Chapter 63: Picking up a Succubus Commander after Work

Chapter 63: Młynar’s Autobiography: Picking up a Succubus Commander after Work

The memory was etched so deeply into his mind that Młynar froze, his usually impeccable composure slipping for a fraction of a second before the tired corporate facade slid back into place.

He stared blankly at the man standing on his doorstep.

“Doctor,” Młynar began, his voice dry and flat.

“While I have absolutely no interest in whatever grand conspiracy you are currently weaving, could you perhaps ask the young lady squatting on my roof to turn off the waterworks?

I haven’t stocked cold medicine in this house for quite some time.”

The Doctor let out a long, theatrical sigh of disappointment.

“What’s with that reaction, Młynar?

Shouldn’t you be overjoyed to see your old friend?

A little pleasant surprise for your mundane evening?”

Młynar’s expression remained entirely unreadable, a perfect mask of exhaustion.

“Doctor, I had foolishly assumed our eventual reunion would occur in a slightly more dignified manner.”

Despite the cold reception, the Kuranta stepped aside, leaving a clear path through the doorway.

The Doctor grinned, stepping out of the rain, and called up toward the eaves.

“Gravel, come on down!”

A slender figure dropped from the shadows with unnatural grace.

The pink-haired Zalak landed lightly on the cobblestones, a sweet, flattered smile blooming on her face.

“Oh my.

Am I truly included within your range of protection, Doctor?”

Młynar’s golden eyes swept over the barcode tattooed on her skin and the distinct knight emblem pinned to her gear.

“Your new knight?” he asked, his tone perfectly even.

The Doctor blinked in feigned shock.

Did this tired corporate wage-slave actually think a new knight meant he could finally stop working overtime?

“No, no, absolutely not!” The Doctor waved his hands dismissively.

“Gravel is a little gift sent over by the General Chamber of Commerce.”

Młynar leaned back against the doorframe, his posture radiating a deep desire to be anywhere else.

“I see.”

“Now, this is my new knight!” The Doctor gestured grandly toward the perimeter of the estate.

A colossal shadow blotted out the streetlights outside the Nearl family courtyard.

Patriot’s towering, heavily armored figure loomed over the high stone wall.

The ancient Wendigo simply poked his horned head over the barrier and offered a slow, surprisingly polite wave.

Młynar stared.

The Kuranta’s ears, which were perpetually flattened against his scalp in a state of chronic corporate depression, slowly perked up, inadvertently making him look a few centimeters taller.

He maintained his deadpan expression through sheer force of will.

“Am I to assume I need to prepare a guest room for your new knight as well?”

“No need, no need at all!” The Doctor chuckled, stepping fully into the hallway.

“I’ve already planned everything out for him.

Fake identity, background lore, interpersonal relationships, the whole package.

You only need to make room for the young lady here.”

Młynar let out a slow, measured breath.

“And I suppose your grand, overarching plan for yourself consisted entirely of freeloading at the Nearl residence?”

“Where else would I go?” The Doctor tilted his head, genuinely confused.

‘Did I miscalculate my affection points with this guy?

Are we not bros?’

Młynar closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Very much in line with your usual habits.”

He watched in resigned silence as the duo filed into his home.

The Zalak assassin named Gravel remained somewhat restrained, her eyes darting professionally around the perimeter.

The Doctor, however, instantly made himself at home, shaking the dampness from his coat like a wet dog and immediately rummaging through the kitchen cabinets.

“I still have to return to the office for overtime tonight,” Młynar stated, walking past them to grab his coat.

“Clean towels are in the bathroom.

And stop looking for the Krimar Milk.

You already drank three days’ worth of my supply yesterday.”

“Oh, what a waste,” the Doctor muttered, looking visibly devastated.

“I didn’t even get the chance to drink it.

I left the cartons sitting on a desk back at the Chamber of Commerce.”

Młynar paused, his hand on the doorknob.

“…I will stop by the convenience store on my way back.

If you require anything else, go bother Maria.”

Right on cue, the heavy wooden door to the family forge creaked open.

Little Maria peeked out, her face smudged with grease.

She blinked at the man standing in her hallway.

“…Mr.

Thief?”

She immediately slapped both hands over her mouth, her eyes widening in horror.

But the damage was done.

Młynar slowly turned his head.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

“Maria.

Did you just admit to watching him steal our family’s household registration book?”

Knowing she had just dug her own grave, Maria frantically backed away, her hands waving in a desperate panic.

“I-I have a perfectly good reason!”

For once, Młynar did not seem in a rush to return to his corporate masters.

He calmly checked his wristwatch.

Twenty-five minutes until his shift began.

He calculated the logistics: he could spare exactly ten minutes to listen to his niece’s pathetic excuses, then use his dormant Pegasus physical prowess to sprint twenty-five kilometers across the city in fifteen minutes, arriving at his desk with seconds to spare.

He would simply consider it a light cardiovascular warm-up.

