She had almost gone into a lecture of both but Cyril was not going to have any of it. She was quick to simply haul the child down to the river, on the southern side of the wall, to wash off. Priscilla found something out about her newfound hero -

Cyril hated the feeling of blood on her.

Priscilla had watched the G.o.ddess scrub, and scrub with a rag at every inch of her body. Places that would have been to immodest to show under the sun, Priscilla helped her with. Blus.h.i.+ng all the while at just how fine of a woman Cyril was. She had helped washed her mother, and her... belated best friend. Neither of them had been as plush as her. While she had all those good parts, thick thighs, soft and sizeable rear, and small waist. Not to mention how soft her skin was, she could feel the powerful muscles beneath those.

Not her b.r.e.a.s.t.s though, Cyril washed under there herself.

Still, it amazed her just how beautiful she was, and how deadly. She wouldn't ever forget the scene of her slicing off a dragon's head. The geyser of blood. The terrified retreat of the monster horde as their red eyes faded into nothing and ran for the forest with their tails between their legs. Cyril looked just like someone from one of those great epics at that moment. And she did it to save her...

Priscilla smiled like an idiot to herself as she splashed her feet in the slow-moving river as her mind slipped into her own little world. None the wiser that Cyril had only charged the dragon in a strange mixture of battle happy impulse, and a desire to just kill it. The killing part was habitual. Which gamer didn't dream to face off a dragon? Cyril was no different. She loved fighting BAMS, she loved it even more when there was sweet, sweet loot. Despite what others thought of her, most of her items were gained through her own efforts, only very few - the really cute ones - were gotten via the administrator panel.

Both the girls sat and splashed their feet in the water, each stuck in their own thoughts. Each beautiful in their own right.

The clanging of metal pulled each of them from their worlds and they turned to the noise at their backs. On the bank of the river, a group of five pristine knights appeared. In front of them was a maid, dressed in a stereotypical victorian era dress. At the front of the group was a young man, handsome and slender. Similar to Desmond, but with muscles. His short blonde curly hair was combed back, his blue eyes framed with a slightly tanned face. Dressed in a fine light velvet doublet and trousers, patterned with spades and pinstripes in an oddly fas.h.i.+onable way.

He stood just on the cusp were the gravel and fertile bank soil met the lush, and unburnt gra.s.s. He looked onto the two girls.

"And who are you two?" He asked.

At the sound of his voice, Priscilla shuttered, remembering who he was.

"Earl Havak!" She squeaked with the fear she failed to contain.

"Ah!" a.s.sem chuckled devilishly. "The lovely raven of the Hammel house." He smiled confidently, like a wolf who had its prey fall right into its lap. Priscilla gulped. Cyril felt the sudden s.h.i.+ft between the two. She didn't know what history laid between the two, but she wasn't so blind to see how to two reacted to each other.

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"Who are you?" The G.o.ddess asked the glow of her eyes hidden in the sunlight and the dangerous gleam.

"You will address Earl Havak as such, or not at all!" One of the knights barked halfheartedly before the man in question could fly into one of his moods again. Least he'd want to see something happen to these two angelic girls.

"Who are you?" Cyril repeated her question in spite of the knight's subtle help.

"I am Earl a.s.sem of House Havak, lord of Lanthra's Pa.s.s!" He huffed. "But since you are such a beautiful la.s.s, I'll spare you!" He puffed his chest as he pulled down on the hem of his s.h.i.+rt in discomfort. His maid was had half the mind to slap him upside the head. Clearly, the white-haired maiden looked like n.o.bility, and she practically screamed of wealth.

She knew of Lady Priscilla, but she could tell that it was the sister dress of the one Cyril wore. The fabric was something that looked even better than what the Emperor had, a far cry from some mere village girl. Yet he spoke to her as if she was that, a mere village girl.

"Cyril." The woman responded before she got up from the river. She helped Priscilla up but kept their hands in each other as Cyril lead her across the short stretch of water between the rock and the bank. She pa.s.sed the group, ignoring the stares and kept Priscilla from giving her partings with the Earl, least she'd have to speak more with him.

"Are you ignoring me!?" He roared, indignantly.

As if in response to his question, silence fell on the river bank.