Chapter 169: Timeline Scouting. +18 Oriax’s payment. Grayfia’s payment.

You ease yourself from Kallen's bed with the care of someone who has done this dozens of times. Her red hair spills across the pillow, her breathing deep and even. She murmurs something unintelligible and curls into the warm space you left behind, her fingers clutching at the sheets.

The hallway is silent. You pause outside each door, extending your senses. Yor's slow cadence. Arche's peaceful stillness. Charlotte's measured breathing. One by one you confirm what you already suspected. Everyone is asleep.

You step through the silver-edged portal in the main hall.

The 1002nd floor library opens before you like a cathedral devoted to knowledge. Shelves stretch impossibly high, their contents spanning multiple worlds. Jibril sits at her reading desk near the entrance, her blue wings folded neatly behind her, a quill moving across parchment as she documents something in her precise handwriting.

She looks up immediately when you enter, her golden eyes brightening with that particular hunger for new information that defines her.

"Master," she says, rising from her chair with a pure grace that could challenge royalty. "You're up late. Or early, depending on perspective."

"I would like your help with something," you say, settling into the chair across from her desk. "I need to search through failed timelines of the story Trapped In an Otome Game is Tough for Mobs, abbreviated generally as MobuSeka. Two specific ones."

Jibril's quill pauses mid-stroke. Her wings shift with barely contained excitement. "Failed timelines? You mean divergent branches where events proceeded incorrectly?"

"Correct. First, I need a timeline where Olivia never crossed paths with Angelica. She was harassed out of the academy without completing her education. I want to mark the moment after her exile when she's alone, in private and has recognized her future is a dead end."

Jibril's golden eyes are practically luminous. "And the second?"

"Angelica lost the duel against the five princes. Arranged-married to a common farmer. There should be an excellent opportunity while she's on the flying ship in her personal room, alone, facing the reality that the humble farmer she's soon to meet will be how her life ends."

"You want them in states of maximum receptivity," Jibril observes, already pulling volumes from nearby shelves with practiced efficiency. "When you reach out to them, they'll see something that offers an alternative to despair."

"That's the idea."

Jibril works with terrifying speed, her fingers dancing across crystalline indexing stones that project holographic timelines into the air between you. Branching paths split and recombine, showing dozens of MobuSeka variations. She isolates two within minutes, her wings spreading slightly as she narrows the parameters.

"Here," she says, pointing to a thread where Olivia's timeline diverges early. "This one. The academy bullying intensified without Angelica's presence creating any buffer. Olivia withdrew at sixteen. She's currently eighteen, working odd jobs in a port town, staying in an inn called the Saltwind. Her savings are nearly exhausted."

A second thread glows beside the first. "And Angelica. This branch. The duel went to the princes collectively. Her family's honor demanded compliance with the arranged marriage. She's also eighteen, on an airship called the Meridian, three days from reaching her new husband's farm. She has a private cabin."

You study both timelines, confirming the details match your requirements. Olivia alone in a crumbling room with nothing ahead of her. Angelica staring out an airship window at clouds that represent the distance between her old life and her new one.

"Mark them," you say. "Both location and time. I want the Gates to open precisely in those moments."

Jibril inscribes the coordinates into a crystalline marker, her quill moving with calligraphic precision. "Done. The Gates will open at the exact timestamps you've specified. Shall I prepare anything else for tomorrow's arrivals?"

"That's all for now. I'll leave you to your studies."

Jibril smiles, handing you the markers in a velvet case. "I'll be here, Master. As always."

You bid Jibril goodnight and descend through the library's crystalline corridors toward Albedo's chambers on the ninth floor. The door opens before you reach it, Albedo standing in the frame wearing nothing but a sheer nightgown that conceals nothing. Her golden eyes drink you in with undisguised hunger.

"You're late," she says, though her smile betrays no complaint. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten your promise."

"Never."

She takes your hand and leads you inside. What follows is entirely at her pace. Albedo pushes you onto her bed and straddles you with the confidence of someone who has mapped every inch of your body. She rides you slowly at first, her hands planted on your chest, her hips rolling in languid circles that make her breasts sway. Then faster, harder, her moans filling the room as she chases her own pleasure with single-minded determination.

She comes three times before allowing you to finish, each climax pulling sharper cries from her throat. Afterward she collapses against your chest, her wings folded beneath her, her silver hair spilling across your skin.

"Stay," she murmurs.

"I have somewhere to be at dawn."

She pouts but releases you with a kiss. You dress and step through the Dungeon Passageway to the Lucifuge estate.

