Chapter 371 – "The Endurance Trial Begins" (18+)
"Alright, Alex," Reyne said with a wicked grin, arms crossed under her chest, "Sixteen years with Mira was impressive. But we were thinking…"
Hanabi leaned forward with a sparkle in her eyes. "Maybe it's time for a follow-up test."
Alex blinked. "Follow-up?"
"A performance review," Reyne added.
"For science," Hanabi nodded quickly.
Before he could respond, they were already dragging him toward his room — laughing, energized, and very much not asking for permission.
Inside, the space was calm and vast — larger on the inside, like a small private palace thanks to Alex's dimensional expansion.
Ciel was already waiting near the edge of the bed, dressed in soft white. She glanced up as the group entered: Hanabi, Reyne, Morgan, Airi, and of course Alex himself.
Ciel tilted her head. "Should I assume this is another magical request?"
Reyne nodded eagerly. "We want the time ratio back. 1:1000. Like when you set it for Mira."
Hanabi added, "We want to train."
Ciel smiled gently, eyes flickering golden. "Of course. Just say when."
Morgan stood near the window, arms folded, eyes narrowed. "I'm not participating. I'm observing."
Reyne snorted. "You say that, but we know how you work."
Airi looked down, blushing furiously. "W-Wait, are we actually…? I-I thought this was just… teasing…"
"Too late," Hanabi grinned. "We're here now."
Alex raised a hand. "Wait. Where's Iris?"
Ciel answered softly, "She was called away to assist with healing at a neutral temple. Even though she's not from the Vatican, her reputation with divine energy made her ideal."
Morgan muttered, "Convenient timing."
Ciel gently raised her hand. Golden light shimmered across the air like soft ripples in a pond.
"I've adjusted the flow," she said. "Time here will move at a ratio of 1:1000. One hour in this room is forty-one days outside."
A pause.
Then Hanabi cracked her knuckles.
"Well then."
She turned toward Alex with a grin both mischievous and wicked.
"Let's see how long you really last when it's five-on-one."
Reyne flicked her hair back. "The Dragon Princess accepts this challenge."
Airi looked like she wanted to melt. "W-Wait! I-I never said—!"
Morgan sighed, walking toward the door. "I'm leaving in five minutes unless things get interesting."
Ciel chuckled softly. "You'll stay."
She turned to Alex and gently took his hand.
"Ready?"
Alex looked around at the beautiful, eager (and slightly terrifying) women now in his room.
He exhaled.
"Ready as I'll ever be."
The room dimmed softly as the magic around them stabilized. The time spell had taken effect — the air itself now hummed with suspended eternity.
Alex stood near the edge of the enormous bed — wide enough to host an army of lovers, the silk sheets like silver water under moonlight.
Then Reyne stepped forward.
She was already shrugging off her outer robes, letting them fall to the floor without hesitation. Her confident movements, paired with the glint in her crimson-violet eyes, made it clear:
She was going first.
"Lie down," she said, voice smooth as heated steel.
Alex hesitated only a moment before obeying, reclining back into the plush center of the bed.
The others watched — Hanabi with eager eyes, Ciel serene and smiling, Airi pink-cheeked and fidgeting. Even Morgan, leaning against the wall, narrowed her eyes just a little.
Reyne knelt above him, her silver-dragon blood pulsing just under her skin, her long hair cascading like fire across her back. She stared at him for a moment — no words, just raw, unspoken hunger.
Then she smirked.
"So this," she murmured, her hand trailing down his chest, "is the weapon that conquered a succubus for sixteen years…"
She leaned closer, her breath hot against his skin.
"…Let's see how it handles a dragon."
Her body lowered, smooth and sure, like a queen claiming her throne. Her voice left her in a low, thrilled moan — not from pain or shock, but satisfaction. She rolled her hips with wild precision, testing his reactions, exploring his limits.
Alex gritted his teeth, breath catching.
Reyne laughed softly, biting her lip.
"Oh yes," she whispered, "this is going to be fun."
She pressed down harder, her motions graceful but demanding, like waves crashing over a cliff — relentless, natural, beautiful.
Ciel watched quietly, a hand over her mouth, blushing.
Hanabi practically bounced on her toes. "When's it my turn?!"
Airi covered her eyes. "I-I can't watch this—!"
Morgan, still by the door, cracked a smile.
"…Well. He's still breathing. Barely."
Reyne, flushed and triumphant, looked back at the others without slowing her rhythm.
"Time is slowed," she said breathlessly. "We've got all night."
And the room — timeless and enchanted — echoed with laughter, heat, and rising tension, as the trial of endurance had only just begun.
Reyne's hips moved like wildfire — untamed, deliberate, and impossibly rhythmic. Each motion drew a soft gasp from her lips, each shift of her body igniting a new spark between them.
Alex's breath grew heavy beneath her, his hands gripping the silken sheets, his body tensing.
And then—
A pulse.
A warmth.
A shuddering surge of light and energy passed between them like a flash of divine magic, and Reyne exhaled slowly, a long, trembling sigh of satisfaction as she leaned forward, resting her palms on his chest.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then she looked down at him — not with surprise, but admiration — and laughed under her breath.
"…Still hard, huh?"
Alex's chest rose and fell. He gave her a lopsided smile. "What did you expect?"
She grinned back and rolled off of him, her hair splayed across the pillows like a silver flame.
Then — in one smooth, sinuous motion — she lay on her back and spread her legs, arms open like wings.
"Then come here, dragon tamer," she whispered. "I'm not finished."
The moment hung in the air — equal parts challenge and invitation.
Alex moved without hesitation.
He entered her again with a force born not of lust alone, but of harmony — as if their bodies remembered this dance from a thousand lifetimes before. The bed creaked softly beneath them, enchanted to endure far greater pressure, but even it seemed to yield to their union.
Reyne's breath hitched.
Her hands curled into the sheets.
Her voice was low, strained, wild.
"I'm gonna—… Alex—!"
"I know," he breathed.
His pace grew more urgent — not frantic, but precise, powerful, relentless.
She arched, hips rising to meet his.
He leaned in, forehead to hers.
And they cried out together — not just in climax, but in conquest.
Reyne trembled beneath him, her expression dazed and glowing.
"…You're unbelievable," she whispered, voice hoarse. "And it's still just the start."
From the side of the room, Hanabi bounced in place, practically vibrating.
"My turn!"
Ciel smiled calmly, already standing.
"You'll need to wait a moment."
Morgan crossed her arms. "He's going to need a break."
Reyne chuckled, still breathless.
"No… he's not."
Time moved strangely inside Alex's chamber — slowed to a crawl for the outside world, but eternally burning within.
And still, Reyne and Alex continued.
Day after day.
Month after month.
A year.
Not of silence. Not of stillness.
But of heat, magic, and rhythm.
Their figures intertwined in the center of the massive bed, Reyne's silver hair fanned across the sheets like a crown, her dragon blood glowing faintly with each pulse of energy. Her moans echoed in soft, melodic waves — not pitiful, but proud, like a victorious roar stretched across the skies.
At a nearby table — draped in silk and magic-sealed pastries — the rest of the women sat calmly, sipping tea.
Ciel raised her cup, golden eyes half-lidded as she listened.
"They're still going," Airi whispered, cheeks pink, hands cradling her warm drink.
"Of course," Morgan muttered dryly. "It's been three hundred and sixty-five days."
Hanabi munched on a butter cookie. "Honestly? I'm impressed."
Nefertiti leaned back gracefully. "I'd call it divine art. Repeated performance without collapse? That's not stamina. That's transcendence."
Ciel smiled faintly and, without looking up from her tea, said softly:
"Seventeen thousand five hundred and twenty."
The others blinked.
"…Excuse me?" Airi asked.
"That's the number of times he's released his essence into Reyne's womb," Ciel replied casually. "I've been counting."
A beat of stunned silence.
Hanabi dropped her cookie. "That's… WHAT?!"
Morgan's mouth twitched. "He's a factory."
Even Mira's voice echoed from Mary's resting form Vatican.
"I'm proud of him."
