"She had lips that could be demure and serene one moment, and fiery with passion the next. She had a cascade of silver hair, a symbol of nobility and sanctity."

"She had a slender waist and bountiful peaks, like ripe fruit on a branch, fermenting into an intoxicating wine."

"She also had long, fair legs and powerful hips. Her supple silver Battle Armor clung tightly to her body, outlining a sublime silhouette brimming with both power and beauty."

"And now, those legs—so pure yet so wild—were straddling my waist."

"I couldn’t quite make out her face beneath her thin veil, but I imagined it was breathtaking. Her cheeks would flush as she leaned in for a passionate kiss, a silent confession of the maiden’s heart hidden beneath the proud Saintess’s facade..."

...

’Wait a minute, what was her name again?’

’I think it was Olivia... Olivia Elderidge.’

The surname Elderidge came from an old tongue, meaning "ancient ruler."

’It fits her identity as a Saintess quite well.’

A soft mutter broke the silence of the dim room.

Night shrouded the unlit living room, both inside and out. The only source of light was a laptop screen.

Sean sat on the sofa, a thin duvet cover draped over his head like a cape. He leaned in so close that the screen’s glow completely illuminated his face, casting his skin in a ghostly white pallor.

Dark circles ringed his eyes, and you could tell his hair was a mess even under the duvet. His eyes, however, were bright—he looked like an unnervingly spirited invalid.

A glass of milk sat beside the laptop. As Sean recalled his recent, pleasant dream, he tapped away at the keyboard, transcribing the images from his mind into lines of text. This was next week’s manuscript.

Sean was a novelist.

No side hustle.

He often had strange and fantastical dreams, and he made a habit of recording any memorable details. Over time, Sean discovered that the dreams seemed connected. They were like scattered puzzle pieces. Once he figured out how they fit, they gradually formed a complete, bizarre, magical world—one entirely different from modern society, yet inextricably linked to it.

Perhaps it was his "first-hand experience," combined with two and a half years of honing his craft, but the stories in his novels were incredibly detailed. The world-building, rooted in reality, gave readers a powerful sense of immersion that drew them deep into the narrative. This was especially true whenever he wrote scenes like the one above; a chorus of like-minded fans would always beg him to write more—tens of thousands of words more.

At such times, Sean would righteously refuse.

Because that cost extra.

In short, thanks to these dreams, Sean had become a fantasy author of some renown. He even had a book signing scheduled for next month.

In an era where information networks and industrial technology were only just beginning to converge, and had yet to be widely adopted, physical books remained the primary source of income for authors.

’Powerful, beautiful, a pure-yet-sensual dichotomy... A Saintess like that... Those guys—oh, I mean, my dear, beloved readers—they’re going to love her.’

’I’ll call this Chapter ’Extraordinary to Saint’...’

Now it was time to think about what happened after the girl leaned down. The details were crucial. It needed the right amount of embellishment to create that hazy, tantalizing atmosphere. Then, he’d switch it to the third person and add a bit of a God’s-eye view. That would make for a better reading experience and allow him to develop the ensemble cast more easily.

Sean recalled the scene from his dream. Olivia’s silver hair had tumbled down, curling against his chest. Her gaze was intense as she pinned his arms with her hands, as if afraid he’d run away. He struggled a few times for show, but it was useless. He gave up resisting, closed his eyes in resignation, and prepared to accept his fate.

Just as the girl’s delicate, fiery lips were about to press against his, a series of frantic knocks suddenly echoed through the darkness, jolting him out of his creative trance.

BANG BANG BANG!

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG!

"Sean, open the door!"

Sean’s brow furrowed deeply.

’Damn it, who’s interrupting my research?’

’Don’t they know that writing a novel requires inspiration and a quiet environment?’

He’d specifically adjusted his work schedule to the dead of night to avoid being disturbed by his overly friendly female neighbor. He glanced at the time: 2:45 a.m. Who the hell was knocking at this hour??

"Who is it? Don’t you people sleep?"

Sean yelled, irritated.

Many writers fly into a rage when their train of thought is broken—it’s a bit like the foul mood that comes with being abruptly woken up—and Sean was no exception.

The person outside called back, "It’s me, Chris!"

’Chris?’

The familiar voice and name made Sean freeze. He skeptically threw the duvet cover off his head, shuffled into his slippers, and walked to the door. Peeking through the peephole, he saw a scruffy, bearded face illuminated by the dim hallway light.

’Is it really Chris?’

’Didn’t that guy go missing?’ 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

The annoyance on Sean’s face instantly melted into surprise, and he quickly opened the door.

Chris was one of his few friends. He was an avid outdoor adventurer who’d vanished on one of his trips and hadn’t been heard from since. Sean never expected to see him alive again. The joy of their reunion instantly burst forth in the form of the most sincere greeting he could muster:

"Man, where the hell have you been the last two years? Your phone was dead, you never answered any messages... I thought you were dead!"

"Here, get in, get in. Have a seat... Wait a minute. Your legs??"

It was only after pulling Chris inside that Sean noticed: the guy’s thick, sturdy legs were clad in a pair of silk stockings.

Black ones.

"They increase my attack speed."

Sean: "?"

"I’ve been targeted, Sean," Chris said, his expression grim.