The Quest Is Simply To NTR All The Heroes - Chapter 270

Chapter 270: Perfect Pillow for the Hero
John, a scruffy dude who looked like he’d just crawled out of bed despite being in his early twenties, shoved his way through the crowd, grumbling under his breath.

Just moments ago, he was basking in the glory of witnessing a living legend in action.

His hero-worship had been going strong—until his mother’s shrill nagging yanked him back to reality.

Again. She’d been riding his ass for days, and now she had to ruin this day too?

John knelt by the still-unconscious Kaisen, whose ripped physique was fully on display.

Muscles rippling, abs glistening, and… there was something else very noticeable that made John’s jaw drop.

The damn hero wasn’t just knocked out—he was packing like a goddamn bull. John’s eyes shot wide open, his mind immediately wishing he could unsee it.

He glanced at his mother, who was staring at Kaisen with the thirst of a woman who’d just binge-watched five seasons of a bad romance drama.

She looked like a puppy seeing her long-lost crush—eyes full of need and hope that her son could somehow bring Romeo back to life.

‘Shitty woman probably already forgot she has a husband. Tsk, tsk.’

John thought, rolling his eyes.

“What are you—”

“Shut up, woman! Let me focus!” he snapped, waving her off.

His mother immediately launched into her Oscar-worthy performance.

“Aaahhh! Look at my son, cursing me! Me, who carried him for nine long months. Me, who birthed him with the strength of a thousand lions! The pain, the suffering! And now he curses me in front of the whole village! Waaah, waaahhh!”

John gritted his teeth as his mother’s theatrical sobbing grew louder, drawing even more unwanted attention.

The whole village was staring, but John was a pro at tuning her out.

He’d been living with her over-the-top performances for two decades—she deserved an award for her dedication to making every moment all about her.

‘Why am I so fucking unlucky?’

John thought bitterly, glancing at Kaisen, who lay there like some goddamn sleeping beauty. His expression turned sour as he prepared his spell. The whole situation felt like a cruel cosmic joke.

Meanwhile, his mother kept on her sob-filled monologue.

“Aahhh, who do I even have now? Oh wait, the hero! He will surely look after this poor orphan!”

Orphan? John nearly choked. This was next-level desperation.

He shot her a death glare, but she was too busy daydreaming about how she’d throw herself at Kaisen the moment he woke up.

Mother’s thirst levels: apocalyptic.

John sighed heavily, returning his focus to the task at hand. He mumbled a spell and, like a reluctant magician forced into a bad party gig, summoned water from his palms.

The droplets splashed onto Kaisen’s unconscious face and body, and that’s when things took a turn for the worse—or, depending on the perspective, much better.

The water glistened over Kaisen’s perfectly sculpted abs, sliding down his rippling muscles in slow motion like a goddamn cologne commercial.

The effect was immediate.

It was as if someone had cranked up the heat to eleven—half the women in the crowd were practically swooning, their faces flushed, biting their lips like they were about to burst into flames.

One woman in the crowd whispered under her breath,

“Holy fuck… someone needs to bottle that.”

Another one, her voice trembling, said,

“He’s so wet… and so am I.”

John facepalmed. He should’ve known this was going to backfire.

Kaisen wasn’t just a hero—he was now a living, breathing thirst trap, and the water show had only made it worse.

Women around him were gripping their skirts, fanning themselves, while the men shifted uncomfortably, feeling extremely inadequate in comparison.

John’s mother, oblivious to the chaos she was about to unleash, pointed at Kaisen’s toga, practically drooling.

“T-there! On his… toga too. He must be ‘hot’ from the fighting. The water will cool him off.”

She stammered, not-so-subtly eyeing the giant silhouette forming under the silk.

John, still trying to maintain some dignity, sprayed more water without thinking. And that’s when it happened—the bulge.

The once modest outline of Kaisen’s “manhood” went from an innocent ripple to a colossal, unmistakable shadow.

It was as if someone had just revealed the sword of legends, and this hero’s “weapon” was no joke.

Women in the crowd squealed like teenagers at a boy band concert, while the men turned fifty shades of green with envy.

Husbands shifted uncomfortably, probably questioning their entire existence. One poor guy looked like he was about to cry.

John, now fully regretting every life decision that led him to this moment, felt the heat of a thousand suns burning into him.

His face turned so red, he might as well have spontaneously combusted.

‘Stupid woman!’

He cursed silently, wishing he could crawl into a hole and disappear.

Just as John was about to lose all hope in humanity, Kaisen started to stir.

The crowd collectively gasped, leaning forward like they were watching a soap opera.

Slowly—agonizingly slowly—Kaisen moved his head from side to side, his muscles flexing beneath his drenched toga.

The women in the crowd practically melted, tears welling in their eyes as they witnessed their fallen hero’s “struggle.”

