Chapter 174: Elven graveyard. Carne Manor Dinner, +18 Angelica.

Young Mina is absorbed in a tablet displaying creatures she has never seen, her silver-white hair falling across the screen as she leans forward with predatory focus. Irene has settled beside her, pointing at something on the display with casual interest. Their attention is entirely elsewhere.

You seize the moment. Your hand slides beneath Shalltear's chin, tilting her face upward, and you lift her bodily off the ground with one arm wrapped around her hip. Her crimson eyes widen, her silver hair cascading downward, and then your mouth captures hers in a deep, possessive kiss. She melts into it instantly, her legs wrapping around your torso, her small frame pressed against you with desperate hunger. Her tongue meets yours with practiced eagerness, a soft moan escaping her throat.

You set her down gently. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen, her crimson eyes glazed with want.

"Enjoy yourself with the others," you tell her. "You've earned it."

Shalltear's fangs gleam as she smiles. "Thank you, my lord."

You turn to Jibril, who has been organizing data with meticulous care, her white wings folded neatly behind her. "I apologize for the distraction, but I got sidetracked this morning. I was supposed to resurrect another Elven graveyard. Which location did you have for me?"

Jibril's blue eyes sharpen with immediate recall. "The northern ridge burial grounds. Approximately three hundred souls interred over the past two centuries, mixed victims of Theocracy border raids." She produces a marker from her index, projecting a map into the air between you. "Here."

You memorize the coordinates in an instant. "Continue with Mina. I'll handle this quickly."

"Of course, my lord. We shall be here when you return."

You teleport.

The Elf Kingdom's northern ridge materializes around you. The burial grounds stretch across a windswept hillside, grave markers weathered by centuries of exposure, some toppled and half-buried in creeping moss. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the stones. No civilians are present, only the quiet dignity of the dead awaiting their return.

You raise both hands. The spell flows from you like breathing, golden radiance cascading downward across the entire hillside. Coffins lift from the earth simultaneously, soil cascading from their surfaces. Three hundred souls answer the call, their bodies reforming with the casual ease of someone sweeping a floor.

Men and women, young and old, their confused faces turning toward the sky as awareness returns. Some gasp. Others weep silently. A few simply sit up and stare at their hands as though confirming their own existence.

You do not wait for gratitude or questions. The moment the last soul stabilizes, you teleport back to Nazarick's library.

The scene before you has evolved in your brief absence. Shalltear has positioned herself beside young Mina, pointing at the Pokemon tablet with genuine enthusiasm. "This one is called a Gengar," she explains, her crimson eyes bright. "It is a ghost type. Like us, in some ways."

Mina peers at the creature with intense curiosity. "It does not look like any ghost I have encountered."

"Because it is from another world entirely," Shalltear says. "There are rules that govern its existence. Type advantages. Weaknesses. It is quite tactical."

Irene glances up from her own tablet, where Fullmetal Alchemist's transmutation circles glow beneath her fingertips. "This alchemy system is fascinating," she murmurs. "Equivalent exchange as a fundamental law. It reminds me of certain enchantment principles."

Jibril hovers nearby, her wings casting soft shadows as she monitors all three readers simultaneously, occasionally redirecting Mina's attention when the young vampire's focus drifts toward more specialized materials.

You stand at the edge of the reading alcove, watching your household settle into comfortable rhythms with their newest member.

You step through the Dungeon Passageway into Carne Manor's main hall. The silver-edged portal shimmers behind you as evening light filters through the tall windows, casting amber rectangles across the polished floor.

The hall is alive with returning pairs. Charlotte and Milly sit together at the long table, Charlotte's charcoal blouse with maid lace trim immaculate while she sips tea with composed dignity. Milly leans against her shoulder, blue eyes half-lidded with comfortable exhaustion.

"Charlotte corrected Olivia's grip for two hours straight," Milly reports, spotting you. "The girl has calluses already forming. Charlotte was relentless."

Charlotte sets her cup down with precise elegance. "Her footwork was adequate. Her grip was atrocious. I merely prevented her from slicing her own fingers off within the first week."