Then — in the distance — another sharp gasp, followed by a moan so rich it shimmered through the chamber like dragonfire.
And finally—
A shudder.
A stillness.
A soft thud as Reyne collapsed back onto the bed, eyes closed, chest rising and falling in peaceful, exhausted rhythm.
She had passed out.
Alex exhaled quietly, brushing her hair from her face, gently cradling her close.
From the tea table, Hanabi leaned forward.
"Okay. I need a turn now."
Ciel giggled softly. "He might need a moment."
Morgan sipped her tea. "No, he won't."
Chapter 372 – "The Fox's Game"
The chamber was quiet after a year of Reyne's relentless dragon-fire passion.
Reyne now slept soundly, sprawled on the massive bed like a satisfied queen, silver hair scattered everywhere.
Hanabi stood at the edge of the bed, hands on her hips, her twin black-fox tails swishing behind her like a pair of restless comets.
"Well," she said, grinning from ear to ear, "I guess it's my turn."
Alex glanced up from Reyne, still catching his breath.
"Hanabi—"
"No excuses," she cut him off. "You've given the dragon her year. Now it's time for a fox to play."
Her eyes gleamed, mischief in every spark.
She climbed onto the bed, crawling with deliberate slowness, her tails flicking behind her like paintbrushes marking invisible patterns in the air.
"You know," she whispered, leaning close enough that he could feel her breath, "dragons fight with strength and fire…"
Her lips curled.
"…but foxes fight with tricks."
Before Alex could reply, she darted forward with fox-like swiftness, gently pushing him backward into the enormous silk pillows. Then, sitting on her knees just over him, she gave a playful tilt of her head.
"No one here," she said, her tails wrapping lightly around his arms, "can keep up with me when I'm serious."
From the tea table, Morgan raised an eyebrow. "You're going to regret saying that."
Ciel's eyes softened, watching quietly.
Airi hid behind her teacup, muttering, "I can't watch this again…"
Hanabi laughed and looked down at Alex, her face glowing with confidence and excitement.
"This," she whispered, "is the fox's game."
And with a flick of her tails, she began — fast, playful, unpredictable, every move filled with teasing energy, as though she wanted to test not only his body but his patience.
The room quickly filled again with sound — but this time, not the steady roar of a dragon, but the wild, playful rhythm of a fox at work.
Hanabi's golden eyes flicked down, catching sight of him.
She tilted her head, a sly smile curling on her lips.
"Well," she murmured, voice like a purr, "still standing after a year with Reyne? Guess I'll see what all the fuss is about."
Her lips brushed him lightly, a deliberate kiss that sent a shiver through him. Mischief danced in her gaze.
"I've been waiting for this."
Instead of rushing like Reyne, Hanabi took her time. She climbed onto him with slow, deliberate grace, tails curling like living ribbons, and eased herself down, letting the warmth of their union close around her completely.
She exhaled a soft sigh, almost a laugh.
"Mm… figures. Even after a year of dragonfire, you're still just as strong."
Her hips began to move—not fast, but slow and deliberate, swirling like the spiraling flames of a fox-fire lantern, playful and controlled. Her fox tails wrapped lightly around his arms and waist, anchoring her as she worked.
Every movement was intentional, teasing, as if she wanted to show that a fox wins with finesse, not brute force.
Alex let out a low breath, holding her waist as she guided the rhythm. She smiled down at him.
"Don't think you're the only one testing endurance here," she teased, swirling again, drawing out the tension.
Her pace was steady, almost hypnotic.
Then, with a soft gasp, she leaned down, pressing her forehead to his.
"I'm going to make you break first," she whispered.
But instead, he surged, holding her tightly as the tension between them finally snapped. Hanabi trembled with surprise, her tails flaring out like a blooming flower.
She laughed breathlessly, eyes bright. "First round goes to me," she whispered against his lips.
The slowed world around them faded to nothing but the bed, the two of them, and the golden glow of Hanabi's eyes.
Hanabi's tails curled tightly around Alex, like soft, living bands, keeping him close as she set a rhythm. Every motion of her body was deliberate—slow, steady, and filled with heat. Unlike Reyne's wild and relentless approach, Hanabi's was a dance, a fox's game of control.
Her breath mingled with his as she leaned down, their foreheads touching. The soft fragrance of foxfire—wild and faintly sweet—surrounded them, thickening the air like mist.
Alex's hands rested on her waist, feeling every subtle roll of her hips as she moved in spiraling motions, twisting and shifting like a flame in the wind. The swirl of her movements made every second stretch out until it was unbearable.
She kissed him deeply, her lips tasting faintly of tea and magic. Then she whispered against his mouth:
"Do you feel that?
This is what a fox does… we take our time.
We make every heartbeat last forever."
The bed creaked softly beneath them, silk sheets gathering under her hands as she braced herself. Her pace remained unhurried, forcing him to match her, making him feel every motion as their bodies synchronized.
Her tails brushed against his skin, caressing his arms, shoulders, even his cheeks as though to keep him from looking anywhere but at her.
Time inside the chamber was already distorted, but with each motion, Hanabi made it feel even slower, as though the universe had been narrowed to just the two of them and the rhythm of their bodies.
Sweat gathered at her temples as she moved, her face glowing with delight and mischief.
And then, when she felt him trembling beneath her, she smiled, lips curling with a victorious grin.
"Don't hold back," she whispered.
Her swirling slowed for a moment, just enough to lock eyes with him.
And with a final, deep motion, the tension between them snapped like a bowstring pulled too far.
Alex pulled her close as the wave hit, and Hanabi gasped softly against his lips, her tails flaring wide like a fan of flame.
For a long moment, there was no sound but their heavy breathing.
Then, without lifting herself, she chuckled softly and whispered in his ear:
"Round one… done. But a fox never stops at one."
Two months passed within the slowed chamber.
Two months of foxfire and silk, two months of swirling rhythms, of clever illusions and the warm, lingering scent of sweet incense-like magic.
Time had stretched into a haze, and in that haze, Hanabi had shown Alex the full, playful cunning of a fox spirit in love.
And now… she was done.
Hanabi lay collapsed against his chest, her ears folded back, twin tails wrapped limply around his waist as if she couldn't bear to let him go even in sleep.
Her breathing was soft, deep, exhausted.
Her lips were curled into the faintest smile, her cheeks glowing.
For the first time in weeks, the room was still.
Alex sat there with her resting in his arms, brushing damp strands of hair away from her face as if she were made of glass.
From the far end of the room, a teacup clicked gently against its saucer.
"She's finally asleep," Morgan said, her voice calm, though her eyes betrayed a glint of approval.
Ciel rose gracefully, her golden eyes warm as they took in the scene. "Two months… she lasted well."
Reyne, still lying on a chaise from her own recovery, let out a low laugh. "I warned her — it's different once you actually start."
Airi sat quietly, blushing but unable to look away. "She looks… happy."
"Of course she does," Nefertiti said with a smile. "A fox is happiest when she thinks she's outsmarted everyone — even if she ends up collapsing in the process."
There was a moment of soft silence as they watched Alex carefully lay Hanabi down on the bed, covering her with a light silk sheet.
Then Morgan straightened, crossing her arms. "So… who's next?"
Ciel's smile deepened slightly, a calm but unmistakable glimmer of intention in her eyes.
"I believe," she said softly, "it's my turn."
The room stirred.
Airi inhaled sharply, and even Reyne sat up slightly, curious.
Morgan tilted her head. "The Will of World Frontier herself? This will be… interesting."
Alex looked up, meeting Ciel's golden eyes.
Unlike the dragon's challenge or the fox's tricks, there was no mischief in her expression. Only warmth.
"Alex," she said gently. "Come here."
Chapter 373 – "The Gentle World"
The room had quieted.
Hanabi was asleep, wrapped in a silk sheet, her two tails finally still.
Reyne had recovered enough to watch. Morgan sat in her usual place, arms crossed, and Airi sat silently with her hands folded. Even Nefertiti's golden eyes softened.
They all knew — this would be different.
Ciel stood slowly.