The morning light has not yet touched the DxD world when you arrive in the servants' alcove. You move silently through familiar corridors, dismissing your clothing as you reach Oriax's bedroom door. It opens without sound.

Oriax lies on her side beneath silk sheets, her dark hair fanned across the pillow. A white nightgown clings to her curves, the fabric thin enough to reveal the shape of her body beneath. You slide into the bed behind her, your bare skin pressing against her back through the gossamer material. Your hand finds her hip, cupping the swell of it gently. Your other hand reaches around to cradle her breast through the nightgown, feeling its weight settle into your palm.

She stirs. A soft intake of breath. Her body tenses for a heartbeat before recognizing your presence, then relaxes into your warmth.

"Mm," she murmurs, still half-asleep. "You came."

"I promised."

You peel the nightgown up her body slowly, revealing pale skin inch by inch. She lifts her arms to help, the fabric sliding over her head and disappearing onto the floor. You guide her onto her back and move between her thighs, pressing your lips to her mouth in a lingering kiss, your cock rubbing the soft folds between her legs.

A gentle kiss to each lip. Oriax gasps, her fingers threading into your hair.

"Good morning," you say against her.

"What a way to wake up," she breathes.

You kiss and tease her until she is trembling, until her legs wrap around your waist and her voice cracks on your name. Then you push inside her, starting slow, letting her feel every inch. Her back arching off the mattress.

"This is your payment," you tell her, "for arranging Laura's exchange perfectly."

Oriax opens her mouth to respond but the words dissolve into a moan as you begin to accelerate. Your hips drive forward with increasing force, each thrust pouring raw magical energy directly into her core. The magic is pure and her use of it's excess is instinctive, changing it to restorative and enhancing magic weaving through her body with every penetration. She comes once, twice, her voice rising in pitch as the magic saturates her cells.

You do not stop. The pistoning intensifies until the bed frame protests, until Oriax's cries become wordless, until your own release floods into her accompanied by a final surge of concentrated magical energy. You feel the limits of her capacity as you empty inside her, the magic spreading through her entire body like wildfire.

Oriax lies beneath you utterly limp, her chest heaving, her eyes unfocused. Cum leaks from between her thighs in thick rivulets. Her skin glows faintly with residual magical luminescence.

You study her face and notice something unexpected. The fine lines at the corners of her eyes have vanished. The subtle creases around her mouth have smoothed. Her skin carries a luminosity that transcends mere health. She looks younger by at least a decade, perhaps more. If you did not know better, you would guess she was Grayfia's older sister rather than her mother.

Oriax blinks slowly, awareness returning. She raises one trembling hand to touch her own cheek.

"What did you do to me?" she whispers, her voice carrying wonder rather than alarm.

You look down at Oriax, her rejuvenated face staring up at you with those wide eyes that now carry a youthful luminosity she hasn't possessed in decades. Cum still leaks from between her thighs, the magical glow fading slowly from her skin.

"I simply fucked my Lucifuge maid while pushing her payment of magic straight into her," you say, your tone casual. "I thought it would be an entertaining method. I didn't expect the youthful restoration."

Oriax blinks, processing this. Her hand moves from her cheek to her stomach, where she can feel the residual warmth of concentrated magical energy still saturating her cells. A breathless laugh escapes her.

"Entertaining," she repeats, her voice carrying that dry edge even through her dazed state. "You turned me into a teenager because you thought it would be entertaining."

"More or less."

She shakes her head slowly, silver hair spilling across the pillow. The motion itself feels different to her, you can tell. Lighter. Without the subtle stiffness of middle age that had crept into her movements over centuries of service.

"I'm going to give a much gentler payment of the same kind to Grayfia," you continue, rising from the bed. "She's still a virgin, but she's had years of dilated time to prepare herself and anticipate."

Oriax's expression shifts. Something complex moves behind her eyes. Maternal instinct warring with the understanding of what Grayfia has been waiting for. What she has been preparing herself for across subjective years.

"If she accepts," you add, pausing at the edge of the bed. "Do you want to be present for your daughter's first time?"

The question hangs in the morning air. Oriax sits up slowly, the sheets pooling around her waist. Her rejuvenated body moves with a fluidity that seems to startle her. She looks down at herself, at the smooth skin of her arms, the firmness of her stomach, before raising her gaze to meet yours.

"Yes," she says quietly. There is no hesitation in the word, only a strange gravity. "I want to be there. She's been waiting so long. I want to see her face when she finally gets what she's been preparing for."

