The Royal Palace – Capital Eldranis.
Behind the ivory and amber doors… nothing but body and power.
The music plays, soft and contemptible… as if begging to be allowed a place among the sighs.
The room is spacious, warm, drenched in lights the color of honey mixed with blood.
It reeks of sweat blended with perfume, the viscosity of a long night, and repetitive flesh.
And on the black couches… the bodies of women heap together.
Naked, or nearly so.
Thighs spread, breasts languid, lips sticky from too many kisses.
Hair drips onto the floor, and light fabrics as if they cleared the way for sex and then vanished.
And in the center… he.
Eldran.
The prince. The uncrowned king. The beautiful monster.
Half his body is bare, his muscles smooth, his skin shining with sweat, and the scent of his flesh silences everything around him.
One of the concubines straddles his thigh, swaying at the waist, her mouth sliding on his neck, sucking his pleasure as she would his commands.
Another licks wine spilled from his chest, drinking it off his skin.
A third is between his thighs.
She positions herself.
She moves.
She moans with total submission, as if she were a slave to a devil created to humiliate her.
And he speaks.
Talks as if his body were not being fucked. As if sex doesn't hinder him from conquest.
Before them, a massive map, atop it wine stains, tiny drops of blood, and trembling fingertip prints.
He said, while his fingers delved into the hair of the woman riding him:
"Kerith… a countryside that doesn't know it's dead."
Then he laughed, in a hoarse voice.
"My plan began since I left my mother's womb choking on the scent of my father's blood…"
He grasped the neck of the woman on him, pulled her toward his face, and bit her lip:
"I toppled him before I had reached manhood, and here I am now… stabbing the entire continent from my bed."
One of the women cried out in rapture.
He struck her buttocks, then said:
"The kingdoms of the mad twilight? I will level them to the ground. I will sow my fire in every womb, every field, every palace. I'll kneel them one by one… until I reach the world itself."
Then he stared at the map.
He pointed west, where a red dot trembles whenever the woman on him moves.
"There… we will begin. And everything ends where I was born…"
Then, he leaned down towards one of the concubines, bit her neck slowly and said:
"I will build my empire atop your bodies… and beneath their bones."
Laughter…
Gasps…
Bodies writhe around him like hungry snakes surrounding a god overdosing on his own blessing.
But…
The door opened.
Without sound.
Without permission.
The guard stood.
Dripping sweat, his face terrified, his eyes as if holding a catastrophe.
The prince did not move.
He remained inside the woman astride him.
But he said, in a low and dangerous voice:
"Have you lost your mind?"
Then he paused.
Slowly pulled himself free, pushed the woman off with noble indifference, and stood.
His body dripping with lust.
Walking like a king risen from a profane prophecy.
And he added in a firm tone:
"Do you think I interrupt… for something trivial?"
But the guard replied steadily:
"This… concerns Zara, Your Highness."
Only then…
Did the prince's hand stop patting another concubine's rear.
And silence fell.
Only a faint gasp…
Choked in the throat.
The alchemist picked up one of the three hearts carefully.
She examined it, smelled it, then raised her head toward him and said:
"This one is the best."
She pointed to the other two, which she had set aside:
"As for these… they're not fit for crafting precise potions. Their vital properties have weakened. But… they remain rare."
"You can sell them at a high price. Organic magic enthusiasts love such things. Or perhaps just connoisseurs of fine dining."
Eron remained silent for a moment, then remembered.
The system.
The same one that had said when he collected the hearts: "One of them is prepared for alchemical analysis."
He looked at the heart she chose, then nodded to himself.
"She knows what she's doing… I won't lie."
She placed the chosen heart into a dark glass vessel and began preparing primary materials:
"But the potion… won't be ready today. This one is complex. It needs at least twelve hours for decomposition… and integration."
She raised her eyes to him and added:
"Come back tomorrow. At this time. It will be ready."
Then, before he could move, she produced another small bottle, dark like olive oil.
Placed it on the table in front of him.
"And this…"
She winked.
"Part of the reward I promised you."
Eron reached for the bottle, studied it, then muttered:
"A healing oil for wounds… I thought… something else."
He looked at her.
She only laughed… a quick glance into his eyes, then down to his waist.
A look that made him realize everything.
He said as he put the bottle into his pocket, running his hand over his cock in an involuntary, slow movement:
"Damn… you tricked me again."
Then he smiled to himself, a failed, desperate smile:
"Still… very beautiful."
He stepped out the door.
The cold air struck his face, refreshing him.
The light vanished.
Night fell over the city like a dusty blanket, suffocating the senses and confusing the roads.
As he closed the door behind him, a floating notification appeared before his eyes:
[System]: Preparation process "Midnight Tremor – Type II" underway. Time remaining: 12 hours.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and sighed.
"So… tomorrow we'll see what this potion does."
He tightened his collar, descended the stairs, and walked toward Garon's house.
Overnight lodging was necessary.
Night was still.
That kind of silence that does not comfort… but forces reflection.
The sky above was thick, no stars, no moon… only hanging shadows.
Eron walked steadily, but his gaze wasn't focused on the path.
He was fixed on something else... farther than the sidewalks, closer to his own skin.
"It's really getting… pleasant," he thought, giving a short smile.
He sighed, and tightened his collar even more.
"But the system hasn't rewarded me with a level-up reward."
He remembered how, after the cave, the notification appeared… points… rewards.
Now? Nothing.
"Could it be that the system… is being stingy? Or does it consider me just a trainee that doesn't need rewards now?"
He smiled bitterly.
Then, without warning, a name slipped into his mind… as if engraved on the back of his eyes.
Zara.
He stopped, closed his eyes.
Then said to himself, in a tone nearly a whisper:
"That accursed mouth… how did it manage to devour me with a single glance?"
He laughed softly and resumed walking.
"I stopped dreaming about her for a while, and now?… I miss not even her screams… and… other things."
He shook his head.
"I'm deviant… but at least an honest deviant."
He neared Garon's house.
The light inside flickered gently, reflecting window lines like golden cracks on wooden walls.
He opened the wooden door quietly.
But he was not alone at the threshold.
Standing firm in the hallway… was Selena.
Her arms folded across her chest, her brows lowered, her eyes asking without speaking.
He just stood there.
Frozen.
"Oh… no, not that kind of welcome."
He stood before her like a thief caught by fate mid-crime, though he'd stolen nothing… only intent.
His eyes darted, searching for a suitable lie, a quick justification, anything to explain his pitiful state.
"I was… just… out… for some air… then…"
He stopped.
His words too weak to be believed.
And Selena? She didn't wait for his words at all.
She looked at him with a glance… long… encompassing.
The gaze of a smart young woman who noticed the dried blood at his collar's edge, the scratches on his wrist, and the movement barely hiding his pain.
"What happened?!"
She said it in a sincere tone, no attack… just sharp worry, reproach wrapped in fear.
Eron sighed, shook his head, then said in half a voice:
"A long story…"
He fell silent for a moment, as if waiting for her to say: tell me, but she didn't.
She simply remained where she stood, looking at him.
Then, that strange smile surfaced on his face.
Half sarcastic.
Half lustful.
Then a perverted idea glittered in his eyes…
He quietly reached into his inner pocket and took out the small bottle.
The healing oil… the one that mends wounds.
He held it up to her, gleaming in the dim light.
He said, in a soft voice… as if it were so innocent:
"Will… you help me apply the treatment?"
He blinked, then added more clearly, waving the bottle:
"In places… I can't reach, of course."
He paused.
And smiled a tired smile… but behind it was the tail of an uninnocent intention.
Awaiting her reaction.