Who Says I’m Not a Legitimate Adventurer?

Under the manor’s warm lighting, Yuna was curled up on the sofa, holding the novel titled 《The Libertine Count and His Elven Maid》, reading it with great relish.

The story told of a human count named Alaric, who spent a large sum of money in a hidden underground slave market to rescue a fallen elf girl named Elora.

The reason this novel had swept across the continent and was even banned was not merely due to its bold romantic descriptions.

It was also because its portrayal of the dark side of noble politics and the operational details of underground black markets was far too realistic.

Every detail withstood scrutiny—it hardly felt like fiction, but rather like a personal memoir disguised in the shell of a romance story.

However, for a girl of Yuna’s age, compared to those heavy conspiracies, it was the delicate emotional tension between the male and female leads that was most captivating.

Especially the transition from friction caused by racial differences to that ambiguous and cloyingly sweet period of the elf’s Flowering Period.

That overwhelmingly sweet plot made Yuna curl her toes on the sofa.

Particularly when the story progressed to the elf girl Elora entering the legendary “Flowering Period,” the descriptions of physiological changes made Yuna blush deeply, yet she couldn’t stop reading.

“So elves experience residual touch sensations during this period…”Yuna watched as Elora in the book felt ashamed and troubled by her body’s abnormal reactions, biting her finger in excitement.

The most thrilling part had arrived.

The book described in an extremely explicit yet poetic manner:

When an elf in the Flowering Period confirmed a soul-compatible partner, any touch left by that person would linger on the elf’s sensitive skin for at least twenty-four hours.

That sensation clung like a brand, impossible to dispel.

Moreover, once the elf grew accustomed to that touch, before the Flowering Period ended, a strong dependency on contact would form.

At first, it might only be that a few days without contact would cause the soul to send signals of unease, disrupting the normal circulation of Aether Energy within the body.

But that was only the beginning.

As the dependency deepened, it would gradually evolve into severe “touch starvation.”

At that point, the once-proud and reserved elf would be unable to control her instincts. To alleviate the thirst arising from the depths of her soul, she would have no choice but to abandon her dignity and beg the other party to touch her.

In the story, Count Alaric thus began passively holding hands and embracing Elora.

There were even scenes describing Elora clutching the edge of the count’s blanket late at night, longing for contact, trying to snuggle closer in embarrassment.

“Ah!”

Yuna let out a groundhog-like scream in her heart, burying her entire face into the book.

This was written way too well!

But as she kept reading, Yuna suddenly found some of Elora’s behaviors oddly familiar.

The way she would occasionally stare blankly into the air, blush with a racing heart, and stare at her own arm…

Why did it resemble Cecilia so much?

Yuna suddenly sat upright, her mind flashing back to the scene from last night when Cecilia had extended her hand and seriously asked her to touch her wrist.

At the time, she had found it strange—but now, thinking back on it, could that have been her confirming bodily changes?

“No way…”

Yuna’s eyes widened as her gaze shifted back and forth between the bathroom door and the novel in her hands.

Could it be that Cecilia also…

But soon, she slapped her flushed cheeks hard, shaking off the absurd thought.

“What am I even thinking! Yuna, you’ve gone stupid from reading.”

She scolded herself internally.

How could she casually make such assumptions about her good friend?

Besides, the book described the physiological traits of pure-blood elves—Cecilia was a Half-Elf.

Although both had elven blood, their biological structures must differ; they couldn’t be generalized.

It had to be that this banned book was too immersive, causing her to have such illusions.

Yuna shook her head and refocused on the gripping plot of the novel.

Meanwhile, inside the bathroom—

Dense steam filled the entire space, and the air was scented with rose bath salts.

Cecilia soaked in a large bathtub, warm water enveloping her tired body.

But she was not enjoying this rare moment of relaxation.

The girl raised her fair left wrist, staring blankly at the faint red mark that had yet to fade.

That was where Lance had grabbed her tightly earlier to prevent her from falling.

Even after quite some time—and even after using Cleanse—the skin still retained an indescribable tingling sensation.

That feeling had not faded with time. Instead, it was like an electric current traveling along her nerve endings, surging into her heart again and again.

“Senior’s talent… is really amazing.”

Cecilia murmured softly, her gaze slightly unfocused.

She remained in the bath, staring at her wrist.

No one knew what she was thinking, but the corners of her lips unconsciously curled upward.

Perhaps the bathwater had been set too hot.

Before long, her delicate face became flushed red from the heat.

…

Meanwhile, at Lance’s new home.

After parting with Cecilia, Lance did not immediately begin potion-making or training as usual.

He was currently sitting in the living room downstairs, with his equipment laid out across the table in front of him.

The intensity of the past two days of combat had been extremely high.

For two consecutive days, he had fought head-on against a group of crabs covered in hard, rock-like shells in the high-humidity environment of the riverbank.

If not for the significant investment he had made in fully upgrading his equipment before setting out, this set of gear would likely have already been scrapped.

Lance picked up the heavy chainmail shirt and carefully inspected every iron ring.

“Not bad. This was money well spent.”

He nodded in satisfaction.

For metal armor, the most destructive damage often came from the corrosive effects of monster blood.

But thanks to the Cleanse attached to that ring, he could remove the contaminated blood immediately after each battle.

This perfectly prevented issues such as rusting of the iron rings from prolonged exposure and the inner lining of monster hide aging and losing flexibility.

“This one only needs basic maintenance.”

Lance calculated silently.

He only needed to spend 10 copper coins on specialized maintenance wax and anti-rust oil, then handle the lubrication himself.

However, the condition of the other two pieces of equipment was far less optimistic.

Lance’s gaze fell on the kite shield and the fine steel shortsword at the corner of the table, his brows slightly furrowing.

Those were the hardest-hit areas.

The shortsword was in a miserable state.

Due to the frequent use of thrusting techniques, the tip had already become somewhat blunt.

Combined with the unavoidable scraping against the monsters’ rock-hard carapaces during battle, the once-sharp blade now looked like a finely toothed saw.

There were multiple rolled edges, and even two visible chips the size of rice grains.

“This isn’t something a whetstone can fix anymore.”

Lance gently ran his fingers along the damaged edge and sighed.

He would have to take it to a professional blacksmith for a complete re-sharpening and polishing—possibly even partial heat repair.

This would definitely be a significant expense.

But this was his livelihood—there was no cutting corners.