Chapter 193 The Allure Of The King

Alaric began to put his plan into motion. He sent discreet messages through trusted members of his temporary staff, requesting each of the thirteen women he had selected to visit him in his tent under the pretense of discussing specific aspects of the holy artifact enhancements. He decided against any pretense of friendship or professional courtesy when it came to these chosen few. He would lay his intentions bare, using his Harem God System to ensure their compliance and his own pleasure.

The first to arrive was Sascha Kaiser. Even in the simple, practical clothing common in the encampment, her mature beauty was undeniable. Her dark hair was pulled back in a neat bun, revealing high cheekbones and intelligent, hazel eyes that held a hint of weariness, perhaps from worry about her husband and children back in the capital. Her figure, though concealed by the fabric, hinted at the voluptuous curves Alaric so admired. There was a quiet strength about her, a groundedness that spoke of a woman who had experienced life and knew her own desires, even if they were kept carefully hidden.

Sascha entered Alaric’s tent with a polite knock, her expression a mixture of curiosity and slight apprehension. “Master Steele? You wished to speak with me?”

Alaric, who had been waiting for her, turned from his workbench, his ruby eyes locking onto hers. He didn’t offer any pleasantries or lead into the topic gently. Instead, he met her gaze directly, letting the subtle influence of his Charm Aura wash over her. “Sascha,” he said, his voice low and steady, “you are an intelligent woman. You must have sensed my… interest in you these past few days.”

Sascha’s eyes widened slightly, a faint blush creeping up her neck. She remained silent, her gaze flickering nervously around the tent.

“Let me be blunt,” Alaric continued, his Seductive Gaze now subtly at play, making his eyes seem darker, more intense. “I desire you, Sascha. I want to spend the night with you. You have a choice. You can agree to my desires, or you can leave this tent right now, and this conversation will never have happened.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “I will not pretend to offer you commitment or a lasting relationship. I want you in my bed, and I will summon you there whenever I please. Do you agree to this… arrangement?”

Sascha’s breath hitched. Her hazel eyes darted back to his, searching for any hint of deception or mockery. She found only a stark, unwavering desire. The persuasive whispers of Heart’s Whisper began to subtly weave their way into her mind, amplifying the attraction she had already felt towards the powerful and charismatic young artificer.

She swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. “Master Steele… I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You have a choice, Sascha,” Alaric repeated, his voice softening slightly, though his gaze remained intense. “Yes or no.”

Sascha looked down at her hands, her fingers twisting nervously. The thought of betraying her husband, of succumbing to this blatant proposition, filled her with a sense of guilt and trepidation. But at the same time, a powerful, undeniable pull towards Alaric was growing within her, fueled by his charm and the subtle magic at play.

She looked up at him again, her eyes filled with a complex mix of emotions – fear, desire, and a strange sort of resignation. “Master Steele,” she began, her voice trembling slightly, “I… I can’t simply agree to this. I have a husband… children…”

But then, her gaze shifted, becoming more direct, almost challenging. Her voice dropped to a near whisper, her eyes holding an unspoken plea. “But… if you were to… take action, Master Steele… if you desired me so much that you… that you wouldn’t take no for an answer…” Her meaning was clear. She wanted to be overpowered, to have the decision taken out of her hands, so that she could perhaps rationalize her actions later.

Alaric’s lips curved into a knowing smile. He understood her unspoken request perfectly. This mature beauty, despite her initial reservations, was clearly intrigued, even aroused by his proposition. She wanted to feel desired, wanted so intensely that resistance was futile.

“Very well, Sascha,” Alaric said, his voice now laced with a hint of playful dominance. He took a step towards her, his presence filling the small tent. Sascha’s breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening with a mixture of fear and anticipation.

He reached out, his fingers gently tracing the line of her jaw, his touch sending a shiver down her spine. “You are a beautiful woman, Sascha,” he murmured, his gaze lingering on her lips. “And tonight, you will be mine.”