Her bare feet made no sound as she crossed the polished floor, her white hair flowing like strands of moonlight down her back. The golden light in her eyes was gentle, not demanding.
She came to stand before Alex.
There was no challenge in her expression. No mischief. Only a calm smile.
"Alex," she whispered.
He met her gaze.
She knelt before him and placed her hands lightly over his, as though to reassure him that he didn't need to brace himself this time.
"I'm not here to test you," she said softly. "I only want you to be happy."
For a moment, he said nothing. Then, slowly, he reached out and touched her cheek.
Ciel closed her eyes, leaning into his hand, and in that small motion, something shifted in the air. It was softer now. Warmer. Like a gentle breeze on the first day of spring.
She kissed his hand, then guided him to lie back on the vast bed. She followed, resting beside him, her slender fingers interlacing with his.
Unlike Reyne or Hanabi, there was no hurry, no explosive start. Instead, there was time.
Time to look at each other.
Time to breathe together.
Ciel pressed her forehead to his and whispered:
"You were my first.
My first bond.
My first friend.
My first… everything."
Her lips touched his — slow, delicate, almost shy at first — and then deepened, carrying all the warmth she had been holding for him since they met.
When she moved, it was with reverence. Every touch, every motion was deliberate, soft as silk, as if she wanted to carve this moment into both their souls.
Alex's breathing slowed, his body relaxing under her care.
"You've always carried so much weight," she murmured between kisses. "For once… let me carry you."
The room faded away. Even the watching women, for a moment, could feel it:
this was not a contest, not a challenge, but a union of trust.
Time melted.
The golden glow of her eyes brightened faintly as she whispered:
"I love you, Alex."
And for the first time that day, he closed his eyes, exhaling every last bit of tension — and simply let her.
Ciel's body moved with deliberate care, every motion flowing as if guided by a melody only the two of them could hear.
She pressed close, her chest against his, and guided him gently, their movements in perfect harmony. Her hips rolled forward in a slow circle, then back, a rhythm like the tide — never rushed, never uneven.
Each rise and fall was unbroken, a seamless wave, drawing him deeper into her warmth.
She held his hands as they moved, her fingers woven with his, and her golden eyes stayed fixed on his face. Every shift of her hips was tender and controlled, her body rocking in a graceful, continuous flow.
Her breathing matched the pace: long and slow, rising with each forward press, exhaling softly with every retreat.
Alex's hands slid along her back, following the curve of her spine as she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his again. They kissed as they moved, and the rhythm deepened, their bodies finding a perfect cadence.
Ciel never quickened. Even as her breath grew shorter and her body trembled against his, she kept the same flowing tempo, like a dance that had no beginning and no end.
Her movements became smaller, more intimate — slow circles of her hips, gentle shifts of weight that pressed her closer and closer to him with each motion.
Every motion of their bodies carried warmth, a steady build, as though time itself had been stretched so that they could experience every heartbeat, every moment, every motion fully.
Her forehead rested on his shoulder as the slow rhythm continued, her back arching slightly with every movement. Her breathing turned to soft, wordless sounds — not loud, but deep, from the center of her being.
And still, she did not rush.
It was a slow, unbroken dance: forward and back, rise and fall, her hips tilting just enough to let the movement flow through her whole body.
Even when her breath began to shiver and her hands gripped his tighter, she kept that same smooth rhythm until the final wave came, and they sank into it together — still moving as one, slower now, until the world was quiet again.
Ciel never hurried.
Her body moved with a deliberate grace, hips tilting and circling as if she were tracing invisible patterns on the bed with each motion.
She lifted herself slightly, then sank down slowly, her weight settling fully before rising again, the movement smooth and unbroken.
Each time, her back arched just a little, pressing her chest against his as she leaned forward.
Her hands stayed on his, fingers interlocked, so he could feel every small shift of her arms as she guided the pace.
Her thighs pressed snug against his sides, holding balance as she swayed gently with each motion.
The rhythm never faltered:
rise, glide forward, sink, pause — then the same motion again, slow and even, like the rocking of a boat on a still lake.
The motion deepened gradually. She leaned her upper body closer, making the curve of each movement fuller, so that their bodies met completely before she lifted again.
Her hair slid over her shoulders, brushing against his chest with each sway.
The long, steady rhythm built heat without urgency, each circle of her hips drawing him in deeper.
Her breath was measured: inhale as she lifted, exhale as she pressed down, warm air brushing against his lips and cheek.
Gradually, as the minutes stretched out, the rocking of her hips became a little stronger. Still slow, still smooth, but with more weight behind every forward press.
Her hips moved in small spirals now, adding a second motion inside the larger rhythm, so that every movement became a slow wave that tightened, curled, then released.
Alex's hands moved to her waist, holding her steady as her pace remained even.
Her voice escaped in soft sighs, her head resting on his shoulder, their bodies moving as though bound together by a single thread.
When she felt him begin to tense beneath her, she did not speed up.
Instead, she steadied the motion even more, sinking fully with every press, holding there for a heartbeat before rising again, keeping the same smooth circle.
One more slow rise, one more deep, gliding motion downward —
and then she held him fully close, hips pressed down completely, keeping him there as the first wave finally came.
His arms tightened around her as the rhythm stopped, her own back arching as she pressed closer, absorbing every tremor.
Ciel did not change her pace.
Even after that first release, she lifted her hips slowly, letting the motion rise in a long arc before settling back down just as gently, pressing close and holding there.
When the tremor passed, she simply continued.
Her body swayed with the same soft rhythm as before, circling, rocking, never hurrying.
She never let the motion grow rough or fast; it stayed steady, like a heartbeat that never faltered.
When he filled her again, she did not stop. She let him hold her, let his arms tighten around her waist, and once the tension faded, she moved again.
Hours became days.
Her hips rose and lowered, circling slowly every time, pressing herself down fully, staying close for a moment, and then rising again.
The pattern never changed.
She kissed him as she moved, each kiss as unhurried as her rhythm, lips soft and deep against his while their bodies remained in perfect time.
Days became weeks.
Even when he released again inside her, she did not pause for long.
She stayed pressed against him until the shiver left him, then she would lift herself slightly and begin again, the same smooth arc.
Her hips rolled with perfect patience, as though the whole world had been reduced to the slow curve of that dance.
Months passed in the time-dilated chamber.
Ciel's body stayed close, warm, steady. She never lost her composure, her movements as even as they had been on the first day.
Sometimes she would sit upright, hands on his chest as her hips traced slow spirals, her body rising and lowering with graceful control.
Other times she leaned forward, pressing against him, letting their foreheads rest together while she rocked slowly, her breath warm against his lips.
Every release, every tremor was absorbed by her without rushing.
She waited until it subsided, then simply began again.
Years passed.
The bed became their world, the slow cycle of rising and lowering, of circling hips and close, unbroken contact never ending.
Dozens of times.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
He released inside her again and again, and every single time she held him close until the moment passed, then resumed the same slow pace, unbroken.
Through it all, her rhythm never faltered.
Soft.
Steady.
Gentle.
As though the entire span of years was just one single, infinite motion.
Ten years passed inside the room.
Ten years where the rhythm never broke.
Her hips rose, circled, lowered; her movements like an endless tide.
Every day she stayed with him, close, warm, unhurried, guiding him through thousands upon thousands of steady cycles.
He released inside her again and again.
Each time she held him fully, keeping their bodies pressed together until his arms loosened around her, then resumed, the same slow pattern, never faltering.
Her body stayed soft and gentle even as the years wore on.
There was no rush in her; only patience, only care.
Every kiss was slow, every breath they shared unbroken.
Her strength did not come from speed or force.
It came from constancy.
The room was silent save for their breathing and the faint creak of the vast bed as their movements went on and on, the slow rise and lowering of her body over his.
And then, one day—ten years since she had begun—
her pace began to waver.
Her motions, once perfectly smooth, grew smaller.
Her back curved lower against him, her forehead resting on his shoulder as she continued the rhythm.
Another release, and she held him there, pressed close, her body trembling.
This time, she did not lift herself again.
