Kobold Delivery System: The Goddesses Won't Leave me Alone!-Chapter 129

The next morning, Ragnar rose with the first pale light filtering through the cracks in the wooden shutters.

He stretched his broad shoulders, feeling the satisfying pull of muscles still warm from sleep, then pulled on his rough tunic and boots.

Without delay, he strode out toward the tribe center, his long strides eating up the dusty path.

The central square was already stirring with early risers, women balancing baskets on hips, men hauling tools toward the fields, children darting between legs.

Ragnar stopped in the middle of it all, raised his voice, and called out in a deep, carrying tone that cut through the morning chatter.

"People! I’ve found a way to bring water straight to your houses, no more hauling buckets from the well every single day!"

Heads turned. Conversations faltered. A few tribes members paused mid-step, exchanging skeptical glances.

Ragnar only grinned, undeterred. "Come see for yourselves. No tricks, no spells. Just pipes and a little cleverness."

Curiosity won out over doubt. A small crowd gathered as he led them to the well.

There, he had already begun rough work: wooden frames holding sections of hollowed bamboo and clay tubing, carefully joined and angled downward from the well’s stone rim.

He pointed along the lines he’d mapped in the dirt with a stick, simple paths branching toward the nearest homes.

"Run the pipes underground from here," he explained, voice steady and sure.

"Seal them tight. At each house, a simple tap, turn it, and water flows. No more breaking your backs at dawn and dusk."

Murmurs rippled through the group. Eyes widened as the practicality sank in.

A young mother clutched her toddler closer, whispering, "No more carrying those heavy things with the baby on my hip..."

Then someone cheered, loud, genuine, and the sound spread like fire in dry grass.

Soon the square rang with excited voices.

Men rolled up sleeves, women offered to help dig trenches, children scampered to fetch more tools. Under Ragnar’s calm directions, the work began in earnest.

Meanwhile, Leila stepped out of her small house, yawning, two empty wooden buckets swinging from her hands.

Her dark hair fell in loose waves past her shoulders, catching the morning sun in glossy strands.

The simple linen dress she wore clung lightly to her full curves as she moved, hips swaying gently.

Her skin glowed warm in the light, and though faint shadows lingered under her eyes from yesterday’s request, it only made her look more strikingly alive.

She approached the well, only to stop short. A rough barrier of planks and rope now ringed it.

No one else was drawing water. Frowning, she scanned the square until her gaze landed on Ragnar, tall, commanding, sleeves pushed up to reveal corded forearms as he gestured and explained to the workers.

She walked straight to him, buckets clacking softly against her thighs.

"What’s all this?" she asked, voice edged with confusion. "Why’s the well blocked?"

Ragnar turned, his blue eyes locking onto hers. For a moment he simply looked, taking in the way the dress hugged her waist, the slight sheen of morning dew still clinging to her collarbone, before answering.

"I’m running pipes from the well to the houses. Internal system. With taps inside.

You won’t have to haul water every day anymore. No more sore hands, no more straining your back."

Leila blinked. Her lips parted in surprise. Then, suddenly, her face lit up.

She bounced once on her toes, an excited little jump that made her breasts shift enticingly beneath the thin fabric.

"Really? No more lifting those cursed buckets? My palms were raw yesterday..."

She laughed, short and bright, pure relief shining in her eyes.

Ragnar raised a single finger, stopping her joy mid-breath.

"There’s a catch. The system runs on my schedule. You, and everyone else, get water for one hour a week. That’s the rule."

Her smile vanished. The light in her eyes dimmed, replaced by a flash of frustration.

"One hour? That’s barely enough to fill a single pot, let alone everything we need."

He shrugged, unapologetic. "Same for all. I don’t play favorites. No exceptions."

Leila bit her lower lip, hard, teeth pressing into the soft fullness until it paled.

She stared at him, conflict churning behind her dark lashes. Then her chin lifted, determination hardening her beautiful features.

"What do I have to do," she asked quietly, "to get more time?"

Ragnar’s mouth curved into a slow, knowing smirk.

He leaned in just enough that she caught the faint scent of woodsmoke and her clean sweat.

"Sit on my face," he said, voice low so only she could hear. "No underwear. For five minutes."

Leila’s eyes flew wide. Heat flooded her cheeks in a violent blush. "What?!" she burst out, louder than intended.

Several heads turned; she quickly lowered her voice to a furious hiss.

"Why does every request get more perverted? You’re unbelievable!"

He didn’t flinch. That smirk stayed, lazy and confident. "I can’t hand out extra water without something in return. Fair’s fair. No favorites."

Her hands clenched at her sides, nails digging into palms.

She glanced toward the workers happily digging trenches, then back at the well, then at Ragnar, his broad chest rising steadily, eyes fixed on her with shameless hunger.

She exhaled sharply through her nose.

"You’re right," she muttered, almost to herself. "You can’t make exceptions without... repayment."

She swallowed, throat working visibly. "Fine."

They stood close now, the air between them crackling with unspoken tension, her flushed skin, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way his gaze dropped briefly to her mouth before returning to her eyes.

Neither of them noticed the woman watching from behind a stack of crates near the edge of the square.

She was a full-figured, late thirties, with generous curves straining pleasantly against her bodice.

Her auburn hair was pinned loosely, a few strands curling against her neck.

She had slipped there minutes earlier, unnoticed, and caught every word of the exchange.

Her lips parted slightly as she listened, eyes flicking between Ragnar’s smirk and Leila’s reluctant surrender.

She stayed hidden, silent, drinking their secret like sweet wine.