Without waiting for a response, Alaric’s hand moved to the front of her conservative tunic, his fingers finding the fastenings. With a swift, decisive movement, he tore the fabric apart, the sound ripping through the silence of the tent. Sascha gasped, her eyes flying open in shock, her hands instinctively flying to her exposed chest.

Alaric’s gaze swept over her, taking in the sight of her ample breasts, now partially revealed by the torn fabric. He reached out again, this time cupping one of her breasts in his hand, his thumb gently stroking her nipple, which hardened instantly beneath his touch.

Sascha let out a soft moan, her initial shock giving way to a rush of sensation. Her hands, which had been trying to cover herself, now clutched at his arm, her grip surprisingly tight.

“Don’t resist, Sascha,” Alaric whispered, his voice husky with desire. He lifted her into his arms, her surprisingly light weight doing little to hinder him, and carried her to his bed, laying her down gently.

Sascha stared up at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and a burgeoning desire. She tried to push him away as he leaned over her, but her movements lacked conviction.

“No… Master Steele… I can’t…” she whispered, her voice trembling, but her eyes told a different story.

Alaric chuckled softly, a predatory gleam in his ruby eyes. “You don’t really want me to stop, do you, Sascha?”

He leaned down and kissed her deeply, his tongue tangling with hers. Sascha initially resisted, her lips pressed tightly together, but as his kiss deepened, her resolve began to crumble. Her lips parted slightly, and she let out a soft sigh, her hands loosening their grip on his arm.

The night that followed was a whirlwind of raw passion and unrestrained desire. Alaric, reveling in the thrill of the chase and the allure of this mature, married woman, showered her with kisses, his hands exploring every inch of her voluptuous body. Sascha pretended to resist, moaning and protesting softly, but her body betrayed her, arching against his touch, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Master Steele… please…” she would whisper, her voice laced with a feigned desperation, but her legs would part wider, inviting him closer.

Alaric obliged, his lovemaking rough and demanding, matching the unspoken desires he had sensed within her. He savored her moans of pleasure, the way her body trembled beneath his touch, the frantic grip of her hands on his back.

As the night wore on, Sascha’s pretense of resistance faded, replaced by genuine cries of pleasure. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, her body moving against his with a desperate urgency. In the throes of passion, she forgot about her husband, her children, everything except the intense sensations that Alaric was igniting within her.

“Oh, gods… Master Steele…” she would gasp, her voice thick with arousal. “It’s… it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before…”

Later, as they lay tangled together in the aftermath of their passionate encounter, Sascha looked at Alaric with a newfound light in her eyes. A small, hesitant smile touched her lips.

“My husband…” she began, then trailed off, shaking her head slightly. “He… he is nothing like you, Master Steele.” A sigh escaped her lips, a sigh that spoke volumes about her newfound realization. The night had been a revelation, a stark comparison that left her with a mixture of guilt and a profound, undeniable pleasure. Alaric simply smirked, knowing he had just taken the first step towards fulfilling the new requirement of his Harem God System. Twelve more beautiful women awaited.

~~

The following days settled into a rhythm of intense work and hidden desires. The mass production of the upgraded holy artifacts was proceeding smoothly, the thirty beautiful artificers now well-versed in the process. Alaric continued to oversee their work, offering guidance and the occasional lingering touch, his mind often drifting towards the thirteen women he had yet to invite to his tent. The protective robe armor for Saintess Ceanna was also taking shape, the core now pulsing with her potent Holy Energy, its illusionary weave slowly being perfected.

Alaric decided to start with Rebekka Stein. Her fiery red hair and the spark of innovation in her emerald eyes had always intrigued him. He sent a message requesting her presence to discuss a “refinement” to the self-repairing enchantment of the ‘Divine Ward Amulet’.

Rebekka arrived in his tent, her expression eager and professional. “Master Steele? You wished to see me?”

