FFF Class Auto Hero: The Weakest Class Turned Out To Be The Strongest?

Lunareio leaned back, his throat still tingling from the fiery Dwarvish firewhiskey he'd spat out moments ago.

He glanced at the offending goblet, then at Branna, who was adjusting a platter of honeyed figs. Clearing his throat, he spoke.

"Branna, could you find me something… softer to drink, to ease the sting of the liquor? Milk, perhaps?"

Branna paused, her wild orange hair bouncing as she turned, her amber eyes blinking in thought. She rubbed her chin, her freckled face scrunching slightly.

"Milk, my lord? Hmm, let me think… I reckon I could take a look around the kitchens. Might have some fresh from the goats in the lower stores."

She nodded, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Aye, I'll see what I can dig up."

Lunareio's lips curved into a faint smile. "I'd appreciate it, Branna."

She gave a quick, respectful nod, her wine bottle clinking at her hip as she turned to leave.

As her footsteps echoed down the hall, Lunareio let out a soft sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

Milk should be safer than that infernal whiskey,

he thought, wry amusement flickering in his mind.

Meanwhile, Branna strode through the Basilica's shadowy corridors, the black stone walls gleaming under the flickering light of silver lanterns. Her boots clicked against the polished floor, her mind already sifting through the kitchen stores for milk.

As she rounded a corner, she nearly collided with Lilith.

Lilith tilted her head, her blindfold concealing her eyes but not the curiosity in her posture, her lips curling into a faint, probing smile.

"Branna... Where are you off to in such a hurry? Are you done setting up our lord's meal already?"

Branna's eyes met Lilith's blindfolded ones. "Aye, meal's all set... Lord Lunareio said he fancied tryin' some milk, so I'm off to fetch some for him."

Lilith's smile suddenly froze, and she leaned in, her hands resting on Branna's shoulders. Her grip… was a bit intense.

"Milk?" she repeated, her voice dropping to a whisper, her blindfold doing nothing to hide the spark of excitement in her expression.

"You mean milk milk?"

Branna blinked, a touch of unease creeping into her sturdy frame as she sensed Lilith's sudden intensity.

"Er… aye, yes," she said uneasily.

"Just regular milk, like from a goat or cow. What else would I mean?"

Lilith's blush deepened, a mischievous smile spreading across her face, her sharp teeth glinting as she licked her lips with deliberate slowness.

"Oh, Branna~," she murmured playfully, "you don't have to search for that. Let me handle it." She straightened, her hands sliding off Branna's shoulders as she turned, her hips swaying as she sauntered down the corridor.

Branna stood rooted, her amber eyes narrowing as she watched Lilith leave, the priestess's hips practically dancing with each step—a bit too... excited.

"What in the forge's fire is she up to?"

Branna muttered, scratching her head. She frowned, a look of confusion and suspicion settling over her.

Lilith's mischievous demeanor was nothing new, but this felt… different, as if the priestess had some scheme brewing that Branna couldn't quite grasp.

Shaking her head, she turned back toward the kitchens, deciding to check for milk anyway, just in case Lilith's "handling" didn't pan out.

The Obsidian Basilica's kitchens were tucked deep within the fortress's black stone heart.

The air was thick with the scent of baking bread, simmering broth, and fresh herbs, the flickering light of silver lanterns casting a soft glow over long wooden tables cluttered with pots, pans, and cutting boards.

A half-dozen maids, their aprons dusted with flour, moved around—chopping vegetables, stirring sauces, and arranging trays of pastries.

Branna Ironmaw strode in, her eyes scanning the room as her sturdy frame filled the doorway. The clink of her wine bottle at her hip was barely audible over the kitchen's hum, but her presence commanded attention, the maids glancing at her with respectful nods.

Branna rubbed her hands together as she approached the head maid, a woman with silver hair and a no-nonsense demeanor.

"Oi, Mara...

...got any milk in the stores? Lord Lunareio's after somethin' softer than that firewhiskey I tried on him."

Before Mara could respond, another voice suddenly interrupted—smooth and teasing, yet unsettlingly intense.

"No need for that, Branna."

Branna froze, her amber eyes narrowing. She knew that voice all too well.

Unease prickled her skin as she turned slowly, her boots scuffing the stone floor.

There stood Lilith, leaning against the doorway, her curly purple hair slightly disheveled, her blindfolded face tilted with a mischievous smile.

She was panting, her chest heaving with steamy breaths that curled in the cool air. Most strikingly, the fabric around her bust was… damp, faint wet patches darkening the material, catching the lantern light in a way that made Branna's stomach twist.

Lilith stepped forward, leaning down, her body a bit shaky, and extended a small glass bottle toward Branna.

The bottle was filled... to the brim, with a creamy white liquid, its surface warm to the touch, a few droplets clinging to its rim.

It was milk.

"G-go and serve our lord," Lilith said, her voice a bit shaky. "He's waiting."

Branna's eyes moved from the bottle to Lilith, then back again.

The milk inside shimmered faintly, its warmth radiating through the glass, and the priestess's flushed, sweating state—combined with the dampness at her chest—sent a flush creeping up Branna's freckled cheeks.

'No... She didn't… she wouldn't...'

The implication was absurd, scandalous, yet Lilith's toothy grin and the mischief in her posture made Branna's heart pound with doubt.

Reluctantly, Branna took the bottle, her fingers brushing its warm surface.

She stammered, her voice unsteady. "I… I don't think there'll be any need for this," she said. "There's most definitely—"

"BRANNA!" Lilith interrupted, her voice sharp and intense, cutting through the kitchen's chatter like a blade.

She lifted her blindfold just enough to reveal her left eye—a vivid pink, flaming with an almost bloodlust intensity that made the maids gasp and step back.

Her tone deepened. "You are going to serve that to our lord. Do you understand?"