Near the fireplace, Shirley and Kallen have settled into adjacent chairs. Shirley's orange hair spills loose around her shoulders, her open-cup maid outfit slightly disheveled from what appears to have been an active afternoon. Kallen's red hair is tied back in a practical tail, her bunny suit exchanged for comfortable training clothes.

"We ran laps with Neia and Fiona," Kallen says, glancing up. "Neia's stamina is ridiculous. Fiona kept pace without complaint. I nearly died."

Shirley laughs softly. "You kept up fine. You just complain louder than anyone else."

As if summoned by the mention, Neia and Fiona enter through the corridor leading from the training grounds. Neia's blue shirt is damp with sweat, her bow case slung across her back. Fiona walks beside her with quiet grace, her silver-white hair catching the firelight.

"We managed forty-seven consecutive shots at moving targets," Neia announces, her sharp eyes bright with achievement. "Fiona suggested a breathing technique that improved my grouping."

Fiona inclines her head slightly. "She learns quickly."

From the kitchen doorway, you catch the scent of something savory. Orihime emerges carrying a tray laden with freshly baked bread and a steaming pot of stew, her festival miko outfit covered by a simple apron. Laura follows behind her, carrying plates, her silver-trimmed shrine maiden outfit covered by an identical apron.

"We made dinner," Orihime announces brightly. "Laura helped with the seasoning. She has excellent instincts for herbs."

Laura's pale cheeks color faintly. "I merely followed instructions."

"She added thyme at exactly the right moment," Orihime insists. "It changed the entire flavor."

Lisara appears from the training hall corridor, guiding Olivia by the elbow. The blonde former dock worker moves stiffly, her muscles clearly protesting the day's exertion. "She held a sword for four hours today," Lisara says with satisfaction. "Charlotte drilled fundamentals into her until her arms shook. Then I made her run obstacle courses."

Olivia groans. "I cannot feel my shoulders."

Euphemia descends the main staircase with Angelica beside her, both women carrying books. Angelica's red eyes are alight with intellectual hunger. "Euphemia showed me the magic theory texts in the library," Angelica says. "The dual affinity is more complex than I initially understood. There are intersections between light magic and enchantment that mirror what I already know from my world's magical theory."

Euphemia smiles serenely. "She reads faster than anyone I have ever met. We finished three introductory texts this afternoon."

Prim and Yor are the last to arrive, Prim's pink dress slightly dusty from what appears to have been outdoor activity. Yor walks beside her with calm presence, her dark hair swaying gently.

"We walked the perimeter," Prim reports. "Yor showed me how to identify animal tracks. She knows an extraordinary amount about wilderness survival."

Yor tilts her head. "It is useful knowledge."

The household gathers naturally around the table as Orihime and Laura add to the evening meal. Women settling into comfortable seats, conversations overlapping in the warm amber light.

You catch Angelica's eye across the table as she sets down the last of her books. She straightens her thick robe, that noble bearing still clinging to her despite the radical shift in her circumstances. You extend one hand toward her, palm up, a simple summons.

Angelica approaches with measured steps, her red eyes flickering between the other women for guidance. Euphemia gives her a small encouraging nod. When Angelica reaches you, she turns and lowers herself onto your lap with the careful precision of someone who has never sat on anyone's lap in her life.

The moment her weight settles, her entire body stiffens. Her breath catches audibly. The hard length pressing against her through the thin fabric of her robe leaves absolutely nothing to imagination. Her thighs clench involuntarily, her spine going rigid as a board.

"I did not expect that," she whispers, her voice barely audible.

Your hand finds her hip, steadying her, while your other arm wraps around her chest, pulling her back against you. The warmth of her body seeps through the robe's fabric, soft curves pressing against your torso. She is trembling faintly, though whether from nervousness or something else is difficult to determine.

"You should attend the school tomorrow," you tell her, your lips close to her ear. "Many of the books you need are in the private library here, but the teachers and equipment will help you practically."

Angelica swallows hard. "I would like that," she manages, her voice steadier than her body. "The theoretical texts are excellent, but I cannot practice from reading alone."

She shifts slightly on your lap, trying to find a position that doesn't press her directly against the evidence of your arousal. The squirming only makes things worse for both of you. Her cheeks burn crimson beneath her blonde hair.

