Chapter 242 Getting Closer to Saintess And Witch

The narrow canyon, moments before a chaotic battlefield echoing with arcane explosions and monstrous roars, fell into an unnerving quiet. The thick, chilling fog summoned by the Sea Monsters slowly dissipated under the relentless Confederacy sun, revealing the full extent of the carnage.

Corpses littered the canyon floor – elite Merrow warriors, hulking Pressure Hulks shattered into rocky fragments, serpentine Tempest Eels crackling with residual energy, and the immense, coral-encrusted body of Lord Bor’gul. Near the center lay the paralyzed, bound form of Lord Volnaxx, still radiating faint abyssal cold. And most significantly, bound in shimmering chains of golden and azure light, floated the furiously struggling Siren Queen Kyss’andra, her beautiful face contorted in rage, her mental powers suppressed but her glare venomous.

Alaric surveyed the scene, a cool satisfaction washing over him. The unexpected ambush had been dangerous, pushing his team, especially the trainees, to their limits. But they had prevailed. Two Seventh Order Lords destroyed, one captured alive. A significant blow dealt to the Sea Monster leadership, and vital resources secured. The disruption of the Ziantha plot was complete.

‘Time to go home,’ he decided. Staying longer in the Confederacy, even with their leadership in disarray, invited unnecessary risk. Krýllos was still out there, and news of three missing Lords would eventually reach him.

“Harvest the cores from Bor’gul and S’ylith,” Alaric commanded, his voice cutting through the exhaustion hanging over his team. “Quickly. We leave immediately. Shaila, see if their bodies hold any unique reagents worth taking.”

The team moved with weary efficiency, their earlier harvesting practice paying off. Extracting Seventh Order cores was more complex, requiring careful manipulation of energy fields, but under Rosalind’s guidance, they managed it successfully. Bor’gul’s core pulsed with immense earth and water energy, hard as coral itself. S’ylith’s core crackled with bio-electricity and chaotic storm potential. Shaila identified several glands containing potent paralytic toxins and bio-electric amplifiers, harvesting them carefully.

Meanwhile, Alaric approached the bound Kyss’andra. She glared at him, radiating impotent fury. “Release me, surface filth! You cannot hold a Queen of the Abyss!” her thoughts lashed out, unable to use her voice due to the binding seals.

Alaric merely smirked, leaning closer. “Oh, I think I can, Your Majesty. And I intend to hold you for a very long time.” He intensified the Sovereign’s Seal slightly, causing her to gasp mentally and her struggles to weaken. He then produced a specially prepared gag, enchanted to suppress sonic and psychic emanations, and fitted it securely over her beautiful, furious mouth. Finally, he wrapped her tightly in reinforcing chains and levitated her unconscious form, ready for transport. Volnaxx, still paralyzed, was similarly secured, though less delicately.

“Recall Anchors,” Alaric announced, distributing the remaining single-use discs he hadn’t handed out before the battle. “We won’t use them unless absolutely necessary, but keep them ready. Our journey back will be swift, but potentially contested.”

They didn’t rely on magic for the main journey back. Large, sturdy carriages, summoned from Alaric’s seemingly bottomless storage ring, provided transport. Comfortable, anonymous, and easily repairable with magic if needed. Kyss’andra and Volnaxx, both magically induced into deeper unconsciousness, were secured in a separate, heavily warded carriage guarded by Lyra and Cassandra.

The journey north began. They moved at a relentless pace, Alaric pushing the magically enhanced carriages to their limits. They encountered scattered resistance – demoralized Sea Monster patrols near the coast, opportunistic bandit groups further inland (quickly disintegrated), and occasional demonic scouting parties once they crossed back into the blighted lands of Eloriath.

These minor skirmishes were dealt with efficiently, often serving as quick, brutal training exercises for Kara, Ulriya, and Brita, further honing their skills under Rosalind’s command.

