It was dark and damp... with a bone-chilling cold.
Paul jolted awake. The surroundings were dim, illuminated only by an ancient oil lamp. Nearby, Guevara was staring blankly into space, apparently lost in thought.
Paul shook his head hard, clearing some of the fog, only to realize that the clothes on his upper body had somehow been completely stripped off.
"G-Guevara, what did you do to me?!" Paul asked, suddenly suspicious.
Guevara looked far too detached from desire, far too hollow!
"Oh, you're awake." Guevara came to himself, casually pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lit one, and took a satisfied drag.
The smoke curled like a dragon.
Seeing the satisfaction on Guevara's face, Paul felt his entire body turn cold, and his face grew pale... Because everyone's genes were constantly being optimized, the average Imperial citizen was exceptionally good-looking.
Once someone's appearance reached a certain level, gender seemed to matter less—so the Empire didn't impose many restrictions in that regard.
For example, in Princess Anle's Temporary Palace, there were tens of thousands of servants, over ninety percent of them handsome male attendants... It was easy for some of those male attendants to end up becoming partners.
"How could you do this?!" Paul seemed to burst into tears, his voice slightly hoarse. "I wasn't prepared at all... No, I'm not that kind of person! Why did you do this to me? I'm not pure anymore! How am I supposed to climb into Her Highness's bed now?!"
"Huh?" Guevara stared at Paul in bewilderment, then slapped his forehead and sneered. "That's true. You really aren't very pure. Tsk, tsk. A Primal Dark Elf bloodline, eh? Paul, you've been hiding it well."
Paul's eyes widened. He instinctively looked down at his abdomen—and there, at some point, a strange purple emblem had appeared.