Her pussy clenched reflexively at his touch, as if her body expected him to fuck her again right there. Her nipples hardened further, leaking more milk.

She snapped her fingers weakly.

Mana swirled around her body, coalescing into fabric. A robe formed—deep green silk that covered the marks he'd left on her skin. The bite marks on her tits. The finger-shaped bruises on her hips and ass. The redness around her pussy from his brutal fucking.

All hidden beneath elegant fabric, though the wet spot forming between her legs betrayed what lay underneath.

Tianlong adjusted his grip, carrying her in a princess carry as he turned and walked back through the illusion barrier.

He materialized in front of Mirael and Seraphine.

Both women's eyes went wide with shock.

He was suddenly there again—but now holding another person. A woman with long hair and pointed ears, dressed in expensive-looking robes. Her face was flushed red, eyes glazed. She looked like she was barely conscious.

"Where did—" Mirael started.

"Take me to your dormitory," Tianlong said flatly. "My wife needs rest."

Both women exchanged terrified glances. His wife? When did she appear? Where had she been?

But before either could process that—

Tianlong snapped his fingers.

The half-dead body of Aelion—still crumpled against the altar where Lyraen had thrown him—suddenly lifted into the air. His broken form hovered, suspended by invisible force.

The blood covering his body began drying, flaking off and dissolving into particles of light. Green energy swirled around him—vital Qi flooding his damaged meridians, repairing torn tissues, mending broken bones.

His chest, which had barely been moving, suddenly expanded with a full breath. Color returned to his face. The swelling around his eyes reduced slightly.

Tianlong's Qi was forcibly stabilizing him, keeping him from dying while beginning the healing process.

"Come on, move," Tianlong said coldly. "Before I cut off your knees and drag you there myself."

Both women scrambled to their feet immediately.

Seraphine's legs nearly gave out again, but she caught herself. Mirael wiped frantically at her face, trying to compose herself despite the urine still soaking her uniform.

They started toward the exit, walking on shaking legs.

"Wait."

They froze mid-step.

"Adjust your makeup," Tianlong said, his tone conversational. "I don't want others seeing you in this state."

Mirael's hand flew to her face. Her makeup was completely ruined—mascara running down her cheeks in black streaks, lipstick smeared, foundation blotchy from tears and sweat.

Seraphine was in similar condition, though without the added humiliation of having pissed herself.

Both women fumbled with cleaning spells, weak mana forming around their faces to restore some semblance of normalcy. It was rushed work, imperfect, but better than looking like they'd been crying in terror.

They resumed walking, leading him toward the heavy stone doors.

The chamber opened into a long corridor carved from the same black stone. Torches lined the walls, casting flickering shadows. Their footsteps echoed as they moved—the two women in front, Tianlong behind them carrying Sylvea, and Aelion's body floating along behind him like a macabre puppet.

The corridor sloped upward, eventually reaching a spiral staircase. They climbed in silence, the only sounds their breathing and the soft rustling of fabric.

Finally, they reached a wooden door at the top.

Seraphine pushed it open.

Sunlight flooded in.

Tianlong stepped out into the open air and stopped, taking in the view.

They were in a massive courtyard—easily the size of several football fields. Manicured grass stretched in every direction, broken up by stone pathways and decorative gardens. Huge buildings surrounded them on all sides, each one at least four stories tall with gothic architecture that wouldn't look out of place in a fantasy novel.

No, this WAS a fantasy novel.

Spires rose from several buildings. Stained glass windows caught the sunlight. Banners hung from walls, displaying various emblems and house crests.

Students walked along the pathways in small groups. All women. Every single one of them wore uniforms similar to what Mirael and Seraphine had on, though with different color combinations denoting different departments.

Some carried weapons—swords strapped to their backs, staves in hand. Others had books or scrolls. A few were engaged in casual conversation, laughing and gesturing animatedly.

It was lunchtime, clearly. The courtyard was fairly active, though not crowded.

Not one of them noticed the group emerging from the underground entrance.

Tianlong observed it all with a detached expression. This was nothing like the cultivation world he'd come from. That world had been about power, survival, brutal competition. This place looked like a fucking boarding school for nobles.

"Don't even think about calling for help."

Both women flinched at his quiet words.

"I would kill whoever comes. Then I would kill you." His tone didn't change, remaining perfectly calm. "Very slowly."

He'd already sensed it—the weak mana fluctuations from both women as they tried to send distress signals to other students or faculty. Pathetic attempts that he could easily intercept, but the intent was there.

Both women immediately cut off their spells, heads bowing in submission.

"Good. Now move."

They started walking again, leading him along one of the stone pathways. They kept their heads down, avoiding eye contact with passing students.

A group of three women walked past, laughing about something. They didn't even glance at Tianlong or his group—as if a man carrying an unconscious woman and a floating half-dead body was completely invisible to them.

Another group passed. Same thing. No reaction.

Those woman's eyes trembled. Some kind of perception filter? Or were these people just that oblivious?

They walked for several minutes, crossing the courtyard and approaching one of the larger buildings. It was five stories tall with ivy growing up the stone walls. Windows lined every floor, many with curtains drawn.

"The women's dormitory," Mirael said quietly, her voice still shaking. "We... we share a room on the third floor."

"Lead the way."

They entered through the main doors.

The interior was surprisingly luxurious. Polished marble floors. Chandeliers hanging from high ceilings. Paintings on the walls depicting historical battles—all featuring female warriors, of course.

A few students lingered in the entrance hall, chatting by a notice board. They glanced up as Mirael and Seraphine entered, but their eyes slid right past Tianlong as if he wasn't there.

Magic. Definitely some kind of perception manipulation.

They climbed a wide staircase to the third floor. The hallway was lined with numbered doors, each one presumably leading to a dormitory room.

Seraphine stopped at door 317. She fumbled with a key, hands shaking so badly it took three tries to unlock it.

The door swung open.

Inside was a modest but comfortable room. Two beds on opposite walls, desks beneath windows, a small common area with chairs and a table. Personal belongings were scattered around—books, practice weapons, clothing.

"Get in."

Both women hurried inside. Tianlong followed, still carrying Sylvea. Aelion's floating body drifted in behind them.

The door closed.

Tianlong walked to one of the beds and laid Sylvea down gently. Her eyes were still half-closed, body still trembling with aftershocks. She made a weak sound as her back hit the mattress, legs spreading slightly before she caught herself and clamped them shut.

He turned to face Mirael and Seraphine.

Both women stood frozen near the door, looking like they wanted to bolt but were too terrified to try.

"This is such a nice academy," Tianlong said, his voice perfectly calm. "Now, can I know the way to become a professor here?"

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