The Bargain

"Isn't it almost dinner time?" "What's there to be happy about? It'll just be the same old dishes... I'd love to have the Dragonsong Lalafell set meal from Russell Restaurant," the wind sorcerer couldn't help grumbling. "Locking us up here to work is one thing, but is letting us order takeout really too much to ask?" "Bear with it. After all, this is a five-star classified project. We all had to sign non-disclosure agreements before being sent down here," his water sorcerer companion chuckled. "Forget takeout; even if a mosquito flew in, it would be inspected dozens of times. I suspect the ingredients down here were stocked long in advance, all to cut off contact with the outside world as much as possible." A total of two thousand sorcerers like them were working in three shifts to construct the permanent Void Gate before them. By all rights, an ambitious spatial Wonder like a Void Gate, which could connect two entire nations, should require at least a Sanctuary sorcerer who had set foot onto the path of the space faction to participate. However, the most direct consequence of the sudden explosion of the Void Gate concept was the massive proliferation of "Void Gate sorcery spirits," enabling even first-wing sorcerers to influence spatial dimensions through them. In the past, only Sanctuary sorcerers could manipulate space because tools were scarce, forcing them to rely on extraordinary talent to make bricks without straw. Now that foolproof tools had emerged, the threshold for operators had naturally dropped... much like exquisite artisan workshops being supplanted by crude industrial mass production. The working sorcerers here were entirely first-wing and second-wing. The Throne Hall didn't care about their sorcery factions in the slightest, simply issuing a "Void Gate sorcery spirit" to each and every one of them. The legendary sorcerers had already established the sorcery structure for the permanent Void Gate, so the working sorcerers' tasks required no creative intellect whatsoever—only precision and prudence, filling in the Void Gate's sorcery matrix bit by bit at a slow yet steady pace. Most of them were noble sorcerers drawn from various administrative departments, belonging to the stratum of "idle noble personnel." Their routine duties were simple and leisurely, tasks that ordinary people could easily have handled. However, ordinary people lacked the qualification for the blessing of the stars, leaving room for corruption and dereliction of duty. These nobles, by contrast, would at most slack off and lie flat; they would never dare cross the red line. Rather than nobles, it was more accurate to describe them as tools whose capacity for crime had been surgically excised. The truly capable high-ranking sorcerers were all busy keeping the nation running and fending off disasters, so the drudgery of constructing the Void Gate—a task that strictly required sorcerers—fell squarely onto their shoulders. Precisely because they were nobles of old, even after the starry sky shattered and high nobility began crossing boundaries to vie for power, these middle-tier nobles still placed national interests first; abiding by rules and laws had become an unbreakable conviction for them. Throughout the aftermath of the starry sky's shattering, far from plunging into chaos, the Starry Country had displayed an astonishing degree of organizational cohesion, all thanks to this stratum of middle-tier nobles who kept society running by sheer inertia. Tools who possess ability yet also have vulnerabilities are the firmest cornerstones of order. And so, the two sorcerers merely grumbled about the food while their hands continued to meticulously fill in the Void Gate matrix. "What I really don't get is why they need this much secrecy. Would anyone actually dare to come sabotage the Void Gate?" "The Throne Hall thinks it's a possibility, at least. Just from what we can see, three Sanctuary sorcerers take turns standing guard, and I'd bet anything there's a legendary sorcerer protecting this place as well," the water sorcerer smiled. "For all we know, enemies might have already slipped in on reconnaissance." "You said it yourself—there are Sanctuary sorcerers, a legendary sorcerer, and two thousand sorcerers here. If I were the infiltrator, I'd definitely be terrified out of my mind, huddled in the shadows shivering and trembling." The sorcerers had guessed correctly: the infiltrators were indeed huddled together in the shadows, their bodies trembling faintly, and even deep in their hearts... there was indeed a trace of apprehension and fear. The pink-haired maid embraced her master, her soft fullness pressing flush against his firm chest, her slender fingers slipping through his collar to stroke the broad curve of his shoulders. Despite her brazen words, Vichy did not immediately taste Yaxiu. She quietly locked eyes with him, while Yaxiu had to muster nearly all his strength just to keep from averting his gaze... He didn't know why, but he felt that looking away now would be admitting defeat. He could surrender to a maid, but he refused to expose weakness before the Spectre Prophet. At this moment, they were no longer an affectionate master and servant, but a supervisor and a prisoner. They were not speaking of feelings, but of an exchange of interests. He had to pay a price in exchange for Vichy's restraint, while Vichy needed to extract resources from him to advance... This was a transaction. "Are you ready?" She tilted her head, the smile at the corners of her eyes resembling the sinister grin of a demon about to reap a soul. "Have you fallen in love with me already?" Yaxiu did not reply. Taking the initiative, he wrapped an arm around Vichy's waist and leaned in for a kiss. Yet Vichy tilted her head back, dodging his attempt to throw himself into the net, and cupped his cheeks with both hands. She arched an eyebrow, her smile radiating an uncompromising haughtiness. "This time, we go by my pace." Vichy lightly pecked Yaxiu's lips without deepening the kiss, as if testing which part tasted best. After repeated trials, she seemed to decide that Yaxiu's lower lip felt the most pleasant and sensual to kiss. She took it into her mouth for a good while before separating with a soft *pop*. Their long breaths mingled against each other's faces, and their tightly pressed chests beat like war drums. Before they knew it, Vichy was sitting in Yaxiu's lap, her thighs, hugged snugly in purple stockings, clamping around his waist as if the two of them were melting into one. Vichy tilted Yaxiu's chin up, the corners of her mouth curling, her eyes brimming with mischievous playfulness. "Stick your tongue out." Yaxiu's pupils shrank. He glared fiercely at Vichy, adopting an exasperated front to mask his embarrassment. "How could you—you're not allowed to peek at me and them ever again!" "Yeah, yeah, I know. I won't look anymore." Her utterly insincere brush-off made the corner of Yaxiu's mouth twitch. Reluctantly, he stuck out his tongue, intending to just go through the motions with her as well. Soon, however, he was forced to deploy real technique—Vichy held herself so high and acted so stubbornly tough, yet her technique was surprisingly clumsy, worse even than Sword Princess's. Though Sword Princess suffered defeat after defeat, she would at least hold out until the very end, never retreating halfway through. Vichy, on the other hand, had none of the pride befitting the Spectre Prophet; the moment she realized she was at a disadvantage, she pulled away decisively, flushing as she quickly caught her breath. She paid no heed to the resentment and contempt in Yaxiu's eyes, proceeding at her own pace to carry out this "high-risk" ritual step by step. Yet she simply seemed inept at this sort of intimacy, even while insisting on seizing control. Yaxiu had no choice but to slow his own rhythm, giving this guy of the Trash Can constellation a sudden, inexplicable sense of superiority—even if the Spectre Prophet had lived for a thousand years, in this regard, he was still the superior one...