During the long hours spent travelling within the carriages, however, Alaric focused on a different kind of consolidation. His attention turned primarily towards the two newest additions to his sphere of influence: Saintess Ceanna and Shaila Bloomwater.

Ceanna, despite her power and status, often travelled in the same carriage as Alaric, ostensibly to provide healing support if needed, but also because Alaric subtly encouraged it. He engaged her in conversations, not about theology, but about practical matters – managing her growing clergy, optimizing healing techniques, the strategic application of holy energy (his energy) in combat. He praised her intelligence, her dedication, her serene strength.

Simultaneously, he employed the subtle tendrils of his Divine Harem God System. The [Enhanced Charm Aura!] filled the carriage, a constant, low-level thrum of attraction and trustworthiness that bypassed conscious thought. Ceanna, already deeply devoted after he saved her life so dramatically, found herself drawn to his presence, feeling an inexplicable sense of peace and rightness when near him.

He used [Resonant Heart!] sparingly but effectively. While discussing her clerics’ training, he might subtly implant the thought, ‘My Lord Alaric provides such wise guidance; serving him brings true purpose.’ When she expressed concern about the demonic threat, he’d resonate with, ‘Only under Lord Alaric’s protection can we find true safety.’ These thoughts felt entirely like her own, reinforcing her already unwavering loyalty, deepening it into something more personal, more absolute.

His [Captivating Gaze!] was employed during moments of direct conversation. When thanking her for her support, his ruby eyes would meet hers, holding them for a fraction too long, filled with warmth and appreciation that seemed to bypass her defenses, making her heart flutter unexpectedly, filling her with a confusing but pleasant warmth, a desire to earn more of that intense, focused approval.

He initiated ‘accidental’ physical contact more frequently. Brushing hands when passing a document. Placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder while discussing strategy. During one particularly rough patch of road, he ‘steadied’ her, his arm wrapping firmly around her slender waist, holding her against his side for a moment longer than strictly necessary.

Ceanna, normally serene and focused, found herself flustered by these touches. They felt… different. Charged. Her vows and previous devotion to a distant god offered no defense against the palpable charisma and subtle manipulations of the man right beside her, the man who was the source of her power. She started interpreting his touch not just as reassurance, but as possession, and found herself… not minding.

‘He is my Lord, the source of my power,’ she rationalized the confusing feelings. ‘My devotion must be absolute. Feeling… comfort… in his presence is natural. Feeling gratitude for his protection… yes, that is right.’ The System smoothly wove his influence into the tapestry of her faith.

With Shaila Bloomwater, Alaric employed a slightly different, yet equally effective, approach. She travelled in a carriage with him, Ceanna, and occasionally Rosalind or Brita. Shaila was initially quiet, reserved, still processing her vengeance, her capture, and her uncertain future.

Alaric drew her out gently, asking about the desert, its flora and fauna, her life at the oasis before the attack. He listened patiently to her stories, validating her grief while subtly painting a picture of a future where her skills could be used not just for survival, but for growth, for building something new under his protection.

His [Enhanced Charm Aura!] worked on her too, soothing the raw edges of her grief, making her feel strangely safe and trusting in his presence despite having known him only a few days. The [Captivating Gaze!] was particularly effective on Shaila; when he looked at her with that focused intensity, discussing her potential role in analyzing the harvested monster parts or developing new remedies, her defensiveness melted away, replaced by a surprising eagerness to impress him, to prove her worth.

He used [Resonant Heart!] to implant thoughts related to belonging and purpose. ‘Lord Steele understands my skills like no one else.’ ‘Serving him offers a path forward, a way to rebuild.’ ‘His strength makes me feel safe, truly safe for the first time since the attack.’ These thoughts blended seamlessly with her own relief at escaping the constant danger and her gratitude for his help in achieving vengeance.