“Yes, Rebekka,” Alaric said, his gaze holding hers a moment longer than necessary, letting the subtle warmth of his Charm Aura envelop her. “I’ve been thinking about your suggestions for the amulet. You have a keen understanding of protective magic.” He gestured towards a workbench laden with components. “I believe we can enhance the self-repairing function even further. Perhaps… with a more direct infusion of mana during moments of high stress.”

As they discussed the technicalities, Alaric subtly used Heart’s Whisper, planting suggestions of attraction and desire in her subconscious. He leaned in close as they examined the intricate runes, his arm brushing against hers, his Seductive Gaze occasionally meeting hers. Soon, the conversation shifted, the air in the tent growing thick with unspoken tension. Rebekka’s initial professional demeanor began to waver, her cheeks flushing, her breath becoming slightly uneven. The discussion of runes morphed into compliments about her intelligence and her captivating eyes. One touch led to another, a lingering hand on her back, a gentle caress of her cheek. By the time Rebekka left his tent, the ‘refinement’ to the amulet had been thoroughly discussed, and a far more personal connection had been forged.

Next was Tabitha. He summoned her under the guise of needing her expertise on the oscillating runes for the ‘Celestial Fire Projector’. Her delicate beauty and quiet intelligence had always appealed to him. He used a similar approach, blending technical discussion with subtle charm and the persuasive whispers of his system. Tabitha, initially shy and respectful, found herself increasingly drawn to Alaric’s attention, her initial nervousness giving way to a shy eagerness. The conversation about rune frequencies soon intertwined with compliments about her insightful mind and her radiant smile. A shared glance held for a moment too long, a lingering touch on her hand as he thanked her for her help, and Tabitha left his tent with a dreamy smile on her face.

Mette Sorg was next. Her quiet elegance and the subtle air of confidence she carried intrigued Alaric. He requested her presence to discuss the material composition of the ‘Holy Energy Amplifier’. He praised her understanding of rare metals and their magical properties, his words laced with genuine admiration and a touch of playful flirtation. Mette, usually reserved, found herself opening up to Alaric’s charm, her quiet demeanor softening as he focused his attention on her. The discussion about mithril and demon bone led to compliments about her discerning taste and her captivating eyes. A lingering hug as he expressed his gratitude, and Mette departed with a newfound warmth in her gaze.

Bruna, a woman with a robust figure and a boisterous laugh, was summoned next to discuss the structural integrity of the commander’s version of the holy artifacts. Her earthy charm and straightforward nature were a refreshing change. Alaric’s approach with Bruna was more direct, his compliments bolder, his touches more playful. Bruna responded with hearty laughter and a matching boldness, her initial professional distance quickly dissolving into playful banter and mutual attraction. The discussion about reinforced plating led to compliments about her strength and her infectious energy. A lingering kiss on the cheek as she left, and Bruna winked, promising to “keep an eye on things” for him.

The days and nights continued in this fashion. Alaric summoned each of the remaining twelve women – women like Elara with her raven hair, Seraphina with her emerald eyes, Gisela with her curvaceous figure, Ingrid with her petite charm, and others named Annelise, Katarina, Lena, and Freya – each visit masked by a pretext of artifact discussion, but each culminating in a passionate encounter. Alaric tailored his approach to each woman’s personality, using his Harem God System abilities to subtly enhance their attraction to him and ease their inhibitions. He praised their skills, admired their beauty, and made each of them feel desired and appreciated.

With each woman he seduced, the number beneath his experience bar ticked upwards. [Number of Women Slept With: 8/20], then [9/20], [10/20]… the count steadily climbed. Each encounter was unique, filled with stolen glances, whispered words, and the intoxicating rush of forbidden pleasure. The tent became a sanctuary of secret desires, a place where these mature, married women could momentarily escape their responsibilities and indulge in their hidden longings.

