Kenny King
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Chapter 7 Preview - How I Became The World's Strongest Warrior Book 2!
🕑 Added 2025-05-23 16:00:06 +0000 UTCTwelve hours later, I returned to Witch’s workshop. There was still no smoke from the chimney, but the lights inside hadn’t dimmed.
I’d spent the morning in low-level zones, practicing dual wielding on respawning trash mobs. Boars, goblins, anything that moved. I tracked every swing, every timing window, testing combos, and compensating for offhand penalties. Efficient, but unsatisfying. The enemies offered no real resistance, and I couldn’t stop checking the time. Every second dragged. I counted them all.
I knocked. No response this time. I opened the door.
Witch was exactly where I’d left her, at the workbench, hunched over a mess of fragments and magical instruments. She didn’t look up.
“I said I’d return if I hadn’t heard from you,” I told her.
“I know,” she said. Her voice was raw. “Sorry.”
Her eyes were red-rimmed. Not from exhaustion… at least, not just exhaustion. She'd been crying.
She was wearing the same ridiculous outfit as usual: a form-fitting leather corset reinforced with enchanted metal bands, equal parts protection and statement piece. It left her shoulders and most of her arms bare, showing the glint of rune-burn scars and the deep forge-marked scar down her forearm. And yeah, her breasts were still anime-proportioned, barely contained by the corset, even with the front lacing cinched tighter than usual. It looked like she’d tightened it hastily and skipped a few loops. Priorities, probably.
The whole look made her seem like she hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten, and hadn’t stopped working for twelve straight hours, but it also looked like she could kill a dragon with a wrench if it interrupted her mid-rune.
“No progress?” I asked.
She shook her head but then corrected herself. “Not enough. Some. I mapped overlapping resonance patterns in six of the fragments. They match parts of Dartanion’s core signature, memories, I think. Not full structures. More like... emotional echoes.”
I stepped closer. The fragments were still suspended in the containment field, gently pulsing with faint light. She had drawn hundreds of diagrams and spell lattices around the perimeter, scribbled in a rush but precise.
“You worked all night,” I said.
“Of course I did,” she said quietly. “You nearly got yourself killed for these. I’m not going to let that be in vain.”
I nodded, unsure what to say. She finally looked at me, eyes sweeping down my frame.
“Wait. Why aren’t you wearing your armor?” she asked.
I unlatched the ragged bundle I’d slung over my shoulder and laid it on the empty part of the workbench. “It didn’t survive the Harbinger fight. I need you to fix it.”
Witch unwrapped it carefully, examining the battered breastplate, shredded pauldrons, and burned-through bracers.
“Oh, Chuck…”
I looked at her.
“Let me fix it,” she said, already clearing space beside the cauldron. “You’ve done enough. Let me do something now.”
I didn’t argue. She set the armor pieces out with unexpected care, her hands steady despite the shadows under her eyes. For a while, neither of us spoke. The room was filled with quiet magic, runes glowing faintly, enchanted tools humming on standby, the ever-present low simmer of her cauldron.
Eventually, she spoke again.
“I can’t promise I’ll get it exactly the same. But I think I can reinforce the plating, maybe bind in some resistance properties while I’m at it.” She nodded.
“Good,” I said. “That would be great.”
She gave a tired laugh but didn’t look up. “Of course that’s your response.”
After a while, she gestured to a corner of the workbench. “If you’re up for it, I could use your help re-etching some of the runework. It’ll hold better if it’s keyed to your energy signature.”
I moved to the stool across from her and picked up the etching tool. It fit my hand like a familiar weight. I started tracing the lines she’d marked in chalk, careful to follow her patterns exactly.
The workshop was quiet except for the low simmer of her cauldron and the occasional spark from a half-finished rune. I sat across from Witch at her cluttered workbench, trying to focus on the etching tool in my hand. She was watching me.
“I don’t know how you keep your hands so steady,” she said.
“I tune out distractions,” I replied.
She tilted her head. “Even me?”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“That’s kind of annoying,” she said, almost to herself.
I didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure what the correct response was.
