Read Novel Full Chapter 342: Reaching Level 79
Chapter 342: Reaching Level 79
Chapter 341:
It was late at night. The non-stop orgy had been going on all day. The main chamber of Alaric’s pavilion was a disaster zone. Furs, silks, discarded clothes, and empty wine goblets were everywhere.
It was a mountain of naked, sated flesh.
Alaric was lying in the middle of his massive bed, a king on a throne of women. Ondine was draped over his chest, her head resting on his shoulder, fast asleep. Priscilla was spooned against his right side, her voluptuous body a warm, soft presence, his hand idly, possessively, cupping one of her tits even as she dozed. Zylle was a cold, perfect shadow at his feet, and Lin Ruoli, who had been thoroughly, ruthlessly re-broken and re-claimed, was huddled in a pile of furs in the corner, her body trembling from a pleasure so overwhelming it was indistinguishable from terror.
He was bored. Satisfied, yes. But... bored.
Right on cue, as if summoned by his boredom, he heard a frantic knocking on the main flap of his pavilion.
"My Lord! My Lord Alaric! Are you in there?"
It was Eleanor’s voice. High-pitched. Excited. Like a yapping dog.
Ondine stirred, lifting her head, her hair a tousled black curtain. She looked at the door, then at Alaric, her eyes heavy with sleep and satisfaction.
"Ugh... my Lord... is that another one?" she murmured, her voice a velvet purr against his skin. She mistakenly thought he’d called for another woman to join the pile. "He’s... he’s never going to get tired, is he?"
Alaric just sighed, his hand giving Priscilla’s tit a final squeeze. "Apparently not. Enter!" he called out, his voice flat and annoyed. This was an interruption.
Eleanor burst in, her face flushed with triumph, her eyes shining. "My Lord! I..."
She skidded to a stop. Her eyes went wide as saucers.
She saw the scene. Alaric, gloriously, shamelessly naked on his bed, looking like a warrior king after a battle. He was surrounded by four other naked, gorgeous women. Her own Queen, Ondine. The stunning blonde, Priscilla. His terrifying dark-haired guard, Zylle. And... that woman. The merchant from the Dragon Empire. Lin Ruoli. And Lady Ruoli looked... broken. Like a discarded doll.
"Oh..." Eleanor stammered, her voice catching. "I... I’m so sorry... I didn’t mean to... to..."
Her face went from flushed pink to pale white, then to a burning, blotchy red. A hot, sharp stab of jealousy, so intense it made her feel sick, lanced through her. ’He... he’s with... all of them? And... and her? But... what about me?’
"What is it, Eleanor?" Alaric asked. He didn’t even bother to cover himself. Why would he? This was his pavilion. His bed. "I’m... busy, as you can see."
"He’s very busy," Priscilla purred, sitting up, her massive, gravity-defying breasts on full display. She gave Eleanor a cold, smug smile.
Eleanor’s excitement, her big news, overrode her shock and jealousy. This was her moment. Her victory.
"I did it!" she burst out, her voice a triumphant squeak. "My Lord, I did it! I convinced him!"
Alaric raised an eyebrow, his interest zero. "Convinced him of what?" he asked, his voice heavy with boredom.
"My father!" she gushed. "The alliance! He agreed! This morning, he... he finally listened to me! He said... he said my arguments were... persuasive!"
She was beaming, so proud of herself, so desperate for his praise.
Alaric almost laughed out loud.
’Your arguments, huh? Right. I’m sure your pathetic, whimpering little speech did the trick. And it definitely wasn’t the twenty-four hours of pure, body-wrecking terror and pleasure I gave Queen Kate.’
’And it definitely wasn’t the explicit, life-or-death orders I gave her this morning, telling her to "get it done or else."’
He just nodded, his face a blank mask. "Oh. Did he."
