South of the Radiant Mountains, within Auguste—the capital of the Kingdom of Thrace, renowned as the "City of Sunrise."
Though the war with the Kingdom of Cassander still raged, reducing Thrace's southern borders almost entirely to scorched earth and leaving its people displaced and torn from their families, Auguste, as the royal capital, seemed wholly untouched, remaining as bustling and opulent as ever.
This was even more true of the upper district where Thracian nobility resided. There, manicured lawns, lifelike reliefs, elegant Thracian spires, and stained-glass floor-to-ceiling windows abounded...
Compared to the ravaged south, it was no exaggeration to call this place a paradise on earth.
Sunlight washed over cobblestone roads, the fragrance of flowers drifted through courtyard gardens, and lavish carriages rolled past fountains—every corner radiated an aura of elegance and luxury.
The Foster family's splendid estate stood in the southeastern section of the upper district, known as the "Tulip Mansion" for its magnificent garden.
Count Donald Foster served as steward to the Third Prince, amassing wealth on behalf of the royal family. Consequently, though his noble rank was not of the highest echelon, he held a special standing and was privy to many secrets.
"Did you hear? Lord Donald brought back another beauty..." In the tulip garden, the gardeners trimmed branches and leaves while whispering among themselves.
"I saw that young, gorgeous lady enter with my own eyes." The younger gardener winked, his tone theatrical. "That face, that figure—tsk tsk, like a tender flower bud so exquisite no one would dare pluck it."
The older gardener merely sighed wistfully. "Aye, it's truly something to envy these great nobles. If a man could take a beauty like that to wife, his whole life would be worth living."
"Forget about a wife—I'd give anything just to be near her once. A pity she's going to end up as Lord Donald's mistress," the younger gardener said with a touch of regret.
The lady looked so young; giving herself over to Count Donald, a man in his fifties notorious for greed and lust, was truly a waste.
"Though if the countess finds out..."
"What of it? From what I know, she's far from Lord Donald's only mistress. Word is he's sired over thirty bastards, and he still lives as high and freely as ever."
"That's the life of a high-and-mighty noble for you..."
Right at that moment, a woman's coy protest accompanied by a string of bell-like giggles echoed from within the mansion: "Ah, Lord Count, don't be like that. We have plenty of time to enjoy ourselves..."
The gardeners held their breath at once, their minds wandering into wild fantasies.
Yet when it came to the count's private affairs, they dared not draw closer to pry. All they could do was continue feigning to prune foliage in the garden while straining their ears to listen.
Inside the spacious bedroom, a woman who appeared to be in her twenties reclined across the bed, her long black hair cascading past her shoulders and spreading over the sheets.
She possessed an exquisite figure draped entirely in translucent gauze, tracing tantalizing, half-concealed curves, with a generous expanse of porcelain-white skin exposed at her chest.
"Lord Count, please don't be in such a hurry. I'm... still a bit nervous. Could you fetch some wine for me?" The woman's eyelids fluttered downward, a flush creeping across her fair cheeks like a ripe apple.
"Of course, of course! Miss Leia, wait right here for me, be good, I'll be back in an instant!" Count Donald was entirely enraptured. He stared fixedly at Leia, naked lust burning in his eyes.
"Yes, my lord. With you here, where could I possibly run?" An alluring smile played across the woman's lips.
He turned around to fetch the wine, burning with impatience to drink and indulge with this Miss Leia.
Count Donald appeared to be in his fifties, with a bloated face, flabby ears, and a corpulent frame, though he dressed with extraordinary extravagance and had three solid gold teeth set into his mouth.
At this moment, Donald hummed a jaunty tune, his face flushed, trembling all over with excitement at the thought of the delightful moments ahead.
He had met this "Miss Leia" at a banquet. Supposedly a noblewoman from foreign lands who had fled as a refugee to Auguste, she was only eighteen years old—the very prime of youth.
Not only was she breathtakingly beautiful, but the peculiar garments she wore—known as "stockings"—piqued Count Donald's interest immensely, setting him thoroughly on edge.
The flames of lust blazed fiercely in his heart, impossible to suppress, let alone extinguish.
And so, at Miss Leia's request, Count Donald slipped into his private wine cellar, carefully selecting a vintage.
The moment he left the bedroom, "Miss Leia" couldn't hold back a dry heave, her expression darkening into a scowl. "That damned fat slob... he's making me sick to my stomach..."
A familiar voice sounded from the pendant hanging at her ear. "Guild Master, he who cannot endure small things ruins great plans! Our scheme is right on the verge of succeeding!"
"We'll remember your sacrifice, Guild Master..."
"Speaking of which, your cross-dress avatar is seriously gorgeous. You used Tifa's face model, didn't you? How about letting the boys feast their eyes again next time?"
"Piss off," Leia hissed in a sullen whisper, lying on the bed with a deadpan stare of utter despair.
"I hear footsteps! The target is approaching the room—he's coming back!" an urgent voice called from the pendant.
"Team A, prepare to activate the spell barrier, sound dampener, and anti-scrying wards."
"Team B, prepare for all contingencies! Stand by to protect the Guild Master!"
