Chapter 228 Acquiring Royal Family’s Spells and Scriptures

Brita woke slowly. Her body ached in a thousand places, a deep, searing soreness unlike anything she had ever experienced. Every muscle protested, every joint felt loose and raw. She shifted slightly, a soft groan escaping her lips. The sheets beneath her were cool, but the heat between her thighs, the slick stickiness, brought it all rushing back.

The night. Alaric.

Her eyes snapped open. She stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling, her mind a sudden, horrifying rush of clarity. He had taken her. Violently. Repeatedly. Ruthlessly. Her virginity, saved for years, saved for her Master, was gone. And she had been defiled.

Panic clawed at her throat. She remembered the pain, the initial revulsion, her futile struggles. Then, confusingly, terrifyingly, the slow creep of sensation, the breaking of her will, the moments when she had moaned his name, even accidentally called him ‘Master’.

Shame flooded her. Humiliation. She, Brita Kuusk, loyal servant of Lord Vortan, high-ranking member of the Phantom Assembly, had been reduced to this. A used, broken toy.

But beneath the shame, a cold, sharp fear began to set in. Lord Vortan. What would he do if he found out?

Losing her virginity to another man was bad enough. But being utterly subdued, made to call another man ‘Master’, broken down until she cried out his name in pleasure… that was a betrayal. A fundamental failure of loyalty.

She knew the Assembly’s rules. Knew Lord Vortan’s methods. A high-ranking member who became a potential liability, whose loyalty might be compromised, whose secrets might be spilled… they simply disappeared. Silenced. Eradicated.

She had leaked information last night. Important information. About the Assembly’s plans, their contingency regarding the Steele Family. Even if she hadn’t wanted to, even if it was forced from her, it was still treason in the eyes of the Assembly.

Her stomach clenched. Lord Vortan would not care that she was raped. He would not care that she was forced. He would only care that Alaric Steele had touched her, had been inside her, had potentially corrupted her loyalty and extracted vital intelligence.

He would see her as compromised goods. A security risk. He would assume, perhaps correctly, that Alaric would now have leverage over her.

Her fate, if Lord Vortan discovered any of this, was sealed. Death. Swift, silent, complete. Her years of service, her dedication, her unwavering devotion… it would all count for nothing. She would cease to exist.

The thought sent a fresh wave of terror through her. She, who had faced dangerous missions without flinching, who had killed without remorse, was now utterly terrified.

Survival. That was the only instinct left. How could she survive?

Against all logic, against her ingrained hatred for the man who had violated her, she knew the answer. Alaric Steele.

He was powerful. Terrifyingly so. He had broken her. He had taken everything. But… he was also her only potential shield. If Lord Vortan came for her, her only hope lay with Alaric.

She hated him. She hated what he had done. But she had to ensure he saw her as valuable, as loyal to him, valuable enough to protect. She had to prevent Lord Vortan from discovering what had happened. At all costs.

Preventing discovery meant silence. Disappearing from Lord Vortan’s radar. And consolidating her position here, in Alaric’s domain.

She had to make herself indispensable to Alaric. Show him that the secrets she held were worth more than the trouble she might bring.

A low sob escaped her lips. Then another. The pain, the fear, the humiliation, it all boiled up. She buried her face in the pillows, silent tears streaming down her face. She was trapped. Trapped between two terrifying masters.

Suddenly, she felt arms tighten around her. Warmth enveloped her. Alaric.

She flinched, her body tensing instinctively, but she was too weak to pull away.

He held her close, his body warm and solid behind her.

“Rest now, Brita,” he murmured, his voice surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the brutal conqueror of the night.

He felt her trembling. He felt her pain, her fear. It was a palpable thing, radiating from her.

‘Good,’ he thought. ‘The fear of her old master. The reliance on her new one. This is the fertile ground for absolute submission.’

He tightened his arms slightly. “Don’t cry,” he coaxed softly. “It’s over.”

