Garok's grin faltered as Mara's knife quivered in the wood beside his head. His nostrils flared—not in anger, but calculation.
The brute force that worked on younger warriors meant nothing here; Mara had skinned bears alive for less insult. Slowly, deliberately, he raised both palms in surrender, stepping back until his shoulders brushed the leather flap.
"Only checking on the boy," he rumbled, though his gaze lingered on Jorik's scarred palm a heartbeat too long. "Wouldn't want him... overexerting himself."
Mara didn't blink. "Leave."
Garok, hearing that, didn't try to stay. But his retreat was almost graceful, for a man built like a felled oak.
The lean-to fell silent except for the crackle of the fire. Mara exhaled through her nose, her shoulders losing some of their tension as she yanked her bone knife free from the post.
She wiped the blade against her thigh before sheathing it, then turned to Jorik with a look that could have curdled milk.
"Lie down," she ordered, jerking her chin toward the pallet of furs in the corner. "And don't even think about rites or challenges or whatever fever-dream nonsense is rattling around in that skull of yours. You're still half a corpse."
Her fingers twitched like she wanted to cuff him again, but instead, she just shoved the back of his knee hard enough to make him stumble toward the bedding.
Jorik didn't argue. He sank onto the furs, the scent of pine resin and old sweat rising around him. The moment his back hit the pelts, exhaustion dragged at him like an anchor.
Mara snorted, turning away to stir the pot again. "Good. Stay there until you stop looking like something the wolves chewed on and spat out."
Jorik grunted in response and closed his eyes—not to sleep, but to focus inward.
He then silently called out in his mind: Status.
A translucent blue window instantly materialized in the darkness behind his closed eyelids.
----
STATUS
Name: Jorik
Race: Human
Age: 19
Gender: Male
Basic Stats
Strength: 4 (Average 5)
Agility: 5 (Average 5)
Stamina: 4 (Average 5)
Mana: 9 (Newly awakened ≈ 1)
Willpower: 9 (Average 4)
Unique Skills
Breeding Healing: Effect: Heals any female by applying the host's potent breeding semen. Application methods: oral ingestion (feeding) or direct insemination (filling the womb).
Breeding Regeneration: Effect: The host regenerates health, stamina, and mana through sexual intercourse. The female partner simultaneously receives equivalent regenerative benefits.
Breeding Bull: Effect: The host possesses unlimited sexual stamina and inexhaustible semen production. Ejaculation volume and recovery time have no upper limit, allowing continuous insemination.
Breeding Empowerment: Effect: Mating with different females grants the host temporary unique buffs derived from each woman's individual traits. The host may also transfer any currently held buff to another female via direct physical contact.
Breeding Gain: Effect: Each mating session awards stat points to the host, permanently increasing his attributes. The partnered female may also receive a portion (or all) of these stat gains if the host explicitly permits it when prompted by the system.
----
Jorik exhaled through his nose, as the blue text seared itself into his vision. The numbers pulsed with an eerie luminescence—particularly his mana and willpower stats, which dwarfed the benchmarks listed beside them.
His fingers twitched against the furs.
Unlimited stamina. Regeneration through sex.
The implications coiled hot in his gut before Mara's voice cut through his thoughts like a whip.
"Stop squirming," she snapped without turning from the fire. "You reek of nervous sweat."
Jorik clenched his jaw, willing the status screen to shift. It obeyed instantly, scrolling downward to reveal another section titled [Current Buffs: None] in mocking crimson.
No quest markers, no flashing arrows pointing him toward glory—just the brutal simplicity of his new reality. Power flowed through conquest, not charity. The knowledge settled in his bones like a brand.
But suddenly a familiar warmth settled beside him in the dark.
He hadn't even realized how tightly he'd been holding himself until that gentle pressure pressed against his side—and the breath he'd been carrying until now after awakening in this new body finally slipped out in a soft, unsteady sigh of relief.
He cracked his eyes open to find Mara stretched beside him on the furs, her warrior's gaze softened into something dangerously close to tenderness.
The firelight caught the silver threads in her braids, turning them molten gold, and for the first time since he'd woken in this strange body, the knot between his shoulders loosened.
Her calloused fingers brushed his temple—not the punishing crack from before, but the hesitant touch of someone remembering how to be gentle.
"You're burning up," she muttered, her breath warm against his cheek. It smelled of bitter herbs and the iron tang of blood—Mara had always bitten her words before spitting them out.
Jorik turned his face into her palm instinctively, his borrowed body responding to her touch before his mind could catch up.
Mara stiffened for a heartbeat, then exhaled sharply through her nose.
"Fool boy," she said, but her thumb traced the hollow under his eye where the fever painted his skin too bright.
Outside, the village sounds had dimmed to murmurs—the occasional scrape of a grinding stone, the low laughter of women sharing a skin of fermented mare's milk. The lean-to's walls trembled with every gust of wind, the leather seams groaning like old bones.
Mara's hand stilled on his face. "The mark changes more than your flesh," she said abruptly, her voice rough as uncured hide.
"It'll whisper to you. Show you things. Make you want things." Her dark eyes flicked to the entrance, where Garok's shadow had lingered moments before. "Don't listen."
Before Jorik could react, she hauled him against her chest, his temple pressing into the swell of her breasts beneath her leather wrap.
The sudden warmth of her skin seeped through the thin barrier, along with the steady drumbeat of her heart—faster than he expected.
Her fingers carded through his hair, blunt nails scraping his scalp in a rhythm that felt practiced yet awkward, like relearning a dance after years apart.
"You used to fit right here," she muttered, her voice thick with something that wasn't quite anger. Her palm cradled the back of his skull, thumb tracing the ridge of his ear.
The scent of crushed yarrow and woodsmoke clung to her, undercut by the metallic bite of blood—old stains on her wrap, fresh calluses on her hands.
Jorik's borrowed body remembered this: the way her ribs expanded against his cheek with each breath, the way she'd hummed tunelessly when night terrors shook him as a child.
Mara's grip tightened fractionally, as if sensing his tension. "Don't," she warned, but the edge in her voice had dulled. Her other hand slid down to press against the small of his back, where the fever burned hottest.
The contact sent a jolt through him—not pain, but something sharper. The mark on his palm pulsed in time with her heartbeat.
----
If you're enjoying this novel, please add it to your library. Comments and Power Stones are greatly appreciated!