From Slave to King: My Rebate System Built Me a Kingdom With Beauties!-Chapter 224: Invincible Touch [FIXED!]

Byung was travelling with Kraghul’s sisters, the rhythmic motion of the horse beneath him and Mazga’s solid warmth in front providing strange comfort despite the uncertainty of his situation. They had covered considerable ground since departing the clearing where they’d first encountered each other, moving west at a pace that ate up miles while remaining sustainable for the horses. But eventually, practical necessity forced them to acknowledge what couldn’t be ignored: night had fallen completely, transforming their surroundings into a landscape of shadows and uncertain footing that made continued travel dangerous even for experienced riders.

The moonlight that might have provided some illumination was hidden behind dense clouds that had rolled in during the late afternoon, thick and oppressive in ways that promised rain before morning. This made their journey through pitch darkness, the world reduced to what existed within a few feet of their position and nothing beyond. Even goblin eyes, superior to human or orc vision in low light, had limits when confronted with absolute absence of illumination

Thulga had made the call to stop with characteristic decisiveness, choosing a small clearing surrounded by trees that provided both shelter and tactical advantage. "We camp here," she’d announced. "Rest the horses, eat something, continue at first light."

Byung was genuinely relieved that he had managed to find these warriors—or rather, that they’d found him in that clearing. Despite not remembering what had happened in the prison, despite the confusion and disorientation that still plagued him, being with a group provided safety that solitary travel couldn’t match. But there was something surreal about all of this that he couldn’t shake, a sense that events were unfolding according to patterns he couldn’t perceive.

It couldn’t possibly be a coincidence that he’d appeared in exactly the location where Kraghul’s sisters would pass, that the timing had aligned so perfectly. The odds against such synchronicity were astronomical. Which suggested either incredible luck or deliberate manipulation by forces beyond his understanding. Neither possibility was particularly comforting.

As Byung watched the orcs make camp—unpacking supplies with efficient movements, tending to their horses, establishing a basic perimeter—he noticed something that confirmed his suspicious nature. They never actually slept in the traditional sense. Even when they appeared to be resting, sitting or lying down with eyes closed, they kept a subtle eye on him that was genuinely impressive because it wasn’t immediately obvious.

But once he knew to look for it, their body language told the story clearly. Mazga positioned herself where she could see him without turning her head. Roktha’s "relaxed" posture kept him in peripheral vision at all times. Thulga moved through camp in patterns that always maintained line of sight to his location. He was being watched constantly, monitored like a potential threat or valuable resource that couldn’t be allowed to slip away.

Their positioning kept him within their collective line of sight like he was a hostage rather than a traveling companion. The realization sent a chill down his spine despite the lack of overt hostility in their behavior.

The youngest orc, Mazga, approached him after the camp had been established and the horses secured. She carried something wrapped in cloth—travel rations, judging by the shape—and handed it to him with a smile that seemed genuine enough. "Here," she said cheerfully. "You look like you haven’t eaten in forever. We didn’t account for an extra mouth to feed, but we packed more than we needed anyway because Roktha always complains about being hungry."

"I do not!" Roktha called from across the camp where she was tending to her horse. "I just have a healthy appetite!"

"You ate three portions at breakfast," Thulga pointed out dryly.

Byung accepted the offered food with gratitude that wasn’t feigned. "Thank you," he said, unwrapping the cloth to reveal dried meat, hard cheese, and some kind of dense bread that looked capable of surviving months in a pack. "I appreciate this. Truly."

Mazga plopped down beside him with the casual familiarity of someone who didn’t understand or care about personal space. "So," she began, her tone conversational, "you’re really interesting for a goblin. Most of your kind I’ve met are either terrified of us or trying to scam us out of something. You’re... different."

They began to talk, the conversation flowing in directions that felt natural despite the underlying tension. Byung learned that Mazga was the youngest of four siblings—three sisters and one brother—and that she’d always been the "energetic one" according to family consensus. She asked about his height, his unusual appearance, why he seemed so much more put-together than other goblins she’d encountered.

Byung deflected where necessary, shared surface-level truths where it seemed safe, and generally tried to present himself as non-threatening and cooperative. He mentioned being from a mining settlement, talked about learning to defend himself out of necessity, made vague references to "changes" that had occurred recently without specifying what those changes entailed or how they’d come about.

The conversation remained comfortably superficial for a while—travel stories, observations about the weather, speculation about how much longer the journey west would take. But then, inevitably, it shifted toward the topic that clearly occupied the forefront of Mazga’s mind.

"Our brother," she said, her tone becoming more serious, "Kraghul. You said you encountered him. What was that like? Was he... was he okay when you saw him?"