She leaned in, reaching over to adjust the angle of my grip. Her fingers brushed mine. She didn’t move them away.
“You’re warm,” she murmured. Then, a beat later, “That probably sounded dumb.”
Her eyes lingered on mine a second too long. She looked tired with dark circles under her eyes, lips slightly parted like she’d forgotten to finish her thought. I didn’t know what it meant, but I didn’t look away.
Something shifted in the space between us.
It wasn’t a kiss, not at first. Just proximity. Tension. The kind of closeness that pulls you in, breath by breath. I don’t know who leaned in first. Maybe neither of us did. Maybe gravity did it for us.
When our lips met, it was slow and unsure, like we were testing something fragile. Not passion. Not yet. Just... comfort. Contact. Proof that the other person was still here.
She pulled back an inch, blinking like she’d just woken up. “That was… not what I meant to do,” she said quietly.
She didn’t move away, though.
“Same,” I said. My voice came out quieter than I intended.
We didn’t move. The silence stretched, but it wasn’t awkward. It was charged, like standing too close to a live wire.
She touched my face, her thumb tracing the edge of my jaw. Her hand trembled slightly.
“You’re not freaking out,” she said.
“I might be,” I admitted. “It just doesn’t feel like it yet.”
She let out a shaky breath, almost a laugh, almost a sob, and kissed me again. Slower this time. Not experimental. Not romantic. Just... needing.
When she pulled back, her eyes were glassy. “I don’t do this,” she whispered. “With men. I don’t even… this isn’t who I am.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“And I don’t know if this is about you, or about him, or just...” Her voice caught. “Gods, I messed up so bad. I should’ve stopped him. Dartanion trusted me, and I let him die.”
“You’re trying to fix it,” I said. “So am I.”
She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against mine. We stayed like that, breathing in sync, not quite touching except at the point where our skin had already remembered each other.
No more kissing. No more words for a while.
Just proximity. Stillness. And something that wasn’t quite comfort, but was trying to be.
She pulled back just enough to look at me again, searching my face like it might offer an answer she didn’t want to ask out loud.
“You’re doing all this for me,” she said quietly. “Going after the Harbinger. Bringing back fragments. Risking your life.”
“No,” I said. “I’m doing it for Dartanion.”
That stopped her. She blinked, like I’d struck her, and not gently.
“You don’t get it,” she said, her voice suddenly sharp with something raw and close to anger. “That is doing it for me.”
I didn’t respond. I was trying to work out why that made her upset.
She stood up, turning away, hands pressed to the edge of the workbench like it was the only thing holding her up.
“You think you’re being logical. Efficient,” she said. “But every second you’re throwing yourself into danger to fix my mistake. You could’ve walked away. But you didn’t.”
“I told you,” I said. “The fragments offered a potential recovery path. The system—”
“I don’t care about the system,” she snapped, rounding on me. “I care that I killed him. And you're the only one treating that like it’s fixable. And now I don't know what this is—” She gestured vaguely between us, her eyes glassy again. “Or if you even feel anything or if you’re just… filling in missing variables.”
I looked at her. “I don’t know what this is either. But Dartanion’s gone. If I can bring him back, I will. If that helps you, that’s fine. But that’s not why I’m doing it.”
She stared at me for a long moment. Then she laughed, but it wasn’t funny. “Gods. You’re a machine with blood in your veins.”
I shrugged. “Efficient systems require coolant.”
That got a small huff of breath. Almost a real laugh. She wiped her eyes roughly with the back of her glove and sat down again, facing away for a moment to collect herself.
“I’m going to pretend that made sense,” she muttered. “Because if I don’t, I’ll either cry again or kiss you. And I’m not sure which one would be dumber right now.”
“I would prefer kissing, honestly.” I shrugged.
“Is that so?” She arched a brow.
There was nothing frantic about what happened next. Her hands slid into my hair; mine found her waist. It was like we were discovering something together, some place neither of us expected, but didn’t want to leave.
Her cloak slipped off her shoulders. I didn’t stop it. I think I even helped.
