Reborn in Milfloria: The Only Man in a World of Seductive Queens-Chapter 65: He Who Struts, Unlocks

Henry remained in his heroic squat.

The floor beneath him groaned like a forbidden scroll being opened in slow motion. It wasn’t pain—it was anticipation. The marble cheeks beneath his feet jiggled slightly, as if encouraging him to go deeper. His towel fluttered in dramatic slo-mo, held up only by divine plot armor and unspoken anime physics.

"Hold strong, Henry," Vebrissima whispered. "Your thighs speak the language of legends."

"Speak louder," Climaxa whispered beside her, sketching him with sparkles in her eyes. "I’m trying to subtitle it in my journal."

Mistress Humida raised a hand. Instantly, the room darkened.

Spotlights of soft, misty light emerged from the steamy heavens above. They circled Henry like he was a main character in a downbad stage play about to enter his final form.

A soft sensual voice echoed from nowhere, followed by the pluck of a harp made entirely of wet noodles:

> "Let the Trials... of Moisture... begin."

A floating scroll hovered into view, unfurling like a seductive burrito.

Trial One: The Temptation of Touch.

> "The Thrusticator must resist contact with the forbidden temptresses of Gushgard for exactly sixty steamy seconds."

Henry blinked. "That’s it? Just don’t get touched?"

Vebrissima squinted. "In this place? That’s like asking a cucumber to stay dry in a hotpot."

Climaxa pulled out a timer shaped like a dripping hourglass. "Begin."

From behind the silky curtains of the bathhouse, they emerged.

Four Sisters of Endless Heat.

Each one looked like the result of a fever dream and a forbidden fanfiction collab.

The first had thighs that clapped when she walked. No sandals—just toe rings that whispered gossip to the floor.

The second had hips so curvaceous they had their own moon phases. Her breath smelled like cinnamon heartbreak.

The third had eyes like twin moons and fingers that did jazz hands just by existing.

The fourth didn’t walk. She glided. Suspended on a floating inner tube of steamy air shaped like lips. Her presence alone made Henry’s towel knot sweat.

And they were all walking toward him.

One held a feather.

Another had whipped cream.

The third was wearing nothing but scented fog.

The fourth? Just confidence.

Henry swallowed.

The timer dripped.

Tick.

Tock.

SLAP—one of the sisters spanked the air near him, and the sound alone sent tremors up his spine.

He clenched.

"Not today, demons," Henry whispered, eyes locked on the ground. "I am the towel. The towel is me."

One of the sisters leaned in, her breath brushing his ear like forbidden WiFi.

> "Say the word, and I’ll polish your ego with cocoa butter and compliments."

Henry whimpered.

Thirty seconds in.

"Climaxa, how much time left?!"

Climaxa grinned like a gremlin. "Thirty seconds. And one of them just brought out a hot oil duck. I don’t even know what that is."

Slick hands hovered an inch from his thighs.

A tongue wagged nearby, and it wasn’t attached to a person.

Henry’s mind flashed with memories: foot pics, lonely poetry nights, the thigh-shaped belt buckle his grandfather once polished with honor and coconut oil.

"No," he whispered, voice trembling. "I must protect the remaining men. Even if it costs me... my towel."

He closed his eyes and began chanting in his mind:

> "I like you but I don’t simp.

I thirst but I resist.

Thighs may clap—

But my will?

Untouched."

A final drumroll.

Ding.

Time’s up.

Henry opened his eyes—just as the fourth sister was one millimeter from licking his knee.

A gust of magic air blew her away like a thirsty leaf.

Trial One: Passed.

The scroll fluttered, proud and slightly turned on.

Mistress Humida smiled. "Impressive, Thrusticator. Most mortals fold at the whipped cream stage."

Henry wiped his brow. "I almost folded into a croissant."

---

Trial Two: The Whisper of Want.

This one... was cruel.

Henry was taken to a small golden room. It had soft walls made of cloud-silk, a velvet beanbag shaped like a butt, and floating screens showing embarrassing flashbacks of his old Lustagram likes.

Each clip played with slow jazz and unnecessary filters.

> Henry liking a pic titled "Just my feet today 🩷"

Henry commenting "I’d let you walk over my self-esteem"

Henry sending a DM that simply read: "Hello milady, I see you are online..."

Henry screamed. "NOOOO! HOW DID YOU GET THOSE?!"

Mistress Humida whispered, "We have access to the ScrollCloud."

The trial was clear: he had to face every cringe thing he’d ever done... without deleting it.

Henry fell to his knees. "This isn’t a trial. This is... emotional exfoliation."

But slowly... painfully... he watched them.

And something changed.

He laughed.

