Demon Hunter and His Cabin
Chapter 885 - 673: Pain and Pleasure_2

Chapter 885: Chapter 673: Pain and Pleasure_2

At this moment, Roger only used a single drop of liquid to push her to a climax.

Don’t misunderstand.

This experience was entirely on a spiritual level.

But in a certain sense, it was far purer than physical stimulation.

Panambi’s body collapsed weakly onto the chair, the crystal bottle in her hand slipping and falling as her vacant eyes stared at the ceiling.

Deep in her mind, knowledge once learned and memories buried in forgotten corners surged forward, her brain working at high speed, yet the entire process brought intense pleasure.

"Hah... hah... so... ah..."

She was no longer able to verbalize her current state. No one knew how much time had passed until the drug’s effects wore off and Panambi’s mind returned to normal.

She then realized that only ten minutes had passed according to the clock on the wall, but her entire body was drenched in sweat, like she’d been drained dry. She took a deep breath and tried to stand up.

But suddenly, a strange tremor struck within her body.

Her cheeks flushed red, an unconscious moan escaped her lips and nose, and then she collapsed onto the floor.

Night descended, and the campus office area was eerily quiet. Panambi lay trembling on the carpet, her body convulsing uncontrollably.

Yet unlike Roger’s initial experience, what overwhelmed Panambi’s body wasn’t pain, but...

No one knew how much time had passed.

Panambi climbed back to her feet, her face flushed crimson, hair disheveled, eyes hazy. If any unsuspecting faculty had seen her like this...

The next day, headlines about a female professor being assaulted late at night would likely spread throughout the entire city.

"What... what the hell is this stuff?"

Panambi glanced fearfully at the crystal bottle that had rolled onto the floor.

After hesitating for a moment, she grit her teeth and picked up the bottle, clutching it tightly to her chest.

"Damn bastard!" Panambi cursed softly.

With this bottle, she could completely bid farewell to men in the future.

Recovering from her daze, a sliver of determination flashed in her eyes as Panambi staggered to her feet, her mind made up.

As for everything that happened in the office, Roger naturally knew nothing.

He only heard that Goway and the others had created various categorized alchemy potions based on laboratory and library formulas.

But how could he have known that achieving true perfection required intense fine-tuning, and even a small modification could significantly alter the potion’s effects?

The one Roger held in his hand was privately nicknamed "Focused Desire" by Hathaway.

Though displayed openly, its side effects were indeed minimal, but the waves of stimulation...

Truthfully, enduring it often turned into a form of torture over time.

Pain and pleasure intertwined.

Leaving the university district after spending much time in the office, the night was deep, and pedestrians and vehicles on the streets had noticeably decreased.

Since the specific location was confirmed, Roger didn’t wish to delay further.

Tabani lay deep within the rainforest, and after some comparisons, Roger pinpointed the corresponding longitude and latitude on the map. Traversing rugged terrain on foot to reach a destination thousands of miles away was naturally out of the question.

This was the moment when technology could prove useful.

"First, head to the city on the rainforest’s edge, then get a helicopter... Once inside the jungle, away from ordinary people’s view, everything will be much easier."

Roger mused, strolling aimlessly, but soon he noticed something unusual in his surroundings.

"Excuse me, sir."

A hoarse voice called out from nearby.

Roger looked up, and by the streetlamp stood a young man in a checkered shirt, his bright eyes fixed on Roger.

"Sir, could you tell me what time it is now?"

Roger frowned slightly, sensing an overt mental manipulation embedded in the young man’s voice.

Though ineffective against him, it was still unpleasant.

Glancing away, Roger’s eyes swept past the young man without saying a word before casually walking away.

At the street’s end, he turned a corner, and the hoarse voice returned.

"Sir, could you tell me what time it is now?"

The young man in the checkered shirt appeared once more under a nearby streetlamp. The light illuminated his face, unable to dim the gleam in his eyes.

Moments ago, he was standing casually, arms crossed, leaning against the streetlight. But now, he was directly in Roger’s path, his arms hanging naturally and his tone darker.

Roger stopped walking.

It was obvious—this was a transcendent, and though they could identify his true nature...

It was admittedly unexpected.

"Hah, I’m speaking to you in Armenian, and you still don’t understand?" The young man sneered.

Roger sighed—transcendents here were far more exclusionary than he’d anticipated. From the moment he’d landed via plane, he might’ve drawn the attention of South American transcendent forces.

Was it through the office’s faint energy fluctuations?

Not entirely impossible.

Roger paid no mind to the young man’s taunting. Then, in the next instant, the shadow by the streetlamp blinked, and the young man appeared directly before Roger.

"Outsider, answer my q—"

"Crunch!"

The ground suddenly split open, and a massive hand emerged out of thin air, grabbing the young man in an instant.

Roger merely frowned, as the hand constricted, pulling the young man in the checkered shirt underground at lightning speed.

He certainly didn’t wish for trouble with local transcendent forces, but that didn’t mean he would lower his head.

In no time, the ground returned to normal, leaving only a single head of the previously arrogant young man exposed, his body entirely buried beneath.

Roger’s swift action caused immense disruption, yet oddly, those around him seemed oblivious, as if the area near Roger had become a world unto itself.

"Excuse me, sir..."

"Please stop your attack; you’re now dealing wit—"

"Ah...!"

A blood-curdling scream echoed as a shadow was caught in the darkness, dragged to the light by Roger in an instant.

It was a man in his early thirties, with broad shoulders and a sturdy physique. Yet now he was like a helpless child, bound in midair by Roger.

"Attack?"

"If I had really attacked, you, him, and everyone on this entire street would’ve ceased to exist."

Roger spoke calmly, tightening his grip as an overwhelming force threatened to crush the pair.

Just as the two thought death was imminent, the oppressive energy suddenly dissipated, accompanied by a voice drilling into their minds.

"I don’t want any trouble. I’m only here temporarily and will leave shortly."

"Relay my message—unless it’s Fourth Tier or above, don’t come next time!"

One man dropped from midair while the other emerged from the ground, their eyes meeting filled with shared humiliation.

"Who... who the hell does this guy think he is?"

"Huh, Fourth Tier?!"

The young man’s checkered shirt, now torn to shreds, spoke furiously as his face contorted.

All across South America, transcendent forces were highly wary of outsiders. This scenario was one Flower Shirt had orchestrated many times before.

Usually, even powerful transcendent visitors treaded carefully when stepping onto unfamiliar territory.

After all, a single misstep could mean facing not an individual, but an entire faction.

During his tasks, Flower Shirt loved witnessing the anxiety and caution on outsiders’ faces.

He often used asking for the time as his signature opening, believing it low-profile yet stylish.

"Can you tell me the time now?"

If the other person answered South American local time, he’d warn, "It seems you recognize whose land you stand upon, so I hope you understand you must follow our time and our rules here."

Then followed a long-winded speech filled with warnings, frightening timid transcendents into booking the fastest flights out of South America.

If the response indicated Armenian or European time...

He’d deliver the same warnings.

"Outsider, since you won’t follow our time, let me advise you to leave immediately. Otherwise, there’s far more than just rules you’ll be forced to respect."

Either response granted Flower Shirt his moment of glory, relying on the transcendent forces behind him to make even more powerful individuals swallow their pride.

Yet this time... he was nearly beaten into a miserable wreck.

"Boss, what should we do next?" Flower Shirt asked.

"Do?!"

"This is beyond us. Just report everything honestly. Hmph, don’t worry; remember who backs us."

"That’s the great Lord Deathwing!"