Her breathing was slow, deep, but tired.
Her golden eyes fluttered open once more, looking at him with a warm, quiet light.
"…Ten years," she whispered softly, barely a breath.
He touched her face.
Her lips curled into a faint smile.
Then she let herself sink fully into his arms, her body finally still.
The slow rhythm, after a decade of never breaking, finally came to a rest.
She lay against him, exhausted but completely at peace, her breath soft and even as sleep took her.
Alex held her close, not letting her go, and lowered his head to kiss her silver hair as the chamber grew quiet once more.
Chapter 374 – "The Queen's Turn"
The room was silent for a long time after Ciel's slow rhythm finally came to a rest.
Ten years inside the time-altered space — ten years of gentle, unbroken closeness.
Alex remained seated at the center of the great bed, Ciel asleep in his arms, her silver hair soft against his chest.
Around him, the others had been silent too.
It was Morgan who spoke first, arms folded, voice low.
"…Ten years. Without a single break in her rhythm."
Reyne exhaled softly. "She's… incredible. No wonder she's the first."
Hanabi, sitting cross-legged with her tails curled around her, whispered, "I thought I was good at staying in control. She just redefined it."
Airi clasped her hands, looking at Ciel's sleeping form with admiration. "She never even tried to compete. She just… gave everything."
Nefertiti stood apart from the others, golden eyes fixed on Alex.
Her expression was thoughtful — and something more.
Then she stepped forward.
"Now," she said, her voice low and steady, "it is my turn."
The room quieted again.
Alex looked up at her.
Even tired, his gaze was clear.
Nefertiti, tall and regal, stood at the edge of the bed. She was every inch a queen: posture perfect, shoulders strong, a woman born to rule.
But as she looked at him, something softened.
She approached slowly, climbing onto the edge of the massive bed until she stood close enough to touch him.
Her hand reached out, brushing the side of his face with a tenderness that contrasted the steel in her bearing.
"You stand taller than I thought," she said quietly, almost to herself. "Not in height. In heart."
Alex shook his head. "Nefertiti… We're equal."
She paused. Then, for the first time, she smiled fully.
"I've ruled nations, Alex. And yet when I look at you, I feel like I am looking up. But if you say we are equals…"
She knelt gracefully, lowering herself so that her golden eyes were level with his.
"…then I will show you how a queen loves when she no longer needs a throne."
Her voice softened. "You've given them everything. Now I will give you everything."
The others quietly stepped back.
It was the queen's turn.
They faced each other on the great bed.
Kneeling, balanced, their bodies pressed close, their foreheads almost touching.
Nefertiti moved first, lowering her hips slowly, steady and unhurried, until they were joined.
Her breath left her lips in a warm exhale as she held there, eyes open, looking only at him.
Alex's hands rose to her waist, steadying her as she began to move.
Every motion was equal.
When she pushed forward, he leaned in; when he drew back, she matched the pace, their movements flowing together like mirrored dancers.
Their hips rolled in a slow, deliberate rhythm, forward and back, never breaking eye contact.
Each time they came together, their foreheads brushed, their lips hovered a breath apart.
Gradually their mouths met, soft at first, then deeper.
They kissed as their bodies swayed, rising and lowering together in perfect time.
Her back stayed straight, her shoulders poised, every movement guided by her core, strong and controlled.
His arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer with every press.
The motion built gradually, but never lost its balance:
leaning into each other, circling their hips, then drawing back just enough to feel the pull before meeting again.
The kiss did not break.
Their lips stayed joined, breathing into each other, even as their rhythm deepened.
Each roll of their hips carried the same cadence — slow, firm, pressing close, holding for a heartbeat, then drawing back and forward again.
Sweat began to gather between them, making their skin warm and slick where their chests met, but still their posture stayed steady.
Nefertiti's hands came to rest on his shoulders, gripping gently as she moved, her knees anchoring her as their rhythm continued, never rushed.
Their breaths grew heavier, shared through the deepening kiss, and the motions between them began to tighten — smaller, stronger, their bodies no longer pulling away as much, staying closer and closer.
The slow rocking became a steady, pressing rhythm, their foreheads touching now between kisses, eyes locked.
As the tension built, they held the rhythm exactly, not breaking the flow, their hips pushing forward together, holding, then moving back only enough to continue the cycle.
It was a slow, rising wave, cresting gradually until, at the final moment, they pressed close and stayed there, lips locked, holding each other as the movement came to stillness in a long, shivering embrace.
Their rhythm stayed steady, close, and deliberate.
Nefertiti lowered her hips once more, holding herself there as her breath trembled against his lips.
The tension built between them like a bowstring drawn to its limit.
Her hips pressed forward in one long, unbroken motion, and she held him close — and in that moment, the wave came.
Alex's arms tightened around her, his whole body tensing.
Nefertiti's lips parted in a soft moan against his mouth, their voices joining as the release came, warmth spreading between them.
Their bodies shivered together but did not part.
They stayed in that locked position, breathing heavily, holding each other as if the moment itself could be stretched forever.
Her hips began to move again, slow at first, then finding the same rhythm as before, carrying on as if nothing had ended.
He matched her, both of them moving in equal balance, foreheads pressed together, their lips meeting between breaths.
Each new motion was careful but deep, their bodies swaying in time.
Her knees pressed against the bed for balance, her hands firm on his shoulders, while his hands traced the curve of her waist, guiding her as they found their rhythm again.
The slow press forward, the draw back, the circle of their hips — unbroken, constant, as though no pause had ever come.
Their mouths met again in a deeper kiss as they moved, breath catching with every motion.
The rhythm built once more, slow and steady, their moans soft but growing louder as the heat returned, filling the space around them.
As the tension rose again, their motions tightened, faster only by a little, their hips meeting with more weight each time.
Her lips never left his, and with every rolling motion of her hips, they moaned into each other's mouths, a mix of happiness and desire.
Another wave surged, his arms pulling her even closer, and she pressed down, holding herself firmly as her own body trembled with him.
And when that moment passed, there was no hesitation.
She lifted, pressed forward, and the cycle began again.
Over and over, the same equal rhythm, the same deep kisses, their bodies never leaving each other as the long flow of motion carried them forward.
Their pace never changed.
Nefertiti kept her posture upright, her forehead lightly touching his, her eyes open so she could see him, and each time their hips met, she pressed close and held there for a long breath before lifting again.
Her movements had no hurry, no impatience.
Forward, hold, lift.
Forward, hold, lift.
It became a pattern as steady as a heartbeat.
Her knees anchored her on the soft bedding, her body balanced and regal even in this closeness.
His hands stayed on her waist and back, supporting her, matching every movement exactly.
As the long minutes became hours, the sweat between them made their bodies glide more smoothly, and their rhythm deepened — not in speed, but in the weight of every motion.
Each time she sank forward, they kissed, slow and full, and when she lifted again, their lips stayed close, breathing together, never breaking eye contact.
When another wave came, he pulled her close, and she stayed pressed down against him, her own back arching slightly as she let the tremor pass.
And when it was over, she began again.
The rhythm was the same.
Forward, hold, lift.
Forward, hold, lift.
Hours became days.
Their hips traced the same slow circles, and the bed moved gently beneath them.
Each time he released, she absorbed the tremor, held him close, waited until his arms loosened, and began again.
The pattern continued.
Days became months.
Still the rhythm was the same.
Her body never rushed, never faltered.
Her shoulders stayed square, her back straight, her forehead resting on his when her strength waned, and then she continued.
The equal pace, the deep kisses between every rise and lowering, never stopped.
Even when the room outside drifted into a timeless haze, inside, there was only the sound of their breathing and the creak of the bed with each slow meeting of their hips.
When he released again and again, she accepted it with a soft, trembling moan against his lips, and as soon as the tremor faded, her hips lifted again to begin the cycle anew.
Month after month, their movements never changed — an unbroken dance of two bodies perfectly matched.
Four months passed inside the slowed chamber.
The rhythm never changed.
Nefertiti remained in that same balanced position, her knees planted on the wide bed, her back straight and her movements slow and deliberate.
