffin buzzed with gossip—word had spread overnight about the fresh F-rank party that somehow landed an interview for Lady Isabella Veyron's personal escort quest.
Greta the innkeeper slid them extra portions of eggs and bacon with a wink. "Heard you're meeting the Lady herself at the Veyron manor this afternoon. Bold choice for newbies."
Eron just smiled, his Pheromone Emission already working subtle magic. Greta's cheeks flushed as she lingered, brushing against him unnecessarily while refilling coffee.
By noon, they were ready. Eron wore a fitted black tunic that highlighted his growing physique—levels had added muscle definition and height, pushing him toward an imposing 6'2". Mira and Sylva dressed to complement— Mira in a deep emerald gown that hugged her MILF curves like a second skin, low-cut to showcase her heavy cleavage; Sylva in crimson silk that clung to her perky breasts and flared hips, the fabric thin enough to hint at the lack of anything underneath.
They rode through Silverport's upper districts—marble streets, fountains, guarded estates—until reaching House Veyron's manor. A palatial three-story mansion of white stone and gilded balconies, overlooking the harbor.
Guards at the gate checked their guild tags before escorting them through manicured gardens to a private receiving hall. Other parties waited—veteran E-ranks and even a D-rank trio of grizzled mercenaries—but Eron's group was called first.
A stern butler announced them: "Eron Vale and party."
The hall was opulent—crystal chandeliers, velvet drapes, portrait paintings of stern Veyron ancestors. At the far end, on a raised dais beneath a stained-glass window, sat Lady Isabella Veyron.
She was even more breathtaking in person.
Early thirties, golden-blonde hair piled in an elegant updo with loose strands framing her heart-shaped face. Sapphire eyes that sparkled with intelligence and banked desire. Porcelain skin glowing with subtle magic—likely beauty enchantments. Her gown was conservative noble fashion: high-necked sapphire silk, long sleeves, yet it couldn't hide her hourglass figure—heavy, perfectly rounded breasts straining the bodice, a corset-nipped waist, hips that swayed hypnotically as she shifted.
Two female attendants flanked her—pretty maids in their twenties, clearly chosen for beauty. A male scribe stood to the side, quill poised.
Isabella's gaze swept over the waiting veterans dismissively, then locked on Eron. Her breath caught almost imperceptibly. The Arousal Aura and Pheromone Emission hit her full force in the enclosed space.
[Target Analysis: Isabella Veyron]
Loyalty to Husband: 18% (updated – resentment detected)
Current Arousal: 45% and rising
Suppressed Libido spiking rapidly
Recommended: Prolonged exposure + Seduction Whisper]
"Approach," she said, voice smooth as honey yet edged with authority.
Eron led his women forward, bowing respectfully—but his eyes never left hers, Charm stat burning through any resistance.
"You are the F-ranks who claim they can… satisfy my needs?" Isabella asked, one elegant brow arched. The double meaning hung in the air.
Eron smiled slowly. "Every need, my lady. Safety on the road is the least of what my party offers. My companions"—he gestured to Mira and Sylva—"are skilled in comfort, companionship, and discretion. We specialize in making long journeys… pleasurable."
Mira curtsied deeply, cleavage on full display. "We live to serve noble ladies in all ways, milady."
Sylva mirrored the motion, her dress whispering against bare thighs. "Especially those who deserve more than cold duty."
Isabella's cheeks pinked. She shifted in her seat, thighs pressing together beneath layers of silk. "Bold words. Others here have decades of experience."
One veteran mercenary snorted. "With respect, milady, these pups can't protect you from bandits, let alone court intrigue."
Eron turned, voice laced with Seduction Whisper directed at the room—but calibrated to affect women most. "Experience is fine. But passion? Devotion? That's rarer."
The two maids visibly squirmed, eyes glazing. Even Isabella's breathing quickened.
She stood abruptly, gown rustling. "Enough. I will interview this party privately. The rest of you—wait outside."
Protests rose, but her glare silenced them. The veterans filed out grumbling.
Once alone save her attendants and scribe, Isabella descended the dais, approaching until she stood mere feet from Eron. Up close, her perfume—jasmine and vanilla—mixed with the faint, unmistakable scent of feminine arousal.
"Prove your claims," she said quietly, eyes searching his. "Why should I choose you over proven warriors?"
Eron stepped closer, invading her space just enough to make her pulse race. "Because, my lady, I see you. Truly see you. A woman trapped in a gilded cage, married to a cold old count twice your age. You crave excitement. Freedom. Pleasure you've only dreamed of."
Her lips parted, a soft gasp escaping. The maids watched, transfixed.
He continued, voice dropping to an intimate whisper that resonated through her core. "Let us escort you. Let my women attend you personally—baths, massages, secrets shared in the dark of the carriage. And I… will protect you with my life. And give you everything your husband denies."
Isabella's hand trembled as she reached out, brushing his chest as if testing reality. "You are dangerously bold, Eron Vale."
"Only because you deserve boldness."
Silence stretched, thick with tension. Then she turned to the scribe. "Draft the contract. This party is hired. Exclusive service—no others."
The maids exchanged wide-eyed glances, clearly affected.
As papers were prepared, Isabella leaned close to Eron's ear, breath hot. "We leave at dawn tomorrow. My personal carriage. You will ride inside… with me."
Her hand grazed his arm possessively before withdrawing.
Contract signed—50 gold upfront, favor promised—Eron's party left the manor richer and victorious. The veterans outside stared in disbelief as guards escorted the "pups" out with new respect.
Back at the inn, celebration was immediate.
The moment the bedroom door closed, Eron commanded both women to strip and kneel. They obeyed eagerly, eyes shining with pride at their lord's conquest.
"Prepare me for tomorrow," he ordered. "The Lady will fall soon. And when she does…"
Mira crawled forward first, lips wrapping around his thick shaft as Sylva licked his balls from below. They worked in perfect sync—deepthroating, slurping, moaning—until he painted their faces again, essence flowing.
Later, as they lay tangled and sated, Eron allocated new points and reviewed the system:
[Level: 11 (anticipatory boost from Isabella's intense attraction)
New Skill Unlocked: Noble Allure (Increased effectiveness against high-status targets)
Projected Next Conquest: Isabella Veyron – Estimated Essence: 1000+]
Dawn would bring the carriage ride.
And the beginning of a noblewoman's total corruption.