He didn’t apologize. Didn’t express remorse. It wasn’t in his nature. But the gentleness, the simple physical comfort after the night’s ordeal, was a calculated move. A different form of control.

“I know what happened last night was… difficult for you,” he continued, his voice a low rumble against her ear. “Your first time.”

Brita flinched again, shame searing through her. He acknowledged it so casually.

“But it was necessary,” he stated, his tone firming slightly. “I needed to ensure your loyalty. To shift your allegiance. To make you truly mine.”

He paused, letting his words sink in. Then, he added the crucial conditions, the chains that would bind her to him.

“Now that you are my woman,” he said, his voice returning to that gentle, possessive tone, “I won’t treat you cruelly… provided you behave.”

Brita held her breath, listening intently.

“If you remain loyal to me,” he continued, his arms tightening just enough to emphasize his point, “if you do not harm anyone from my family, or act against the interests of the Steele Family… then you will find I can be a very different sort of Master.”

He shifted slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the back of her neck. “I will be gentle with you. I will protect you. I will even reward your loyalty and obedience.”

Brita’s mind reeled. Gentle? Protect her? Reward her? After last night? It felt impossible to reconcile the two sides of him. The brutal, ruthless conqueror and this… almost comforting presence.

But then came the inevitable, terrifying caveat.

His voice dropped again, becoming cold, hard, utterly merciless. “However. If you ever, ever go against me. If you betray my trust. If you communicate with Lord Vortan behind my back. If you threaten my family… you will learn what true cruelty is.”

He paused, letting the weight of his threat settle over her like a shroud.

“I will not show you mercy,” he stated flatly. “Even though you are my woman. I will kill you. Slowly. Painfully. And make sure Lord Vortan knows exactly who broke you and who ended you.”

Brita’s body seized up. The casual brutality of the threat, delivered in that cold, even tone, was more terrifying than any scream. She believed him. Absolutely. He would do it. Without hesitation.

He felt her fear, her tension. He allowed her a moment to absorb it.

Then, his touch softened again. He stroked her hair, gently.

“But you won’t do that, will you, Brita?” he murmured, coaxing her now. “You’re smart. You know where your best interests lie now. With me.”

He continued to hold her, stroking her back, whispering soft, possessive words, mixing threats with promises of gentleness, subtly weaving the chains of control with every touch, every syllable. He knew how to break a will and rebuild it to his design.

Slowly, gradually, Brita’s frantic sobs subsided. The sheer exhaustion helped. The contrasting gentleness after the brutality chipped away at her defenses. The undeniable truth of his threat, and the terrifying prospect of Lord Vortan’s wrath, solidified her grim reality. She was his now. Completely. Her survival depended on his goodwill.

She had to choose. Her old Master, who would discard her without a second thought if he knew. Or her new Master, who had taken everything but offered a terrifying, conditional protection.

Survival. Choose survival.

She took a shaky breath. Leaned back against his chest. The decision was made. She had to make herself valuable. She had to give him something only she possessed. Knowledge. Secrets. Secrets of the Phantom Assembly. Secrets about Lord Vortan.

“Young Master…” she whispered, her voice raspy, barely audible.

“Yes, Brita?” Alaric replied, his tone encouraging.

“I… I will tell you,” she managed, her voice trembling. “About the Assembly.”

He held her closer, a silent signal of his attention.

“Good girl,” he praised softly. ‘The hook is set.’

She hesitated for a moment, gathering her thoughts, pushing past the ingrained fear of revealing Assembly secrets. But that fear was now overshadowed by the immediate, present fear of Alaric’s displeasure, and the distant, cold dread of Lord Vortan’s retribution if she failed to appease her new Master.

She began to speak, her voice a low, hesitant whisper, recounting the dark truths of the organization that had been her life.

“The members… the reason we are strong…” she started. “It’s because of… dark seeds.”

Alaric’s arms tightened around her slightly. ‘Dark seeds?’ This was new.