"Yes!" Eleanor gushed, completely oblivious to his ice-cold sarcasm. "He agrees to everything! Our Strathmore Kingdom will ally with you! We’ll... we’ll even listen to your instructions! All your... recommendations! Isn’t it wonderful?"
"Yes, Eleanor," Alaric said, his voice flat as a plate. "Wonderful. You did a good job."
He decided to twist the knife, just a little, to see what she’d do. "Your... punishment... must have really motivated you."
"It did!" she said, her eyes shining, completely, hilariously missing his point. "It really did! It made me realize I... I had to try harder! That I couldn’t fail you! I’m so happy I could help! I’m so happy I could... please you!"
Her gaze dropped. It dropped from his bored face... down his powerful, naked chest... down his flat, hard stomach...
...and landed right on his cock, which was resting on his thigh, still half-hard and glistening from its recent... activities.
She stared at it.
Then, her gaze flickered over the pile of other naked women. Ondine. Priscilla. Zylle. Lin Ruoli.
A new, hungry, desperate look came into her eyes. A feverish heat. She wasn’t just jealous. She was starving.
Before Alaric could say another word, her hands were at the laces of her own dress. Her fingers were quick, eager, frantic.
"My lord," she said, her voice dropping to a low, horny purr, her dress falling from her shoulders, pooling at her feet in a heap.
She was naked now, her bubbly buttocks and large, full breasts on proud display. "Since I did so well... since I succeeded..."
She took a step closer to the bed, her eyes glazed with lust. "Can... can I have my reward now?"
"Reward?" Alaric asked, his voice flat.
"I... I need you..." she whispered, her hand reaching out, her body trembling with need. "I’ve been thinking about it... all day. Non-stop. Ever since... that night. I... I’m so wet for you..."
She looked at the other women, her gaze a mix of desperation and challenge.
"Please... I want you to fuck me. Like you did before. Harder."
She was offering herself up. Begging.
Alaric just looked at her. At her naked, pleading, desperate form.
And he smiled. A cold, calculating smile.
"No."
The word was a slap in the face. A punch to the gut.
It just hung in the air. Cold. Flat. Absolute.
Eleanor’s face crumbled.
"W-what?" she stammered, her pleading smile freezing and shattering. "But... but why? I... I succeeded... I did what you wanted... I... I got you the alliance!"
"I said, no," Alaric repeated, his voice flat and hard. He wasn’t playing. He wasn’t teasing. He was dismissing her.
He gestured to her discarded clothes on the floor. "Put your clothes on. You’re dismissed."
"But..." her eyes filled with tears. Not of sadness. Of pure, raw, searing frustration. "But I... I need you... I... I’m so... horny... I’ve been aching for you ever since... that night. I... I can’t think straight! Please, Alaric. Just... just for a little while... Please, I’m begging you..."
"I don’t care what you’ve been ’aching’ for," he said, his voice like ice. "I’m not a tap you turn on when you’re thirsty. I’m not your servant."
He sat up a bit, his cold eyes pinning her to the spot. "I’ll fuck you when I want to fuck you. Not when you beg for it. Is that clear?"
"But... my lord... please..." she took another desperate step closer, her hand reaching out, her body trembling with her unmet need.
GLARE.
Alaric didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He just... glares at her.
He didn’t use magic. He just... looked at her. A flash of his true power, his cold, dominant, unbreakable will. It slammed into her like an invisible wall, stopping her dead in her tracks.
It was more terrifying than any shout, any blow.
"I said," he repeated, his voice dangerously quiet, heavy as stone. "Get. Dressed. And get out."
He let his gaze hold her for one more second. "Don’t make me repeat myself again, Eleanor. You really won’t like it if I do."
Eleanor flinches as if he’d physically struck her.
The tears came then. Hot and fast. Tears of a humiliation so deep it felt like it was scorching her skin. Tears of a searing, unmet frustration that felt like it was going to tear her apart from the inside out.
She scrambled to put her clothes back on, her hands shaking so badly she could barely tie the laces of her gown. She was a sobbing, frustrated, achingly horny mess.