"I was a disaster," he chuckled, wiping tears. "A simp-storm of uncooked thirst."

He stood up, stronger.

"Never again will I beg for attention in the comment section of someone named PeachQueen420."

A harp sting echoed.

The walls sparkled.

Trial Two: Passed.

---

Trial Three: The Final Soak.

Henry was brought to a pool.

But this pool... was different.

No bubbles.

No grapes. 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

Just one tub. And in it, sat a single figure.

Seraphina.

Clothed in mystery, steam, and exactly two strategically placed towels.

She raised a brow. "About time, Thrusticator."

Henry froze.

"What... how..."

"This is your final trial," Humida said. "You must bathe with your true thirst... and not drown in it."

The water rippled invitingly.

Seraphina patted the space beside her.

Henry stepped forward.

Each step echoed like drumbeats of temptation.

He sat.

The water kissed his skin like an old lover.

Seraphina leaned closer.

"So... you still simping for scrollfeet?"

Henry met her gaze.

"No," he said softly. "I simp for justice."

They stared.

Tension crackled.

A droplet of water rolled off her shoulder and exploded into steam midair.

Then she smirked.

"Good. Now shut up and enjoy the bath. You earned it, Towel Boy."

He sank into the water.

And for the first time since arriving in Milforia...

He relaxed.

---

Outside the chamber, Mistress Humida watched the steam rise.

Vebrissima stood beside her. "So... did he pass?"

Humida nodded. "He didn’t fold. He didn’t simp. He didn’t... sniff anything."

Climaxa wiped a tear. "He’s becoming legend."

Prudencia held up a scroll.

"Prophecy unlocked. Final key revealed. The next gate... awaits."

The scroll shimmered as Prudencia spoke, folding itself into the shape of a delicate thong before vanishing into the mist with a coy giggle.

Henry sighed, submerged up to his collarbones in the bath, water lapping gently against his chest like affectionate kittens. His towel floated beside him, clinging to the edge like a lifeguard unsure whether to jump in or moral-police.

Seraphina lounged nearby, arms folded behind her head, one leg gracefully resting over the other. The towel across her chest looked like it was held together by sheer confidence and willpower alone.

Henry side-eyed her.

She side-eyed him back.

The air was thick. With steam. With tension. With forbidden bubbles that kept forming heart shapes before popping seductively.

He cleared his throat. "Sooo... did we just softcore our way into unlocking a divine prophecy?"

Seraphina smirked. "You bathed in the Waters of Restraint without drowning in your own horniness. That counts as growth."

Henry splashed water toward her. "Hey, I was very composed."

"You moaned when the bubbles massaged your toes."

"They whispered things!"

"They always whisper things, Henry."

A shadow fluttered above the bath as Climaxa descended slowly, sipping her glittery peach wine and twirling like a lazy disco ball.

"Okay, team," she said, notebook floating beside her. "According to ScrollRoute, the next destination is... the Gait of Gush—located deep within the Sultra Spires."

Henry blinked. "Gait? As in... walking?"

"No," Vebrissima said from the doorway, flipping her parasol closed. "Gait with an i. As in a walking posture so seductive it becomes a door."

Henry stood up slightly—only for the water to chase after him like clingy steam. "Wait, we’re about to walk through... a strut?"

"It’s an ancient test," Prudencia nodded. "To pass, you must embody the perfect balance of thirst, swagger, and booty physics."

Henry gulped.

Mistress Humida appeared once more, her fog dress flowing like a slow fan-service scene.

"You have passed the Baths of Endless Heat," she said, tone reverent. "But the Gait will test more than your towel. It will test your cheek discipline."

"My what now?"

Humida placed a misty hand on his shoulder.

"Henry of Moist," she said solemnly. "You must learn to walk with power. With rhythm. With thighs that whisper seduction and calves that confess poetry. One wrong hip sway... and the gate stays closed forever."

Henry’s towel tightened around his waist like a seatbelt sensing turbulence.

"Welp," he whispered. "Time to hit the squats again."

---

Meanwhile, across the golden bathhouse, the other men of Gushgard slowly began stirring. Some blinked. Some shivered. One screamed, "Blender!" before sobbing into a loofah.

Henry looked over them.

"We’re not just walking anymore," he muttered. "We’re strutting... for their freedom."

Climaxa raised her flask. "To cheeks... and to destiny."

"To thighs that jiggle for justice," added Vebrissima.

"To the Gait of Gush," Seraphina whispered, now standing beside Henry, towel fluttering like a flag in a very horny revolution.

And with that... they began to prepare for the walk that would decide everything.

The walk... that would part thighs and open doors.

The walk...

Of a king.