“When someone joins the higher ranks of the Assembly,” Brita continued, choosing her words carefully, “they are… injected… with a dark seed.”

She shivered slightly at the memory of her own induction.

“This seed… it’s fused with dark energy,” she explained. “It ties… it ties our mana circuits… or the battle aura core for martialists… directly to Lord Vortan.”

Alaric’s mind raced. A direct link? A control mechanism?

“The seed… it greatly strengthens us,” Brita said, her voice gaining a faint, reluctant awe as she spoke of the power. “It infuses us with dark energy. Amplifies our abilities.”

‘A forced power-up,’ Alaric mused internally. ‘At the cost of… what else?’

“But… through the seed… Lord Vortan can also… control us,” Brita whispered, her voice filled with dread. “He can… he can kill anyone he wants. Instantly. By disrupting the seed.”

A cold knot formed in Alaric’s stomach. A kill switch. In every one of his potential enemies within the Assembly.

“And…” Brita hesitated again, revealing a darker secret still. “He can also… absorb the energy. From our mana circuits… or our battle aura core. Take it for himself.”

‘Cannibalizing his own ranks?’ Alaric thought. ‘Ruthless. Efficient.’

“The efficiency is low, though,” Brita added quickly, recalling Assembly whispers. “Most of the energy is lost. So he doesn’t do it readily. Only from… failed members. Or when he needs a sudden boost.”

He digested this. A system of enforced loyalty and power augmentation, backed by total control and the ability to consume his subordinates’ strength. It was monstrous. And disturbingly effective.

“And the high-ranking seeds?” Alaric prompted, recalling Brita’s own power level.

“They are different,” Brita confirmed. “Fused with… volatile beast essences.”

“This fusion…” Brita explained, her voice dull. “It weakens the energy of the beast essence a bit… makes it compatible with the seed… helps with the fusing process with the member. And… it imbues the member’s aura… mana circuits… or battle aura core… with the aura of dark energy from the beast essence.”

Alaric froze. Fusion of dark seed with beast essences?’ His mind flashed back to the Azure Spirit Lion. The dungeon. The Assembly members.

“Beast essences?” he repeated, his voice sharp. He held her closer. “The Azure Spirit Lion. In that dungeon. Were your people there for that?”

Brita nodded, leaning back against his chest. “Yes. That was… an Assembly operation.”

“But… the ranks I encountered,” Alaric said, recalling the fight. “They were only Master Martialists. Master Mages. Not high-ranking like you.”

“Precisely,” Brita said. “The Azure Spirit Lion… it’s special. An ancient mythical beast. Its spiritual power… it can greatly enhance magical energy. And its essence… it enhances the human physique too.”

She paused, choosing her words carefully. “The Lion was… sealed within that dungeon. For centuries. Since ancient times.”

“If it hadn’t been sealed,” Brita stated, her voice filled with certainty, the certainty of Assembly intelligence, “no one in the entire world… no Archmage, no Martial King… could have managed to slay it.”

Alaric nodded slowly. He knew that. The Lion’s power, even in its weakened state, had been formidable. Unsealed, it would have been an impossibility for him at the time.

“Since the beast was so weakened… by the seal…” Brita continued, “it was precisely for this reason that the Phantom Assembly didn’t send powerful high-ranking members.”

She looked up slightly, trying to meet his gaze. “Lord Vortan knew it was weakened. Knew its essence would be valuable. But he also knew the risk was minimal with the seal still in place. He sent the lower ranks… to test the waters… to see if they could retrieve it.”

“There was no way,” she concluded, her voice soft, “that a bunch of Master Mages or Master Martialists could have acquired its beast essence if it hadn’t been so weakened.”

Alaric absorbed her words. It confirmed what he had suspected. He had stumbled upon an opportunity born of ancient sealing and his own willingness to plunge into a dangerous situation.

His acquisition of the Azure Spirit Lion essence, the very core of his System’s growth, was only possible because the Assembly had underestimated the extent of the seal’s weakening, and because he had the audacity and the System to seize the moment.

