Shining Shadow

The Ironspike Mountains faded into a jagged smear against the sky as we spilled out onto the endless golden plains of Faerindel. The sun beat down, turning the wildflower-dotted expanse into a shimmering sea of heat. My boots thumped the dirt, each step a battle against the 30 kg curse dragging me down, but I grinned through it. Stinky scuttled alongside, his Middle Knight Earth shell catching the light like a polished gem. Varkoth, my Beginner Master Darkness Basilisk Emperor, slithered ahead, his five-meter bulk slicing through the grass like a living shadow. "Pick it up, snake!" I barked, and he hissed back, "Father, my pace is perfection." Behind us, the girls—Bera, Tira, and Lila—rode their Zoraths, their glares sharper than any blade. They were still fuming from Chapter 55, when I'd stripped that redheaded bandit bare, tied her to a tree, and teased her to the edge of climax—licking her nipples and other tender spots, pulling back just as she trembled, letting her cool off, then doing it all again. After a few rounds, she'd spilled the loot's location, begging me to finish her off. So I'd unsheathed my "sword," thrust into her, and stirred my hips until she screamed her release. I untied her after, letting her stumble off, but the girls? They weren't amused.

"Move it, Killy!" Tira snapped, her phoenix tattoo flaring as her Zorath snorted. "Or I'll burn those fancy new trousers off you." She wasn't kidding—her Beginner Grand Master Fire aura could do it. Bera, her Middle Master Fire simmering, smirked from her mount, her corset barely containing her curves. "He'd enjoy that too much, Tira." Lila, her earth-rune skirt fluttering, added, "Focus, you idiot—we've got a city to hit." I flashed a grin, savoring their fury. My new trousers, snatched from the bandit loot, fit snugly—no more torn rags for this Supreme Prankster. "Keep dreaming, ladies. I'm untouchable," I called, winking at Tira. Her glare promised murder, but I loved stoking that fire.

By noon, we reached the Silvershade River, its broad, shimmering waters cutting through the plains like a blade of Liquid Aurorium. "How about a dip, girls?" I leered, dodging Bera's fireball as it singed my braid. "Not with you, jackass," she retorted. We crossed on a creaky ferry, the curse making me cling to the railing like a lifeline while the Zoraths pawed the deck. Varkoth shrank into his artifact form, coiling around my arm as a sleek red-black bracer. "Father, this suits the city ahead," he hissed. I patted him. "Smart snake. Let's not spook the locals—yet."

Ahead loomed Tradewind, the merchant city, its walls rising like a fortress of wealth, banners fluttering in every hue—crimson, gold, sapphire. Towers pierced the sky, topped with spires that gleamed like Geodrite in the sun. The gates buzzed with life: traders haggling over Starbloom Scepters, mercenaries flexing in Aurorium-plated armor, beasts snorting under heavy loads. We joined the line, the Zoraths stamping impatiently, and I couldn't peel my eyes off the women. Elves with hips that swayed like Sirenkin song, humans in corsets tighter than Bera's, even orcish lasses with thighs that could crush a Gromble. "Hells alive, this place is paradise," I muttered, earning a smack from Lila. "Eyes up, pervert," she growled. I smirked. "Can't help it, stone-hips. It's a buffet."

At the gate, a guard in Geodrite armor barked, "Entry fee—two Level 1 Spirit Stones per person." I handed over eight Stones, grumbling, "Highway robbery, but the scenery's worth it." He smirked, waving us through. Inside, Tradewind hit me like a tidal wave of Qi and opulence. Crestmoore was a dusty backwater compared to this. Cobblestone streets stretched wide, lined with stalls overflowing with treasures: Aurorium lanterns casting prismatic glows, pelts of beasts I'd never hunted, herbs pulsing with Wood Qi. Buildings towered three stories high, their facades carved with High Elven runes and draped in silk banners. The air thrummed with Spirit Energy, thick enough to taste, and the women—gods, the women. They strutted everywhere, their laughter ringing like bells: a Night Elf in a slit skirt flashing a thigh tattoo, a draconian lass with scales accentuating her curves, a human trader in a low-cut tunic juggling coins and winks. "This beats Crestmoore's sorry ass," I said, grinning ear to ear. Tira nodded, her eyes scanning the chaos. "Bigger markets, bigger trouble." Bera and Lila traded looks, their tension simmering but unspoken.

We made for the Starveil Auction House, a hulking stone beast with banners proclaiming every guild from Valthome to Solaria. Its arched entrance swallowed us into a cavern of noise—traders shouting bids, cultivators testing Qi-infused blades, the clink of Spirit Stones changing hands. Inside, the air buzzed heavier, the walls lined with runes that pulsed faintly. A familiar figure scurried toward us—Vynix, the gnome from Crestmoore, his eyes bugging out as he spotted me. "Killyaen! By the Dragon-Gods, you made it!" He bowed low, like I'd rolled in from a royal palace, his voice dripping with awe. The girls froze, staring. "Vynix, you little runt," I laughed, clapping his shoulder. "Missed me, huh?" He beamed. "Always, Supreme Prankster. I was in Crestmoore on business, figured I'd lend a hand at our sister house here. For you? Anything." Bera leaned in, whispering, "Why's he groveling like you're a king?" I winked. "Chaos pays, fire-tits."

