In the end, every goat girl got what she wanted.
Actually, satisfying them was very easy. As long as Al inserted himself, it wouldn't take long before the goat girls would let out loud, adorable, breathy moans, their bodies trembling and their little hooves kicking wildly as they reached orgasm.
Basically, every goat girl ultimately had to rely on her breasts, mouth, and hands to help Al finish off, otherwise they wouldn't receive the "blessing" they so desperately craved.
It was also a declaration of dominance and ownership.
Most of the time was spent on this.
When Al finally managed to handle the eight goat girl wet nurses, Claudia—who had been watching the show all afternoon and had casually helped herself and her human-chair swordswoman off a few times—tangled herself around him again.
This was not something that could be resolved normally.
Ever since reverse-raping Al that day, the Paladin Claudia adapted and fell to corruption incredibly fast.
She had become almost like an exclusive, obsessed nymphomaniac specifically targeting Al. There was hardly a day she didn't demand sex from Al. The large and small bodies had to intimately entwine for a while before she could relax.
She had successfully come from behind to take the lead; the number of times Al had emptied himself inside Claudia had already surpassed the number of times with the centaur girl. Fortunately, the latter didn't keep count of these things, otherwise she would definitely get angry and force herself on Al.
It was as if, having broken the jar after her previous experiences, she was acting out of a sense of revenge—you like this body, don't you? Then I'll come to you every day.
Al quite enjoyed it and didn't find it annoying, just that sometimes he felt it took up too much time.
So every time, compared to the goat mom and the others, he treated Claudia a bit more roughly. Things like bondage, edge-play, light whipping... backdoor exploration, deep throat penetration, and so on.
He temporarily limited it to that.
Anything further belonged in the hardcore guro section, which wasn't Al's fetish.
He actually preferred the simple methods, enjoying the Paladin's athletic, beautiful flesh. Occasionally going in hard for a change of pace made both sides very happy; additionally, exploring the backdoor, mouth, hands, feet, etc., was indeed quite nice.
However, Claudia's attitude was the key. If Al was gentle, she became aggressive, frequently provoking and mocking during the act. After making Al angry and rough, she would become relatively docile and obedient.
Making Al feel stuck between being too forceful and too soft.
He brought this upon himself!
After completely exhausting Claudia, Al naturally didn't ignore the final piece of furniture—oh wait, person.
The swordswoman Ann, who had been used as a chair and tormented by Claudia for who knows how long.
Al hesitated for a moment, opened the swordswoman's visor, and helped her take out the drool-soaked ball gag.
Saliva dripped profusely. Ann took just one breath before she began frantically cursing her former teammate, the Paladin Claudia.
All sorts of dirty words and vulgar curses, making even Al blush to his ears. He tried to interrupt the swordswoman several times to no avail. Meanwhile, Claudia lay naked, squeezed among the goat girls sprawled haphazardly across the floor. Traces of thick white semen stained her pale, milky skin, her entire body a mess.
Her eyes half-closed, she looked indifferent, as if treating the swordswoman's foul mouth as a post-coital seasoning.
Al had no choice but to find his own way to shut the latter's mouth.
He wouldn't easily try the upper mouth without a third person's help, so he chose the swordswoman's lower mouth.
"You son of a bitch~!! It, it's inside!! You son of a bitch bastard! Ugh... N-Naga scum's dirty Eeek!! Slow! Slow down!"
"Good, good lustful boy's breeding sow ooooh it hit the top!!!"
"I, I swear to Myrmidia and the Gods! In this life Eeeeek ooooh!!! I'm gonna cum ooooh!!!"
"I will definitely kill, kill you ngh ooooh~~!!!"
Inside the room, curses and lewd slurs continuously spewed from those red lips, sounding exceptionally obscene.
Al eventually injected twice in a row into the swordswoman, whose body had become extremely sensitive to him. The massive volume made Ann's lower abdomen bulge slightly. Her wheat-colored skin was covered in sweat and the traces of their coupling, looking as if coated in a layer of oil.
The boy pulled his body out. With a "pop," a massive amount of fluid flooded out from between the swordswoman's legs like a burst dam. Claudia unsteadily stood up, grabbed two goat girls, and together they lifted Ann onto the bed, all three pressing themselves behind her buttocks.
Three sexy, beautiful asses swayed in front of him, especially in such a debauched atmosphere.
The sky had also grown dark.
Al simply started from the left, grabbed the sides of the perky ass, inserted himself, and continued today's degeneracy.
Soon, the goat girl's body trembled as warm fluid flowed out. Al pulled out. Next.
Northern Estalia.
The city of Bilbali.
After Magritta fell under heavy siege and communications were jointly jammed by Skaven and Pirate mages, making it impossible to effectively coordinate and command the various regions, this place undisputedly became the center of the Kingdom of Estalia.
Currently, all resolutions and directives regarding resistance against the Greenskin invasion were issued from the Port of the North.
The people of Bilbali regained the core status they had briefly held in unexpected ways, but the price was so high that...
Even the people of Bilbali themselves didn't want to bear it.