"I... I’m sorry, my lord," she whimpered, not daring to meet his eyes. "I... I didn’t mean to... to presume... I just..."
"Don’t be sorry. Just be obedient," he said, his voice cold. "That’s all I require from you. Obedience. Is that understood?"
"Y-yes, my lord."
"Good. Now go," he said, already lying back down, pulling Priscilla back on top of him, his attention completely off Eleanor. "I’ll... visit you later. When I’m in the mood."
She practically fled the room, a hurricane of sateen and sobs, slamming the tent flap behind her.
The moment she was gone, Priscilla, who had been watching the whole exchange with a lazy, cat-like amusement, purred against his chest.
"That was cruel, my love," she murmured, her voice thick with her own arousal. "She was dripping for you. I could smell her from here. It was... sweet."
"It was strategic," Alaric corrected her, pulling her on top of him, his hand finding her ass and squeezing. "She’s not ready yet."
"Ready for what?" Ondine asked, her voice a sleepy murmur from his other side.
"Ready to be truly broken," Alaric said, his voice a low, cold whisper. "She wants it now. By denying her, I make her obsessed. Her mind won’t be able to think of anything else. It’ll be filled with nothing but lust for me. It’ll break down all those little remaining walls of ’princess’ pride she has left."
’I need her desperate,’ he thought to himself, a dark, wicked smile touching his lips. ’I need her mindless.’
’And,’ he thought, his plan clicking into place, ’it’ll make the little game I have planned for her and her mother... so much more... explosive. A desperate, horny daughter... a broken, blackmailed mother... Oh, the fireworks.’
He was just about to resume his... activities... with Priscilla, to finally get back to his own pleasure, when...
A shadow appeared at the foot of his bed. No knock. No sound. Just... there. It was one of Zylle’s agents. A stunningly beautiful woman, with cold, dead eyes and a figure that could rival Priscilla’s, all wrapped in a skintight, black-as-night uniform. She didn’t even blink at the orgy.
"Master," the agent said, her voice a flat, emotionless monotone.
Alaric let out a loud, frustrated groan. "Are you kidding me? Can’t I get five minutes? What?! What is it now?!"
"Mistress Zylle said to deliver this report immediately, Master," the agent said, her voice unchanged, her gaze fixed on a point just above his head. "It is urgent."
"Urgent," Alaric sighed, his lust evaporating, replaced by pure annoyance. "Fine. What is it?"
"The Conclave is ending, Master," the agent said. "The final address was just given by the Rimefrost Empress and the Dragon Emperor. They’ve... issued a joint decree."
Alaric sat up, suddenly serious. Priscilla slid off his lap with a disappointed pout. "A decree? A joint one? Those two? About what?"
"The demon race, Master," the agent continued, her voice grim and cold. "The incursions we’ve been seeing... they’re calling them ’scouts.’ ’Probes.’ Just... testing the defenses."
"Scouts?" Ondine said, sitting up, her face suddenly pale under her flush of pleasure.
"They say the real invasion is coming," the agent said. "Not just... these... low-ranking demons. They’re talking about Demon Lords. And... Elder Demons."
"Elder Demons?" Priscilla whispered, her academic curiosity warring with her fear. "But... they’re... myths... They haven’t been seen in... in millennia..."
"They say the seals on the main portals are weakening, Master," the agent finished. "They’re warning of... world-ending threats."
Ondine’s face was pale. "A... a full-scale invasion..."
"All kingdoms," the agent finished, her voice flat as a tombstone, "have been ordered to prepare. Effective immediately. Demon-slaying artifacts, demon-slaying formations. A full-scale, world-wide war footing. It begins now."
Alaric’s good mood, his sated, lazy lust, vanished. It was gone, replaced by a cold, hard focus. "A full-scale invasion," he mused, his hand idly cupping Ondine’s breast, his thumb rubbing her nipple, but his mind was a million miles away. "This... complicates things."
