Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate - Chapter 298: Sanguin Bath
Chapter 298: Sanguin Bath
By the time it was over, the training ground stank of old sweat, scorched mana, and the faint metallic scent of blood.
Dominic stepped back, expression unreadable, watching his son from across the chamber.
Damien stood in the center of the ring, shoulders rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths. He was shirtless now—had been for the last hour—not because of drama, but because every method Dominic used demanded skin contact, pulse access, or bio-feedback.
And his body—
His body had changed.
Not dramatically. Not the kind of metamorphosis that made people gasp and point.
But it was happening.
Real time.
And beneath it all—
That burn.
That humming, coiling pressure beneath the skin. Like a second pulse riding just beneath the first.
Dominic hadn’t just pushed him.
He had shaped him.
Each time Damien got close—on the edge of Resonance, circling a Core Induction, just about to breach the rhythm of Pulse Circulation—Dominic would stop it.
Right at the cusp.
Cutting the power. Severing the thread. Letting the spark flash just long enough to burn a path, then pulling away before the fuse could light.
And Damien?
He was starting to hear the song beneath the noise.
’Partially kind of annoying,’ Damien thought, shoulders twitching with residual tremors. ’Letting me taste it. Then starving me of it.’
But he wasn’t angry.
He was focused.
Because that feeling—that almost—was teaching him more than any perfect method ever could.
He was being trained not just to endure awakening.
But to crave it. To recognize the exact moment it would happen. To meet it without fear.
Dominic circled him once more, stepping close. Not to strike. Not to command.
But to check.
And what he saw made him stop.
The glow around Damien’s limbs was faint—but present. Like mana had started tracing him. Not entering fully. Not circulating. Just noticing him.
As if the system of the world was starting to whisper, this one’s waking up.
Dominic exhaled once, slow.
Then he spoke.
“Good,” he said, voice low but definitive. Not cold. Not distant. Just… final. Like the verdict had been reached.
He stepped back, the pressure in the room easing—not completely, but enough to breathe without resistance. His arms folded behind his back, posture relaxing into something closer to neutral.
“That’s enough for tonight.”
Damien didn’t slump. He didn’t collapse or exhale in relief. He just let the air in slow and deep, steadying the tremor still pulsing through his limbs. His body was wrecked. Not broken—but reassembled with heat and pressure and that almost that wouldn’t stop echoing inside his bones.
Dominic’s eyes tracked him carefully as he spoke again.
“You’ll rest now. You’ve earned it.”
Damien nodded once, silent. No argument. Not because he wanted rest—but because he knew he needed it. The kind of rest that let the imprint settle, that gave space for the memory to root itself into muscle and marrow.
Dominic turned toward the chamber’s edge, tapping a few commands into the wall console. Lights dimmed gradually, and a nearby panel slid open to reveal the med-rest alcove—basic, but enough. A bed, a stabilizer unit, a diagnostics station already calibrated to Damien’s current vitals.
Then Dominic spoke again, quieter.
“You are not returning to Blackthorne tonight.”
That pulled Damien’s gaze. He looked over, brow lifting slightly.
Dominic didn’t turn to meet it—he kept his eyes on the chamber, the protocols, the atmosphere still thick with recent power.
“The moment we leave this place, it begins. Final approvals are done. Security will lock the route within the hour. Once we go, we don’t stop. Not until you’re inside the Cradle.”
He paused. Not dramatically. Just long enough for the weight to sink in.
“So we don’t let the feeling fade.”
Damien exhaled slowly, more through his nose than his lips.
’Makes sense,’ he thought. ’Not everything gets saved in the brain. Some of it… the body has to keep.’
He gave a slight nod.
“I understand.”
Dominic turned then, just enough to meet his eyes.
“Do you?”
Damien’s lips twitched—almost a smirk, but not quite.
“My mind remembers things well. But my body’s not my mind. That part’s new.”
Dominic didn’t smile. But there was a faint flicker of something close in his expression—recognition, maybe. Respect.
He gave one final nod, then stepped toward the control suite.
Dominic paused at the console, tapping in a secondary command. Another hiss of pressurized air sounded, and a smaller door—sleek, silver-edged—slid open on the far side of the training chamber.
From within, soft steam drifted out, curling in fragrant tendrils.
“I’ve already prepared the Sanguis Bath,” Dominic said without turning. “The mix was tailored to your current state. Stabilizers, core-primers, neural relaxants. And the bloodroot compound—fortified.”
Damien blinked once. Not in surprise, but in confirmation.
Sanguis Bath.
Of course.
An ancient rite, one practiced among the blooded houses with deep heritage and older secrets. The bath wasn’t just a luxury—it was a recalibration ritual. Something used only for heirs or combatants on the verge of evolution. A method to soothe the body while drawing out residual awakening echoes, helping the nervous system align with the internal pulse.
How did he know that?
The game mentioned it. But did the original Damien experience it?
No. Because the game didn’t allow the player to Awaken by any normal means, that is why Damien only knew the name, as the name appeared on the loading screen as an info dump.
’An info that is completely pointless to the player.’
But then again, this thing….
It was rare. Dangerous to replicate. Incredibly expensive.
And precisely the kind of thing Damien had expected.
’Of course he prepped that,’ Damien thought, stretching one shoulder until the muscle clicked. ’You don’t raise a weapon this far just to let it rust overnight.’
Dominic’s voice cut in again, sharp and clear.
“You’ll soak for forty minutes. Not more. The herbs will accelerate mana resonance if left too long. When the water starts to redden, get out.”
“I know,” Damien said simply, already walking.
His limbs still ached, but the fatigue now came layered with a clean kind of buzz. A hum under his skin, beneath the bruises and tremors.
As Damien stepped out from the chamber, the cool air hit his skin like a quiet reprimand. Not harsh. Just sharp enough to remind him he was still walking reality.
The maids were waiting—same posture, same precision. One held a folded towel with crimson trim, the other a mana-woven robe designed for optimal circulation post-soak. Both bowed slightly at his approach.
No words were exchanged.
They didn’t need to be.
Damien took the towel first, patting down the sheen of sweat and residual steam before shrugging into the robe. The fabric clung smoothly, tailored for a body under stress—light pressure around the shoulders, open weave near the core.
As they turned and led the way, Damien followed. The hallway ahead was dimly lit, softly pulsing with ambient blue veins of light that tracked their passage.
And for a moment—just a moment—his eyes slipped.
They trailed down one of the maid’s backs, then lower.
The robe she wore swayed with just enough curve to it. Elegant, efficient. But he’d been raised around performance like that—it wasn’t modesty. It was intention.
His gaze lingered.
’They’d taste fine,’ he thought, dryly. ’Silk-throated, mana-tuned, and probably trained in at least three different stim-enhancing techniques just in case their master gets bored.’
His lips twitched. Not a grin. Just a flicker of old instinct—carnal, automatic.
But then he exhaled sharply through his nose and looked ahead again.
’Not the time. Not the mood. Not the man.’
This wasn’t about indulgence. Not now. Not when everything he’d done tonight had been built on control.
He didn’t need a reward. He didn’t want the release superficially like this anyway.
He wanted clarity. And that meant no distractions—not even the appealing, mana-tempered kind walking three steps ahead.
Source: Webnovel.com, updated by novlove.com
