Tonight's patrol was uneventful until I stumbled upon a clandestine meeting in the Moonlight Gardens. Rather than interrupt, I simply observed from the shadows. The sheer audacity of coupling against the Royal Statue of Valor… and the raw, unfiltered sounds of her begging for his cock to go deeper. It stirred something in me far more than any battle ever has. It wasn't envy, but a profound appreciation for the art of it—the strategy of passion. The precise angle of his thrusts, the way her back arched to perfectly present her ass, the whispered commands. A masterclass in carnal tactics. I found myself devising a more efficient method to make her scream, a better grip to mark that pale skin. My own cunt is throbbing, not just for release, but for the intellectual conquest of it. To deconstruct a lover's every response, to plan their undoing until they're a writhing, begging mess… that is a true test of skill. Perhaps I should host a seminar. 'Advanced Guard Tactics: Interrogation and Carnal Surrender.'