Finally, after a particularly passionate afternoon with Freya, a woman with a gentle demeanor and a hidden wildness, the number beneath his experience bar flashed:

[Number of Women Slept With: 20/20]

A triumphant surge of energy coursed through Alaric. He felt a shift within him, a sense of power and accomplishment. A new notification appeared in his vision:

[Congratulations, Host! You have reached Level 60.]

Immediately followed by another:

[Congratulations, Host! You have unlocked a new ability: The Allure Of The King!]

Alaric’s heart pounded with anticipation. He quickly focused on the details of his new ability:

[Level 60 Ability: Allure of the King – Host’s charm becomes more potent, allowing him to influence high-ranking women such as duchesses, generals, and powerful mages. His words carry more weight, and his mere presence creates an overwhelming sense of desire in those he targets, making his seduction efforts far more effective.]

A wide, satisfied grin spread across Alaric’s face. “Allure of the King,” he murmured to himself. “Now that sounds promising.” He imagined the possibilities, the doors this new level of influence could open for him. Duchesses, generals, powerful mages… the thought was certainly enticing.

Then, a shadow of disappointment crossed his features. “It’s a pity,” he thought, a wry twist to his lips, “that this ability likely won’t work on Saintess Ceanna. With her immunity to my Harem God System skills, even the ‘Allure of the King’ will probably be useless against her.” He sighed dramatically. “Well, it was a good thought while it lasted. Looks like I’ll have to rely on my own considerable charm and wit to win her over.” Despite the setback regarding Ceanna, Alaric couldn’t help but feel a surge of confidence. Level 60. He was steadily growing stronger, more influential. The future, he mused, looked very bright indeed.

The days that followed were a testament to Alaric’s almost superhuman ability to juggle his… extracurricular activities with his crucial responsibilities. Despite the numerous nocturnal visits to his tent, Alaric remained focused on his primary goals: mass-producing the enhanced holy artifacts and crafting a protective armor robe worthy of Saintess Ceanna.

The thirty beautiful artificers, even those whose legs might have felt a bit… tender after their private sessions with Alaric, continued their work with remarkable dedication. If there were any lingering awkwardness or unspoken understandings, they didn’t show it in their professional demeanor. They were skilled, and they were determined to contribute to the kingdom’s defense.

The illusionary protective robe armor for Saintess Ceanna was the project that demanded Alaric’s most focused attention. He worked closely with Ceanna, explaining the intricate workings of the core, which now pulsed with a radiant, contained energy derived from her own divine power.

“The key, Saintess,” Alaric explained one afternoon as they examined the shimmering core, “is the resonant frequency. It’s attuned specifically to your Holy Energy signature. This will allow the armor to draw upon your power for self-repair and to maintain its protective illusions.”

Ceanna watched, her expression a mixture of fascination and slight apprehension. “And this armor… you truly believe it can withstand an attack from an Archmage?”

“Not just one, Saintess,” Alaric said confidently. “With the current configuration, I estimate it should be able to absorb and dissipate the force of at least three direct hits from an Archmage-level attack before needing a significant recharge. And even then, the core will continue to provide a baseline level of protection.”

Ceanna’s eyes widened in surprise. “Three direct hits? That is… extraordinary, Master Steele.”

“We’ve incorporated multiple layers of illusionary wards, each designed to counteract different types of magical and physical attacks,” Alaric continued, gesturing to the ethereal fabric that was slowly taking shape around the core. “And the self-repair function will continuously mend any minor damage. Think of it as a second skin, Saintess, one that is far more resilient than your own.”

The women who had shared Alaric’s bed in the previous nights were also instrumental in the armor’s creation. Rebekka’s expertise with protective enchantments helped refine the layering of the illusionary wards.

“Master Steele,” Rebekka said one morning, her voice slightly husky, “if we were to weave in threads of pure silver, enchanted with runes of deflection, it might further enhance its resistance to dark magic.”

