Killed by the Hero. Reincarnated for Revenge... with a Lust System

We had passed through the camp gates at dawn.

No fanfare. No welcome. Just the stares. From the soldiers, stuck on the edge of sleep, who saw our group advancing like a vision from a nightmare.

Kal walked at the front, his cracked shield strapped to his back. Irla was supported by Alik and Roud. And I was carrying Althéa.

Her body was light. Too warm. Too silent. But alive.

Her arms were wrapped around my neck, her legs bent against my waist. I could still feel the sweat on her neck, the tremors she was holding in, the exhaustion that smothered her. She hadn't said a word since we left the crypt. But her fingers hadn't let go of my tunic.

Two stewards escorted us straight to the large medical tent.

— Lay her down there, said one of them.

I set her gently on a clean cot. Priestesses in linen robes began working silently around her.

She grabbed my wrist just as I was straightening up.

— Will you come… after? she whispered.

I nodded.

She let go.

They splashed me with water. Rubbed ointment on my ribs. Wrapped my arm. The rest? Scratches. Nothing worth a bed.

— He wants to see you, said an armored soldier. High command. Now.

I nodded, pulling on my half-drenched shirt. Kal gave me a look of encouragement. Irla had fallen asleep, slumped against a pillar. Roud and Alik were drinking straight from the jugs.

I walked out.

And headed for the central tent.

The canvas was large. Sturdy. Two guards opened the flaps without greeting me. Inside: a table, maps, candles. Three figures around it.

And her.

Lady Althéa. Already changed. Hair washed, tied at the nape of her neck. A noble's campaign outfit: dark corset, sleeves rolled up, high boots. She had changed in less than an hour. And she already seemed to own the place.

At her side, a woman.

Older. More imposing. Dark skin, silver hair pulled into a ponytail. A military beauty. The kind of woman who disarms you with a glance, then buries you without flinching.

It was her: General Kaerys.

I stopped three steps away. And saluted.

Right fist on my heart. Left palm on the invisible pommel.

— Name? she asked.

— Sora.

Silence.

Althéa cleared her throat.

— He's the one, she said. The one who got me out of the ruins. Who led the survivors. And who killed the Alpha. Almost alone.

Kaerys stared at me without moving.

— Killing an Alpha Howler. With six recruits and a mana-drained archer. That's what they've been telling me for an hour.

I said nothing.

— And you… confirm it?

— No, I replied.

She raised an eyebrow.

— I'm just saying we all had a role in that fight. And it wasn't luck.

A pause. Then the faintest smile touched the general's lips.

— I like that.

She pointed to a chair by the table.

— Sit down, Sora. We need to talk about your future.

I didn't sit.

I stayed standing, arms crossed behind my back, eyes fixed on the front-line map laid on the table. Three red dots. Two retreat routes. And a black chasm to the East. The one the Howlers came from.

Kaerys crossed her arms.

— You're not a soldier, she said. Not in our records. Not in our archives. But you carry a weapon, you give orders, and you know how to kill.

Althéa leaned in.

— What he accomplished is more than some veterans trained for six years can do. He led, protected, anticipated. And he saved me.

Kaerys didn't look at her. Her gaze stayed on me.

— Have you commanded before?

— Ten years, I answered.

— In which army?

I raised an eyebrow.

— The one I left. Long ago.

She pursed her lips. A tension passed, thin. Then she nodded.

— We need guys like you. Not heroes. Not statues. Bastards who know how to survive. And make others survive too.

She turned to a sheet beside her. Already prepared. Already filled in.

— I'm offering you an assignment. Official. You're now a lieutenant. You get your own squad. Eleven men. Choose them. You'll be sent to the Eastern front in three days.

I stayed silent for a moment.

Then I spoke.

— I want to keep the ones from the mission. Roud, Alik, Irla… Kal. Even if they're not all soldiers. They proved their worth.

Kaerys looked up, surprised.

— And the others?

— I want to choose six myself. And I want you to send me their profiles. Skills. Backgrounds. Equipment. I'll select them.

She nodded.

— Done. And you're responsible for them. For good or ill. You fail, you die. Them too.

— Understood.

— And where are you sleeping?

