Rise of the F-Rank Hero-Chapter 163: What does it do?

The Guest Palace suite was opulent, filled with the aroma of roasted boar, spiced wine, and freshly baked bread.

Oliver lounged on the velvet sofa, popping a grape into his mouth. Across from him sat Ariana, his timid, bespectacled scribe. Her hands were trembling as she held the ancient, leather-bound book Oliver had handed her.

"Read the passage, Ariana," Oliver commanded, swirling his wine glass. "It’s vital we preserve this... cultural history. The Archmage’s prose is legendary."

"Y-Yes, Sir Oliver," Ariana squeaked, pushing her glasses up her nose.

She cleared her throat, her face already pink, and began to read from [The Orc Chief’s Breeding Season].

"The... the Chieftain Grishnack looked down at the captured Elf Princess. His... massive, green cock... throbbed like a war drum, veins bulging along the purple shaft like tree roots..."

Ariana’s voice shook, and she squeezed her legs together instinctively.

"He... he spread her slender white thighs with his rough hands. The Princess wept, but her... wet pussy... was already dripping with anticipation, soaking the moss beneath her. Grishnack growled, ’You belong to the Horde now, little mare,’ and slammed his hips forward..."

Ariana slammed the book shut, steam practically rising from her ears.

"S-Sir Oliver!" she wailed, covering her burning face with her hands. "This isn’t history! This is filth! Why would the Great Archmage write this?! It’s... it’s pornography!"

"Because she was a woman of culture, Ariana," Oliver said solemnly, taking the book back and checking the page number with a nod of approval. "Don’t judge the ancients. Besides, look at the vocabulary. ’Throbbing war drum.’ That’s poetry. Now, transcribe it. We’re going to sell copies to the nobility. We’ll make a killing."

Click.

The bathroom door opened.

Steam billowed out, followed by Isolde.

She was wearing nothing but a loosely tied white silk robe. Her skin was flushed a delicious pink from the heat, and droplets of water still clung to her collarbone, sliding down into the deep, shadowed valley between her breasts. The robe was short, barely covering her ass, leaving her long, smooth legs on full display.

"Is the food here?" Isolde asked, walking over. The sash of her robe was loose, and as she moved, the fabric gaped open, revealing the side of a heavy, pale breast and a flash of a stiff, pink nipple.

She snatched a chicken leg from the platter and tore into it with primal elegance.

"You look refreshing," Oliver commented, his eyes drifting to the gap in her robe where her thigh met her hip. "And very... accessible."

"And you look like a lecher," Isolde retorted, chewing. She glanced at the flustered Ariana. "Stop torturing the poor girl, Master. She’s not ready for the Archmage’s private collection. She’s still a virgin who thinks babies come from holding hands."

Isolde sat on the armrest of Oliver’s sofa, crossing her legs. The robe rode up dangerously high, revealing her bare hip and the smooth, hairless skin of her upper thigh, stopping just inches from her crotch.

"Though," Isolde purred, trailing a finger down Oliver’s chest, leaving a wet trail, "I wouldn’t mind checking out what you got there. You said you kept the ’real’ treasure."

Ariana, hearing "Archmage’s treasure," instantly perked up, her embarrassment momentarily forgotten. As a mage, what more could excite her than the legacy of the greatest caster in history?

"Real treasure?" Ariana whispered, eyes wide behind her lenses.

Isolde stood up and walked to the door. She locked it with a heavy thud, then traced a rune in the air.

"[Silence Domain]."

A shimmering barrier covered the room. "Walls have ears," she winked. "But now, no one can hear us... or hear you scream."

Oliver grinned. He rubbed the ring on his finger.

Flash.

A pile of items materialized on the coffee table.

Ancient grimoires pulsating with dark mana. S-rank daggers. A crystal orb swirling with a galaxy inside.

"Oh my gods..." Ariana gasped, falling to her knees to inspect a book titled [Theory of Eternal Mana]. "This... this is the lost Grimoire of Eternity! This is priceless!"

"That’s just the appetizer," Oliver said, leaning forward. "I have some... very private collection items too."

"Private collection?" Isolde raised an eyebrow. "Don’t tell me it’s more porn."

"Better."

Oliver reached into the ring and pulled out a stack of books—mostly erotica—and placed them on the table. Then, with the reverence of a priest handling a holy relic, he pulled out the small wooden box.

He opened it.

There, resting on the velvet, were the white, lace panties.

"The Archmage’s..." Oliver whispered. "Panties."

Ariana stared. "The... Archmage’s..."

"They are pristine," Isolde noted, leaning in, her wet hair brushing Oliver’s cheek. "Even after centuries. No rot. No dust."

She picked them up. The lace was sheer, delicate, and the crotch was missing entirely—a crotchless design meant for easy access. Isolde hummed, running her mana through the fabric.

"It’s not normal underwear," Isolde said, her eyes widening. "It’s an artifact. Look at the stitching. It’s laced with microscopic runic symbols. Durability, Self-Cleaning, Scent Preservation... and..." She squinted. "Sensitivity Enhancement?"

"Sensitivity...?" Oliver gulped.

"The Archmage is indeed on a whole other level," Ariana whispered in a reverent tone, looking at the lacy scrap like it was a crown. "Even her underwear is a legendary artifact."

"So, what exactly does it do?" Oliver asked, eyeing the panties.

"Well," Isolde smirked, dangling the panties from her finger. "We have to test that out. Don’t we?"

She looked toward Ariana. Oliver followed her gaze.

Ariana froze. She looked between the two predators. "W-Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Ariana," Oliver said smoothly, standing up. "Didn’t you say the Archmage is your ideal? Your idol? Don’t you want to experience what it’s like to be in her shoes?"

"Or," Isolde cryptically added, circling behind the scribe, "here in her panties."

Ariana’s face went from pink to a deep, beet red. "M-Me? Wear the... the artifact? B-But I..."

"It’s for research," Oliver said, grabbing Ariana by the waist and pulling her close. She squeaked, her hands pressing against his chest.

"Let’s get you ready for the experiment," Isolde purred.

Isolde deftly untied the sash of Ariana’s robe. The fabric fell open. Underneath, Ariana was wearing simple, cotton underwear—boring and functional.

"Let’s get rid of these," Isolde whispered.

She hooked her fingers into the waistband of Ariana’s cotton panties and pulled them down. Ariana trembled, clutching Oliver’s shirt for support as she stepped out of them.

Isolde paused, staring at Ariana’s crotch.

There was a thick, dark triangle of hair between her legs. A full, untamed bush that covered her lips completely.

Isolde let out a low chuckle, reaching out to give the hair a few playful rubs with her fingers.

"Hm..." Isolde teased, brushing against the wetness forming on Ariana’s pussy. "You’re not shaving, little scribe. It seems like our absence made you negligent with your grooming."

She tugged gently on a curl of hair.

"Or maybe," Isolde whispered into Ariana’s ear, "you’re just keeping it natural? Well, it also has its own kink. A little jungle to explore."

Ariana was totally red-faced, her knees knocking together. She buried her face in Oliver’s chest to hide her shame as Isolde’s fingers continued to tease her nether regions.

"P-Please..." Ariana whimpered. "Just... put them on..."

"Patience," Oliver growled, looking down at her exposed, hairy mound. "We need to make sure you fit perfectly."