Maria bit her lower lip, her golden eyes darting around the room for salvation.

“Because…

well, because…”

“Because what, Maria?” Młynar’s voice was dangerously quiet, radiating the distinct aura of an uncle about to deliver a severe thrashing.

“Because I was magically charmed!”

In a moment of pure, unadulterated desperation, Maria lunged toward the Doctor, who was happily watching the family drama unfold like a prime-time soap opera.

She seized his arm with one hand and clamped her other hand firmly against his cheek, desperately trying to construct a credible alibi.

“He looked at me with this incredibly charming smile, Uncle!

I completely lost control of my faculties!

I didn’t even notice him taking the registration book!” Maria, fully prepared to throw the Doctor under the originium-powered bus, locked the fragile tactician in an iron grip, preventing his escape.

“My willpower is simply too weak!

I couldn’t refuse a face like this!”

Maria’s palm was warm, roughened by slight calluses from her time in the forge, yet surprisingly soft.

The Doctor struggled against her grip, but the young Kuranta’s physical strength was vastly superior.

He ended up laughing out loud, completely exasperated by the sheer absurdity of the situation.

Młynar stared at the Doctor, who was currently being manhandled by a teenage mechanic.

He focused on that familiar face—a face that hadn’t aged a single day since they first met.

For a brief, dangerous moment, the tired knight actually wavered.

A memory surfaced from a dark, windy night long ago.

‘Shh, keep your voice down, Młynar.

I’m just going to steal a little bit.

I’ll leave two bars of pure gold in the dirt afterward.

Just this once, I promise!’

Back then, the righteous wandering knight, a young man who didn’t even know how to tell a lie, had found himself standing lookout for a shameless melon thief.

Looking at it from that perspective…

Maria’s excuse suddenly seemed entirely plausible.

Just as Młynar’s iron will began to crack, the Doctor ruthlessly shattered the illusion.

“I didn’t take the registration book,” he stated, his voice turning cold and professional.

“Feel free to discipline the child.”

Maria stared at him in utter betrayal.

“You sold me out!”

“That is the price you pay for touching my face without permission,” the Doctor retorted smoothly, prying her fingers off his cheek.

“Uncle!

Wait, I was wrong!

Don’t hit me!

You’re going to be late for work!” Maria shrieked, scrambling backward.

“Neighhhhh!”

The Nearl family discipline was truly a sight to behold.

Młynar snatched a rolled-up newspaper from the side table and began chasing her around the living room.

The terrifying aura of the tired wage-slave scared Maria so deeply that she nearly regressed to her primal Kuranta roots, mastering the ancestral horse neigh without a single lesson.

Gravel stood by the doorway, watching the chaotic domestic violence unfold with wide eyes.

‘Such terrifying speed…

is there another hidden expert in this house?!’

Outside the Nearl residence, perched silently on a nearby rooftop, a platinum-blonde shadow trembled.

The Armorless Union assassin flinched as that majestic, primal Pegasus roar echoed through the rainy night.

Her mind raced.

‘Is this a new Pegasus bloodline awakening?

Or has the old Wanderer finally taken up his sword once more?

I need to notify the Union superiors immediately…’She paused, her hand hovering over her communicator.’Wait.

If I report this, won’t they just assign me more overtime?’

She slowly lowered her hand, deciding that ignorance was bliss.

Miles away, deep within the neon-lit slums of Kawalerielki, a completely different operation was underway.

Texas and Exusiai stood on a damp street corner, diligently handing out boxes of low-grade Originium Suppressants alongside brightly colored promotional flyers.

“Come one, come all!

Step right up and support our brand new contestant, the Delivery Knight from Ursus!” Exusiai shouted, her halo glowing brightly in the gloomy alleyway as she projected her voice with maximum enthusiasm.

“Keep your eyes on Rhodes Island’s very own Delivery Knight!

He’s an Infected warrior we’ve poured our absolute hearts and souls into training!”

The downtrodden residents of the slums shuffled past in a miserable line.

Most of them merely snatched the free suppressants out of desperation, their hollow eyes showing absolutely zero interest in looking twice at the flyer for this so-called ‘Rising Star Knight’.

But Exusiai wasn’t discouraged.

She knew the psychology of the masses.

When the name ‘Delivery Knight’ inevitably exploded into the public eye during the Major, his connection to Rhodes Island would already be permanently etched into the subconscious of the Infected underclass.

These people endured their suffering simply because they had no other choice.

They were like a sealed bottle of carbonated soda, being violently and relentlessly shaken by the invisible hand of Kazimierz’s ruthless capitalism.

The pressure was building to a critical mass.

At this exact moment, as long as Rhodes Island could illuminate a different path for them—no matter how impossibly narrow or treacherous that path might be—they would swarm toward it.

They would cling to that hope like ants forming a raft in a catastrophic flood, entirely unafraid of death.

[Rhodes’s Note:

Enjoying the operation so far, Doctor?

(This daily grind literally pays the landship’s rent!

to use the links!)