Her hips moved forward, pressed close, held there until the breath between them steadied, then lifted again, unhurried.
Alex matched her perfectly, his hands firm on her waist, guiding her with each rise and lowering.
Every motion was measured, never rushed:
lean forward, press close, hold;
draw back, rise, circle, and meet again.
Their lips met between movements, every kiss deep and slow, their foreheads resting together when their mouths parted only for air.
The slow rocking of their hips filled the chamber with a steady, unbroken rhythm.
Dozens of times, hundreds of times, she felt him tense and release, and each time she simply held him close, letting her body stay pressed to his while the tremor passed, then began again without pause.
The pace never changed.
Forward, hold, lift.
Forward, hold, lift.
Even as the fourth month came and went, her movements did not grow hurried or weak.
The same constant wave rolled through her body, steady as the passing of the moon.
Their bodies swayed together, warm and glistening, their chests pressed close, breath mingling in long, slow exhales.
Her golden eyes stayed fixed on his face.
His hands never left her back.
The same rhythm, over and over, as if the entire four months had been a single, continuous motion.
By the eighth month, the rhythm had not changed, but her body had.
Her hips still moved with the same slow grace, forward and back, but there was a faint tremor in her thighs now, a subtle weakness creeping into the steadiness of her posture.
She pressed close, forehead resting against his, and when she lifted again, the motion was slower than before — not deliberate this time, but heavy.
Even so, she did not stop.
Forward, hold, lift.
She kissed him deeply each time their bodies met, but her breath came faster now, her chest rising and falling harder against his.
Through the ninth month, the weakness grew.
Her arms began to cling to his shoulders, holding herself upright as the rhythm continued.
Her hips circled, but the arcs were smaller; every motion pressed deep but lacked the ease of the earlier months.
Still, she did not break the pattern.
Forward, hold, lift.
By the tenth month, she was leaning on him completely.
Every motion of her hips was slower, heavier.
Sweat clung to her skin, her golden eyes half-lidded as she fought to keep the pace.
She kissed him between movements, breathless, and whispered against his lips, "I… won't stop…"
Her hips pressed forward again, held there, but when she lifted, her legs shook.
She forced another motion.
And another.
Forward, hold, lift.
The rhythm was ragged now, but still there.
Finally, after one last deep motion, she stayed pressed to him, her back arching as the tremor overtook them both.
This time, when it ended, she did not rise again.
Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, and her forehead rested on his chest as her breathing came in long, slow waves.
The rhythm that had lasted ten months came to a full, quiet stop.
She had reached her limit.
Alex held her close, steadying her as she slumped into his embrace, her body still trembling from the final motion.
Chapter 375 – "The Sorceress's Turn"
The room was silent after Nefertiti's final motion came to a stop.
Her golden eyes, once steady, were now closed, her breathing soft and slow.
She leaned against Alex, exhausted, her arms limp around him, the regal strength that had carried her for ten months finally spent.
Alex held her gently, lowering her onto the silk bedding.
For a moment, there was only the sound of their breaths.
Then a new voice broke the silence.
"…I suppose," Morgan said, her tone calm but edged with challenge, "it's finally my turn."
The others turned toward her.
She stepped forward from her place against the wall, her long silver hair shifting like liquid moonlight as she approached the bed.
Her pale blue eyes fixed on Alex — cool, unwavering, but with something burning deep inside.
Unlike Reyne's boldness, Hanabi's playfulness, Ciel's tenderness, or Nefertiti's regal balance, Morgan's presence was quiet, dangerous, certain.
She stopped before him.
"No games," she said, her voice even. "No illusions."
Her hand reached out and touched his chin, tilting his face upward so he met her eyes.
"I'm not here to compete with them," she whispered. "I'm here to remind you…"
Her lips curved faintly, but it wasn't a smile.
"…that I have always been yours."
Alex stood, facing her.
The room held its breath.
Morgan removed her gloves, each movement deliberate, and then let her cloak fall behind her. Without hesitation, she climbed onto the wide bed, her eyes never leaving his.
"Lie down," she said softly.
When he obeyed, she lowered herself to meet him, her hair brushing against his chest, her cold, graceful hands pressing flat against his shoulders.
She looked down at him with unflinching intensity.
"This," she said, "is mine."
And with that, she began her turn.
Morgan lowered herself onto him with absolute control, her movements exact, not wasting a single motion.
She did not rush.
Her hips pressed down in one smooth, firm line until their bodies met completely, then she held there, her muscles tight and unmoving.
Only when she had felt every inch of the connection did she rise again, lifting herself slowly, perfectly straight, without wavering, until she was almost free of him.
Then she sank again, exactly the same way, with the same precision, as if every movement was a spell she was carving into existence.
Up.
Down.
Steady.
Exact.
There was no sway in her hips, no circling like Ciel, no playfulness like Hanabi.
Morgan's style was direct: a firm downward press, a slow lift, repeated without a single irregularity.
Her eyes stayed locked on his face as she moved, her long hair falling around them like a curtain.
Even as the pressure inside the room built, her pace never changed.
Firm downstroke.
Hold.
Slow rise.
Again.
Her control was absolute.
When he tensed for the first time beneath her, she did not speed up.
She held her rhythm, riding out his trembling body until the wave passed, then continued the same cycle, unbroken.
Down, hold, up.
Down, hold, up.
Her knees pressed hard into the bed for balance, her back straight, her shoulders squared.
Every muscle in her body worked with exactness, as if this were a ritual she had prepared for her entire life.
Even when the slick heat made the movements easier, she did not allow herself to lose that straight path.
Down, hold, up.
Down, hold, up.
He released into her again and again, but she never faltered, never broke rhythm, forcing herself to keep the exact same motion for hours.
Her breathing deepened, but still her pattern did not change.
Press down, sink until they were fully joined, hold there for a full heartbeat, then draw back up just as slow, lifting herself, then begin again.
Each downward press carried the same force, unrelenting, deliberate.
Every time he reached for her, she placed her hands firmly against his shoulders, steadying herself, never allowing the pace to be taken from her.
Her precision did not loosen even as the hours turned to days within the chamber.
Down, hold, up.
Down, hold, up.
Controlled.
Unbroken.
Exact.
The pattern never changed.
Even after the first week, her hips moved with the same exactness:
a slow, steady descent, full contact pressed together, a pause held for a full heartbeat, then a smooth, deliberate lift.
Her rhythm was as precise on the hundredth motion as it had been on the first.
When the first month passed, her movements remained unbroken.
Her thighs stayed firm, her back straight.
She kept her weight balanced on her knees, lowering herself with control, holding, and rising again, every motion without haste.
Down, hold, up.
Down, hold, up.
Every time his release came, she absorbed the tremor in silence, her hips never losing balance, holding steady through the wave before resuming the pattern exactly where she had left it.
Her hair spilled forward like silver curtains, brushing his chest as she bent only slightly to keep her eyes on his.
Through the second and third months, there was no deviation.
Even as sweat gathered on her skin, her breathing steady but heavy, her pace remained constant.
The exact same downward press, the same pause, the same slow ascent.
Down, hold, up.
Down, hold, up.
When exhaustion began to creep into her legs, she adjusted only enough to keep the same alignment, never letting the movement slacken.
By the fourth month, she had made herself into a machine of rhythm and control.
Every motion of her hips was precise, measured to the same depth, the same pause, the same lift.
Alex's body trembled under her again and again as he released, but she refused to be shaken from the pace she had set.
Down, hold, up.
Down, hold, up.
Six months passed.
The rhythm continued.
Morgan's arms stayed locked on his shoulders, using his body as an anchor as she forced her hips to obey the same pattern, unbroken.
Even as sweat slicked her pale skin, making her hair cling to her face and back, she did not allow herself to falter.
Down, hold, up.
Down, hold, up.
Through the seventh month, through the eighth, through the ninth—her control never wavered.
The time-dilated chamber was silent except for their breathing and the quiet, steady motion of the bed under them as she pressed forward, held him, and lifted again.
Even after thousands of repetitions, the rhythm was the same.
Unrelenting.
