Leveling Up by Defiling Milfs

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Name: Elira blair

Age: 29

HP: 1300/1300

Mana: 745/745

Essence: 0%

Quality: Outstanding (45%)

Description: A hardworking and calm woman with a genuine passion for helping young shamans...

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The sun had lowered from its high perch when Daniel stepped out of the staff room, a satisfied smile still curved on his lips.

Inside, Elira lay sprawled across the chair, her body limp and unmoving, eyes dazed, clothes half-discarded and tangled around her.

As he made his way out of the building and down the stairs, he encountered Cinderela.

Oops...

Keeping his expression neutral, he passed her without pause and continued toward the dining area.

Cinderela narrowed her eyes the moment she saw him — the sharp, knowing kind of side-eye that said she suspected everything yet could prove nothing.

Anyways, Daniel finished his lunch of chicken, brown rice, and salad, then headed out toward the training grounds to continue his training before sunset.

Hours blurred. Daniel and his comrades still could not execute the fourth form at will. Meanwhile, Pise, Zenim, and Tridon had yet to fully master even the third.

They were close, though — close enough that the wooden dummy looked ready to split under the next clean strike.

Soon after, Marco, Elira, and Cinderela left the training grounds and returned to their respective quarters.

The young shamans finished bathing at the well, then wandered the training grounds, enjoying the moments of daylight before sunset.

Except Daniel.

After making sure everyone had left the area, he slipped behind the well and concealed himself among a cluster of trees beneath the cover of thick bushes.

Kneeling on the ground, he dragged his finger through the sand, carefully tracing the ritual diagram for the pouch.

His eyes flicked back and forth between the pattern taking shape beneath his finger and the grimbook lying open beside him.

Once the circle was complete, he placed the cotton at its center. Next, set the raw hide he had harvested from the centipede beside it, followed by the pouch.

Then he recited the chant.

”Veiliquandè mikora jim bos ariqueisà.”

The sand gathered as though drawn by an invisible magnet, flowing toward the ritual diagram before rising into a dome of swirling grains. Thick black smoke seeped from the circle, staining the sand gray before bleaching it bone white.

Daniel quickly pulled his tunic over the ritual and fanned it with broad sweeps, dispersing the smoke before it could drift into the open and attract anyone’s attention.

One of the grimbook’s pages flipped on its own, then slowly settled back into its original place.

Daniel caught the strange movement from the corner of his eye.

Frowning, he looked down and reread the page.

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( Page: -5 )

{Skill}

Veil’s travelling pouch: A palm-sized pouch, capable of holding up to a kilo at its first level. Each upgrade increases its carrying capacity by an additional kilo.

The pouch remains invisible to all eyes except that of its crafter.

Required resources: 300 g of wool or cotton, 400g of Outstanding Quality hide.

Place the resources on the ritual diagram, and recite the chant ’Veiliquandè mikora jim bos ariqueisà’ to complete the crafting process.”

Current Max Capacity: 3Kg [ 29% ]

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While the pouch underwent its transformation, Daniel flipped to the last page of the grimbook and checked his progress.

”Seriously? Just one level? Wow, at this rate, it’ll take countless attempts just to reach level fifty,” he muttered under his breath.

Using the essence he had obtained from Elira, he invested every points into Intelligence.

Intelligence: 70 ~> 80

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(Page: -1)

Name: Daniel Dikson

Race: Human

Companion: Veilintina [Lust Demon]

Exp: 6709/60000

Level: 47

HP: 4900/4900

Mana: 5045

Charm: 30 [+]

Strength: 70 [+]

Dexterity: 50 [+]

Vitality: 50 [+]

Intelligence: 80 [+]

Essence Points Available: 00

Skill: {Voodoo Trap} {Pouch} {Mana Link}

Ability: {Third Eye} { Veil Incantation} {Eternal Eye} {Varitas Incantation} {Astral Ghost}

Combat Arts: {Shadow Stepback} {Shadow Jump}

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The higher his level climbed, the more EXP each new level demanded.

Progress became increasingly difficult, and if he wanted to advance at a reasonable pace, he would have to improve the quality of his Milfs.

...

A hand of sand shot upward, silently beckoning him to take the pouch. The moment his fingers touched it, the hand crumbled into loose grains and scattered across the ground.

Daniel picked up the pouch and ran his fingers over its surface. The texture felt like hardened leather, firm yet surprisingly supple.

”Looks good,” he murmured.

He tucked the grimbook away, then left the well.

Outside, he wandered through the marketplace alone. Although he spotted his fellow shamans browsing a few of the stalls, he didn’t bother joining them.

Instead, he headed toward the bakery to restock his pouch with snacks.

His supply of cotton had run completely dry, and only two dolls remained inside the pouch for emergency disposal.

”Sir, how much are the biscuits, and...” Daniel paused as his eyes settled on another tray. ”What’s that?”

The bakery owner smiled. ”Oh, that? That’s dried beef.”

’Jerky?’ Daniel thought.

Two hundred and fifty grams of dried beef and a dozen biscuits cost thirty silver. Daniel paid for them, tucked the food into his satchel, then wandered through the marketplace, chewing on a strip of the dried meat.

As his gaze swept across the crowd, he spotted Bernard moving with unusual caution, keeping his body low as though he were following someone.

What is he doing?

Curious, Daniel tailed him from a distance, careful not to be seen.

A few moments later, Bernard slipped inside a tavern, where patrons drank beer, got drunk, and gambled away their coins.

Acting as casually as he could, Daniel entered a short while later, keeping his expression neutral. He drifted to one end of the counter, where customers waited for mugs of beer and bottles of ale, using the crowd as cover.

Daniel narrowed his eyes as he watched Bernard speaking with someone at a table in the far corner.

Seated there was a man dressed in a black tunic, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over most of his face as he quietly sipped from a cup while listening to Bernard.

There was something oddly familiar about the man.

”Status.”

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Name: Klaus Marrow

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