The afternoon sun hung high over Dolan City, casting a warm golden glow across the bustling streets as Egon and Vienna stepped out of the carriage in front of the Flower Garden boutique.

Cling!

The familiar bell above the door chimed softly when they entered.

Inside, the air smelled of fresh lavender sachets, polished wood, and the faint metallic tang of enchanted thread being woven on the looms in the back room.

Several designers and crafters paused their work the moment they saw the pair.

Egon observed them with interest.

There were five of them today: Lira, the head seamstress with silver-streaked auburn hair tied in a practical knot.

Young Tobin, barely in twenties, whose nimble fingers could embroider runes into silk faster than most could draw breath.

Maraelle, the jeweler whose delicate hands crafted settings for enchanted gems.

Lastly, Old Master Corvin, the leatherworker whose grizzled beard hid a surprisingly gentle smile; and finally Seline, the alchemist who blended beauty creams and perfumes with precise drops of rare essences.

They were talented. Bright. Dedicated. But their knowledge was bound by the traditions of this world. They only knew flowing gowns with layered skirts for noblewomen, stiff tunics and heavy cloaks for men, jewelry that prioritized magical resonance over everyday wearability, and facial creams scented with local flowers that soothed skin but offered little beyond temporary hydration.

Egon surveyed them with calm eyes. Vienna stood at his side, her hand resting lightly on his forearm, the rose silk gown from the morning replaced by a more practical yet still elegant emerald dress that hugged her curves without restricting movement.

Vienna clapped her hands and announced,

"Everyone, this is Lord Egon Novos, my husband and now co-master of the Flower Garden. He has some excellent ideas. Listen carefully."

In truth, she had no clue about these "excellent" ideas. But she said it anyway.

The room became quiet when Egon stepped forward, pulling a small leather-bound notebook from inside his coat. He had spent the previous night (after pounding Noella) sketching by candlelight, dredging up memories from Earth that had once seemed trivial: fashion magazines glimpsed in passing, runway photos on old phone screens, product advertisements for skincare lines, images of slim-fit jeans and tailored shirts, minimalist jewelry that emphasized elegance over ostentation.

He opened the notebook and laid it flat on the central worktable.

"Gentlemen, these are not mere drawings. They are blueprints for products that do not yet exist here. You must study them. Ask questions if necessary. But I want them in production as soon as possible."

Hearing the strong tone, the designers gathered close.

First page: dresses. Not the heavy, floor-sweeping gowns with corseted waists and voluminous petticoats that dominated noble fashion. These were lighter, empire-waist silhouettes with soft draping, A-line cuts that flattered without restricting, off-shoulder designs with subtle lace overlays, high-low hems for movement. One sketch showed a wrap dress with a deep V-neck and tie waist, another a slip dress in shimmering satin with thin straps and a daring thigh slit.

Lira’s eyes widened. "These... expose so much leg and shoulder. But the lines flow so naturally. No boning? No layers of underskirt?"

"Correct," Egon replied slyly. "Comfort comes first. Beauty second. Women will want to wear these every day, not only at balls. Use lighter fabrics, such as silk that blends with minor cooling enchantments for summer, wool-silk mixes for winter. Add hidden pockets. Make them practical."

Tobin traced a finger over the sketches. "My lord, the seams are simpler. So they should be faster to craft. We can produce ten times as many."

Next pages: jewelry. Not massive statement pieces dripping with mana crystals. Delicate chains with tiny pendant drops, stackable rings in mixed metals, ear cuffs shaped like crescent moons or blooming vines, thin bracelets that layered without clashing.

Maraelle gasped softly. "These are understated. But the settings allow the gems to catch light from every angle. And the chains with hollow links? They would weigh almost nothing."

"Exactly. Wearable art that doesn’t tire the wearer. Noble ladies will buy multiples. Common women will save for one piece. Both markets," Egon explained.

Then came the beauty creams. Egon had sketched jars with simple labels, but the real value was in the formulas he described aloud: moisturizers with hyaluronic acid equivalents (extracted from certain swamp lilies and stabilized with minor alchemy), vitamin-infused serums for brightening, lightweight sunscreens using powdered starbloom petals that absorbed harmful mana rays instead of burning skin.

Seline leaned closer. But as soon as see those, her eyes shined. "My lord! Where did you get such formulas? Thy are ingenious. This this could change everything. No more thick, greasy pastes that clog pores. These are lightweight. Fast-absorbing. But the effects will be smoother skin, fewer blemishes, protection from sun and battle burns. We could sell these by the cartload."

Finally, the men’s line. There were lants that tapered at the ankle instead of belling out, shirts with crisp collars and subtle pleats for ease of movement, leather belts with clean buckles instead of ornate clasps heavy enough to double as weapons.

Master Corvin rubbed his beard. "Oh lord! Trousers this fitted, this elegant? Men will feel exposed at first. But gods... the mobility. A swordsman could actually fight without fabric tangling. And the belts, they look sturdy but slim. Very practical."

Egon closed the notebook.

"These are not luxuries only for the elite. They are products for everyone who can afford quality. We willstart with limited runs by keeping high price for the first batches to build demand and prestige. Then scale production. The Flower Garden will no longer be a single boutique. It will be the heart of a brand. A name people whisper in envy and desire."

For several seconds, there was just silence. His ambition and goals were too big. But—

"These designs, they’re revolutionary. Simple, yet no one here has ever thought this way. How did you, My lord??"

Egon’s smile was small. "I have seen things others have not."

The room erupted into quiet, excited chatter. Tobin began sketching variations immediately. Seline pulled out ingredient ledgers. Maraelle started measuring gem trays. Master Corvin ran calloused fingers over a scrap of leather, already envisioning cuts.

Vienna watched it all, standing close to Egon’s side. Her gaze moved from the sketches to the eager faces of her staff, then back to the man beside her.

So that was why.

Why he had bought the dozen combat slaves. Not merely for protection, though that was part of it. He had seen the Flower Garden for what it could become: the seed of an empire. A business that would generate rivers of gold, fund armies, buy loyalty, expand influence. Their business.

Her man was not just a lustful conqueror who took bodies and souls. He was a strategist. A visionary. Ambition wrapped in ruthless wit. The combination was terrifying.

And unbearably arousing.

Her pussy already became wet.

She licked her lips slowly, sensually, imagining the thick taste of his release on her tongue, the way he groaned when he came down her throat, the heavy pulse of his cock as he filled her womb again and again.

Her maternal instincts begged to be impregnated.

Egon noticed. Of course he did.

He leaned close in a murmur meant only for her.

"Wet already, Sweetheart?"

She shivered. "You know I am, Darling."

His hand slid to her ass possessively. "Then get both of your holes ready. Because I’ll fuck you both until you beg for mercy."