"Complain, complain, that's all you ever do." Teresa casually flung a filthy shirt at her sister's face. "Those two lords saved our miserable lives, and here you are without a shred of gratitude, you ungrateful little harlot."

  "Did you just call me a harlot?" Treni immediately returned fire with another garment. "Besides the men who've bedded me, no one dares speak to me that way!" Teresa, refusing to yield ground, seized a heap of clothes and hurled them back. Thus began an all-out war between the sisters, with soiled laundry as their ammunition.

  The once-orderly piles of clothing now flew about the room like blinded flies, scattering in all directions. Teresa pursued her sister, her own body so entangled in dirty garments that she looked utterly absurd. "Stop running, Treni Disha White!" She hoisted the massive wooden tub that had contained their laundry. "Eat this, you little harlot!"

  "That's cheating, sister!" Treni cried out as she saw the avalanche of clothes and the heavy wooden vessel hurtling toward her. She ducked under the table just as the door behind her swung open. Both projectiles found their mark—on the unfortunate person entering.

  A boy stood motionless in the doorway, his expression impassive, clutching a large wooden bucket brimming with old clothes. "Oh... sorry..." Teresa stammered, covering her mouth.

  "These are the new dirty garments, ladies." Surveying the chaos around him, he simply upended his bucket, dumping its contents onto the floor. "Wash them promptly. The frontline commander says more will arrive before day's end." His gaze fell upon Treni, still crouched beneath the table.

  The boy assessed her with a cursory glance. "If you have no further need of me, I'll leave you to your... activities." He turned to depart but paused mid-stride. "Though I do hope you'll remember your duties." His voice carried the warmth of a midwinter night.

  "How old are you, boy?" Treni attempted to provoke him, nibbling her fingernail as she awaited his response.

  "...Old enough to get you pregnant." With that declaration, he slammed the door with enough force to rattle the walls.

  "Wha—what?!" Treni's eyes widened to saucers, veins pulsing visibly at her temples. "What does he mean 'old enough to get us pregnant'?" She rose in fury, only to crack her skull against the table's underside with a resounding thud. "The audacity—to think he could impregnate a half-elf!" She clutched her head, grimacing in pain. "The arrogance of that boy knows no bounds, doesn't it, sister? Go to hell, you miserable little whelp!"

  Teresa's laughter pealed like silver bells. She approached her sister and knelt beside her. "You absolute fool. Let me see where you've injured yourself." She tenderly brushed aside Treni's warm golden tresses. "Oh, that's a nasty bump."

  Tears welled in Treni's eyes. "R-really?" She wiped them away. "How large is it?"

  "Hmm... substantial." Teresa's lips curved into a mischievous smirk as she leaned to whisper in her sister's ear. "About the size of a man's balls."

  Even with hands clamped over their mouths, they doubled over with uncontrollable laughter. "But isn't that concerning?" Treni tackled her sister to the ground, giggling uncontrollably. "That means I'll have two bumps!"

  The twin sisters rolled across the floor, alternately wrestling and exchanging kisses. "I detest you, sister," Teresa declared, shoving her away and sprawling on the floorboards. "My stomach growls, and it's entirely due to your accursed mouth with its lingering sausage aroma."

  "Then I'll make your hunger even more unbearable, and we'll raid that cursed kitchen together for those damned sausages." Treni mounted her sister, straddling her hips, and planted another kiss on her lips. Her left hand kneaded Teresa's breast while her right sought the warmth between her thighs. "Enough... enough," Teresa murmured, gently pushing her away. "You wouldn't want another delivery boy barging in to witness us pleasuring each other, only to announce, 'Here's the new laundry,' would you?"

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  "True, true. Your wisdom is unparalleled, sister." Treni rose, adjusting her disheveled clothing. "I've no desire to bear his offspring and bring something like him into this world."

  Each sister hoisted a massive wooden tub piled precariously high with laundry. As anticipated, upon reaching the stairwell, they encountered yet another youth clutching a wooden bucket. "Ladies, these are additional soiled garments. You really should complete them before nightfall..." Teresa and Treni used their towering mountains of laundry as shields, feigning total obliviousness to his presence.

  "Um... ladies? This is..." The boy gazed helplessly as they slipped past him. "Ladies! Please, I implore you—wash these clothes or I'll face punishment!" But his pleas fell on deaf ears as the sisters had already vanished from the inn.

  Seventeen days had elapsed since Duke Dear's arrival. With a formidable force of 120,000 men under Raveirmom's strategic command, the Godma army had completely subjugated the Sida District a week prior. Now, only the Wafflo District stood as the final barrier between them and Cynthia's urban center. This, of course, assumed the Godmans could overcome the nearly 200-foot-high fortifications. Infantry units and siege engineers had constructed several small trebuchets, while the massive siege engines transported from Crivi gradually reached the battlefield. Yet caution prevailed—everyone understood that the catapults mounted on Cynthia's walls possessed significantly greater range than their own, meaning the enemy could obliterate their laboriously transported war machines long before they came within striking distance.

  The continuous influx of soldiers from Crivi had severely strained logistics personnel. Not only were noblemen's personal attendants conscripted into service, but even the camp prostitutes—previously occupied solely with spreading their legs—were drafted into support roles. The half-elf sisters found themselves assigned to sanitation duties, specifically laundry work—a considerably more favorable assignment than most prostitutes received. The Godmans had requisitioned every habitable structure, including the inn where the sisters resided. The corpulent supervisor, Tessa, seemed to derive perverse pleasure from tormenting them, which explained Treni's frequent lament: "I'd vastly prefer kitchen assignment."

  A short distance from the inn flowed a modest creek, a tributary of the Doby Stream. Industrious washerwomen bent double or crouched at the water's edge, scrubbing shirts and breeches that turned the clear water murky, even tackling blood-encrusted chainmail. The sisters unceremoniously dropped their tubs by the waterside. "Have some consideration, won't you, ladies?" an elderly woman nearby chided.

  "Forgive us, the loads are dreadfully heavy," Treni replied with a disarming smile, securing her hair with a white kerchief. Teresa followed suit. "Are all these your responsibility?" the old woman inquired, peering at their overwhelming burden with evident surprise.

  "Indeed—courtesy of Tessa's 'special attention,'" Teresa explained. She glanced at the old woman's tub, noting it contained predominantly clean garments. "Grandmother, have you already completed your washing?"

  "I possess no other skills worth mentioning," the crone replied with a gap-toothed grin, her remaining teeth yellow and scattered. "When I first tackled such labor, I stood barely half your height." She gestured with her hand, though now she scarcely reached Teresa's shoulder. "I've washed laundry for sixty years in Marquess Redwyn's service. Slacking was never an option."

  "Perhaps you might assist us, then?" Treni coaxed, playfully tugging the old woman's arm. "That corpulent tyrant expects us to finish this mountain before sunset!"

  "Behave yourself, Treni." Teresa continued scrubbing, offering the elderly woman an apologetic smile. "My sister's dreadfully spoiled, Grandmother. Pay her no mind—let her complaints run their course."

  "Sister!" Treni's lip protruded in an exaggerated pout. "Who's spoiled? I merely speak truth," she protested, gesturing toward their Sisyphean task. "Even with eight arms like some arachnid creature, I couldn't possibly complete this in a single day."

  The laundress chuckled warmly. "Such affection between sisters—how I envy it." She sighed, lost momentarily in reminiscence. "I once had a half-sister, though disease claimed her before we ever met. Some venereal affliction—the prostitute's curse." Her gaze lingered on Teresa's pointed ear, partially visible through her hair. "You're half-elves, aren't you? What transgression brought you to this predicament?"