Vynix ushered us to a private room, its walls etched with runes that dampened spiritual senses. "Safer here," he said, shutting the door. I dumped the loot—everything we'd hauled from the Ice Dungeon and beyond. Ember Drake scales, Crystal Serpent fangs, Frostfin scales, Ice Qi pelts, Glacial Serpent loot, Wraith Essences—the pile grew, but I held back the legendary stuff: my Pyroclast Dual Swords, Wind's Rebuke, Thunder's Edge, the Starlight Chain, Cryoshard Ring, Voidfrost Talisman, and the girls' gear. Then I pulled out the Royal Basilisk haul—10 kg of scales, two fangs, the Legendary-grade core, and the poison bag. Vynix's jaw dropped, his hands trembling as he lifted a scale. "This… this is rarer than that Crystal Orchid you sold back in Crestmoore! Killy, this'll turn the auction into a warzone—2000 seats, VIP rooms, and it still won't hold everyone!" I rubbed my hands, grinning. "You ready for another historic haul, Vynix?" He scribbled notes, muttering, "Three days 'til the auction. You'll need to wait." Tira smirked. "More time for chaos, Killy." I laughed. "Damn straight, firebird."

Vynix sorted the goods, his respect practically oozing as he cataloged each piece. The girls watched, still baffled by his deference. "Heard about your stunts," he said, glancing up. "Greenleaf's still cursing your name after that Lustfire fiasco." I shrugged. "Worth every bruise." Lila snorted, "You're lucky we didn't bury you there." Vynix chuckled, shaking his head. "Only you could turn a tavern into a battlefield and walk out grinning." He paused, eyeing the Basilisk core. "This'll fetch a fortune—maybe enough to buy half this city." I leaned back, arms crossed. "Good. Let's make 'em bleed Spirit Stones."

We left the auction house, the loot listed and locked away, and hit the streets to find lodging.

Tradewind's grandeur kept hitting me—fountains spewing Water Qi mist, bridges arched over canals where boats bobbed with glowing cargo, towers lit by Starforged lanterns. The women kept catching my eye: a beastkin trader with a tail that swished like a tease, a merrow lass whose scales hugged her like a second skin, an Ether Nomad in flowing silks that barely hid her assets. "I could live here," I mused, dodging Tira's elbow. "You'd bankrupt us chasing skirts," she shot back. Bera grinned. "He'd try."

We settled at The Golden Coin, a lavish inn with Teridian chandeliers casting a warm glow over velvet cushions and polished wood. The beds were softer than a Gromble's belly, and the bar downstairs hummed with cultivators swapping tales. I leaned against the counter, sipping ale, while the girls unpacked upstairs, their glares promising retribution for the bandit stunt. "Three days, huh?" I muttered to Varkoth, still coiled on my arm. "Time to stir the pot, Father," he hissed. I smirked. "Always, snake."

That night, I slipped out to explore. The streets glowed under moonlight, markets still bustling with late-night deals. A curvy Night Elf haggled over a Fire-etched Warhammer, her voice smooth as silk. I lingered, tempted to prank her, but Tira's warning echoed—"One more stunt, and you're done." I sighed, heading back. Three days in Tradewind stretched ahead, ripe for chaos. The auction loomed, promising wealth and mayhem, and I'd be damned if I didn't milk every second of it.

The next morning, I woke to Lila's earth spike jabbing my mattress. "Up, pervert," she said, her tone icy. Bera loomed behind her, fireball flickering. "We're shopping. You're carrying." Tira sauntered in, smirking. "And no tricks, Killy." I groaned, rolling out of bed. "Fine, ladies. Lead on." We hit the markets, their arms soon loaded with silks and trinkets, my curse-strained shoulders groaning under the weight. A busty trader winked as I passed, and I grinned back—until Bera's elbow found my ribs. "Eyes forward," she hissed. I chuckled. "Can't blame a man for looking."

By midday, we'd scouted the city's edges—walls bristling with guards, canals teeming with trade boats, a colosseum where cultivators sparred for coin.

Tradewind dwarfed Crestmoore in every way: richer, louder, sexier. The women alone could've kept me here forever, but the auction was the real prize. Back at the inn, I collapsed, plotting. "Three days," I muttered. "Enough time to make history—again." Varkoth hissed agreement, and the girls' glares sharpened. Whatever came next, Tradewind wouldn't forget Killyaen, the Supreme Prankster.