Chapter 265 Path To Archmage

The first rays of the northern sun, weaker than their southern counterparts but still carrying a promise of light, filtered through the intricately carved ice-crystal windows of Sect Mistress Meng Yao’s private chamber. The air was still, carrying the faint, musky scent of their night-long passion, mingled with the exotic fragrance of the incense that had long since burned out.

Alaric lay propped against a pile of plush furs, his arm draped possessively over Meng Yao’s naked, sleeping form. She was nestled against his side, her usually severe features softened in the deep slumber of utter exhaustion, her long black hair a silken river across the white furs. Her magnificent body, marked with the evidence of his relentless claiming – faint bruises on her pale skin, love bites on her neck and inner thighs, the general air of a woman thoroughly, exquisitely ravaged – radiated a surprising warmth.

He idly stroked her hip, his fingers tracing the elegant curve. His ruby eyes, however, were not focused on her physical beauty at that moment, but on something else entirely. A subtle, yet undeniable, thrum of power emanated from her, a resonant hum that was significantly stronger, more potent, than it had been before their… advanced cultivation lesson.

‘The System… it truly is a marvel,’ Alaric mused, a slow, satisfied smile touching his lips. He focused his senses, analyzing the shift in her Battle Aura. ‘She was peak Grandmaster Martialist. Solid. Powerful. But now…’

He could feel it. The subtle, yet distinct, transformation. Her aura, usually a tightly controlled vortex of icy power, was… expanding. Breaking through old constraints. Reaching for something new. The raw essence he had poured into her, his own potent life force amplified by the Divine Harem God System, was acting as a powerful catalyst.

‘Martial King rank,’ Alaric realized, his smile widening. ‘She’s breaking through. Right now. Just from one night. Impressive. The Royal techniques Lyra and Cassandra use are designed for such leaps, but Meng Yao… her foundation was already so strong, and my System’s direct infusion… it’s potent.’

He watched, fascinated, as faint lines of golden light, almost invisible, began to trace patterns within her aura, mingling with the icy blue. It was the tell-tale sign of a qualitative shift, her Battle Aura not just increasing in volume, but evolving, becoming denser, more refined, capable of manipulating the very essence of her ice-aspected martial arts on a higher plane.

‘This is excellent,’ Alaric thought, his mind already calculating the strategic implications. ‘A Martial King rank Sect Mistress, utterly devoted to me. Her power will be a significant asset. Able to fight other Martial Kings directly. Perhaps even hold her own against a weaker Archdemon, if necessary.’

He could sense the rate of her advancement. ‘At this pace… she’ll likely stabilize at the initial stage of Martial King, perhaps even push into the middle stage if her foundation is resilient enough. Her ice sword techniques… they’ll become truly terrifying. Capable of slicing through more than just flesh and bone. Perhaps even… the void itself, as the legends say of peak Martial Kings.’ Her physique, already formidable, would also be significantly enhanced, her strength, speed, and resilience reaching new heights.

A soft moan escaped Meng Yao’s lips as she began to stir. Her obsidian eyes, usually so sharp and commanding, fluttered open, hazy with sleep and the lingering echoes of pleasure. She blinked, her gaze slowly focusing on Alaric’s handsome face, so close to hers.

A slow, shy smile touched her lips, a smile of pure, unguarded contentment. “Lord Alaric…” she whispered, her voice husky, still thick with sleep and the aftermath of their night. She snuggled closer, pressing her naked body against his, her hand coming up to gently caress his cheek.

Alaric returned the smile, his ruby eyes warm. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Good morning, my icy Queen. Or perhaps… should I say, Your Majesty, the newly ascended Martial King?”

Meng Yao’s eyes widened, confusion replacing the sleepy contentment. “Martial King? Lord Alaric, what… what do you mean?” She pushed herself up slightly, suddenly aware of a strange, powerful energy thrumming within her, a sensation she had never experienced before.

“Check your rank, Meng Yao,” Alaric said gently, his hand covering hers where it rested on his chest. “Feel the power within you. It has… blossomed.”

Meng Yao closed her eyes, focusing inward. Her breath hitched. Her eyes snapped open again, wide with utter, shocked disbelief. The power… it was immense! Her Battle Aura, usually a familiar, controlled force, now felt like a raging, arctic storm, contained only by the sheer force of her will. It was denser, sharper, imbued with an energy that resonated with the very essence of ice and authority.

“This… this is…” she stammered, her voice trembling. “Martial King rank? But… how? I was… I was years, perhaps decades, away from even attempting the breakthrough!”

“It seems,” Alaric purred, his fingers lacing with hers, “that our… advanced cultivation lesson… was particularly effective, my dear.” He leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear. “A night of blissful pleasure… and a leap in power that most martialists only dream of. One of the many… advantages… of submitting to your Lord, Meng Yao.” He bit her earlobe gently, eliciting a soft gasp from her.

Meng Yao stared at him, her mind reeling. The pleasure… the shattering, endless pleasure she had experienced in his arms… it had actually… propelled her to a new realm of power? It seemed impossible. Miraculous. And utterly, terrifyingly seductive.

“I… I don’t understand…” she whispered, her gaze fixed on him, a mixture of awe, gratitude, and a dawning, profound devotion in her obsidian eyes. “This power… it feels… incredible.”