The front door opens. Enri enters with Lucy holding her hand, both still wearing their matching sundresses though Lucy's pink dress is slightly grass-stained. Villetta follows with Arche, the twins Kuuderika and Ureirika skipping ahead in matching teal dresses, chattering about their day at school.

"We learned multiplication today!" Ureirika announces to no one in particular. "The lizard teacher said I was fast!"

"Velroth," Kuuderika corrects primly. "His name is Velroth, not 'the lizard teacher.'"

Orihime begins ladling stew into bowls as the household settles around the table. Angelica remains on your lap, her squirming gradually subsiding into a tense stillness as she adjusts to the situation. Her fingers grip the edge of the table for balance.

Conversation flows freely. Charlotte is describing Olivia's progress to Milly in clipped analytical tones. "Her wrist rotation was incorrect on every overhead strike. I corrected it seventeen times. By the end she managed three consecutive proper forms."

"That is impressive for one day," Milly replies, blue eyes bright with genuine interest. "Most students take a week to break bad habits."

Kallen leans across the table toward Laura. "So you cooked. With herbs. Voluntarily."

Laura's pale cheeks flush. "Orihime asked for help. It seemed practical."

"It was delicious," Orihime insists, placing a bowl in front of Lucy. "The thyme was inspired."

Lucy peers at her stew with wide eyes, then takes an enormous bite. Her face lights up. "This is good!"

Enri laughs softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "She ate three bowls at the park cafeteria too. I think she is growing."

Angelica shifts again on your lap, her breathing carefully controlled. You tighten your arm around her chest, and she makes a small sound she immediately tries to suppress. The table conversation continues around you both, seventeen women sharing their days with easy familiarity while the newest member sits rigid on your thighs, processing the reality of her new life one sensation at a time.

Dinner conversation flows around you like warm water. Kallen is arguing with Shirley about whether running laps counts as combat training. "It builds endurance," Shirley insists, her amber eyes bright with amusement. "Endurance for what? Running away?" Kallen retorts, gesturing with her bread. Charlotte interjects from across the table with surgical precision. "Cardiovascular foundation precedes all martial development. You cannot swing a sword if you collapse from exhaustion after thirty seconds."

Milly laughs into her tea. "Charlotte, you sound like a drill sergeant."

"I sound like someone who understands fundamentals," Charlotte replies coolly.

Your hand moves in slow circles on Angelica's hip, your thumb tracing the curve of her bone through the thick robe. She has stopped flinching at each touch, her body gradually accepting your presence as something other than threat. Her breathing remains elevated but steadier than before.

Orihime clears plates while Laura dries them with quiet efficiency, their movements synchronized as though they have been working together for months rather than hours. Lacus is describing a passage from one of the introductory texts to Alicia, her pink hair catching firelight as she gestures enthusiastically about magical theory intersections.

Arche rises from her seat, gathering the twins who have begun yawning despite their protests. "Come along, you two. You have school tomorrow."

"But I am not tired," Ureirika insists, even as her eyes droop.

Kuuderika takes her sister's hand with sleepy dignity. "We will continue multiplication tomorrow, Velroth said."

Villetta follows Arche, her hand resting on the small of Arche's back as they guide the twins toward the corridor. The children's voices fade, growing softer with distance until the sound disappears entirely.

You wait three heartbeats.

Your lips find the curve of Angelica's neck, pressing against the soft skin just below her ear. She gasps, her spine arching involuntarily, her fingers gripping the table edge. Your hand slides up from her hip, finding the fold of her robe and pulling it open. The thick fabric parts to reveal pale curves, her breast fitting perfectly into your palm as you cup it. Her nipple hardens instantly against your fingers.

"Ah," she breathes, barely audible.

Your other hand travels down her thigh, slipping between her legs deliberately slow. Your fingers find the warm junction of her thighs, pressing against soft folds through nothing. She is bare beneath the robe. Your fingertips trace her slit gently, feeling the heat radiating from her core, the faint dampness already gathering.