"My Lord, this is... this is a catastrophe," Ondine said, her voice trembling, grabbing his hand. "Our kingdom is still so young... we’re not ready... We don’t have the armies, the resources..."
"No," Alaric said, his voice like steel. He squeezed her hand. "It’s an opportunity."
"An... opportunity?" Priscilla asked, confused. "An opportunity for what? Annihilation?"
"An opportunity for us," Alaric said, his eyes gleaming with a cold, ambitious fire. "War... war culls the weak. It breaks old, rusty empires. It shatters the status quo. And it allows new, strong ones... our one... to rise from the ashes."
’My dynasty,’ he thought, his ambition flaring like a bonfire. ’My legacy. I’m building an empire that will last ten thousand years. I can’t let a bunch of stupid, horned bastards from another dimension ruin it.’
"This just accelerates the timeline," he said out loud, his voice full of a new, cold purpose. "I need to get stronger. Much stronger. Now."
RIIIIING.
Right on cue, as if it had been listening to the entire conversation, a cold, familiar sensation washed over his mind. The System.
[Host has acquired six (6) new, high-value consorts: Queen Kate, Concubine Elaine, Concubine Lila, Concubine Nyla, Concubine Anya, Concubine Juliana.]
[Host has successfully broken, dominated, and impregnated multiple high-status women.]
’Impregnated?’ Alaric’s mind snagged on that. ’Well... shit. With the amount I’ve been... working... I guess it was bound to happen. The System must know.’
[Calculating EXP... EXP Gained: 143,500,000.]
[Host has reached: Level 79 (Peak Archmage).]
Alaric almost groaned out loud.
’So close! Level 79? Are you kidding me? I conquer six royal women in two days, fuck them all into a coma, and I’m still stuck at the peak? I didn’t break through?! Bullshit!’
He was stuck. A single, agonizing level away from his goal.
[New Mission Issued: The Emperor’s Ladder.]
’Oh, here we go,’ he thought, bracing himself. ’What is it this time? Fuck a dragon?’
[To break the mortal limit and achieve the rank of Elder Mage (Level 80), Host must complete a new, specific Harem requirement.]
[Mission: Host must conquer and add to the Harem ten (10) women who meet the following two criteria:]
[1. The women must be the official concubines, wives, or devoted servants of a being ranked Elder Mage, Martial Emperor, or higher.]
[2. The women themselves must possess a power level of at least Archmage or Martial King.]
Alaric’s eyes went wide.
’What the fuck?!’
He read it again.
’Are you kidding me? That’s... that’s insane. Ten?! Ten women... who belong to an Emperor... AND who are Archmages or Martial Kings themselves?!’
He instantly knew what the System was doing. It wasn’t suggesting. It was pushing him. It was painting a giant, flashing, neon target on the back of one man in particular: Emperor Huang Long. And probably the Kensei Shogun, for good measure.
He had to steal their best women. Not the pretty, useless ones like the ones he’d just conquered. He had to steal their powerful women. Their Archmage consorts. Their Martial King bodyguards. The pillars of their inner court.
"Son of a bitch," he muttered out loud.
Ondine looked at him, confused. "My Lord?"
He hated being controlled. He hated being pushed around, even by a cosmic, all-powerful system.
He looked at the pile of naked, sated, gorgeous women piled around him. He looked at Ondine’s concerned face, Priscilla’s curious one, Zylle’s obedient one, and the broken, trembling form of Lin Ruoli in the corner...
’...but,’ he thought, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face, ’I really don’t mind the mission parameters.’
’Fucking beautiful, powerful women... and screwing over an Emperor at the same time?’
’That’s just a win-win. That’s just... efficient.’
"Alright," he said, his good mood suddenly restored. He pulled Ondine close, kissing her deeply. "Time to rest. We have a lot of work to do tomorrow."
He’d start his plotting in the morning. For tonight, he’d just sleep with his Queen.