The New World
Copyright© 2024 by Dark Apostle
Chapter 58
Fan Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 58 - The story follows James Smith, a man who dies and finds himself in a surreal afterlife courtroom, where his life is judged as "zero sum"—neither good nor evil, just utterly average. Dissatisfied with being consigned to eternal mediocrity, he manipulates the cosmic bureaucracy into granting him a second chance in a new world, where he is reincarnated as a child with his memories intact and perks... - edited by my lovely Steven.
Caution: This Fan Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft Mult Coercion NonConsensual Reluctant Slavery Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual Fan Fiction Farming High Fantasy Rags To Riches Restart Alternate History DoOver Extra Sensory Perception Body Swap Furry Magic Incest Mother Sister Politics Royalty Violence
“I talked to my mother last night. I can’t believe that you let me ask her! I was so embarrassed. She sat there with a blank face while I asked her about sex. Then she burst out laughing, so much that tears formed. When she stopped laughing, she put her hand on my knee and gently answered my questions. Then she called my Father in and demonstrated everything she described.” Iona reported.
James was so shocked that he stood up. The legs of his chair scraped loudly across the stone floor as he stared at her, unable to decide whether to be appalled, impressed, or terrified by the customs of her family.
“Are you serious?”
“No, of course not. But if I were going to be embarrassed, I should rib you. No parent would do that. But Mom did answer my questions. I learned a lot. But it is all words right now. Once we are married, I can turn her words into reality.”
James slowly lowered himself back into his chair. His heart was still hammering from the image she had planted in his mind, and Iona’s delighted expression made it obvious that she considered the prank a complete success.
“So we will wait,” James acknowledged.
“Mom told me that a man will not die if he does not have sex all the time.”
“True, but I won’t be thrilled.”
“James, you can handle deferred satisfaction. After we are married, you will travel as part of your duties. You love me too much to jump into every woman’s bed just to satisfy yourself.”
“Agreed. When we are married, you will be my touchstone.”
The word felt appropriate. His life on Isekai had been fragmented between businesses, lovers, magical training, military service, and the constant uncertainty of what might happen next. Iona represented something fixed. She was not merely another pleasure or responsibility added to the collection. She would be the spindle around which the rest of his life turned.
They left the room and wandered through the castle grounds, taking one of the gravel paths that wound between the formal gardens. Workers were trimming hedges and replacing flowers damaged during the recent tourney. Several bowed as Iona passed, while others offered James the respectful nod now afforded to a Royal Knight. He was still adjusting to that. A few months earlier, most of these people had known him only as the foreign tavern owner with unusual food and an even more unusual collection of companions.
As they walked, James said, “We need to talk about where we will live after we are married. I will be moving out of the tavern and will buy a house. I need you to help decide where we should look.”
“I thought we would just live in the castle. Since I will be helping to run the city, it makes sense just to stay there. We can stay in my room or move to another wing.” Iona offered.
James had expected debates over districts, gardens, wall thickness, and the size of the kitchen. Remaining in the castle had never occurred to him. In his mind, marriage meant obtaining a private home and creating a household separate from both their previous lives. Iona, however, had grown up in a family whose residence and seat of government were the same building. To her, the castle was not an institution. It was home.
“How close to your parents’ room is your room?”
“Right next door. It was convenient growing up, and I didn’t see a need to move.”
“Iona, we will want more privacy than offered by a shared wall. Everything from a conversation to sex should be between the two of us, not shared with your parents.”
The thought of Blythe and Mallow listening through the wall was enough to settle that portion of the argument immediately. Iona’s cheeks reddened as she glanced toward the upper floors of the castle.
“There are rooms in the other wing that are reserved for visitors. We could move there and assign other accommodations for the occasional visitor. Let me show you them,” Iona said excitedly.
She headed for the castle, clutching his hand. James had to lengthen his stride to keep pace as she pulled him through the gatehouse and into the main entryway. The guards barely had time to straighten before they passed. One of them concealed a grin as James was dragged along behind the future ruler of Castletown.
They climbed the broad main staircase to the second storey and turned left. The corridor was quieter than the family wing, with polished marble floors, tall windows, and tapestries depicting generations of Mallow’s ancestors. Sunlight spilled across the floor in pale rectangles. The air carried the faint scent of beeswax from the servants’ morning polishing.
Iona opened a heavy wooden door and led him into a suite that had clearly been prepared for important visitors. Dust covers protected the upholstered chairs, but the rooms were otherwise clean and ready for occupation.
“This will be perfect for us! Look, a sitting room, a huge bedroom, a second bedroom for our kids, and a bathroom,” she was smiling as they toured each room.
The sitting room overlooked the inner courtyard, giving them a view of the gardens and training yard. The bedroom was large enough for a substantial bed, wardrobes, chests, and several comfortable chairs without feeling crowded. A fireplace occupied one wall, while another door opened into a smaller room that could serve as a nursery.