Leia instantly switched back to her shy, demure demeanor, propping herself up on slender arms and looking toward the door.
"Miss Leia, I'm back!" Count Donald pushed the door open wheezing, clutching an exquisitely packaged bottle of red wine, the rolls of fat on his bloated frame jiggling with every step.
Leia twirled a strand of hair with her finger, gazing at the man with eyes full of sultry charm, and murmured softly, "My lord... you've returned."
Under Count Donald's undisguised, voracious gaze, Leia languidly rose from the bed, picked up the bottle, and poured the translucent vintage into crystal goblets.
Yet, drowned in lust, Donald failed to notice a dusting of white powder slipping from Leia's delicate hand into the wine, dissolving seamlessly.
All according to plan!
Leia cheered inwardly, but hadn't anticipated Count Donald eagerly grabbing her wrist, aiming to pin her onto the bed.
Donald inhaled her delicate fragrance, brushing his hands over that smooth, delicate skin and through the lustrous black tresses as though caressing a priceless treasure.
"Miss Leia, my little canary, your beauty moves me to the core. Your long hair is as soft as satin, your skin like the finest silk..."
Spouting what he deemed the most touching sweet talk, he shoved his bloated, repulsive face forward, a pungent cloud of heavy perfume mingled with body odor hitting her squarely in the nose.
Every hair on Leia's body stood on end. Forcing an unnatural smile onto her delicate face, she used both hands to push against Count Donald's corpulent bulk.
"My lord, wait..."
"Wait for what? Miss Leia, my patience has its limits..."
An impatient frown finally crept onto Count Donald's face. His blood was already boiling with lust, heat churning in his gut; he couldn't endure another second.
Why were foreign women so troublesome?
Yet it was precisely this sense of mystery that had him completely hooked, sinking deeper and deeper.
Had he realized she was stalling for time? Alarms blared in Leia's mind. She hastily put on an aggrieved pout, tugging at the count's arm with a slight furrow of her brow. "My lord, that isn't what I meant..."
"Then what is it?"
Leia hesitated for a moment before whispering, "Lord Count, in my homeland, two people who share affection must share a drink before they can begin enjoying each other..."
Only then did Count Donald relax, a broad grin returning to his face. "Very well! Whatever my little canary says, I shall do!"
He patted his bulging belly with supreme confidence. Just as he went to raise the cup and down it, Leia lifted the goblet and brought it right to his lips.
She didn't forget to coo softly, "Come, my lord, let me feed it to you."
Count Donald felt his very bones turn to jelly. Nodding vigorously, he let Leia pour the fine wine down his throat.
Count Donald drained the cup in one gulp, wiped his wet mouth, and slurred in a drunken haze, "Good, good wine! Now, can we begin?"
"Le—Leia, here I come..."
He wobbled forward, about to pounce onto the bed, only to feel his vision blur.
He reached out to touch Leia's alluring body, but could hardly even make out the beauty's face.
Does this wine hit that hard?
That was the last thought that flashed through Count Donald's mind.
Right after, with a dull thud, the count flopped facedown onto the soft velvet mattress, falling fast asleep like a dead pig a mere step away from Leia's body.
"Leia, Leia..."
Even in his slumber, Count Donald was still murmuring the name that had him so thoroughly ensnared.
What he had drunk was a specially crafted "Drunken Dream" elixir, capable of plunging a person into deep sleep while allowing them to experience whatever their heart desired in their dreams.
Leia finally let out a long breath and muttered, "Holy shit, that was too close..."
She even kicked the man in the face with her foot. Only after confirming there was zero response did she completely relax, slumping back onto the bed while panting for air.
"A fat pig like you dared try something on me?"
That voice, originally delicate and extraordinarily coquettish, gradually deepened until it transformed into the clear timbre of a man.
Then, an even more startling sight unfolded: with a soft tearing rustle, Miss Leia's smooth, pale skin began sloughing off like a shedding snake, and even that exquisite face melted away.
In the end, a handsome blond man clad in robes appeared on the bed. Beside him lay a folded, translucent garment—a Doppelganger Robe.
Indeed, this "Miss Leia" who bore an uncanny resemblance to Tifa was none other than the Guild Master of Magic Coin, the Archmage Charlotte!
And the so-called "Miss Leia from foreign lands" was entirely a trap laid by the players of the Magic Coin guild. Having caught wind of Count Donald's lascivious reputation, they had concocted this utterly shameless scheme.
"Thank goodness this dead fat pig still cared about setting the mood. Otherwise, wouldn't I have become the second guy in the history of Elezerg to get screwed from behind? Damn it, if anyone ever found out, where would my dignity as the master of a top-tier guild go?!"
"Miss Leia... hahaha, come taste paradise with me..." Count Donald, sleeping like a dead pig, let out a lecherous chuckle as he muttered the name, presumably reaching some unspeakable climax in his dream.
Hearing those words, Charlotte felt a shiver of revulsion run down his spine. Fury boiling over, he delivered several vicious kicks to the corpulent body, cursing up a storm:
"You dead fat pig, I'll give you paradise! Fucking piece of shit!"