He nodded again. “That confirms it,” he said, the truth of her words resonating with his own experience.

He shifted, pulling away slightly, standing up from the bed.

“Rest now, Brita,” he said, his voice back to a calmer, but still authoritative tone. “You’ve told me enough for now.”

Brita watched him, her eyes still heavy with exhaustion and the aftermath of the night. She felt a strange mix of relief and apprehension. Relief that she had given him valuable information, perhaps securing her immediate safety. Apprehension about what her ‘new duties’ would entail.

Alaric didn’t linger. He glanced at her one last time, a possessive glint in his ruby eyes that promised both dominance and a terrifying form of ‘gentleness’ if she obeyed.

Then, he turned and left the room.

He had much to process. Secrets of the Phantom Assembly. The terrifying control of Lord Vortan. The true significance of his Azure Spirit Lion essence.

And now, a new objective. He needed more power. More techniques. For himself and for his growing number of loyal followers.

His mind turned to his ‘guests’. The Royal Family of Eloriath.

Queen Margaret. Royal Consort Josephine. They had brought treasures. Knowledge. And they were entirely beholden to him.

‘Time to collect,’ he thought, a predatory smile touching his lips.

His next destination was not his study, nor the training fields.

It was the Sunken Pearl Estate.

He walked the short distance under the clear sky, the manor quiet around him. Security was tight, guards patrolling discreetly, the defensive arrays humming silently in the background.

He bypassed the main entrance to the estate, heading towards a smaller, less conspicuous door on the side. He had arranged this meeting personally, directly contacting Margaret via the Phone Artifact. It was to be secret. No need for the Archmage, the other consorts, or anyone else to know the details of this particular transaction.

He entered the estate. Servants bowed, their faces blank. He moved through elegant corridors, past tastefully decorated rooms that felt sterile compared to the lived-in warmth of the main manor.

He reached a private sitting room. The door was closed.

He pushed it open.

Queen Margaret and Royal Consort Josephine were waiting. They rose instantly as he entered.

Margaret was dressed simply, but carried herself with undeniable regality, though her eyes held a nervousness she couldn’t entirely conceal. Josephine was beside her, her voluptuous figure emphasized by her clinging gown, her expression a mixture of anxiety and eagerness.

They were alone. As requested.

“King Alaric,” Margaret said, inclining her head respectfully.

“Greetings, my dear King,” Josephine breathed, her voice softer, more intimate.

Alaric closed the door behind him. He didn’t stand on ceremony. He walked directly towards them, his gaze sharp, assessing.

‘They look ready,’ he thought. Ready for his demands. Ready to please him.

He had cultivated this. The terrifying power he displayed in private, the sheer dominance, the way he had utterly claimed them during their ‘training’ sessions. He had broken them of their regal airs, their courtly facades, replacing it with a deep-seated submission.

To them, he wasn’t just a young Lord. He was their ‘King Alaric’, the one who had conquered them, who owned them, who they craved to please.

“Margaret. Josephine,” he said, his voice calm, commanding. He didn’t use titles. That was another part of dissolving their former identities, their former loyalties.

Margaret swallowed. “We… we are settled in, King. Your hospitality is… generous.”

Josephine stepped slightly closer, a subtle sway of her hips. “Anything you require, my dear king? After our journey, we are eager to… be of service.” Her voice was a clear invitation.

Alaric allowed himself a slight smile. ‘Eager, indeed.’ They understood. Their ‘service’ was not merely verbal.

“I do require something,” Alaric stated, getting straight to the point. He needed to be efficient. Time was valuable.

He looked directly at Margaret. “The Royal Treasury. You brought… a significant portion of its contents, I understand.”

“Yes, King,” Margaret confirmed, her voice regaining some firmness as she spoke of her duties. “The most valuable artifacts, gems, gold… and the restricted archives. The Royal Family’s private collection of spells and cultivation techniques. Items deemed too potent, too dangerous, or too valuable for the public libraries.”