James paused at the mention of children. Until recently, they had been an abstract part of a distant future. Now he could imagine a cradle beneath the window, toys scattered over the rug, and a small child running through the connecting door in search of its parents.
“These are indeed perfect rooms. But must we stay in the castle? Will your father agree to this? It’s not a money issue, I have enough to buy us anything we want.”
“Of course he will. It’s the best option – we’ll have protection, cleaning service, meals, and no disruption to the city management. And when you are traveling, the guards will protect your family.”
“Unless another battlemage arrives,” James joked.
“That is not funny! I was terrified.”
Her excitement disappeared immediately. James regretted the joke as soon as he saw the fear return to her eyes. Moratan’s attack was no longer an amusing adventure to be recalled over drinks. Iona had been kidnapped, threatened, and used as leverage against her father. James had saved her, but the memory had left wounds that magic could not simply close.
“Sorry. I expected that we would purchase a house to start our marriage. You could decorate it to suit your style, and I would have a secure workroom for my magical artifacts. I had never considered living at the palace.”
He walked to the window and examined the courtyard below. From a security perspective, the castle made sense. It had guards, walls, controlled entrances, storage rooms, kitchens, wells, and enough personnel to respond to almost any ordinary emergency. If James were called away, Iona and their future children would be far safer here than in a private residence defended by a handful of servants.
The arrangement would also keep Iona close to the offices and people she needed to govern. A house elsewhere in the city might offer privacy, but every working day would require travel to and from the castle. It would divide her attention between two households when her responsibilities were already substantial.
“Please think about it. I will talk to Father and secure his permission. You could move in immediately, and once we are married, I can join you.”
“Go ahead and talk to your father. If he agrees, I will have Bartholomew update the bathroom fixtures to the new technology.”
“What would that entail?”
“We would have continuous hot showers, a cold box for food storage in our room, and lights that do not require a candle. Once you experience them, you will wonder how you lived without them.”
James entered the bathroom and inspected the existing arrangements. It was luxurious by local standards, with a large copper bath, a washstand, and a curtained alcove containing a simple gravity-fed shower. Servants had to carry heated water upstairs and pour it into an overhead tank. Bartholomew’s devices could remove much of that labour while giving them conveniences James had taken for granted on Earth.
“It sounds wonderful. There will definitely be benefits being married to a mage.”
“Come with me tomorrow to the practice clearing and I will show you some of the spells I practice.”
“I saw some of your magic when you killed Moratan. And I saw your tender side when you protected me. That was when I knew you were the one,” she announced. “But I will be glad to come tomorrow.”
The comment remained with James as he escorted her back to the family wing. He usually considered Moratan’s death a brutal necessity rather than a romantic moment, but Iona had seen more than violence. She had seen James place himself between her and a battlemage without hesitation. To her, his willingness to kill had been inseparable from his determination to protect.
James left Iona at the castle and walked back to The Fenrir. The afternoon crowd had begun to gather, filling the main room with the smells of roasted meat, fresh bread, and spilled ale. Jan was moving between the bar and the kitchen, correcting a server’s order while keeping track of several conversations at once.
When he saw Jan, he asked her to prepare a picnic basket for three.
“Do you want anything special?” she asked.
“No, just a cold meal, water, and maybe a fruit juice.”
“Who is the third?”
“Me, I will be working on my physical training and need the protein after the workout. We may be there for most of the day so the extra can also serve as a snack.”
Jan nodded and disappeared into the kitchen, already considering which foods would travel well. James had no doubt that the basket would contain twice as much as he requested. The women of The Fenrir seemed to believe that any excursion beyond the city gates required enough food to survive a siege.
The next morning dawned clear and warm. James dressed in training clothes, collected the picnic basket, and walked to the castle. He found Iona waiting near the stables in a riding dress, her hair tied back to keep it from blowing across her face.
“Would you like to walk or ride?” he asked.
“Let’s take the horses. I don’t get enough practice riding, and it is a beautiful day,” Iona said.
They walked to the castle stables and were provided with two saddled horses. The stable master selected a calm mare for Iona and a larger gelding for James. James tied the picnic basket behind his saddle before checking both animals’ tack. The soldiers who had escorted him during his journeys had drilled the habit into him: trust the stable, but inspect the saddle yourself.
After leaving the city, they rode side by side. The road passed through cultivated fields where laborers were already working. Some paused to watch them. Iona was familiar, but the sight of her riding alone with the newly appointed Royal Knight attracted attention.
“This is so nice. Normally, I have a squad of guards around me. Father trusts you to protect me,” Iona gushed.
“Was there ever a doubt?” James asked.
“At the beginning, there was concern. You were an unknown and brought many new ideas. Sometimes, the new things upset the equilibrium of the city. But you did not. Instead, you took pains to assuage any concerns. And then the meals! They were like nothing I had ever had.”