I frowned.

— What do you mean?

She gave a faint smile.

— Officers sleep in the elite quarters. More rations, better care. And more supervision. You prefer staying with your men, or do you want your private tent?

I didn't hesitate.

— With them.

Silence. Then Althéa chuckled softly.

— He wants to play the brotherly captain.

I looked at her.

— No. I want to keep them alive.

She didn't reply. But I saw her expression shift.

Kaerys stamped the paper. Rolled it. Handed it to me.

— Go rest. You'll get the names tomorrow. At dawn.

I took the document.

Saluted.

And left.

The sun had risen. The camp's canvas flapped in the wind. The scent of iron, leather, and dried sweat wrapped around me. I walked slowly between rows of sleeping, wounded, or already dead soldiers. I didn't feel like sleeping. Not yet.

Then I saw the messenger.

A young man, in light uniform. Waiting at the foot of my tent. A folded note in hand.

— For you, sir.

I took it.

The seal was velvet. Black. With the mark of House Velnara.

I tore it open.

An invitation. Althéa wanted to see me. Tonight. In private. In her tent.

The moon was high when I left my tent.

The camp was half-asleep. Only a few guards remained at their posts, statuesque figures in the torch-lit dusk. The scent of leather and ash floated in the air, mixed with a lighter one — warm sand.

I walked without hurrying. The sounds were muffled. Fire, steel, war… it all felt far away, suspended.

Her tent was there.

Larger than the others. Draped in purple fabric, closed by a black silk curtain. Two magical lanterns floated on either side of the entrance. No guards.

I paused a moment.

Then pulled back the curtain.

The heat struck me instantly. A scent too. Amber, dried flowers… and noble sweat.

Althéa was there.

Sitting on the edge of a low bed, legs crossed, elbows on her knees. She wore only a light robe, open over her thighs. No corset. No armor. Her still-damp hair fell over her shoulders in dark strands.

Her skin glistened under the light.

— You came, she murmured.

I didn't reply. I closed the curtain behind me.

— I wanted to thank you, she said.

She stood. Slowly. Barefoot on the rug. Her robe slipped slightly over her hips, revealing more of her side, the beginning of a breast.

— You protected me. Carried me. Risked your life. I thought you were going to die.

She stepped closer.

Her gaze didn't waver.

— And I haven't stopped thinking about it.

She lifted a hand. Touched my jaw. Slowly. Then let it slide down to my chest, between the leather straps and the blood-soaked fabric.

— You could be anything, she whispered. A traitor. A monster. A rank thief.

She smiled.

— But I don't feel like asking questions.

Her lips brushed mine.

— I just want to see how far you can go.

She stepped back, fingers gripping the edge of her robe.

— Do you want to come in… or turn back, Lieutenant?

She let go of the fabric.

The robe dropped to the floor with a nearly obscene rustle.

And her body appeared.

Her shoulders were smooth, golden from the remains of fire and bath, tense with contained energy. Her arms, slender but marked, still bore the signs of noble training — a woman raised in tournaments and rituals, not in silk.

Her chest… My breath caught.

Her breasts were full, high, perfectly shaped. Not huge. But defiant. The kind that refused to be ignored. Her nipples, slightly erect, deep pink, seemed to call to me — hard, tense, as if they'd been waiting for me for hours. The light caressed their curve, sweat tracing fine shiny lines.

Her belly was flat, toned, traced with subtle lines of lean muscle. She breathed slowly. I could see her skin quiver with every heartbeat.

And lower…

Her hips opened like a promise.

Wide. Welcoming. Perfect.

Her sex was completely exposed. She hadn't kept a single piece of fabric. Her pussy, closely shaved, smooth and shiny, gleamed with moisture. Her lips were swollen, pink, slightly parted. Already ready. Already wet. A drop pearled from the cleft of her vulva, sliding lazily down her thigh.

I felt my cock twitch violently under my belt.

She didn't move. She just looked at me. Naked. Offered. And perfectly aware of the effect she had.

She tilted her head slightly, as if daring me.

A faint smile on her lips.

— So, Lieutenant… You planning to stand there, or are you going to make me pay for everything I put you through?

I took a step toward her.

Then another.