“I don’t know if this is okay,” she whispered against my skin.
“I don’t either,” I said. “I think this is… something else.”
She didn’t argue.
She kissed me like she wasn’t sure it would happen again. Like the world had hurt her, and only I could help her.
When we finally pulled apart, both of us breathless, she didn’t say anything right away. Just watched me with her hands resting against my chest, fingers curling slightly like she was afraid I might vanish.
“I usually have rules about this sort of thing,” she murmured. “Step one: don’t catch feelings. Step two: definitely not for someone who talks like a damage report.” She hesitated, then added, softer, “But being around you... it’s like the volume in my head finally goes quiet. And I didn’t realize how loud it was until it wasn’t.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. So I didn’t say anything.
She leaned back, straddling me where we’d somehow ended up on the floor, cloak beneath her like a summoning circle. Her hair was wild around her shoulders, and her cheeks were flushed in a way that had nothing to do with the heat from her cauldron.
“I’ve had people offer me fortunes to take this off,” she said, tugging lightly at the laces of her corset. “Gold. Magic. Contracts.”
I nodded. “You like your privacy.”
“I like control.” Her fingers paused. “This is me giving it up.”
She undid the first lace.
My mouth went dry.
The second lace came free, and the tension in the room stretched tight like a bowstring. Her breathing had changed, slower, deeper, but not steady. There was a hitch in it, just once, like she was second-guessing herself and choosing not to stop.
She didn’t rush.
Didn’t make a show of it. Just... revealing a relic kept locked away, powerful and private. Something no one else had seen in a long time… maybe ever. When her corset finally dropped away, she didn’t look down, didn’t cover herself. She let me see her. Fully.
The soft glow of the workshop’s rune-lamps painted her in gold and shadow, skin kissed by forge heat and faint scars, the heavy weight of her breasts rising and falling with each breath. Full and impossibly round, like they broke the rules of anatomy and dared you to say something about it. They were absurd and beautiful. Feminine in a way she usually hid behind iron and enchantment.
There was a flicker in her eyes, not shame, not exactly. Something more like vulnerability. She was giving me a piece of herself she didn’t part with easily.
Her nipples were darker than I expected, a deep rose, almost bruised plum in the warm light. They weren’t perfect. That’s what made them real. That’s what made her real. A little asymmetry, a faint smudge of soot still clinging to her collarbone, like even now she hadn’t stopped working.
She watched me like she was bracing for a reaction and afraid of not getting one.
I didn’t speak. Didn’t reach. Just took her in like she was something rare.
My hands didn’t move until she nodded.
When I touched her, she shivered.
And that was what undid me. Not the sight of her. Not the weight of her against me. But the way she trembled under my hands and didn’t try to hide it.
She leaned in again, this time slower. Her skin against mine was heat and softness, pressure and permission, and I could feel her heart stuttering just as much as mine.
Her breath hitched when my mouth brushed her collarbone, and again when I moved lower.
“Wait,” she whispered, suddenly breathless. “You’re not going to—”
I kissed the top curve of her breast. Just once. Slow. Testing.
She froze. Not out of discomfort, but out of shock.
Then I took her nipple into my mouth, gently, my tongue circling in a slow, deliberate swirl.
Her whole body jerked.
“Holy shit,” she whispered, eyes wide. “What the hell—? Why does that feel—?”
I sucked again, softly this time. She moaned, hands tightening in my hair, like she didn’t know whether to push me away or pull me closer.
“No one’s ever—” She cut off, voice breaking into a gasp. “Gods, that’s not fair.”
I paused just long enough to look up at her.
“You’ve never had someone do this?” I asked.
“I have, but that’s not…” She shook her head. “Girls don’t usually—like—we don’t focus on that.” Her face was flushed, lips parted, and for once, she had no clever comeback. “That feels insanely good. Like stupid good… when you do it.”
I kept going. She whimpered. Clung. Her thighs tightened around my hips, and she let out a little, desperate sound that might’ve been a curse or a prayer.
When I finally pulled back, her chest rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths. Her eyes were dazed.