Controlled.
Exact.
The years passed in the time-dilated chamber.
For the first two years, Morgan's rhythm never broke:
lowering herself in perfect alignment, pressing close, pausing to hold him inside her, then rising in the same slow and deliberate motion, every movement steady as stone.
By the third year, she began to change their posture.
When her knees burned from the constant stance, she shifted, pulling him with her so that they lay on their sides, facing one another.
Even there, the pattern continued: her hips pressing forward with the same slow control, holding, then drawing back a few inches, then forward again, guided by her arms wrapped around his shoulders.
At times she rolled them so that he was above her, her legs encircling him, but she guided the pace, forcing it to remain the same unbroken rhythm.
His body moved as she willed it, every thrust timed with her breathing, slow and precise, never once allowing him to break into a faster tempo.
In the fourth year, the fatigue began to reach her.
Her muscles ached with each long stroke, but she did not stop.
Sweat covered her body, her silver hair plastered against her back, but the motion continued: forward, hold, pull back — and then again.
When her arms shook, she shifted positions again: kneeling with him behind her, using his hands on her hips for balance.
Even like this, she moved deliberately, pressing back against him in steady, even motions, pausing at full depth before pulling forward and repeating.
She used every variation of posture to keep going, never letting the rhythm collapse.
Forward and hold.
Pull back and align.
Forward again.
By the beginning of the fifth year, her movements were slower, heavier.
Every muscle in her body trembled with effort as she pushed herself through the cycle, changing positions when one set of muscles could no longer endure, then continuing the same deliberate tempo.
At last, midway through the fifth year, after thousands upon thousands of precise, controlled motions, she pressed forward into one last long, slow stroke and held there.
Her breath left her lips in a single deep exhale as her strength finally left her.
Her arms collapsed around him, and the rhythm that had lasted for five relentless years came to a stop.
Her body, soaked with sweat and trembling with exhaustion, sagged against his as she could no longer move.
Morgan's final motion slowed until it became a long, steady press forward.
She held there, her entire body trembling, every muscle spent from five relentless years.
Her forehead rested against his shoulder.
Her breath came out in a long, deep exhale.
Then, as if the last of her strength had been poured into that single motion, her body slackened.
She stayed close, limp, her silver hair spilling over his chest as her arms lost their strength.
Alex held her gently, lowering them both back against the bed, his arms wrapping around her trembling frame.
Her breathing softened, slowed, and within moments she was asleep, her body sinking into his embrace like a ribbon unraveling.
For the first time in five years, the unbroken rhythm came to a full, complete stop.
The room was quiet.
Reyne leaned forward slightly.
Hanabi exhaled.
Nefertiti folded her arms, watching with a faint smile.
Morgan had pushed herself harder than anyone expected.
From the group, Airi stood up.
She looked nervous, but there was determination in her blue eyes.
"…It's my turn now," she said quietly.
Alex looked up, still holding Morgan's sleeping form.
Airi took a step forward, hands clenched at her sides.
"I know I'm not as strong as Reyne or as clever as Hanabi… and I'm not as graceful as Ciel or as regal as Nefertiti," she said softly.
"But I love you. And… I want to give everything I have to you, just like they did."
The others stepped aside, giving her the path.
Alex carefully laid Morgan on the silken sheets and stood, turning to face Airi.
She met his gaze.
Her breath trembled, but she didn't look away.
"This time," she whispered, "it's just you and me."
And she stepped up onto the bed, closing the distance between them.
Airi climbed onto the bed slowly, her breathing uneven as she faced him.
Her hands, small and hesitant, came to rest on his shoulders as she eased herself closer.
When their bodies met, she trembled.
She sat down gently, carefully aligning herself, her motions delicate as if afraid to hurt him.
For a moment she stayed still, her eyes closed, just breathing.
Then she began to move.
Her hips lifted a little, rose slowly, then lowered again with a soft, cautious press.
The motion was gentle, unsteady at first, but she found her rhythm.
Up — down — pause.
Her hips rocked forward and back in small, tender motions.
Unlike the others, there was no strength in her movement, no precision; it was soft, a steady flow guided only by feeling.
Her breath hitched every time she pressed close.
She lowered her forehead to his, her hands gripping his shoulders for balance.
Her lips parted as her breath trembled with every rise and lowering.
Her movements stayed slow, each stroke deliberate, her entire body moving as one — chest brushing his, thighs tightening around him as she sank down, held him there, and then lifted again.
She pressed closer with each cycle, her arms wrapping around him now, hugging him tightly while she rocked in small, careful motions.
Even as she grew warmer, she didn't speed up; she kept it steady, each rise and descent filled with quiet emotion.
Her hips swayed slightly now with every motion, a shy circle at the end of each downward press, then up again.
She kissed him softly between breaths, brushing his lips with hers before leaning her head back on his shoulder, continuing the same slow pattern.
Up — down — hold.
Up — down — hold.
Her thighs quivered from the effort, but she refused to let go.
Every time he released, she pressed down fully and held herself there, clinging to him, her whole body shivering from the warmth inside her.
Only when the tremor passed did she start again, lifting herself carefully and continuing the same gentle, emotional rhythm.
Her style was not strong.
It was not precise.
It was pure.
Every motion came from her heart.
And so the rhythm continued, slow and soft, as hours began to stretch into days.
Her rhythm stayed the same.
Slow. Careful. Earnest.
Her hips rose in a trembling motion, then lowered again, pressing all of herself close to him.
Even as days turned to weeks inside the chamber, Airi never lost that soft pattern — up, down, hold — her forehead resting lightly against his, her arms circling his shoulders as if she never wanted to let go.
When his body tensed, she pressed herself fully down and clung to him, and when the warmth spilled deep inside her, she let out a small, broken cry.
"Ah… Alex…!"
Her whole body shivered as she stayed pressed close, holding there until his trembling eased.
Then, without rushing, she lifted herself again and continued the same slow pattern.
Her movements did not change.
Up — down — hold.
The cycle repeated, over and over, each time her voice catching as she felt him release again.
"Again… inside me," she whispered against his neck, tears forming in her eyes from the intensity of it.
Even after many hours, when her thighs began to ache, she never let go.
Weeks passed.
The rhythm was constant:
lifting slowly, lowering until she met him fully, pressing there as her breath shook, then lifting again.
Each time he came, she let out a quiet sound, a mix of joy and surprise, clinging to him.
"Ah…! It's warm… Alex…"
Her pace did not change, even as she cried out softly each time, her voice echoing in the stillness of the room.
He held her whenever she trembled, but never stopped her, letting her guide the rhythm.
Month after month, her hips rocked in the same slow, shy tempo, her cheeks wet with tears of emotion as he released into her again and again.
Her breath grew shorter with every cycle, but she kept going.
Her hands stayed locked behind his neck, hugging him close as her hips moved in gentle circles when she reached the bottom of each stroke, her voice breaking as she whispered,
"Alex… I can feel it… again…!"
And then another wave came, and she pressed down, holding him deep as she cried out, her tears falling onto his shoulder.
Even through the exhaustion of months, the pace remained:
slow, shy, and full of love.
As the weeks passed, her movements began to slow further, not by choice, but because of the weight in her legs.
Even so, she continued:
lifting herself carefully, pressing down until she was fully joined to him, pausing there as her breath shook, then rising again.
Her rhythm stayed shy and gentle, even as her arms trembled around his shoulders.
By the fourth week, every motion was a struggle.
When she pressed down, she clung to him desperately, her lips brushing against his neck, and whispered with a weak voice,
"Alex… it's so much… but I don't want to stop…"
Her thighs trembled under her own weight.
One last time she lifted, then lowered again, holding herself there as he released deep inside her.
Her voice broke into a soft cry,
"Ah—… Alex…!"
Her arms tightened around him, and her whole body shook as she let herself sink fully against him.
Her hips did not rise again.
Her breathing came in short, unsteady waves as the month of constant rhythm finally caught up to her.
Slowly, she sagged forward into his arms, her head resting on his shoulder, her movements coming to a full stop.
