Roy staggered as the information finished pouring in, clutching his head while the technique unfolded inside his mind.
He proceeded to sit on the curb of the dimly lit alley, the crumpled blank scroll which he had rushed to pick up of the ground clutched in his trembling hands like a sacred relic.
At first, he had frowned.
'A massage technique?'
Then the rest of the information had arrived. His eyes widened. Then widened some more.
"Oh," he whispered. "Ohhh."
The name echoed again, clearer this time, as if the heavens themselves were explaining it to him with unnecessary confidence.
Profound Blossom Massage Technique: Divine Rank God Technique.
Roy swallowed deeply.
"Okay," he said slowly, "I take it back. I apologize for doubting the effectiveness of this heavenly relic!"
The information continued to streak in smoothly and calmly, as if what it was describing wasn't completely unhinged.
At first glance, that was what it looked like; it seemed straightforward: a massage method to ease tensions, to melt away the knots of daily strain, and aid with mana cultivation on whoever you used it on.
In simple terms, it really was just a massage technique, but thinking of it as 'just' that was extremely misleading. Roy's degenerate soul knew better, and the information that came with the technique told him all he needed to know.
The said benefits were only a bonus of the technique's actual benefits. It was very simple and straightforward, really, but that was maybe the terrifying part.
It didn't rely on brute force, cultivation explosions, or flashy attacks. No beams of light or earth-shattering strikes like some other techniques.
It relied on nothing but touch and mana to heighten a target's sensitivity and then unravel them.
By making use of flickers of mana, perfectly placed power on pressure points and certain body parts, manipulating a precise flow of mana in the body, and an understanding of the body so deep it bordered on disrespectful, one could completely conquer the target, making them reach the epitome of pleasure, or frustrating them to no end.
Roy's brain helpfully supplied an analogy.
"This isn't a hammer," he muttered. "This is a master key." He almost couldn't help but suspect the technique's legitimacy. If he weren't in a world with actual magic, he might have.
But there was only really one way to find out if this would work. Test it out on someone.
The technique adjusted itself based on the target. Strength, temperament, mood, even pride—all of it was taken into account automatically.
A single movement of the hand could ease exhaustion, melt tension, or leave even the most composed person completely aroused and flustered.
And it scaled up exponentially depending on the user's mastery. That was the worst part.
It was no secret that Roy's capacity for mana and magic in general was absolute trash. So it was obvious he would not be able to bring the most out of the technique unless he got stronger.
But who said he couldn't get better? In fact, this was the greatest source of motivation that he could get!
He could only nod at how profound this technique was in its essence, more so when he read the part that explained how the stronger, prouder, and more difficult the person/ target was, the more terrifyingly effective the technique became.
The technique's origin details appeared next.
Created by the Lustful Demon God.
Roy nodded slowly. "Of course it was."
The Demon God, it explained, had many women. Too many women. He had powerful ones, difficult ones, kinky ones, as well as the kind who wouldn't be impressed by mere strength or gifts.
So he created this technique to conquer any and every woman.
"Holy...Shit!"
This was transcendence, a divine art that shattered mortal limits. The Demon God, that ancient lust incarnate, had crafted it to tame the wildest desires of his wives, consorts—arrogant empresses, fierce warriors, and ethereal beauties who bowed to no one.
For a god surrounded by such prideful beauties, satisfaction wasn't optional; it was a basic requirement, it was, in its essence, the art of conquest to him.
With a single caress, he unraveled them, turning their iron wills into quivering submission, and leaving their bodies shaking in ecstasy under his touch.
The technique's capabilities bloomed in Roy's mind like forbidden petals. Stress relief? Yes and no.
Roy almost snorted. In its base form, yes. But it went beyond soothing aches; it involved using his fingers to trace meridians, igniting inner fires, flushing out exhaustion until every muscle sang with renewed vigor, and every nerve alight with euphoric release.
Relaxation became a gateway to oblivion, where a gentle press on the lower back sent waves of warmth cascading through limbs, loosening hips and thighs until the recipient floated in a haze of boneless bliss, and their breaths deepened into soft moans.
With nothing more than a casual touch, he could overwhelm mental defenses, shatter composure, and reduce legendary figures to complete emotional ruin, leaving them peaceful, relaxed, and very much conquered.
The technique helped Roy visualise some of its uses: like using his gaze to lock onto a woman's form, piercing clothing and flesh alike, mapping her most sacred sanctuaries. G-spots, clitoral clusters, erogenous zones unseen by the eye, all revealed in an instant, pulsing with need.
No probe or guesswork was needed at all; one look alone charted the path to the core, whether nestled deep in the lower lip's walls or along the sensitive ridge of the target's hind rift.
Then, the touch: channeling tendrils of controlled mana for deliberate and sensual stimulation.
He could also use his thumbs to circle certain sensitive areas.
No barrier withstood its effectiveness; the technique infiltrated every fold, every secret crevice, forcing peaks of pleasure that left them shattered, loyal, craving the next session.
The instructions cascaded next; they were explicit and relentless, shaming even some of Roy's filthiest fantasies.
He 'saw' the sequences: starting with mana-embued feather-light strokes along the labia to awaken Yin flows, escalating to firm grips on inner thighs, circling clits, parting the labia to expose the glistening slit for targeted plunges of fingers and the tongue.
Pressure points on the neck triggered full-body shudders and orgasms, syncing with deep-tissue digs into the glutes that made asses clench and release in rhythmic waves.
Oral integrations of the technique flickered in, tongue lapping at exposed necks while hands milked pleasure from below, or sucking on toes to amplify the chain reaction up to a dripping glory hole.