The Iron Bloom's morning hum slammed into me like a Zenoite Krovar's tail as I staggered in from training, sweat-drenched and cursing N'Nazmuz's 30 kg burden grinding my bones. My muscles screamed from parrying Varkoth's shadow strikes in the pre-dawn chill, his Peak Scholar Darkness coils hissing "Supreme fool" as he slithered onto my arm, a Shadowveil bracer glinting red.
The tavern's smoky air carried Gromble bacon and ale, but the real heat radiated from Quad Storm's table, where Bera, Tira, and Lila sat, their glares sharper than a Crystal Wyrm's claws. Last night's chaos—me doling them out like auctioned Zoraths to Zephyr, Jogen, and Vira—had them seething. I swaggered over, groin guard etched "Supreme Sword Sleeps Here" clanking, ready to charm my way out.
"Morning, goddesses," I grinned, sliding onto the creaking bench, the curse making it groan louder than my joints. Bera, Middle Master Fire, her curvy corset barely holding her fury, slammed her ale mug, nails flashing like Teridian daggers. Tira, Beginner Grand Master Fire, her phoenix tattoo glowing on that thigh I couldn't ignore, crossed her arms, smirking like she'd already won. Lila, Middle Master Earth—my Tight Back masterpiece—sipped tea, her sly glance promising an earth spike to my pride. "What's with the death stares? Last night was just Supreme Elf fun," I teased, pinching Lila's hip.
Lila's earth spike grazed my thigh, missing my guard by a whisker. "You handed us out like market trinkets, Killy," she snapped, voice low and stony. "Bera to Jogen, Tira to Zephyr, me to share with Vira? We're not your toys."
Bera's nails scorched the table, leaving char marks. "You called my curves 'ripe melons' for Jogen to grab. You think that's a joke?" Her Fire Qi flickered, singeing the air.
Tira leaned forward, her tattoo pulsing. "You strutted around, sloshed, acting like we're here for your amusement. 'Fiery canyon,' 'tight back queen'—you're a Gromble, Killy".
I chuckled, leaning back, the curse slowing my shift. "Ladies, it was tavern chaos! Zephyr was drunk, Jogen's too shy to grab anything, and Vira? Just a pal to rile you up. My supreme sword's loyal to you three." I winked, expecting a laugh.
Bera's fireball singed my braid, heat kissing my scalp. "Loyal? You leered at Vira's 'Starveil gem' curves like you'd ditch us in a heartbeat."
Lila's tremor cracked the bench under me. "You think we're jealous? We're done being your props, Supreme Perv." Her glare could've petrified a Shadow Panther.
Tira's fire orb hovered, grazing my shoulder. "You don't get it, Killy. We're a team, not your harem. Last night crossed a line."
I raised my hands, Varkoth hissing amusement. "Alright, goddesses, maybe I got carried away. But you love the chaos! Bera, you lit up when I pinched you. Tira, you laughed at my 'canyon' line. Lila, you cracked that whip like you enjoyed it." I grinned, dodging another earth spike. "We're Quad Storm—chaos is our spark."
Bera stood, her corset straining as she pointed a fiery nail. "You don't respect us. You think we're here for your pranks and gropes. I'm done." She stormed off, plate half-eaten.
Lila followed, her earth spike crumbling to dust. "Find another 'Tight Back' to paw, Killy." Their boots echoed as they left, the tavern's chatter dipping.
I turned to Tira, expecting her to bolt too, but she stayed, her phoenix tattoo dimming as she sipped ale, eyes narrowing. "You're not squirming out of this one, Killy. Sit."
I shrugged, the curse weighing my shoulders as I grabbed a bacon strip. "Fine, fire queen. What's your deal? You're still here, so I must've done something right."
Tira's smirk faded, her voice dropping to a serious edge I hadn't heard before. "You're a storm, Killy, but you're tearing us apart. Last night, you treated us like prizes to toss around. That's not a team—it's a circus."
I blinked, caught off-guard. Tira, my fiery mirror, going deep? I leaned forward, the bench creaking. "Alright, Tira, let's talk straight. You're the strongest of Quad Storm, Beginner Grand Master Fire, yeah? If you led this team, and one of us—say, me—got cozy with you, what happens? Bera and Lila get jealous, start brawling, maybe ditch us. It'd fester, turn into a mess bigger than a Crystal Wyrm's tantrum. You think I don't see that?"
Tira's eyes widened, her mug frozen mid-sip. "You… thought about that?"
I nodded, the curse slowing my gesture. "I'm a pervert, sure, but I'm not dumb. I rile you all up equally—keeps the balance. If I pick one, the others bolt or burn me. Quad Storm's my crew, not my conquest." I paused, my grin fading. "And another thing—say you felt you were part of something bigger, something dangerous, like those ruin rumors. Would you tie yourself to folks, drag 'em into your mess? Or keep your distance, play it cool, so they don't get burned?"
Tira's jaw dropped, her tattoo flickering. "You're saying you keep us at arm's length on purpose? That all this Supreme Elf nonsense is… a front?"
I shrugged, Varkoth's coils tightening. "I love the chaos, Tira. The pranks, the curves, the tavern roars—it's me. But I know something's pulling me, like that damn amulet pulsing about 'the Child' and ruins . I don't chase it, but it's there. If I drag you all in too deep, what happens when it blows up? I'm not Goran, planning seven steps ahead, but I'm not blind either."