And then, with a long sigh, she let go, slipping into sleep while still holding him.
The shy, loving pace that had lasted a month in the time-dilated room finally ended, her strength gone.
Alex held her close as she went still in his arms, exhausted but peaceful.
Chapter 377 – "The End of the Trial"
The vast chamber was quiet.
Airi slept soundly, curled against Alex's chest, her arms clinging to him even in sleep.
Her month-long, tender rhythm had finally ended.
For the first time in years, no one moved.
The golden light of the slowed time spell shimmered across the walls as the others gathered closer.
Morgan, sitting with her arms folded, exhaled.
"…She's done."
Hanabi tilted her head. "One month in here… that's more than three years outside. For her first time, that's amazing."
Reyne crossed her arms. "And yet," she said, looking at Alex, "he's still completely fine."
Ciel smiled softly, resting a hand over her mouth. "As I told you before… even after all this, his strength doesn't fade."
Nefertiti shook her head slowly, golden eyes narrowing. "After all these years, and all of us taking our turns… he still stands unshaken. This is not a man's endurance. This is something else entirely."
There was a pause.
Then Hanabi said, "So… are we going to rank it?"
Morgan arched a brow. "Rank what?"
"You know," Hanabi grinned, "how long each of us lasted."
Reyne grinned as well. "That's a good idea."
Ciel chuckled quietly. "If only to settle curiosity."
They looked at each other, then at Alex.
Ciel spoke first, her voice gentle as always.
"I'll begin: ten years."
Reyne smirked. "I was first, so… one year."
Hanabi raised a finger. "Two months for me."
Nefertiti lifted her chin. "Ten months."
Morgan's cool voice followed: "Five years."
Finally, they glanced at Airi, who was still sleeping against Alex.
Ciel smiled warmly. "And… one month."
Hanabi nodded. "Honestly? That's incredible for her."
Reyne crossed her arms. "But even after all that… Alex hasn't collapsed. That's terrifying."
Morgan stared at him, her expression unreadable.
"…He's more than terrifying."
Ciel tilted her head. "Then shall we call the trial concluded?"
Nefertiti nodded slowly. "Yes. After all these years, I think we've all learned something."
Reyne raised an eyebrow. "And what's that?"
Nefertiti looked at Alex — still sitting quietly, holding Airi, his breathing steady, his strength unbroken.
"…That there's no one in this world who can exhaust him."
Morgan leaned back slightly, her arms still crossed, her cool gaze on Alex.
"Even with all of us taking turns," she said, "he still hasn't weakened. That's not natural."
Hanabi flopped onto her side with a sigh, her two tails flicking behind her.
"Well, we're the ones who are tired, not him," she muttered. "I feel like I ate a full course meal for two months straight."
Reyne chuckled. "That's because you did. You all know it, right? His… essence… isn't normal."
Ciel smiled faintly. "It carries more than mana. It carries life-force. That's why we could last as long as we did."
Nefertiti gave a slow nod, golden eyes serious. "If it weren't for that, our bodies would have given out far sooner. After the first week of that pace, anyone else would have collapsed permanently."
Morgan glanced around at them, her voice even.
"To be clear: if his seed didn't replenish us the way it does, we wouldn't last more than a week under that kind of strain."
Hanabi raised her hand. "A week? I'd be lucky to last three days."
Reyne smirked. "Without that nutrition, I would have fallen before the second month. And I thought dragons were the peak of endurance."
Ciel's gentle voice cut through the chatter.
"And yet, because of him, all of us lasted far longer than should be possible."
Hanabi groaned and rolled onto her back. "Even though it felt like I was drinking mana potions the whole time, my body still gave up. My mind gave up."
Nefertiti exhaled slowly. "It's too much. A single human shouldn't have that much power. And yet…"
She glanced toward Alex, who was still holding Airi carefully.
"…He does."
Morgan nodded once. "And this was with his seed restoring us. If not for that, this 'trial' wouldn't have lasted more than a few days."
Reyne stretched. "So that's it, huh? We admit it. None of us can win."
Hanabi chuckled weakly. "I already admitted that."
Ciel smiled softly, looking at Alex. "And yet, despite everything, he's still the same. Steady. Gentle."
Chapter 378 – "Seventeen Years in Silence"
The spell that had sealed the chamber began to fade.
The golden ripple in the air thinned, then broke like a curtain falling away, revealing the real world beyond.
One by one, they stepped out.
The world outside felt almost unreal after so long surrounded by that soft, time-dilated glow.
The breeze on their skin was fresh, carrying the scent of flowers.
The sound of the house around them seemed almost too quiet.
Reyne stretched, her body still aching.
"Seventeen years," she said under her breath. "That's how long it's been in there."
Hanabi rubbed her shoulders, ears drooping. "Feels like I aged a hundred years."
Ciel smiled faintly. "We should see how much time has passed here."
Morgan glanced at the clock on the wall, then did the calculation herself.
"The flow rate was one to one thousand," she said calmly. "Seventeen years inside…"
Nefertiti folded her arms. "That means… just over six days out here."
Hanabi froze. "…Six days? That's all?"
Ciel nodded gently. "Seventeen years for us. Six days for the world."
Reyne gave a humorless laugh. "We spent nearly two decades in that room, and outside, it hasn't even been a week."
Hanabi slumped. "So much for catching up on the world."
Nefertiti glanced back at Alex, who was walking behind them with Airi still asleep in his arms.
"For us," she murmured, "it was seventeen years. For him, it was seventeen years of giving everything."
Morgan's pale blue eyes moved over the group. "It's a strange feeling, isn't it? We've lived a lifetime in there… and now we return as if nothing has happened."
Hanabi shook her head, ears twitching. "We're never going to forget this. Ever."
Reyne chuckled softly. "Six days, huh? Everyone else is going to wonder why we all look so… different."
Ciel turned her golden eyes to Alex and said gently, "For us, seventeen years. For the world, six days. No one else will know what we've been through together."
They hadn't even finished unpacking the feeling of the outside world when the first report reached them.
Morgan, with her usual composed tone, was the one who relayed it:
"The supernatural community is moving again. Families and organizations from every corner — dragons, elves, vampires, the Association, even the Vatican — are all negotiating trades. It's about the Book of Aten."
Hanabi, still rubbing her sore arms from the long trial, smirked and leaned on Alex's shoulder.
"Alex," she teased, "your book is the most wanted treasure in the entire world right now. You didn't tell us you were that popular."
Alex sighed, closing his eyes. "I didn't write anything about resurrection in it."
Reyne crossed her arms. "Doesn't matter. They think you did."
Morgan added, "The moment Osiris came back, the news spread like wildfire. Everyone's looking for the connection, and the only thing all the leads agree on is the name Aten."
Nefertiti's golden eyes narrowed. "And they assume Aten has something to do with the Book."
Morgan nodded. "Even though the Egyptian gods kept their promise not to reveal the true name of the one who brought him back… there are always a few gods who can't keep their tongues still."
Hanabi chuckled. "Gossiping gods. Figures."
Alex pinched the bridge of his nose. "And now everyone's going to chase after a book that doesn't even have what they think it has."
Ciel, standing nearby, placed a soft hand on his arm.
"On the bright side," she said gently, "at least no one knows Aten was you."
Reyne nodded. "You were covered head to toe. Black bandages, yellow cloak. No one even saw your face."
Nefertiti allowed a faint smile. "To them, Aten is still a mystery. All they know is a cloaked figure walked into the Duat and came back."
Hanabi grinned and nudged him. "So you're safe… for now. Still, it's kind of fun knowing the whole supernatural community wants a book that you secretly know won't give them what they're looking for."
Morgan tilted her head slightly. "They'll trade kingdoms for it. And when they realize there's no resurrection method inside, the chaos will be… entertaining."
Alex groaned, leaning back into the couch. "I think I preferred seventeen years in that room."
The women laughed softly at that, the tension easing for a moment.
Back in Alex's home, the group sat together listening to the reports.
Reyne smirked, leaning back. "Well, there you have it. They've made you into a legend."