The physical touches were bolder with Shaila, playing on her less formal background and perhaps her suppressed loneliness. He would ‘accidentally’ brush his hand against her breast while reaching for a map. He might rest his hand on her knee while emphasizing a point. Once, while examining a toxin sample she had harvested, he leaned close, his cheek almost touching hers, murmuring appreciation for her skill, his warm breath on her neck making her shiver uncontrollably. His hand lingered on her waist as he helped her steady herself after the carriage hit a bump, his thumb stroking her side in a way that was undeniably intimate.

Shaila found herself reacting with confusing intensity. Part of her screamed caution – he was a powerful Lord, a near stranger. But another part, amplified by the System’s influence and her own vulnerability, craved his touch, his attention. He made her feel seen, valued, protected. The raw power she sensed in him wasn’t just intimidating; it was deeply attractive, a promise of security in a world gone mad. When his fingers brushed her breast, she felt a jolt of pure electricity, followed by a wave of heat that pooled low in her belly. When he held her waist, she felt an instinctive urge to lean into him, to seek shelter in his strength.

‘He’s just being kind,’ she tried to tell herself, blushing furiously after one such encounter. ‘Consoling me. Showing appreciation for my skills.’ But the way he looked at her, the way his touch lingered… it felt like far more than kindness. It felt like staking a claim. And a growing part of her didn’t want to resist.

Adding another layer to his seduction, Alaric began subtly employing [Fantasy Weaver!]. During the brief periods of rest when the team slept, he projected tailored dream sequences into Ceanna’s and Shaila’s minds.

For Ceanna, the dreams were filled with divine light – his light – showing her leading vast congregations, healing multitudes, basking in the radiant approval of her Lord Alaric, feeling an overwhelming sense of purpose and belonging fulfilled through her service to him. Sometimes, the dreams subtly shifted, showing Alaric not just as a source of power, but as a figure of immense personal devotion, his touch bringing not just blessing, but ecstatic spiritual union. She woke from these dreams feeling uplifted, her faith solidified, yet tinged with a confusing, deeply personal yearning.

For Shaila, the dreams were different. He wove fantasies of a rebuilt oasis, more vibrant than before, protected by his power. Dreams where she worked alongside him, her knowledge valued, her skills praised. Dreams where the loneliness and grief were replaced by warmth, security, and his strong, possessive embrace. He showed her glimpses of power, of respect, of belonging, all linked intrinsically to him. Sometimes, the dreams took a more primal turn, tapping into suppressed desires, showing her yielding to his strength, finding unexpected pleasure in submission to a powerful protector who truly saw her. She woke flushed, confused, but undeniably drawn closer to the man who populated her subconscious.

By the time their carriages finally rolled across the border back into Eloriath, nearing the familiar shimmer of the Steele defensive barrier, both Ceanna and Shaila were significantly changed. Their loyalty was deepening, transforming. Ceanna’s devotion was becoming worshipful, personal. Shaila’s gratitude and reliance were blossoming into attraction and a burgeoning desire to submit. The System’s tendrils had wrapped securely around their hearts and minds.

Their arrival back at the Steele Family manor was met with relief and quiet efficiency. Griselda rushed out to greet Alaric, her eyes shining with happiness and relief at his safe return. Queen Margaret and Josephine observed his return from the Sunken Pearl Estate with carefully masked eagerness, their bodies remembering his touch, anticipating his summons. Archmage Priscilla acknowledged his return with a professional nod, likely curious about the mission’s success and perhaps relieved to hand back formal control of the barrier.

The captured Siren Queen Kyss’andra and the paralyzed Lord Volnaxx were discreetly transferred to secure, magically shielded holding cells deep beneath the manor – new acquisitions for Alaric’s ‘collection’ and future study. The harvested cores and materials were cataloged and stored by Rosalind and Iridelle’s teams.

Alaric gave Griselda a brief, affectionate reunion, assuring her all was well, before excusing himself, claiming fatigue from the journey. His true intention, however, was to immediately debrief – and further integrate – his newest assets.

He first summoned Shaila to his private study. She arrived looking nervous but resolute.