She swings her legs over the side of the bed, standing on unsteady feet. The magic hums through her, keeping exhaustion at bay despite the brutal session that preceded this moment. She reaches for a silk robe hanging on the bedpost, pulling it around her shoulders.

"Give me a moment to compose myself," she says, tying the sash with fingers that tremble only slightly. "I don't want her to see me looking like I just survived a war."

You nod and step toward the door. The corridor outside Oriax's bedroom is quiet, morning light filtering through tall windows. Grayfia's room is three doors down, and you walk slowly, giving Oriax time to follow.

You reach Grayfia's door. From within, you can hear someone already awaking. The faint rustle of fabric being adjusted. The creak of a bed frame as someone shifts position.

She knows you're coming.

You place your hand on the door handle and wait. Behind you, Oriax's footsteps approach, soft and measured. She stands beside you, her rejuvenated face composed into something between maternal warmth and quiet anticipation. Her dark eyes meet yours briefly, a silent acknowledgment passing between you.

Then you open the door.

Grayfia sits on the edge of her bed, her silver-white hair loose around her shoulders. She wears a simple white nightgown, her hands folded in her lap. Her red eyes find yours immediately, and in them you see the restrained eagerness that built across years of subjective time. A calm resolve that transcends nervousness.

"Good morning, my lord," she says, her voice steady. "I had hoped you would visit."

You step forward and take a knee before the bed, bringing yourself level with Grayfia's face. Your hand cups her cheek, tilting her chin up as your mouth finds hers. The kiss begins slow, your lips pressing against hers with deliberate patience. Grayfia's breath catches, her fingers curling into the fabric of her nightgown at her thighs. You deepen the contact, your tongue tracing the seam of her lips until she opens for you, a soft sound escaping her throat.

When you finally pull back, her red eyes are hazy, her lips flushed and parted. You draw her forward into an embrace, her body pressing against yours as your arms wrap around her waist.

Your mouth finds her neck. Grayfia tilts her head back with a gasp, her silver-white hair cascading down her spine. You kiss along her collarbone, your hands gathering the straps of her nightgown and sliding them from her shoulders. The white fabric pools at her waist, revealing the pale swell of her breasts.

You take one nipple into your mouth and Grayfia arches, her hand raising to the back of your head. Her eyes drift toward the doorway where Oriax stands, and she freezes.

"Mother?" Grayfia's voice carries shock. "You look... different."

Oriax steps closer, her silk robe tied loosely, her rejuvenated face carrying that youthful luminosity. She settles into a chair beside the bed with practiced grace. "He gave me my payment earlier. It was... thorough."

"Thorough," Grayfia repeats, her analytical mind processing the transformation even as your mouth circles her breast. Her voice wavers. "You look like my sister."

"Older sister," Oriax corrects with a dry smile. "I'm still older than you."

You switch to her other breast, biting gently, and Grayfia's retort dissolves into a moan. Her fingers tighten in your hair. Oriax watches with quiet maternal warmth, saying nothing more to distract her daughter from what is happening.

You lay Grayfia back against the pillows. Her nightgown slides down her hips, followed by simple white panties that cling to her dampness. You peel them away and lower your mouth between her thighs.

Grayfia's back arches off the mattress. "Ah, my lord, that's"

You take your time. Slow, deep strokes of your tongue that make her thighs tremble against your ears. She has been edged across subjective years, her body trained to respond to your touch through anticipation alone, and now that training manifests in how quickly she builds. Her hips roll against your mouth, her voice cracking on syllables that might be your name or might be nothing at all.

The climax rolls through her like a tide. Grayfia cries out, her fingers fisting the sheets, her entire body shuddering as wave after wave pulls her under. You continue through it, gentling your pace until the aftershocks fade.

You inventory your clothes and begin climbing her body with a trail of kisses. Her stomach. The valley between her breasts. Her collarbone. Her neck. Each press of your lips leaves her trembling more violently. You adjust your angle subtly, ensuring Oriax has a clear view from her chair.

Grayfia's red eyes lock onto yours as you settle between her thighs. Recognition floods her face. Ecstasy and terror and desperate want all at once.

"This is it," she whispers. "After all this time."

"Yes."

You hold her gaze as you push inside her. Grayfia's mouth opens in a silent cry, her nails digging into your shoulders, her virgin walls stretching around you with a tightness that makes your breath catch. You sink to the hilt in one smooth stroke, feeling the resistance give way, feeling her body accept you completely.

Tears spill from the corners of her eyes. Pure release.