A New Kind Of Grind

"You've been in a good mood," Cass remarked as the day wound down. "Finally get laid?"

"After a fashion," I said. "You know how I've got a bunch of beta exemplar cowgirls that I gotta milk, first thing every morning? Well, this morning I finally fucked one of 'em, instead of just going back to my room and jerking it to a fantasy about 'em."

"...You haven't been fucking them?" Cass asked.

"I have not," I said simply. "It wasn't until yesterday that I learned that it wasn't just a shameful and deviant fantasy, but in fact a pretty standard part of monstergirl husbandry, and that everyone around me would think it was weirder that I didn't fuck the cowgirls."

"Yeah, I gotta say, now that I know you've been milking the cows without letting them milk you for three months, that does explain a few things about you," Cass remarked.

"Fuck you too," I said dryly.

"Your short temper, your frustration, seeming feelings of impotence..."

"Alright, alright, I get it," I said. "Everyone thinks I should keep fucking the cowgirls. Christ on a bike, why do so many people have opinions about my boner these days?"

"...Christ on a bike?" Cass repeated.

"It's a blasphemous expletive where I'm from," I explained. "Don't ask me to explain the religion it's from, though; I don't know much about it, and what I do know, I don't particularly like."

"Huh," Cass said. "Anyways... Well, congratulations, and here's to a happier, healthier you."

"Here's to horny cowgirls with fat-ass knockers," I agreed.

My Physical Affinity stat, which had been perfectly average twenty four hours ago, was now an entire standard deviation above average, after only one particularly vivid masturbation session and two orgasms at the hands- well, mouth and tits- of a cowgirl. At this rate, I reckoned I could max it out in a few days, and yet, there wouldn't be much point, because I could definitely afford to just max out the other Body stats directly via Incubus, and it'd probably take less time than working out normally.

I grinned. Those cowgirls were gonna be the best thing that'd ever happened to me, I bet. Before, I was looking down the barrel of only having maxed out Soul stats by the time the next Delver's Guild entrance exam rolled around, but now, at this rate, I'd probably run out of stats to max out before the month was out. Plus, if I was smart with my money, I'd have another six gold to spend on enchanted gear from Usagi, and I bet I'd be able to get her to add some Mind, Face, and Soul stat boosts to my commission for that price.

"Good work, crew!" Captain Ironwood called out as we started filtering away, having collected our pay at the end of our shift. "And remember: no work tomorrow, so get yourselves some rest and revelry in while you can!"

"Aye, Captain!" a good chunk of us called back, as even more headed for the Rusty Anchor for some of that promised revelry. Me? I had other things to pay for, so I began walking straight home, humming quietly to myself as I did so. Down this little road, hang a right, take a shortcut through the alleyway between these two warehouses...

"Pardon me, madam," a voice said, right before a figure stepped out from behind a conveniently-placed pile of crates. "I'm afraid this here is a toll road. You'll need to pay to continue."

"Don't worry," another voice said behind me, as another figure climbed out of a barrel, sword already in hand. "It's a progressive, sliding scale toll. Guarantee it won't cost a single crooked penny more than whatever you've got in your inventory."

Ah, fantastic, I'm being mugged. On today of all days- when I finally had enough money to finish paying for that commissioned gear, but before

I actually had the gear itself.

Well, their fucking loss. I may be only one person, and they were two- nope, four, another pair of muggers just climbed out of their own hidey-holes.

Thing was, though, I was a Wizard, with a chip on my shoulder and maxed out Soul stats. I had the arcane might of a spellcaster three levels my superior, and I would not let myself be pushed around and taken for a chump by anyone.

"Come now, be reasonable," the third mugger said, drawing a wicked-looking knife, big and long enough that I wasn't totally sure it wasn't a shortsword instead. "However much you've got can't be worth your life, can it?"

"You're right, my money isn't worth my life," I said, as my magic began to flow. "The question only you can answer is, is it worth yours?"

The fourth mugger, behind me and to my right, was a spellcaster; I'd known it the moment I laid eyes on them. As a spellcaster, I had a healthy apprehension of the dangers posed by other spellcasters, and so followed a little aphorism that this world had reaffirmed:

Geek the mage first.

"[Firebolt]," I cast, dumping a fifth of my magic pool into the spell and nailing the mage-mugger center-of-mass with a projectile made from concentrated Fuck You. The mage managed a quick, non-verbal shielding spell, but it was insufficient to stop my wrath, and she screamed as tongues of flame licked her chest, neck, and face, catching her hood and hair alight in the process to ensure that she'd have plenty else on her mind while I scared off the other three.