A barrage of national profanity poured from his mouth. Even Charlotte, who always prided himself on being an "elegant wizard lord," found it impossible to rein in his rage.
Little did he know that in the shadows of the mansion, his loyal guildmates had already used a recording stone to capture the entire precious scene on film, ready to immortalize it as a timeless classic.
Charlotte took off the ear pendant and snapped in annoyance, "Alright, get out here. He took the bait."
Instantly, the Magic Coin players revealed themselves one after another. They popped out from lush flowerbeds, stepped from behind opulent drapes, and dropped down from crystal chandeliers.
Vice Guild Master Mingyue clapped his hands, struggling to stifle a laugh. "Impressive, Guild Master. To take down a count of the Kingdom of Thrace so easily!"
Charlotte merely cast him a cold glance, giving him no warmth. "Enough. Go search him, grab the key, and let's get the hell out. I don't want to spend another second in this godforsaken place."
Weiai Faye picked up the Doppelganger Robe and asked curiously, "Doesn't our guild have Nüwu, an actual girl? Why did you have to go in yourself, Guild Master? Could it be... you've got some special kink?"
Charlotte retorted crossly, "Piss off. Look at Nüwu—does she look like someone who could pull off a honeypot? Before the fish even took the bait, she'd probably blast him to ash with a Lightning Bolt."
"Hehe, how could the Guild Master make me do something like that anyway?" Standing beside them, Feitian Nüwu shrugged, poked out her tongue, and flashed a playful grin.
Pointing at the count sprawled on the bed, Charlotte declared emphatically, "Besides... only a man truly understands what a man wants most!"
Weiai Faye was struck dumb, marveling inwardly at their guild master's utterly unhinged genius.
Just then, European Emperor sidled up with a cheeky smirk, hugging Charlotte's thigh and pleading, "Guild Master, please! Let the boys see your cross-dress form just one more time!"
"You get lost too!"
Charlotte kicked him away, deliberately imbuing the kick with a shockwave of force.
Clang!
European Emperor flew more than ten meters through the air, crashing violently into a wardrobe in the distance.
Mingyue's expression shifted slightly, and he rushed to wave his hands. "Stop it, quick! That's too much noise—our sound dampening spell might not even hold!"
"Oww, my god..." Crawling out of the smashed wardrobe, European Emperor rubbed his dented chest and spat a mouthful of blood. "Holy crap... Guild Master, you really meant it! You almost one-shot me!"
Charlotte cried out in mock anguish, "As Guild Master, think how much I've sacrificed for you all, and you still slander me like this!"
Feitian Nüwu fought hard to hold back her laughter and intervened to smooth things over: "Alright, let's hurry up and pack away everything valuable and all the intel. If we stay too long, it'll get tricky to clean up."
"Indeed, stop wasting time on this clown."
"Bumper harvest!"
"Holy crap, are counts in Thrace this rich? There's even rare-grade jewelry!"
The Magic Coin players opened their bags of holding one after another, sweeping away every valuable item in the bedroom like an autumn wind scattering fallen leaves.
Neither gold, gems, nor precious furniture escaped their greedy clutches. The unadulterated joy of ransacking an NPC's house was something only players could truly appreciate.
As for European Emperor, who had just provoked Charlotte, he was saddled with an arduous task: searching Count Donald Foster's person to find the key to the underground vault.
"Leia, Leia..."
In his slumber, the count continued calling her name in an ecstatic voice, drenched in sweat that had begun to soak his clothes.
With a face long as a fiddle and pinching his nose, European Emperor rummaged through the garments reeking of stale wine, sweat, and an unspeakable pungent funk.
Gritting his teeth, he muttered under his breath, "Abusing power for personal revenge! This is absolute retaliation!"
...
"My lord—"
A maiden's moan drifted from the bedroom, yet there was nothing erotic happening inside—it was merely an audio recording left behind by the Magic Coin players.
In the garden outside the window, the gardeners couldn't help marveling, "Tsk tsk, things sure are intense in there. Truly worthy of Lord Donald."
A guard at the door whispered, "Should we check inside?"
Smack!
The guard captain struck the soldier's head hard and scolded through clenched teeth, "Mark, do you have a death wish? Lord Donald explicitly said that no matter how much commotion comes from inside, no one is allowed in! Even if someone dies in there, we stand right here like good boys until the lord comes out!"
Rubbing the aching back of his head, the guard hastily nodded in agreement. "Right, right, Captain. I'll stay right here. I'd never ruin Lord Donald's fun!"
"Good that you understand. Watch yourself next time."
The guards stood stationed at the door with "dutiful dedication," listening to the wild ruckus echoing from the bedroom, unable to keep their minds from running wild with lustful thoughts.
Yet little did they know that if the door were opened, they would not see the tantalizing, romantic scene they imagined. They would only see the naked count strung up from the ceiling.
The spectacle could only be described as horrifying: sagging under the weight of that pale, flabby flesh, even the sturdy hemp ropes groaned under the strain.
And across Count Donald's thick, fleshy back, a line of bold, prominent characters was scrawled in naked mockery:
The Wizard Lord was here.
Chapter 587