Unlike the Southerners, who, facing consecutive defeats, spawned the ideological trend of "the North is preserving its strength and watching the South burn" to shift blame and escape reality and responsibility. The Northerners—at least within Bilbali—truly had very few people harboring thoughts like "preserve our strength, wait until the South is beaten half to death, then go out to clean up the mess, and from then on the Princes will take turns ruling, and every day will be the North's day."
Instead, they were angered by the Southerners' accusations, intentionally adopting the attitude: "Oh, you're in a hurry? Well, I'm just not sending troops now—handing over the sons of the North to you bunch of idiotic brutes to die for nothing? And not even get a word of thanks? Ptui!"
In the Battle of the Guadaz River, half of the dead were Northern soldiers. Even if it wasn't every household wearing mourning clothes, it was still a devastating blow to their bones and sinews.
Being accused of "refusing to put in the effort" by the radical Southerners, who had lost their minds and were biting anyone like mad dogs, also infuriated the Northerners.
Compared to the Magrittans, who were passionate about commerce, exploration, and colonial activities, and possessed an adventurous spirit, radicalism, and reckless tendencies, Bilbali was more deeply influenced by their land-based neighbor "Bretonnia" (now the Carcassonne Round Table Council) and the Elves of Ulthuan.
So they were calmer and more steady.
Through their exchanges with the knights of Carcassonne, the Northern Church of War also learned some of the wisdom the reclusive knights had gleaned from the destruction of the old Kingdom of Chivalry.
Among these were the experiences and lessons brought about by the recklessness, arrogance, and rash actions defying orders of the young knights in the past.
At the same time, they dissed the severe menopausal operations Lileath had pulled—poor guidance, where even a single Grail Quest would senselessly waste hundreds or thousands of young, passionate knights on the journey, ultimately perhaps only tempering a single Grail Knight.
So, although they, like the South, hadn't experienced war for a long time aside from colonial conflicts, the Northern Church of War was relatively speaking, at least emotionally, much more rational.
With the guidance of faith—even though the Northern Church also received no blessings from the Goddess—it could always stabilize the hearts of the people in times of crisis.
The Grand Master of War in the city of Bilbali believed from the very beginning: facing a ferocious WAAAAAGH!, it was impossible to defeat the enemy in a field battle with hastily assembled armies lacking the protection of formidable natural chokepoints.
They could only shrink their forces, avoid the brunt of the Greenskins' momentum, and look for opportunities.
But due to the Southern public opinion teetering on the edge of flipping the table, he had to restrict these thoughts to a small circle.
Ultimately, the Battle of the Guadaz River proved that, at least for now, the Great WAAAAAGH! was a reality the Estalians could hardly face head-on.
Now, at least the radical Southerners had lost their power in the Bilbali Council due to their tragic defeat. Not holding them accountable was already a case of the wise desperately maintaining unity. The Northerners could now fully focus their energy on the strategy formulated by the Grand Master of War: "Accumulate strength - Resist the attack - Throw a counter-punch!" As for whether the Southerners would view this as abandonment and betrayal...
There was nothing they could do about it.
Against the hundreds of thousands of Greenskins, and the endless stream continuing to cross the sea—a race where every member is a soldier—the Estalians' strength was still too weak.
If they resisted purely with their own strength, they'd probably...
"Two hundred thousand refugees?"
The news from the Piña Forest energized the elderly general.
"How did they retreat into the forest!"
"..."
"You're saying, a group of very powerful Beastmen? And they want to be our allies?"
The old general stood up, about to say something, then suddenly froze, and slowly sat back down.
The enthusiasm in his tone cooled slightly, taking on a few shades of emotionless cruelty.
"There are already enough refugees. If they can survive in the forest and receive protection, they should stay there. Otherwise, just having two hundred thousand extra mouths to feed is enough to give the council a headache."
"Then about the alliance..."
"No rush. A group of Beastmen of unknown origin cannot be easily trusted. If they harbor ill intentions, hmph..."
"Right, since they want to ally with us, they should show a little sincerity. Also, nearly two hundred thousand refugees just hiding in the forest is useless to the Kingdom. Issue an order: conscript the able-bodied men among them, form a unit to march south, and reclaim lost territory as much as possible."
"Even if they can't take back a single town, at least they can cause more interference to the Greenskins' movements."
"This... Yes, sir!"
The general's order was somewhat whimsically cruel, but the adjutant and the envoy exchanged glances and obediently left to execute it.
This order would definitely cause resistance among those forest refugees, that was a given. They had barely managed to escape the Greenskin WAAAAAGH! with their lives, and now the Northern Council wanted them to proactively harass and attack the Greenskins. Anyone with half a brain could understand that the Northern Council's goal was to use them to attract and share the Greenskins' attention and firepower.
Leaving the old general alone, rubbing his temples, feeling drowsy.
In the exquisite glass window, a projection of a three-eyed crow surfaced. Suddenly, the glass surface distorted, and the projection vanished.
The general, meanwhile, suddenly felt a wave of dizziness. He hurriedly rang a bell to summon his attendants, and under their care, got into bed to sleep.