Byung could tell immediately from the way she spoke, from the concern evident in her voice and expression, that these orcs genuinely loved their brother. There was no pretense there, no political calculation—just authentic worry for a family member who’d gone missing. Mazga’s eyes held hope mixed with fear, desperate for any information that might confirm Kraghul was alive and well.

But how could someone become so thoroughly messed up if he’d received this much familial love? Kraghul had been cruel, violent, gleefully sadistic in ways that suggested fundamental moral deficiency. The orc who’d attacked Byung’s settlement, who’d brutalized Maui, who’d reveled in causing suffering—that creature had been raised by people who clearly cared about him deeply. The disconnect was jarring, difficult to reconcile.

Byung knew with absolute certainty that he couldn’t trust anything that came out of Mazga’s mouth regarding her brother’s character. Family loyalty created blind spots, transformed monsters into misunderstood souls, rewrote history to favor blood over truth. Whatever she believed about Kraghul, it would be filtered through years of sibling affection that precluded objective assessment.

"He was... formidable," Byung said carefully, choosing words that were technically true without revealing anything actionable. "Strong. Confident. Made an impression."

Mazga smiled at this, clearly interpreting his vague response as confirmation of positive qualities. "That’s Kraghul," she said with obvious pride. "Always making impressions. Father says he inherited the best traits of our bloodline—strength, courage, determination. He’s going to make an incredible warlord someday when he’s ready to claim his own territory."

Byung made a noncommittal sound and took another bite of the dried meat, using the excuse of chewing to avoid having to respond immediately.

They talked for a few more minutes—Mazga sharing stories about growing up with three siblings, the competitions and rivalries and moments of unity that had defined their childhood—before Byung finally excused himself. "Thank you for the food," he said genuinely. "And for the company. But I should try to get some sleep. It’s been a very long day."

"Of course!" Mazga agreed, standing and stretching. "We’ll keep watch. You’re safe here with us."

The way she phrased it—"safe here with us"—carried implications that Byung didn’t miss. Safe from outside threats, certainly. But also safe because they were watching him, because escape wasn’t an option they’d allow.

Byung found a relatively comfortable spot near one of the trees and closed his eyes to sleep, though his mind remained active despite his body’s exhaustion. He could still sense the dark elf’s presence through that strange awareness he’d gained, could feel her lurking somewhere in the darkness beyond the camp’s perimeter. She was close—closer than she should be, closer than made any logical sense.

She had no obvious reason to remain tethered to him. Whatever had happened in that prison, whatever connection might have been forged, shouldn’t have been strong enough to make her follow him this far. Yet here she was, invisible and persistent, watching him from wherever she’d concealed herself.

Byung tried to ignore her presence, tried to focus on rest, but there was something fundamentally wrong with his system that kept nagging at his consciousness. The notifications felt muted, delayed, as if operating through interference. His abilities worked but seemed constrained somehow, limited in ways he couldn’t quite articulate.

He wondered if the system was restricted in how it could interact with him because it was yet to reunite with the sword that would unlock its full potential. The legendary blade that had supposedly chosen him, that had brought him to this world—maybe physical proximity to it was necessary for the system to function at full capacity. Maybe everything he’d experienced so far was just a fraction of what should be available.

Either way, this was tomorrow’s problem. Tonight he needed sleep, needed to restore his energy for whatever challenges awaited when they continued their journey west toward wherever Kraghul was supposedly located.

But then it happened.

A few hours into his attempted rest, Byung’s cock became unnecessarily hard—not the gentle arousal of a pleasant dream, but intense, urgent, demanding attention with throbbing insistence that made comfortable sleep impossible. He shifted position, trying to alleviate the discomfort, and looked to his left and right cautiously.

The orcs were all still awake, he noticed—or at least maintaining their vigilant half-rest state. They had secured the camp’s perimeter with professional competence, positioning themselves at strategic points that covered all approaches. None of them were looking directly at him at this exact moment, all apparently minding their own business, but he knew from earlier observation that this was deceptive. They were always watching.

But Byung could feel the elf closer than ever before, could sense her presence with clarity that suggested she was within arm’s reach despite remaining completely invisible. His newly acquired awareness pinpointed her location with uncomfortable precision—she was right beside him, crouched or kneeling in the darkness, separated from him by nothing but the magical camouflage that bent light around her form.

He gulped, his throat suddenly dry, because he could tell with growing certainty what she wanted. What she intended to do.

Then he felt it—a hand slipping into his trousers with deliberate slowness, fingers working past fabric with practiced ease. But there was no one visible, no physical form he could see or point to, just the undeniable sensation of touch where touch shouldn’t exist.