Grind-to-Cash System: Buy SSS Skills to Spam them Infinitely with Cash-Chapter 18- Saving a Damsel in Distress

The sun hung low in the Helbian sky, setting the county's fields aglow in amber and gold. The grass rustled softly in the breeze, brushing against the ankles of two figures walking side by side.

Horses trailed behind them, snorting gently, their reins loosely held.

Mirea's fingers curled tightly around the iron handles of the water buckets. Her back ached faintly, sweat collecting under the neckline of her simple cotton blouse.

Her green hair—tied in a rough braid—danced with every step, catching glints of light like moss under water. Her posture was tired. Her expression blank.

Beside her walked Lerin Vance, son of the wealthiest merchant lord in Mehan Kingdom. Broad-shouldered, sharp-jawed, face far too clean for someone who claimed to be a mercenary.

But he didn't look at the path ahead.

His gaze had been locked on Mirea's body the entire time—on the way her thick thighs strained against her skirt with each step, on the bounce of her full breasts as she walked, the subtle sway of her hips.

He liked how her blouse clung to her in the heat, how the sweat dampened the fabric over her curves. She wasn't thin or delicate like the daughters of nobles. Mirea was solid. Built. Her body had weight—substance—and in Lerin's mind, it was meant to be held, claimed, loved.

He'd watched her for two years now. Quietly. Obsessively.

Ever since she'd insulted him that day at the docks—mocked his silk gloves while hauling crates with calloused hands—he hadn't stopped thinking about her.

Not just her smile or her voice, but the way her chest jiggled when she laughed, the flush in her cheeks when she was angry. And the idea had taken root: She should be mine.

So when she didn't outright reject him, when she accepted the gifts, came to the dinners, smiled faintly—it only fed the fantasy. He knew she needed money. Knew she couldn't risk offending him.

But in his twisted logic, compliance became consent.

And today... was the day he'd make her his.

They stopped near an old wooden seesaw, faded by rain and sun.

Mirea lowered the buckets. Her shoulders tensed.

"Why did you call me here?" she asked, voice even, eyes unreadable.

Lerin stepped slightly closer, brushing dust off his trousers. "Do you remember when we first met?"

She remained silent.

"The summer fair. I had jam all over my face." He smiled. "You said I looked like a baby stuffed with cherries. I've never forgotten it."

Still no reaction.

He reached into his coat, exhaling deeply. "I joined the mercenaries three days ago. Just left everything behind. My name, my father's shadow, the gold... all of it."

He dropped to one knee.

And drew out a small, silver ring.

"No more pretending. I love you, Mirea. Let's marry. Let's build something real—together."

Mirea didn't move. Her eyes remained cold.

"...No," she said, as if stating the weather, knowing well that his intention from the start was this, given his approach until now. While her instinct always rang dangerously around him, warning her how dangerous he was to her.

And her instinct was always true—an ability she received from her dead mother.

Lerin blinked. "W-What?"

"I said no. I don't love you."

Her words stabbed cleanly as she turned to leave. Given his status and her ill sister being at home, she could not afford to offend him, especially since the girl to whom she sold her herbs to earn money was controlled by his father.

And given what she knew so far about him, he would not hesitate for a moment to cut off any source of income.

Even if it causes harm to her sick sister.

For a second, Lerin was still.

Then his lips twitched—into a laugh.

"Hah... appears I should've used the other method."

Her brow furrowed. "What?"

She turned slightly, just enough to notice the tension in his eyes—but too late.

He grabbed her wrist, yanking her down with brutal force.

"Hey—!" she shrieked.

Her back slammed into the grass with a thud, the air knocking from her lungs. The ring slipped from his hand, falling into the dirt.

He hovered over her, breathing faster, eyes wild.

"Lerin, stop!"

But his hands were already on her, pushing, fumbling.

"I told you I'd give you everything," he muttered. "And I will. Whether you want it or not—your body wants it. I see it. I've seen it since the beginning."

"NO!"

Her fingers clawed at the dirt—until they found a jagged branch.

CRACK!

She slammed it into the side of his head.

He grunted, collapsing to the side in a daze.

She scrambled up and ran.

Bushes tore at her legs. Her braid slapped against her back. She didn't dare look back. Her heart thundered in her chest—her lungs felt like they would burst.

And then—his voice, echoing:

"I'll definitely make you mine!"

Terror surged through her.

The trees broke—revealing the sea.

She sprinted onto the shore, feet splashing in the shallow foam.

And then—something impossible.

A massive, translucent dome washed ashore, wobbling in the waves. Its surface shimmered like wet glass, and inside—two people, unmoving, curled within like sleeping gods.

Her voice cracked as she screamed:

"PLEASE! Help me!!"

She fell to her knees, tears streaming down her face.

'Why did I come here....no—I can't..like this'

She remembered his eyes during the first dinner. How they lingered too long. The touches on her back that didn't feel friendly. The way he smiled when she wore the dress he sent—too tight across her chest.

Even if she ignored her instinct, which always rang like hammering in her mind, his gestures were too vivid for even a blind woman to understand, and she naturally knew from the start the first time she saw him; yet she was helpless.

She would have run away from town, but her sister's health was getting worse. She had no real choice.

And now—

A burning pain tore through her back.

"AAAHH!"

A scream ripped from her lungs.

She collapsed forward into the wet sand, face contorted in agony. Her trembling hand reached behind instinctively—fingers brushing wet, sticky warmth.

She brought it forward.

Crimson.

Her eyes widened. Her limbs began to shake.

Lerin's shadow stood over her, a bloodied sword in hand, expression eerily calm.

"Sigh... I'll just use a healing potion," he said, swiping blood off the blade with his sleeve, his hair falling across his forehead.

She could barely speak. "P-Please... stop..."

He knelt beside her again. "Of course I will... once I claim you."

His hand reached—

But then—WHAM!

His body shot backward, skidding across the sand.

Another voice from the one who gave an impact resonated.

"Bad news, third rate simp villain—she's subscribed to my protection plan."