‘Bingo,’ Alaric thought. This was exactly what he wanted. The accumulated knowledge of generations of Eloriath’s mages and martialists.

“That collection of spells and techniques,” Alaric said, his voice leaving no room for negotiation. “I require access to it. Full access. Immediately.”

Margaret hesitated for a split second. This was unprecedented. These were state secrets, generational treasures. Handing them over to a private noble…

But the look in Alaric’s ruby eyes was absolute. It was not a request. It was a command. And coupled with the memory of his power, of his touch, her resistance crumbled.

“Yes, King,” she said, her voice softer now, laced with resignation and a touch of something else… submission. “I… I understand. The safety of the kingdom’s knowledge…” She trailed off, finding his logic for him. “It is best kept… here. With you. In the most secure location.”

Josephine nodded eagerly. “Of course, King. It is only right. Your strength is our protection. Our resources should serve your needs.” She stepped even closer, reaching out tentatively to touch his arm.

Alaric allowed her touch. ‘They’ve fully embraced their roles,’ he noted with satisfaction. ‘The Queen and her Consort, reduced to eager supplicants for my favor.’

“Excellent,” Alaric said, his tone softening, a reward for their compliance. “I knew you would understand. The spells. The combat techniques. I need the most powerful. Elemental spells. Physical augmentation. Battle aura cultivation methods.”

He looked between them. “Arrange for the transfer. To my study. All of it. Catalogued, accessible.”

“Yes, Alaric,” Margaret and Josephine said in unison, their voices eager to please.

“We will see to it immediately,” Margaret added. “All the scrolls, the inscribed tablets, the Grimoires… they are in secured containers. We will have them brought here.”

Josephine’s eyes shone. “Anything for you, King. Anything at all.” Her gaze dropped, lingering on his body. The implication was clear. Her ‘service’ extended far beyond administrative tasks.

Alaric met her gaze, a slow, predatory smile returning to his face. ‘And I have use for that service as well.’

He stepped closer to Josephine, reaching out to cup her face gently. “You are both… very valuable assets,” he murmured, his thumb stroking her cheek.

Josephine leaned into his touch, her eyes closing, a soft moan escaping her lips. Margaret watched, a complex mix of emotions on her face – resignation, envy, and the familiar stir of her own submission.

“King…” Josephine breathed, her body already reacting to his proximity.

“Your loyalty… your eagerness to please…” Alaric continued, his voice a low purr, “it is appreciated. Deeply appreciated.”

He glanced at Margaret, a silent command in his eyes. Margaret understood.

“Perhaps,” Margaret said, her voice slightly strained, “Josephine and I can… demonstrate our gratitude. More… personally. After… after we arrange for the transfer of the archives.”

Alaric chuckled softly. “An excellent suggestion, my dear queen.” The subtle use of her title, reclaiming a piece of her identity only to immediately assert his dominance, was a deliberate power play.

He dropped his hand from Josephine’s face. “See to the archives first. Send word when they are secure in my study.”

He looked at both of them, his ruby eyes gleaming with promise and possessiveness.

“Then,” he stated, his voice laced with desire, “you can both come to my chambers. To offer your… personal gratitude.”

Margaret and Josephine exchanged a look, their shared fate sealed by their compliance, their submission.

“Yes, King,” they said, their voices filled with eagerness and anticipation. The prospect of his ‘gentle’ touch, a stark contrast to the brutality he sometimes displayed, was its own potent lure. They craved his attention, his touch, his dominance.

Alaric gave a satisfied nod. He had what he came for. The knowledge of Eloriath’s magic and martial arts, soon to be his. And the Queen and her Consort, soon to be beneath him once more.

He turned and left the sitting room, leaving the two royal women to make the arrangements, their minds already shifting from the mundane task of moving archives to the far more exciting, terrifying prospect of their impending encounter with their King.