Unfortunately, it seemed I wasn't the only arrogant asshole in this alleyway; the other three muggers, watching me reveal myself as a powerful spellcaster by setting their friend's whole shit on fire, decided that this was more of an affront to their pride than it was a threat to their lives, and charged in as one. Alright, Roxy, think fast, and act faster.

The quickest one was the one with the big knife, so I darted towards her, trusting that her friends wouldn't risk whiffing me and hitting her instead, and, scrambling for some useful tool hidden somewhere up my sleeve, I defaulted to the spell I knew so well, I could cast it without words. [Magic Trick] was inefficient, but it was not weak, and if you had the magic to spare, you totally could use it for an attack spell.

The part of [Magic Trick] that I called upon was typically used for lighting candles or kindling, but when you poured more magic into it than a Level 1 Wizard should have, it could make enough fire to do some damage, and in a much more specific area than [Firebolt] could achieve.

Knife-girl's knife hand went up in flames, flesh searing and blistering, and tendons forcibly contracting. She screamed bloody murder, but more importantly, she dropped the knife- right into my fucking face, god dammit.

I hissed and struck out at her, which was a mistake. I was neither particularly strong, nor was I a real warrior, but she was, and even in the throes of the worst thing to happen to her dominant hand, she was able to grab my arm with her good hand, and flex backward, sweeping me off my feet and throwing me onto the cobblestone hard.

I wasn't sure when my glasses broke; it was either when I hit the ground, or when the burliest of these bandits, who I hadn't yet found the time to horribly maim, kicked me in the face right after I landed.

"Fucking whore!" Knife-girl yelled. "My hand! My fucking hand!"

"I'll kill you," Burly Boots promised me, drawing her sword.

"[Firebolt]," I said instead of any smarmy reply- it hurt to talk, after that knife to the face- nailing the bandit between the legs at point blank with almost every drop of magic I had left in me. And it turned out, when you hit the muscles that let someone stand and walk with enough fire to melt the fat beneath their skin and fry those muscles like a chicken, pretty much no amount of bravado was going to be enough to keep them upright.

Of course, Burly Boots then landed on top of me, and I had to rally myself enough to push her off and stagger back up- I only had the wherewithal to cast spells in this painful daze because I did so near-constantly, whereas physical exertion was much more a stranger to me. Still, despite the bruising and the bleeding face, and the eye I couldn't see out of at all, in contrast to the one that simply couldn't see very well because my glasses were broken on the ground, I was...

...okay, I was in rough shape, but holy shit you should see the other guys.

Because I couldn't, and I severely misjudged how close that last mugger was getting.

The knife went in quickly. I couldn't breathe. The knife twisted, and I felt my own blood spray down my abdomen.

I didn't think, only acted.

I raised my hand, and jabbed my thumb, nail-first, into the last bandit's eye, and I cast one last spell with what little remained of my magic: [Sparks]. The lightning coming out of my hand likely went through the mugger's brain as it sought the quickest path to ground that wasn't through me, and as a happy little bonus, she let go of the knife, letting it drop along with me as I went down, down, down, back to the cobblestones. Ow, my head. Huh, now my hair feels wet.

The muggers were slow to recover, but still faster than me. I was completely at their mercy, breathless and three-quarters blind, and completely out of magic, but... they limped off, instead, choosing to cut and run rather than stay and finish things.

Some delirious part of me took offense at that. That they decided I wasn't worth the effort of killing and looting. Which, come the fuck on. I know I'm just Level 1, but I've got like five weeks' good wages on me, which you could probably guess from the way I fucked you up.

The real reason they fled became obvious as a shadow fell over me, and I realized I'd been hearing the clanking of metal armor. Which was affirming and disheartening at the same time- I wasn't enough to scare off the muggers, but also, those assholes did not think I wasn't worth killing.

The armored figure knelt down, and pressed a cold, gauntleted hand to my face, and white-gold light shone from between its fingers, beginning to mend my wounds. My bad eye regained its vision- still blurry, as my glasses were broken- and that deep cut on my cheek went away, my mouth no longer burning with agony.

My savior went to work on the rest of my wounds, healing first the stab wound in my stomach- and bringing with its restoration the ability to breathe freely- and then, at last, the broken skin and cracked skull at the back of my head, stopping the bleeding into my hair.

"...Thanks," I said quietly. The healing helped a hell of a lot, but ultimately, I was still in a lot of pain. I just wasn't dying anymore.

"I would say you are welcome," the paladin said dryly, "but I would much rather you not end up requiring this sort of help from me ever again."

"Do I know you?" I accused. I'd normally be a lot more okay with someone being a bitch at me, especially when I knew for a fact I'd just done something stupid, but right now, I did not have the patience for it.

"You most certainly will," the paladin said. "My name is Veronica Vega, and Akane Sakurai sends her regards."