Then she looked down at me, still flushed, still stunned, and said, “Okay. I kind of get why people like guys now.”
I blinked. “Thanks?”
She laughed, breathless. “No, I mean… you’re not gross. You’re…” She trailed off, staring at me like I’d turned into some kind of forbidden artifact. Then, quieter, “Can I see it?”
I tilted my head. “My penis?”
She snorted. “Gods, you’re literal.” But her voice was soft. “Yes. I’ve never actually seen one… like, in person. I mean, I could have, but I didn’t want to. This feels… different.”
I didn’t move. “You’re sure?”
She nodded, suddenly serious. “I want to see yours. Just yours. Just now.”
So I shifted, and she sat up, watching with a kind of reverent fascination, like I was casting a spell and she didn’t know the runes.
And when I revealed myself, her breath caught in her throat.
“Huh,” she said softly. “It’s not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?” I asked..
“Something weirder. Or uglier.” She leaned closer. “But this… This is kind of… elegant?”
I didn’t know how to respond to that.
She reached out, hesitated, then touched me. Just barely.
Both of us stared at the contact like it was a mistake or a miracle.
“This is so strange,” she murmured. “I don’t even know if I’m into it. But I’m into you. Right now. This. Whatever this is.”
“I don’t know what it is either,” I admitted. “But I like that it’s happening.”
She looked up at me and grinned, though it was softer than usual. And then she kissed me again. When we broke apart, she looked at my dick like she wasn’t sure if it was alive or enchanted. One hand hovered over it like she was waiting for it to move on its own.
“Okay,” she whispered. “This is… definitely happening.”
“You don’t have to do anything,” I said.
“I know,” she snapped, a little flustered. “I want to. I just don’t know what.”
She reached out and cupped it gently. Her fingers closed around the shaft, hesitant, then firmer, like she was checking for resistance. I twitched slightly in her grip, and she froze.
“Oh my gods,” she swallowed hard. “It moved.”
“It’s supposed to.”
“I know that,” she hissed, eyes wide. “I’ve just never been this close to a functional one before. Let me have my moment.”
I stayed still, watching her work.
She stroked it slowly, experimentally, as if measuring how each movement changed the reaction. She kept glancing between it and my face, checking for feedback. Her thumb swept over the head, then back down the shaft, tracing the veins with a strange sort of reverence.
She gripped a little tighter and bit her lip when she saw my breath catch. “Oh. Okay. That did something.”
“Yeah,” I said, trying not to sound too affected. “That was good.”
She kept going, gradually building a rhythm, still more curious than seductive but not clinical. She was learning me, reading me, and watching how I reacted to her every move. At one point, she shifted, leaning closer, her breasts brushing against my stomach. Her hair fell across my skin like threads of silk.
“This is so intimate,” she whispered, almost to herself. “Like, I’ve had sex, but this is different. There’s no script for this.”
“I’m just trying not to say anything that ruins it.” I whispered.
“You couldn’t,” she said. “Honestly, this might be the most turned on I’ve ever been in my life.” That made me twitch again in her hand. Her eyebrows lifted. “Really? That did it?”
“It’s your voice,” I said. She laughed, breathless and soft, and for some reason, that really did it for me. “That’s cheating.”
And then she leaned forward again, resting her forehead against mine, still stroking slowly, rhythmically. Her breath warmed my lips.
“I want to see how far this goes,” she whispered. “I want to see you like this.”
She was still stroking me, slow and distracted now, like her thoughts were elsewhere. Her fingers shifted again, more exploratory now, sliding down to gently cup the base, tracing the seam, her thumb brushing over everything like she was trying to read runes carved into skin. I exhaled, low and steady, and her eyes flicked up to meet mine.
“That sound you just made. That was…” She swallowed. “That was good.”
“Yes.” I nodded. “Very good.”
She bit her lip, hesitating for a moment before asking, “Can I—?”
She stopped, frowning at herself.
“Can you what?” I asked.
“Can I…” she swallowed. “Lick it?”
That made me blink. “You want to?”