Tira sat back, stunned, staring like I'd sprouted a second horn. "Killy, I thought you were just a lust-crazed idiot. But you're… calculating. You're protecting us by being a jackass?"
I smirked, tossing a bacon bit. "Don't get soft on me, fire queen. I'm still the Supreme Elf, chasing skirts and glory. But yeah, I think a bit. Don't tell Bera—she'll singe me for being deep."
Tira laughed, a real one, not her usual fiery jab. "You're impossible." But her eyes held something new—respect, maybe. She leaned back, lost in thought, as I stood, the curse dragging my steps."
Gotta check on Stinky. Think about it, Tira. You're the brains—keep Quad Storm tight." I winked, leaving her open-mouthed at the table, her ale untouched. The tavern's hum faded as I stepped out, knowing she'd be chewing on my words for a while.
Tira sat frozen, her mind reeling. Killyaen, the crude prankster, had just flipped her view of him upside down. She'd pegged him as a chaotic fool, but those questions—about team balance, about destiny's weight—showed a mind sharper than his Pyroclast blades.
She bolted from the table, racing outside to find him, her Fire Qi flaring. He wasn't just a pervert; he was playing a deeper game, masking it with chaos. She vowed to keep their talk from Bera and Lila, hoping to soothe their tempers later.
At the Beast Tamer Guild, I found Stinky, my Middle Novice Earth beetle, scuttling in his stall, fist-sized and glowing from his breakthrough . I tossed him Crystal Worm dung, the stench making me grin as he chomped happily . Varkoth hissed, "Foolish beetle," but his tail flicked approval. I let Stinky crawl over my arm, his legs tickling as we strolled the guild's fenced yard, the curse making each step a slog .
Jogen, Beginner Master Wind, shuffled up, his shy eyes darting. "Killy, uh… about Bera. You really don't feel anything for her?" His blush screamed he was smitten, but her fire was all for me.
I clapped his shoulder, the curse slowing my arm. "Jogen, we had some steamy nights—her Fire Qi's no joke. But that's it. No heartstrings, just sparks. She's all yours if you can handle the heat." I grinned, leaning in. "Hell, take Lila too—one burns, one cools. Yin and yang, my friend!" I cackled, dodging his flustered swipe.
Jogen's face mixed relief and unease, knowing I'd bedded Bera. "You're… something else, Killy."
"Supreme Elf, shy boy. Go charm her—she's not glued to me." I winked, leaving him to stew as I returned Stinky to his stall, promising more dung tomorrow.
Lunch at The Iron Bloom was quiet—no Quad Storm. I wolfed down Gromble stew, wondering if the girls were still sulking or off causing their own chaos. The curse eased as I sat, a faint healing tingle soothing my training bruises. I shrugged it off—plenty of time to track 'em down.
Post-lunch, I hit Valthorne's forest to train, Varkoth slithering beside me. The sparse trees and rocky hills echoed Opeka, but Crestmoore's Qi-heavy air prickled my skin, even qi-blind. I drew my Pyroclast Dual Swords, their Rare-grade edges glinting, balanced despite the curse's drag. "Let's dance, snek," I muttered, launching into Storm Technique. Wind's Rebuke carved arcs, my muscles straining against the 30 kg pressure, while Thunder's Edge parried Varkoth's shadow tail. He hissed, "Weak fleshling," dodging with Peak Scholar grace.
I shifted to Vortex, spinning my swords to whip up a gust laced with Zenoite-barbed wire from my spatial ring . The wire's jagged edges slashed the air, snaring Varkoth's tail. He broke free, hissing, "Cunning fool," as I grinned, sweat dripping. I chained Heaven Splitter, the curse's weight slamming my blades into a boulder, splintering it. The impact jolted my arms, stamina draining fast , but I laughed, pushing harder. Varkoth's fangs grazed my thigh before I rolled, cursing the slowdown. We sparred till dusk, my body bruised but stronger, the curse's passive healing kicking in as I rested on a stump. I scavenged a Glowvine sprig, pocketing it for a prank . Varkoth coiled up, red eyes glinting. "Grow, fleshling, or perish."
Back at The Iron Bloom, I collapsed at my table, battered from training and two beasts—a Beginner Scholar Zenoite Krovar and a Beginner Master Shadow Panther—that ambushed us in the forest. My Pyroclast swords had carved through, but my tunic was shredded, and the curse left me dragging. The tavern was oddly quiet—no Quad Storm chaos. I ordered Gromble roast and ale, the curse easing as I sat, healing minor cuts.
The barmaid, her curves teasing my eyes, set down my plate with a shy smile. "Your goddesses? I overheard 'em talking about a new dungeon north of Crestmoore. Said they'd prove to the 'Supreme Idiot' they don't need him."
I sagged, the curse weighing heavier. "They think I see 'em as weak? Where'd they get that idea?" I muttered, shaking my head. The girls were off chasing glory, and I'd pushed 'em to it. My amulet pulsed faintly, whispering, "The Child stirs the storm", but I shrugged it off—ruin nonsense could wait. I trudged to my room, crashing face-first into bed, too tired to chase goddesses or prophecies.