Here is the English translation of the provided novel excerpt, adhering strictly to the given glossary terms and maintaining the original tone and style:
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### Episode 78
Descendant of Pluto
078 – Descendant of Pluto #5
“The Healer said you’d need another day of rest before your energy returns. Seems you’re sturdier than expected, Samaritan. Have you grown stronger lately?”
According to Hippolyte, I had lost consciousness for about a day after being hit by the memory-erasing spell.
Had Luna’s potion boosted my stamina enough to limit the knockout to just a day? I wasn’t sure.
“Wh-what about Lu… Luna?”
“She’s handling a request regarding the Cultists’ offensive. Marking X’s on every house. She’ll probably come for you tomorrow.”
Come for me—as if I were some borrowed item. It was a little funny, but that was just how people spoke in this world.
And given that Hippolyte had the stiff, formal speech of a soldier, I doubted she meant anything by it.
“Then rest well. I need to warm up for tomorrow’s work, so I’ll stay up a bit later.”
“Sorry for taking your bed…”
“Don’t mind it. I’m not shameless enough to blame you. It’s my fault to begin with.”
Leaving me on the bed, Hippolyte began a series of bodyweight exercises—push-ups and the like—in the corner.
Her tight, black training outfit made every flex of her toned muscles, every curve of her sweat-slicked waist, painfully distracting.
Especially the way her sweat-drenched crop top clung to her ample chest, the peaks standing prominently. Wait, was that what I thought it was?
And more pressingly—what was this thick, oddly intoxicating scent hanging in the air?
“Hngh… Twenty… Twenty-one…!”
Soon, I realized the smell rousing my lower half was something like Hippolyte’s pheromones. My mind blanked. This was how she tempted men?
No—knowing her, she probably had zero awareness of it. She was rigid, distant from anything s*xual, the type who’d never even consider self-pleasure.
“Fifty… Fifty-one… Hah…”
Yet, ironically, those very traits made her defenselessness all the more arousing.
She was a healthy, beautiful woman—what man wouldn’t be drawn to that?
The thin blanket over my lower half would do little to hide my growing predicament. Desperate, I mentally recited a national anthem to suppress the wrath building below.
“My arms are starting to fatigue. Samaritan, your body’s quite well-trained. Do you have a special regimen?”
Hippolyte, who had been scrutinizing herself in the mirror with a serious expression, suddenly addressed me. Phew—good thing I’d forced myself to calm down.
“A regimen?”
“Yes.”
She approached, studying the bandages wrapped around me.
Embarrassing, but if I tried to cover up, she’d probably get mad. So I played it cool.
“No matter how much I train, I don’t bulk up like this.”
“Probably just differences between men and women. And even if your muscles are leaner, you’re many times stronger than me, right?”
“Yet I lost to Noxdotty. That soft, untrained girl crushed me. What do you think about that?”
Huh? Out of nowhere?
What was I supposed to say? One wrong word, and I’d get a hammer fist to my defenseless solar plexus. I scrambled for an answer.
“W-well, maybe it was just bad luck? You’d fought Cultists the day before, so you were exhausted… Not at your best. Yeah, that must be it.”
“Are you saying I’m some fool who can’t fight unless I’m in perfect condition?!”
She’s mad now?! This was an unblockable attack. Maybe any answer would’ve set her off.
I was done for. Would I even wake up if I got knocked out now?
Just as I worried, Hippolyte spoke quietly.
“…You’re right. I am a half-wit who can’t fight at night. Only a handful know this.”
“O-oh…”
“Under the moon, I’m powerless. Against Noxdotty, it felt like chains were weighing me down.”
“M-maybe it’s because her name is Luna? Like the moon…”
“Samaritan, that’s nonsense. More importantly…” She narrowed her eyes at my lower half. “Why is this standing up?”
Her sweaty body had leaned closer, reigniting what I’d barely suppressed.
A woman, heated from exercise, drenched in sweat—any healthy man would react the same.
“W-well, men’s bodies just… get angry randomly. It’s not up to me, yeah…”
“…I see.”
The awkward conversation ended there.
I had a hidden passive skill—one that left me weak against women with strong auras, like the Elf Mage Elpride or the Alchemist Witch Nemea. Being alone with Hippolyte, the epitome of such women, was painfully awkward.
Tomorrow, I’m getting out of here and enjoying freedom.
But before I could finish the thought, my still-recovering body dragged me back into unconsciousness.
—
Rustle… rustle…
I woke to a tickling sensation.
The room was pitch-black, but I could tell someone was rewrapping my bandages. Probably Hippolyte—this was her place.
Surprisingly attentive for a patient’s care.