One woman whimpered, “Oh gods, he’s in pain! He needs us!”

A man nearby clenched his fists. “Our poor hero! I’d give my life to ease his suffering!”

Kaisen’s eyes fluttered open, glimmering with confusion, as if waking from the most erotic dream imaginable.

His gaze swept across the crowd, locking with every wide-eyed villager who now viewed him as some sort of demi-god descended from the heavens—half warrior, half… well-endowed deity.

He blinked, clearly disoriented.

“The battle…I need to get up.”

Kaisen groaned dramatically, clutching his head like he was in some Oscar-worthy performance, Roland stepped forward to offer help, but he was instantly outplayed by John’s mama, who swooped in like a horny vulture.

She grabbed Kaisen’s head and smothered it into her ample bosom, cradling him like he was some lost child in need of comfort—or something else entirely.

“There, there, baby. The battle’s over. Those mangy dogs are surrendering now. You don’t need to worry your pretty little head about anything anymore. Just… relax.”

She purred, stroking his hair like she was soothing more than just his ego.

Kaisen, still deep in his performance, but now clearly enjoying the situation, muffled a pitiful,

“I-is that so? Thank gods… but… are you guys alright?”

He paused dramatically for effect, throwing in a few well-timed sniffles.

“I couldn’t save everyone… I… sob… sob…”

His voice quivered as if he was actually crying, but he was just stalling to enjoy the softness of her assets a little longer.

Cue the waterworks from every woman within a hundred-foot radius. Hearts melted. Ovaries practically exploded.

Kaisen’s fake tears triggered an immediate response, and suddenly, all the women swarmed around him like moths to a flame, each competing for a chance to comfort their “poor, broken hero.”

“Oh, you poor thing!”

“You saved us! You’re a godsend!”

“No, no, it wasn’t your fault, darling!”

“It’s the village’s fault! Damn those defenses!” someone chimed in, suddenly blaming the infrastructure.

Women flocked to Kaisen like a pack of lusty vultures, eager to get their hands on him. One gently grabbed his hand, pressing it to her chest as if to reassure him.

Another was rubbing his shoulders like he’d just come home from a nine-to-five grind, while a third wiped the fake tears from his eyes.

And then there were the others massaging his legs like he was some demigod in need of a personal spa day.

‘He he. Nice nice. My acting is spot-on. These suckers wouldn’t know real pain if it hit ’em in the face. This is perfect.’

Amidst the pampering, one woman’s voice rose above the others.

“Ah, you must be hungry. You have to eat something.”

The chorus of eager agreement followed swiftly, like a pack of hungry moms at a bake sale.

“He must be starving. Let’s feed him some milk,” one of the women suggested with a suspiciously innocent tone.

“…”

“…”

[…]

Everyone’s thoughts took an immediate nosedive into the gutter.

You could see the onlookers blinking as they processed the innuendo, faces turning red with shared embarrassment—and excitement, depending on which side of the crowd you were standing in.

“I’ve got fresh milk right here,” another woman chimed in, stepping forward with a smirk. “It’s fresh, straight from the source.”

“So do I,” said another, even more smug. “But give him mine. You know my milk’s special.”

The air was thick with tension as Kaisen lay there, still pretending to be too weak to resist but enjoying every second of this absolute madness.

‘Gods above, I should get an award for this.’

He could barely hold back a smirk.

“What are you guys saying?! Cow milk, ladies! That’s what he wants! Right, hero?”

Shouted one of the more level-headed women, trying to restore some semblance of decency.

Kaisen, who was thoroughly enjoying the chaos, nodded.

“Yeah, cow milk sounds… great.”

He started to sit up, only to dramatically clutch his head with enough flair to make a theater major jealous.

He groaned like he was in the throes of death itself and, of course, strategically collapsed—right into the arms of another woman. One who, to his delight, wasn’t wearing any innerwear.

Her soft breasts cushioned his face, the hard peaks of her nipples poking him as if to say, “Welcome home.”

His eyes fluttered shut, but not before he gave a quick, satisfied grin. Perfect landing.

‘Don’t wanna be awake for this village rebuilding crap.’

Kaisen thought, snuggling deeper into the soft, pillowy comfort.

‘Let them handle all the boring stuff. I worked so hard. A hero deserves his rest… in the finest of places.’

And with that, he actually began drifting off to sleep, lulled by the softness of her flesh, and the gentle strokes of hands petting his hair.

The women looked down at him like a precious relic, their savior in distress, and whispered amongst themselves.

“Look at him, exhausted after saving us all. Such a man…”

“He needs more milk. His strength is gone.”

“Someone find more pillows! Oh wait, he’s got the perfect ones already.”

Kaisen, meanwhile, was blissfully unaware of the village around him. His hero act had worked so well, he was now getting the kind of rest dreams are made of. If there was a heaven, it would probably look a lot like this—a breast-shaped paradise.