My heart thumped hard in my chest. In that final moment, what flashed through my mind wasn't the Monday meeting or what I'd have for dinner tonight—it was the utterly depraved thought: *I just wanted to feel even better.* Serafina awoke in a deep forest. Or, to be precise, Seta Sarasa—a forty-year-old office worker—awoke atop a bed of fallen leaves in the body of an eighteen-year-old elf girl. "Where... am I?" The voice was wrong. Higher, clearer. I looked down at my hands. Pale, slender fingers. Unfamiliar clothes. A white shirt, black slacks, and leather short boots. (*What the hell is this?*) Sarasa slowly sat up. Before me stretched a cluster of trees so enormous they couldn't possibly exist in reality. Their trunks were thick, their branches tangled in complex patterns, blotting out the sky. Sunlight filtering through the leaves scattered across the ground like scattered gold coins. The scent of the forest was thick. Earth, moss, and the sweet fragrance of flowers. If I listened closely, I could hear birds singing somewhere, and the sound of wind rustling countless leaves. "I'm supposed to be dead... right?" My last memory was intense. Sweating in a hotel bed with a younger fuck buddy, my heart pounding from how good it felt—and then, the ceiling growing distant. That was the curtain call on my life. Forty years old, single. On weekends, I either slept, drank alone, or occasionally met up with someone just to tangle bodies. At work, I was stuck in middle management, crushed between my bosses and subordinates, my dreams and hopes worn down to nothing. I let out a sigh. "Never thought I'd die from going too hard." A bitter laugh escaped me. A death like that—I couldn't tell anyone about it. I looked down at my body. Toned arms, a slender waist, long legs. My chest was modest, but that only made my overall silhouette more beautiful. Jet-black short bob swaying in the wind, translucent deep brown eyes gazing at the world with wonder. (*Young. And female.*) A forty-year-old old lady, now a teenage beauty. My mind was still Sarasa, but my body was someone else entirely. It was a strange sensation. When I touched my forehead, my fingertips met with something odd. Just touching it sent a faint, stinging sensation through the mark there. Without a mirror, I couldn't tell what kind of mark it was. But somehow, instinctively, I understood that it was something like a curse. I stood up and started walking. My steps were naturally light. Maybe this was what elven physical ability felt like. Every muscle was supple, and each time I pushed off the ground, my body surged forward. I still knew nothing about this world. But one thing was certain. (*First things first, I want to get friendly with some girls.*) The earthly desires of a forty-year-old were alive and well, even in a young body. *** Three days later, Serafina would learn firsthand just what she had gotten herself into in this world. The hidden elf village. It was a settlement deep within the Faran Sea of Trees, completely isolated from the outside world. Centered around the giant spirit tree Faranka, houses were built into the trunks and branches of the trees. It was a village truly one with the forest, where the elves lived a quiet, self-sufficient life. Serafina, who had wandered into the village, was initially welcomed with courtesy. But within three months, the atmosphere of the village changed completely. The cause was her uninhibited behavior. Several of the village's young elf maidens began spending all their time at Serafina's place. That wasn't all. In the elves' traditional combat training, she defeated the village warriors one after another. The ancient martial arts movements she'd learned in her previous life meshed perfectly with her supple elven body. The conservative elders came to see Serafina as a threat. "You are one who disturbs our laws." A white-haired elf woman declared in a cold voice. "The young maidens grow wanton and neglect their training. The men, defeated by you, have lost their confidence. This is a grave situation." Serafina shrugged. She had plenty she wanted to say, but her forty years of experience told her that resisting here would be pointless. (*Well, can't be helped.*) Several warriors held their hands over her forehead. An incantation was chanted, and a searing pain shot through her skin as if it were burning. A mark was carved into her, and a binding curse was placed upon her, ensuring she could never enter the Sea of Trees again. This was the elven punishment of exile—Faranto. She was driven from the village and cast out into the outside world. *** Two days later. Serafina arrived at Caravita, a trading post on the outskirts of the Milt Plains. It was a simple settlement surrounded by a wooden palisade, said to gather nearly three thousand people during the seasons when caravans passed through. Only about eight hundred were permanent residents, but even so, it was a major hub in the wilderness. Walking along a dust-filled road, Serafina looked around. Street vendors shouted, men who looked like mercenaries loitered in front of a tavern. The neighing of horses, the sound of hammering iron. The air, thick with the smell of sweat and animals, hung heavy and stifling. (*This seems to be within the territory of the Kingdom of Verdia... but the royal capital is still far off.