“I had the idea to build a new tavern to entertain the city and make a living. I never expected things to spiral into this,” James laughed. “Yet here I am engaged to a beautiful woman and protecting the city.”
“The gods work in mysterious ways. But I am thrilled with the results.”
James looked across the fields as he considered how much of his life had happened by accident. He had never planned to become a tavern owner, much less a battlemage or Royal Knight. Each decision had been made in response to the immediate problem in front of him, yet together they had produced a path that now appeared almost deliberate.
“In my dreams, I thought about success and power. I never defined what success was and then the slavers came and my dreams were solely about survival. When I arrived at Castletown I was in a weird position—I could not go live at my home, too much had changed, and I knew no one in the city. It was truly a clean slate. I focused on a place to live and tried to decide what to do with myself.
“The brothel gave me a place to live and some short-term solace. The Fenrir gave me a goal: building a successful business. Then I discovered that I could do magic and another goal—learning to use my gods-given gift,” James commented.
“The Fenrir had also given him a community. What began as a commercial venture had become a home for people who once had nowhere else to go. James had not created that deliberately either. He had merely solved one problem after another until the tavern became the centre of an extended family.
“Your life could be a play. Each act would be a different goal,” Iona noted.
“Perhaps, but probably not.”
James suspected that any honest play about his life would be banned before the end of its first performance.
They reached the clearing and unloaded the horses. After removing the saddles, they hobbled the animals and left them grazing near the stream. James carried the basket into the shade, then rolled a short section of tree trunk into position so Iona would have a seat. The clearing showed signs of his previous visits: worn patches in the grass, scuffed tree bark, and shallow depressions where heavy rocks had repeatedly been moved.
“There is enough grass and water to keep them content,” James observed. “I plan to spend the morning running through my physical exercises. Then lunch. Afterward, I will work with my magic. If you see me doing something you don’t understand, ask.”
“Since you have magic, why do you work on the physical exercises?”
He knelt next to her. Holding her hand, “I survived the slavers through physical strength, determination, and cunning. If I neglect my physical training, then I am abandoning one of the things that allowed me to escape.”
The pit had taught him that strength alone was never sufficient, but weakness could still kill. Magic might fail, his reservoirs might be exhausted, or an enemy might reach him before he could cast. His body remained the final weapon he could never afford to neglect.
“I understand. If you slack off, then you are losing one of the things that saved your life.”
“Yes. And I need to add us into the things I do daily. I don’t want to forget anything important.” James promised.
Iona squeezed his hand before releasing him.
James walked to the middle of the field and began his exercises. First, he ran the perimeter of the clearing as quickly as possible. He accelerated along the straight sections and controlled his footing around the uneven edges. By the third lap, sweat had darkened his shirt and his breathing had settled into a hard but sustainable rhythm.
He stopped beside a group of boulders and began carrying them to the center of the clearing. Some required both arms and a deep squat before he could lift them. Others were small enough to be held against his chest. He assembled them into a rough pyramid, forcing himself to rely on muscle rather than magic.
James then selected the largest stone he could safely carry. Holding it with his arms extended, he ran the perimeter again. The weight pulled at his shoulders and lower back, while the awkward position forced his entire body to work to keep him balanced. Iona watched in silence, her earlier amusement replaced by respect as she realised that the routine was not a casual display.
Once the circuit had been completed, he returned the rock to the pyramid. For the next hour, James alternated between push-ups, pull-ups, stretching, and climbing. He climbed the nearest tree without magic, descended, and repeated the exercise using different routes. His hands grew rough from the bark, and his arms began to tremble from the accumulated effort.
Walking over to Iona, he opened the picnic basket and drank deeply from the cold-water container. Jan had wrapped it in insulating material, and the water remained wonderfully chilled.
“You do this every day?” she asked.
“When I was a slave, I did. My life depended on being in the best shape. But now, once a week is all I have time for.”
“Are you done?”
“No, now is the second part.”
He drew the sword from the saddle and returned to the pyramid. Standing next to the pile, he began practising thrusts, blocks, and strikes. He moved slowly at first, concentrating on precise form, then increased his speed. The blade whispered through the air as he turned between imaginary opponents. His memories of the fighting pits remained embedded in each movement. The opponents had been real then, and every mistake had carried a price.
Thirty minutes later, he stopped and sheathed the sword. Sweat ran down his face, and the muscles in his arms felt heavy, but the exhaustion was satisfying rather than frightening.
“I do not see the castle guards doing this. Should they?”
“They are trained to fight in a group. The majority of their efforts are crowd control, firefighting, and occasional arrests. They probably serve their entire time without a sword fight. I had many fights in the pit, where my life was on the line. Skill, strength, and experience were the deciding factors.
The guards relied on formations, shields, and the support of their comrades. I had learned to fight alone, often against enemies chosen specifically to challenge or entertain him. Their training served different purposes.”
“What is next?” Iona asked.
“Lunch! Let’s see what they packed.”