Hanabi laughed. "My favorite is the one where you're Osiris' sworn brother. You should've seen the painting — it looked like you two had matching tattoos."
Morgan exhaled. "And still no one suspects the truth. Good."
Alex covered his face with one hand. "…I can't believe they think I'm a lost son of Ra."
Ciel, seated beside him, placed a hand over his and smiled gently.
"It doesn't matter what they think. The truth is safe."
Nefertiti's golden eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "For now. But the more stories they tell, the more they will look for answers."
The conversation was interrupted by a firm, deliberate knock on the front door.
Everyone looked up.
Alex stood, sensing the familiar divine presence on the other side.
When he opened the door, a tall figure stood there — a man with falcon eyes, his presence calm yet carrying the weight of the desert sky.
Horus.
For a moment, the hallway was silent.
"…It's you," Horus said quietly.
His sharp gaze softened with respect. "I wanted to speak with you — Aten."
The women exchanged glances but said nothing.
Alex gave a small nod. "Come in."
The moment Horus stepped across the threshold, his eyes widened slightly.
Though the house looked simple from the street, inside was something entirely different:
A vast, airy interior, corridors stretching farther than should have been possible, gardens inside, halls lined with polished wood and light.
Horus murmured, "This… is bigger than a mortal home. A mansion hidden behind a mask."
Alex shrugged. "Space manipulation. Easier than building something obvious."
Horus's gaze flicked over the details — the way the air was perfectly balanced, the magical reinforcement of the structure.
"It suits you. Discreet. Strong."
They walked into the sitting room.
The other women settled themselves nearby, but the atmosphere grew watchful.
Horus sat opposite Alex, straight-backed, his falcon-like eyes fixed on him.
"I know your secret," he said calmly. "And I have kept it. You have my respect for what you did in Duat… and for Osiris."
Alex nodded. "You came here to talk about that?"
Horus shook his head slowly. "No. There is something else — something I could only say to you, Aten, face to face."
Horus's hands rested on his knees, his falcon-like eyes steady.
"I would not come here unless the matter was urgent," he said.
Alex leaned back slightly. "What is it?"
Horus drew in a slow breath.
"There is trouble in the Duat… the Egyptian underworld. The place where souls wait to be judged, to be purified, and to be reincarnated. Something has gone wrong."
The room went still.
Ciel's golden eyes narrowed slightly.
"Wrong… how?"
Horus's voice lowered.
"The souls are restless. Something has disturbed the balance. Even Anubis is struggling to maintain the cycle. It is as though something is pulling at them, drawing them away from their rightful path."
Alex's brows furrowed. "What's the cause?"
Horus shook his head. "We don't know. That is why I came here. Only you, Aten, have the strength and knowledge to find what lies at the heart of it."
For a moment, the room was silent except for the faint ticking of a clock.
Alex sighed softly. "You want me to come and look for myself."
Horus nodded once.
"Yes. I will guide you directly to the Duat. Will you come?"
Chapter 380 – "Return to the Duat"
The evening sky was painted gold as Alex stood in the center of the room, pulling the long, pale yellow cloak over his shoulders.
Layer by layer, he wrapped the black bandages around his body, until no trace of his ordinary self remained.
Only Aten stood there now — faceless, silent, his form concealed from all but those who already knew.
Horus watched from nearby, his sharp eyes approving.
Behind him, the women gathered.
Hanabi crossed her arms, pouting slightly. "You're really going again right after all that?"
Alex glanced back. "It won't take long. I'm just going to take a look."
Reyne's gaze narrowed. "The underworld of Egypt isn't exactly a place for a stroll."
Morgan's arms folded tightly. "Do you know what you're walking into?"
He gave a faint, reassuring smile. "I'll be careful."
Ciel stepped forward, adjusting a fold of the cloak over his shoulder. "We'll wait for you," she said softly.
Nefertiti's golden eyes met his. "Bring back answers. The Duat has been restless for too long."
Lastly, Airi looked up at him, still pale from her recovery, and whispered, "Come back soon."
"I will," Alex said.
He turned to Horus. "Let's go."
A shimmer opened before them — a divine gate, wide as a river of stars. Through it, they could already see the faint glow of the Duat: an endless expanse where rivers of sand met a sky full of constellations that never moved.
Horus stepped through first.
Alex followed, his yellow cloak sweeping behind him like a streak of sunlight cutting into the darkness.
The gate closed.
The world above fell silent.
The gate closed behind them with a sound like a long exhale.
The Duat stretched before Alex's eyes — a vast, otherworldly expanse.
Golden deserts flowed like an ocean beneath an unmoving sky, the stars above bright and frozen, as though each constellation was a god watching silently from their throne.
Rivers of clear water wound like silver serpents through the dunes, and black stone temples rose in the distance.
Waiting at the base of the first set of steps was a tall figure clad in black and gold.
A jackal-headed god stood there, silent, patient.
Anubis.
When Anubis's amber eyes found Alex, the god bowed low, his head inclined in deep respect.
"Aten," Anubis said, his voice smooth and steady.
"I welcome you once more to the Duat."
Alex inclined his head.
"Horus says you're having trouble."
Anubis rose. "Yes. And the matter is grave. But before we speak of it, walk with me."
They crossed the dunes together, the sound of their steps soft against the otherworldly sand.
As they walked, Anubis explained.
"You know, Aten, that the afterlife is not a single place.
Every land, every faith, every path has its own waystation for the dead.
The Duat belongs to Kemet — to Egypt.
Souls born here, or bound by belief to this land, come here to await judgment."
He glanced at Alex.
"The so-called Hell you have heard of, or the Pure Land, or the Yomi of the East… these are other afterlives.
They exist parallel, never touching. Each shaped by the beliefs of its people.
It is only when a soul belongs to no path that it is lost."
Horus added, walking beside them,
"Those who die under the eyes of Egypt return here. This place is theirs, just as other pantheons guide their own."
As they spoke, Alex saw them: souls moving like a slow river across the dunes, faint shapes in white, drifting toward the great city of the dead in the distance, where the scales of Ma'at waited.
But there was something strange.
Some of those souls wavered, like candles in a storm, flickering and vanishing before reaching the gates.
Anubis's voice lowered.
"This is why you are here.
Something is drawing them away.
And we do not know what."
They left the open dunes and came to a slow halt before the broad causeway that led to the Hall of Judgment.
Before entering, Alex stopped.
"…Wait," he said softly.
Horus glanced at him. "What is it?"
Alex's eyes narrowed as he gazed across the flow of pale figures drifting toward the gates.
His senses reached out, reading not only the appearance of the souls but their weight.
What he saw was unnatural.
Some of the spirits — especially the weaker ones — shivered, their outlines breaking apart like thin smoke.
When they faded, they didn't simply vanish. They were dragged, pulled as if caught by a tide.
He knelt, hand brushing just above the sand as a faint ripple passed under his palm.
"These souls aren't disappearing naturally," Alex said.
"There's a pull. A strong one."
Anubis's golden eyes narrowed. "A pull?"
"Yes," Alex replied, his voice steady. "Something heavy is drawing them in — like gravity."
He looked up at the jackal-headed god, his black bandages catching the starlight.
"It's not random. There's a strong soul nearby. Maybe a god, or something close to it. Normally, when a powerful being dies, their soul doesn't just fade — it fights against reincarnation, and the force of that conflict is like a vortex."
Horus nodded slowly, his expression serious.
Alex continued, "When such a soul refuses to return, its instability can pull weaker souls with it. Like a collapsing star pulling planets out of orbit. The closer the weaker souls drift, the more they're caught. That's why you're losing them."
Anubis tilted his head. "You believe the cause is a god's soul?"
Alex rose to his feet. "I'm sure of it. If a god is on the edge of disappearing, their soul will shake everything around it. They won't vanish quietly."
His gaze shifted toward the horizon, past the gates of judgment, deeper into the Duat.
"And if I'm right… they're somewhere inside."
Horus's hand rested on the hilt of his spear. "Then we'll find them."
Anubis gave a slow, grave nod. "Follow me. We will enter the Hall and trace the disturbance."