Alaric considered her suggestion. “An excellent idea, Rebekka. Your insights are invaluable.” He gave her a brief, appreciative smile, which she returned with a faint blush.

Tabitha’s understanding of intricate mechanisms proved useful in designing the energy conduits within the core, ensuring a smooth and efficient flow of Holy Energy.

“The way you’ve designed the conduits, Master Steele,” Tabitha commented, her gaze focused on the intricate diagrams, “it’s almost like a living network, constantly adapting to the energy flow.”

“Precisely, Tabitha,” Alaric replied, pleased with her understanding. “Efficiency is key to maintaining the armor’s resilience.”

Even Mette, usually quiet and reserved, offered valuable suggestions regarding the choice of ethereal fabrics for the illusionary weave, ensuring both protection and a graceful appearance.

“Master Steele,” Mette said softly, holding up a shimmering bolt of cloth, “this material, spun from moonlight silk and infused with holy essence, might provide an additional layer of ethereal defense while also being incredibly lightweight.”

“A brilliant choice, Mette,” Alaric agreed, admiring the fabric’s otherworldly sheen. “Your eye for detail is truly remarkable.”

Bruna, with her practical approach, helped ensure the armor’s design allowed for ease of movement and didn’t hinder Ceanna’s own magical abilities.

“Saintess,” Bruna said during a fitting session, “you need to be able to move freely in this. We can’t have it restricting your movements during battle.”

“Bruna is right,” Alaric added. “The illusionary weave will adapt to your form and movements, Saintess, ensuring maximum flexibility.”

Despite the occasional knowing glances exchanged between some of the women, and the faint hint of soreness in their movements, they all worked together seamlessly, their shared experience with Alaric creating an unspoken camaraderie. They might have been ravaged in his bed, but their dedication to the kingdom and their respect for Alaric’s genius remained undiminished. In fact, some seemed to work with an almost feverish intensity, perhaps as a way to reconcile their actions or simply to prove their worth beyond their physical interactions with him.

Over the next few days, the mass production of the upgraded holy artifacts reached impressive numbers, enough to equip a significant portion of the Eloriath Kingdom’s forces. The protective armor robe for Saintess Ceanna was also nearing completion, its illusionary form shimmering with a soft, holy light.

Finally, the day arrived when the armor was finished. Saintess Ceanna stood before a full-length mirror in her tent, admiring the ethereal robe that now adorned her. It flowed around her like liquid moonlight, its intricate patterns shifting and shimmering with an inner light.

“It is… beautiful, Master Steele,” Ceanna said, her voice filled with awe. “And to think it possesses such incredible protective capabilities…”

“It is a testament to your Holy Energy and the combined efforts of many talented individuals, Saintess,” Alaric replied, a sense of pride swelling in his chest.

He watched as she moved, the robe flowing with her, not hindering her movements in the slightest. “Try channeling your magic, Saintess,” he suggested.

Ceanna nodded and closed her eyes, her hands outstretched. A surge of pure Holy Energy emanated from her, and the illusionary robe around her seemed to intensify, its light growing brighter, the protective wards within it humming with power.

“It feels… natural,” Ceanna said, opening her eyes, a look of wonder on her face. “As though it is an extension of my own being.”

“That is the intention, Saintess,” Alaric said, smiling. “It will protect you, and it will enhance your own abilities.”

As the days passed, the encampment buzzed with the activity of preparing for the inevitable next major demonic assault. Soldiers were equipped with the new holy artifacts, their morale noticeably boosted by the tangible protection and offensive capabilities they now possessed. Saintess Ceanna, adorned in her magnificent protective robe, moved among them, offering blessings and words of encouragement, her presence a beacon of hope.

Alaric watched it all unfold, a sense of satisfaction washing over him. He had accomplished his objectives. The holy artifacts were being mass-produced, and Saintess Ceanna had a protective armor that could potentially save her life.