*) From what she'd picked up since leaving the village, this country was effectively ruled by an aristocracy called the Seven Wings Council, and the king was little more than a figurehead. A dog-eat-dog world where money and power ruled—that was her first impression. After walking a bit, she saw a crowd gathered in a corner of the square. Angry shouts and the calls of an auctioneer. Driven by curiosity, Serafina approached and stopped in her tracks. There was a cage. Inside, elven children were crammed together. Their ears were pointed, their skin haggard, their clothes in tatters. They looked to be under ten years old. Three of them huddled together, trembling faintly. A woman stood imposingly in front of the cage. She looked about twenty-eight. Her blonde hair was tied back in a single ponytail, and she wore a leather breastplate. A longsword hung at her hip. Her gaze was sharp, and a calculating smile, typical of a merchant, was plastered on her lips. "Alright, next item! Pure-blood elf brats! Raise 'em right, and they'll sell for a fortune in ten years!" Gilda. A former mercenary, now a slave trader. She commanded the roughnecks who ran the trading post's underworld, and three thick-armed mercenaries stood around her as guards. Something cold and hard settled deep in Serafina's chest. She recalled a story she'd heard in the village. There was supposedly a law called the Sentient Species Protection Act that forbade the enslavement of elves and beastfolk. But here, such laws were probably worth less than the paper they were written on. No one in the square tried to help the children. Some jeered, some merchants haggled over prices, and mercenaries passed by with disinterest. (*You've gotta be kidding me.*) The memories of the forty-year-old Sarasa pushed her forward. Even in that other world, she'd hated adults who preyed on children. And now, the same thing was happening right before her eyes. Before she knew it, her feet were moving. "Stop that transaction." Serafina's voice rang out across the square. Gilda's gaze caught her, and her smile vanished. "Huh?" "Didn't you hear me? I said let those kids out of the cage." The mercenaries burst out laughing. One of them approached, hand on the hilt of his sword. "Don't get cocky, little girl." But Serafina was faster. The mercenary's fist cut through empty air. Her body was already low, slipping into his guard. Her knife-hand strike sank into the man's side, and he dropped to his knees with a groan. Another swung a club down from the side. Serafina twisted her body, evading by dropping onto her back. At the same time, she swung her leg up and drove her heel into his jaw. The third drew his sword. But he was too slow. Serafina's hand grabbed the man's wrist, locking the joint. It was a movement adapted from the short sword techniques she'd learned in her past life. The sword fell from his hand, and a scream rose up. A mere few dozen seconds. Three burly mercenaries lay sprawled on the ground. The square fell silent. The expression vanished from Gilda's face. In its place, a warrior's caution filled her eyes. She slowly drew her longsword and took a stance. "...I see. You're not just some little girl." "Come with me." Serafina jerked her chin toward Gilda's private quarters at the back of the trading post. "I want to have a proper talk with you." *** The private room was surprisingly simple. A desk and chair, a small bed, a shelf holding weapons. The setting sun streamed through the window, dyeing the room red. The two faced each other. Gilda's sword was heavy and fast. Her swordsmanship was practical, backed by years of experience as a mercenary. But Serafina dodged, parried, and broke her stance with almost insulting ease. (*Right, this body is elven.*) The ancient martial arts dojo I'd attended as a hobby back when I was Sarasa. Movements that had been limited by my forty-year-old body could now be perfectly reproduced with this young, supple one. And on top of that, elven physical abilities amplified it all. After several exchanges, Gilda's sword was sent flying. Serafina twisted her arm behind her back and pinned her down on the bed. She unfastened the leather breastplate and tore the fabric beneath. "Maybe I'll make you my merchandise too." I whispered in her ear. Gilda's body trembled violently. After that, I poured in all the experience that forty-year-old Sarasa had cultivated. My fingertips crawled over her skin. I sought out her weak spots, caressed them gently, and sometimes stimulated them intensely. Gilda's breathing grew ragged, and the strength to resist slowly drained from her. "S-stop... ah..." Every time my fingers traced the curve of her waist, Gilda's back arched like a bow. As I stroked up her thighs, hot sighs escaped her lips. While accurately attacking the places she felt it most, Serafina never rushed. She cornered her slowly, blocked off all escape, and locked her in a cage of pleasure. Tears spilled from Gilda's eyes. "Please... forgive me..." A voice of supplication. But Serafina didn't stop her hands. Bringing her lips close to the nape of Gilda's neck, lightly biting her earlobe, she slid her fingertips even deeper. In that instant, Gilda's body bucked violently. "Ah, aaaaaah!" The sound of her climax echoed through the room. Her whole body convulsed, and the fingers gripping the sheets turned white. Gilda shuddered again and again, and eventually went limp, utterly spent. Serafina pulled away from her and caught her breath. A moment of silence. Gilda slowly sat up. The hostility and caution from before had vanished from her eyes. In their place was a feverish, submissive light. "...What are you?" "Serafina. Just a wandering elf." "Liar." Gilda gave a wry smile, but remained kneeling on the bed. "I'm Gilda. I'll... follow you. I don't think I can escape now." "You sure? Giving up the slave trade?" "You're the replacement for my merchandise." Saying that, Gilda looked up. "This body, my information network, my money—I'll entrust it all to you. So..." Her voice trembled just a little. "Stroke me again." Serafina gave a small laugh. (*Well, not a bad start.*) Outside the window, the sun was setting. A ruined world, a rotten society, and an exile. Even so, before her stood one obedient slave. And from here on, the two of them could go anywhere. Gently stroking Gilda's hair, Serafina turned her gaze toward the distant royal capital. (*There might be even more interesting women over there.*) The earthly desire