She looked a little panicked, like she didn’t quite believe she was asking. “I don’t know! I think I do? That’s weird, right?”
“Do you want me to say no?” I asked.
She hesitated.
“No,” she said finally. “I want you to say yes.”
“Then yes.” I grinned.
She laughed, short, sharp, nervous, then looked down like she couldn’t believe what she was about to do... and was going to do it anyway.
The first lick was experimental. Just the tip of her tongue, a quick swipe across the head. She licked again, slower this time, dragging her tongue along the underside. Her hand still stroked at the base, lazy and unsure. The combination made my hips twitch.
That made her grin.
“Oh. You liked that,” she said.
“You’re very observant.” I nodded.
“Shut up,” she muttered, then leaned in again.
She licked in slow, thoughtful circles, pausing occasionally to watch my reaction like a researcher taking notes. Then, after a long pause, she opened her mouth a little wider and took just the tip inside.
It was clumsy. Tentative.
Her lips were too tight, then too loose. She didn’t know what to do with her tongue. She accidentally grazed me with her teeth and immediately apologized with a horrified look on her face.
“I’m so bad at this,” she groaned, pulling back. “This is embarrassing.”
“It’s okay.” I shrugged.
“No, it’s not. I’m literally bombing a blowjob.” She sighed.
I sat up slightly, brushing her hair back from her face. “You’re figuring it out. You don’t have to be good. You just have to want to do it.” I smiled at her. “That’s all I really want.”
She looked up at me for a long moment, blushing, breathing hard, clearly frustrated with herself. And then she said, softer than before, “I do.” She paused. “Want to do it, I mean.”
And then she leaned in again, slower this time. Committed, even if uncertain.
She took me in gradually, just a little more, lips forming a tighter seal. Her hands steadied against my hips, her eyes half-lidded as she adjusted to the rhythm. It wasn’t perfect.
But it was real.
Raw. Vulnerable. Hot.
And when I groaned, just once, low and unguarded, she looked triumphant, like she’d just figured out how to cast a spell she didn’t know she’d been learning all her life. Her tongue flicked, then flattened, then circled like she was testing techniques as she went. I groaned again, louder this time, hand bracing against the floor. She smiled around me and doubled down.
“I’m gonna come,” I warned.
She looked up, eyes wide, but not with panic. With intent.
She nodded.
Didn’t stop.
I gritted my teeth. “No, seriously, I’m—”
She sucked harder. Deeper. Her cheeks hollowed as she pushed herself a little further, both hands holding my hips steady now, like she wanted it. Like she was chasing it.
I came.
In her mouth.
And she took it.
No. She didn’t just take it, she stayed there, mouth still around me, letting it happen like it was part of the spell she’d been crafting from the start.
When I finally sagged back against the floor, eyes fluttering, chest rising and falling in hard, uneven breaths, she slowly pulled off of me with a soft pop.
She looked stunned.
Flushed.
Pleased.
Then, without ceremony, she swallowed.
My eyes widened. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know,” she said, licking her lips absently. “I wanted to know what it tasted like.”
“And?”
She made a face. “Not great. Definitely not a flavor profile I’d bottle. But… it’s kind of hot that I did it.”
I just stared at her because my brain was still rebooting.
She smiled again, mischievous, but soft around the edges. “You look like you need a system update.”
“I think my brain crashed.” I nodded.
“Good.” She seemed pleased. “That’s what you get for being weirdly hot and emotionally safe. You did this to me.”
I laughed, hoarse. “Sorry?”
She crawled up beside me, flopping down on my chest with a contented sigh.
“Don’t be. That was confusing and strange and honestly kind of wonderful.” She paused. “Also, if you tell anyone I sucked your dick, I’ll curse your bones to hum every time it rains.”
“Noted.”
“Now then,” she said with a laugh. “I suppose I should finish fixing your armor.”
Comments
Andrei
I don't mind smut (otherwise I wouldn't hold Bruce Sentar in such high regard), but here it comes completely out of left field, and it could bring quite a lot of backslash on Kindle
Mightyowl1767
Thank ya