Should I wake up and thank her? Or pretend to sleep? I hesitated too long and missed my chance.
Might as well go back to sleep—
Swish… swish…
After removing the bandages, her fingers—slick with something cool and slippery—began applying ointment.
Squelch, squelch—
From my chest to my abs and sides, her palms glided smoothly. The cooling sensation felt amazing.
What was this ointment? I wanted some. Probably expensive, given it belonged to a renowned Adventurer.
Squeeze, knead—
Occasionally, she applied pressure like a massage, loosening my fatigue.
Just like last time, Hippolyte had skilled hands. Might as well enjoy this and go back to sleep.
But then—
Her hands trailed lower.
Swish—
The blanket slid off my lower half. I clenched my eyes shut.
Seriously? Applying ointment there?
My heart pounded wildly. No way to calm down.
“This… needs it too…”
Her whisper cut sharply through the dark.
“…Excuse me.”
Assuming I was asleep, she began spreading ointment over my thighs, knees, and calves—without permission.
Swish, squelch—
Her touch was clinical, devoid of any teasing.
But the mere fact that a stranger’s hands were on me, in her bed, under her care—was enough to stir me.
Throb, throb—
Despite my efforts, bl**d rushed south, tenting my underwear.
Flinch—
Her fingers twitched against my thigh. She must’ve noticed. d*mn it, I’m panicking too.
“Samaritan… Are you awake?”
A hushed whisper—checking if I was conscious.
Two choices:
1. Keep pretending to sleep.
2. “Wake up” abruptly.
But what would I even say with this raging hard-on?
“Healthy men get nocturnal erections”—how do I explain that to her?
Before I could decide—
“Must be involuntary… Even asleep, it grows on its own.”
Hippolyte eliminated the choice for me. I was stuck pretending.
“No wonder men struggle with balance. Maybe it’s better to just cut it off…”
What kind of threat is that?! Fear made my erection wilt slightly.
Tap, tap—
Then, an awkward prodding. Had she accidentally brushed against it?
Peek—
Cracking an eye open, I saw her staring intently at my erection in the dim light.
Like pressing a button, she poked it with her index finger—tap, tap—testing its firmness.
Not a massage, not ointment. Not even s*xual.
Just… childish curiosity.
Meanwhile, I’d become an unwilling prop for s*x ed.
“Harder than I thought…”
She muttered without realizing, tense as a coiled spring.
Tap, tap, tap—
After a few more experimental pokes, she suddenly coughed.
“Ahem. Samaritan, if you’re awake, answer me.”
Had she noticed? Giving me an out?
“Hmph. Must be really asleep. Look at that dumb face.”
Next thing I knew, she was tugging my underwear down.
Wait, stripping a sleeping man?!
The cold air against my exposed arousal made my scalp tingle.
Shame mixed with perverse excitement, hardening me further.
Throb, throb—
“The veins… How grotesque…”
She muttered, then began rubbing ointment into my groin.
“…I’m just applying medicine.”
Who was she explaining to? Her hands slid over my inner thighs—swish, swish—
But the way her knuckles accidentally grazed my shaft and tip felt far too deliberate.
Like she was interested but hiding behind excuses—“I didn’t mean to, it just happened.”
As someone experienced with massages, I recognized the vibe.
Holy sh*t, is Hippolyte into me?
No—no. If this were high school, I might’ve misread a smile or casual talk as interest.
But I’d learned harsh lessons. Women didn’t fall for me.
Until recently, I’d been a bottom-tier slave. Hippolyte was a hero, a legend in the City.
Objectively, there was no reason she’d like me. The opposite? Sure.
So why was she doing this?
My conclusion:
Hippolyte, sworn to chastity and surrounded by women, knew nothing about men.
Maybe I was just a harmless, amusing toy.
Athletic women had higher testosterone and s*x drives, right?
“Should… this part be medicated too…?”
Perhaps suppressed curiosity was bursting out while I “slept.”
What should I do?
Enjoy it? Or stop her before things escalated?
Then—Luna’s face flashed in my mind.
She’d spent her savings to make me potions. If something happened here, I’d feel guilty facing her.
I didn’t know how Luna felt, but I wanted to reach Gold Tier and marry her properly.
So—what now?
If I “shifted” like I was stirring, would she stop?
Just as I planned to try—
Swish—
Her hands withdrew.
Had she noticed I was awake? No—she just seemed… bored.
Or so I thought.
Until—
“Hah…”
A sticky, stifled m*an from the corner.
“Nn…”
Muffled, like a cat’s whimper, it hung in the dark.
—
[Afterword]
Mitsuri appeared…
Many wanted continuous chapters…
I’ll return soon…
P.S. The Nymphs in this story… are all adults…