“Shaila,” Alaric began, gesturing for her to sit (she remained standing respectfully). “Your contributions were valuable. Your knowledge of reagents is impressive.”

“Thank you, Lord Steele,” she replied quietly.

“You upheld your end of the bargain,” he continued. “You aided my mission. And you have earned your place here.” He stepped closer, employing his [Emperor’s Presence!] subtly, letting his aura of command and desirability wash over her.

Shaila felt her breath catch, her knees weakening slightly. He seemed taller, more powerful, overwhelmingly attractive. The urge to please him, to kneel before him, was suddenly intense.

“Your skills are needed,” Alaric said, his voice mesmerizing due to [Captivating Gaze!]. “Iridelle’s apothecaries require assistance analyzing the abyssal toxins and materials you harvested. Your expertise will be invaluable.” He offered her purpose, value.

He reached out, taking her hand. His touch sent sparks up her arm. “You belong here now, Shaila. With me. Where you will be safe, valued… cherished.” He used [Resonant Heart!] to drive the feeling of belonging deep into her core.

Shaila looked up at him, her green eyes wide, filled with a mixture of awe, gratitude, and burgeoning desire. The last vestiges of her resistance crumbled under the combined assault of his System skills and her own vulnerable emotions.

“Yes, Lord Steele,” she whispered, the words feeling utterly right. “I… I belong with you.”

Alaric smiled, leaning down, capturing her lips in a kiss that was both gentle and possessive, sealing her submission. He didn’t push for more, not yet. Her integration was proceeding perfectly. He dismissed her, instructing her to report to Iridelle in the morning. Shaila left the study in a daze, her heart pounding, completely unaware of how thoroughly her will had just been overwritten.

Next, he summoned Ceanna. She entered with her usual serene grace, but there was a new light in her eyes when she looked at him, a warmth that went beyond mere devotion.

“Saintess,” Alaric greeted her warmly, stepping forward. He didn’t employ the overt pressure he used on Shaila, opting for a gentler reinforcement. He activated his [Emperor’s Presence!] softly, focusing on the charismatic, almost divine aspect.

Ceanna felt bathed in his light, her spirit soaring. He seemed like the source of all goodness, all strength.

“My Lord,” she bowed deeply.

“Ceanna,” Alaric said, his voice filled with warmth and appreciation. “Your bravery during the ambush, your unwavering faith… you were magnificent. Shielding the team, bolstering my spirit… I am deeply grateful.” He used [Resonant Heart!] to amplify her feelings of accomplishment and her connection to him.

He stepped closer, taking her hands. They felt small and delicate in his. “You risked yourself for me, Ceanna. When S’ylith attacked…” He looked into her eyes, his gaze intense, filled with simulated concern and deep affection via [Captivating Gaze!]. “I couldn’t let anything happen to you.”

Ceanna blushed deeply, her heart hammering against her ribs. His words, his touch, his gaze… it felt like a divine blessing, intensely personal. The memory of being held against his strong chest, shielded by his power, flooded back, overwhelming her with emotion.

“My life is yours to command, my Lord,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “Protecting you, serving you… it is my only purpose.”

“And you serve me well, my devoted Saintess,” Alaric murmured, leaning closer. He brushed a stray strand of hair from her temple, his fingers lingering. “So well.”

He didn’t kiss her. Not yet. With Ceanna, the slow burn, the weaving of devotion and desire, was more effective. He needed her faith absolute before claiming her physically. But the seeds were deeply sown.

He released her hands gently. “Go now, Ceanna. Rest. Your clerics need their leader. And I… I need my Saintess strong.”

Ceanna practically floated out of the study, her mind filled with radiant images of her Lord, her heart overflowing with a devotion so profound it blurred the lines between faith and love.

Alaric watched her go, a satisfied smile on his face. Two more valuable pieces, firmly secured, their wills bent, their hearts ensnared. The journey had been profitable in more ways than one.