Angelica's head falls back against your shoulder. Her red eyes are wide, staring at the ceiling, her lips parted. Her thighs clench around your hand but do not close. She is trembling more violently now than when she first sat down.

Across the room, the remaining women continue their conversations. Shirley glances over briefly, a knowing smile touching her lips before she returns to Kallen's argument. Charlotte's blue eyes flicker toward you for a single moment, her expression unreadable, before she takes another sip of tea. No one comments. No one intervenes.

They all know.

Your fingers stroke her, petting the soft flesh between her legs with the same attention you might give to stroking a cat. Angelica's hips shift on your lap, grinding unconsciously against the hard length beneath her while your hand works between her thighs.

"Please," she whispers, though whether she is asking you to stop or continue, her body has already answered. Her wetness coats your fingertips, her breath coming in short shallow pants that she tries desperately to control.

Your fingers continue their slow play between Angelica's thighs, tracing the slick folds with teasing patience. She is dripping now, her arousal coating your fingertips as you circle her clit with featherlight pressure. Her hips rock against your hand in tiny involuntary movements, her breathing fractured into shallow gasps she cannot suppress.

You increase the pressure gradually, two fingers sliding along her slit while your thumb finds the swollen bud at its peak. Your other hand kneads her breast, rolling the hardened nipple between your fingers. Angelica's head rolls against your shoulder, her red eyes squeezed shut, her mouth open in silent supplication.

"Ah, ah, ah," she pants, each breath shorter than the last.

You work her steadily, building her needs without rushing. Her thighs tremble violently. Her fingers claw at the table edge. Then her entire body seizes, her spine arching, a strangled cry escaping her throat as the climax crashes through her. Her pussy clenches around your fingertips, wetness flooding your palm. She shakes for several long seconds, her noble composure shattered completely.

You turn her sideways on your lap, cradling her against your chest. Your lips find hers gently, kissing her tenderly while her body continues to twitch with aftershocks. She kisses back weakly, her eyes still unfocused, her breath coming in ragged bursts against your mouth.

When her trembling subsides, you lift her and set her on the table's edge. Her back faces the room, her legs dangling, her robe hanging open to reveal pale curves glistening with sweat. She looks at you with dazed red eyes, too overwhelmed to protest or question.

You begin kissing down her neck. Slow. Reverent. Each press of your lips drawing a soft sound from her throat. Her collarbone. The swell of her chest. Your mouth closes over one breast, tongue circling the nipple before you suck gently. She gasps, her hand finding your hair.

You move lower. Her stomach, flat and trembling beneath your lips. The dip of her waist. Her hips, where you pause to press a kiss against each bone. Then lower still, your mouth traveling the inside of her thigh with agonizing slowness.

Angelica realizes your destination. "You cannot mean to," she whispers, her voice cracking.

You spread her legs wider and lower your head between them.

The first stroke of your tongue across her slit draws a sound from her that is neither word nor moan but something entirely new. Her thighs clamp against your ears, then release, then clamp again as your tongue finds her clit and begins working it with slow circular motions. She tastes of salt and arousal, her body still sensitive from her first climax.

Your hands grip her hips, holding her steady as she writhes on the table's edge. You alternate between broad strokes and focused attention, building her toward a second peak with patience.

Behind her, the household continues their evening conversations at a slightly lower volume. Charlotte refills her tea. Kallen argues with Shirley about something. The fire crackles.

Angelica's fingers tighten in your hair. "Please," she breathes again, and this time there is no ambiguity in the word. Her hips roll against your mouth, chasing the sensation. "Please, please, please."

You give her what she asks for, increasing your pace, sucking her clit between your lips while your tongue flicks rapidly. Her second climax hits harder than the first. She cries out, her back arching off the table, her legs wrapping around your shoulders as wave after wave pulses through her. Her whole body convulses, her noble dignity abandoned entirely as she rides your mouth through an orgasm that leaves her boneless and gasping.

You rise, wiping your lips, and find her staring at you with an expression of bewildered wonder. Her cheeks are crimson, her blonde hair disheveled, her robe pooled around her elbows. She looks nothing like the composed noble who sat on your lap thirty minutes ago.

"That," she manages, her voice hoarse. "That was."

She does not finish the sentence.