“It is yours, Meng Yao,” Alaric said, his voice soft but firm. “A gift. Earned through your… devotion.” He squeezed her hand. “Now, you must consolidate it. Meditate. Stabilize your aura. Understand its new depths. I will leave you to your… awakening.”

He made to move, to disentangle himself from her embrace, but Meng Yao clung to him, her eyes pleading. “Lord Alaric… wait…”

He paused, looking at her expectantly.

“I… I don’t know how to thank you,” she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. “For saving my Sect. For this… this power. For… for last night.” A deep blush stained her cheeks. “I… I never imagined… I never knew such… pleasure… could exist. Or that it could bring such… such a benefit.”

Alaric chuckled softly, a low, possessive sound. He leaned down, kissing her deeply, lingeringly. “As I said, Meng Yao,” he murmured against her swollen lips, “this is just one of the many advantages of serving me. There are… other benefits… we can explore. Later.”

He gave her a final, promising smile before gently disentangling himself. He rose from the bed, his magnificent naked form radiating power and confidence. He dressed quickly, his movements fluid and economical.

Meng Yao watched him, her gaze filled with a mixture of awe, desire, and utter, unquestioning devotion. He was her savior, her lord, her lover… her god. She would do anything for him. Anything.

“Meditate, Meng Yao,” Alaric commanded gently as he reached the chamber door. “Consolidate your newfound strength. We will speak again soon. About your new role… as my Martial King.”

With a final, lingering glance, he was gone, leaving Meng Yao alone in her chamber, her body aching, her mind reeling, and her Battle Aura thrumming with the impossible, exhilarating power of a newly ascended Martial King. The price had been her virginity, her pride, her icy reserve. The reward… was beyond anything she could have ever dreamed. And she knew, with a certainty that resonated deep within her soul, that she would gladly pay it again and again.

Alaric strode through the silent corridors of the Ice Heart Citadel, a predatory glint in his ruby eyes. Meng Yao’s transformation was a significant victory, a powerful asset secured. But his own… appetites… were far from sated. The night with Meng Yao, while exquisitely fulfilling, had only whetted his desire for more. His Divine Harem God System thrummed with a quiet satisfaction, but the path to his own Archmage ascension required… further acquisitions.

His thoughts turned to Young Sect Mistress Han Xinfeng. Her youthful beauty, her curvaceous athletic form clad in that ridiculously enticing black silk bikini, her playful curiosity, her surprising passion during their encounters in the ice caves… she was a delectable morsel he had only just begun to savor.

‘Meng Yao is consolidating her new power,’ Alaric mused, a smirk playing on his lips. ‘She will be… indisposed… for some time. And Xinfeng… she will be missing her Lord’s… guidance.’

He knew Han Xinfeng was Meng Yao’s personal disciple, her designated successor. He also knew, from the subtle whispers and lingering glances, that Xinfeng harbored a deep, almost worshipful admiration for him, an admiration he had diligently cultivated during their “expeditions.”

He made his way towards Xinfeng’s private chambers, located in a secluded wing of the Citadel reserved for the Sect’s most promising young talents. He didn’t bother sending a servant to announce him. He was Lord Alaric Steele. He went where he pleased.

He reached her door – another slab of polished ice, this one adorned with delicate carvings of snow lotuses – and pushed it open without knocking.

The chamber within was smaller than Meng Yao’s, but equally warm and inviting. Soft furs covered the floor, and a gentle fire crackled in a small hearth. The air was scented with a sweet, floral fragrance.

And there, curled on a plush window seat, gazing out at the snow-swept peaks, was Han Xinfeng.

She wore her illusionary black robes and silver stockings, but as Alaric stepped into the chamber, the illusion flickered and vanished under his focused intent, revealing the reality beneath – the tiny black silk bikini clinging to her magnificent, youthful curves. Her long dark hair was unbound, cascading around her shoulders.

She turned, startled, as the door opened, her dark eyes widening in surprise, then lighting up with a mixture of shy pleasure and eager anticipation as she saw Alaric. A deep blush stained her cheeks.

“Lord Alaric!” she exclaimed, her voice a soft, breathless whisper. She scrambled to her feet, her movements graceful and athletic. “I… I wasn’t expecting you…”

Alaric closed the door behind him, his ruby eyes sweeping over her, a slow, deliberate appraisal that made Xinfeng’s heart pound. He saw the way the silk bikini strained against her full breasts, the enticing curve of her hips, the way her long, toned legs seemed to go on forever.

“Weren’t you, Xinfeng?” Alaric purred, stepping closer, his [Emperor’s Presence!] subtly filling the chamber, making her breath catch in her throat. “After our… rather stimulating… encounters in the ice caves… I thought perhaps you might be… anticipating… a continuation of your lessons.”

Xinfeng blushed deeper, her gaze dropping shyly. “I… I did enjoy our… lessons, Lord Alaric,” she stammered, her voice barely audible. “You are a… very thorough… instructor.”

Alaric chuckled, a low, possessive sound. He reached out, his fingers gently tracing the line of her jaw. “And you, my dear Xinfeng, are a very… receptive… student.” His gaze dropped to her breasts, lingering on the way her nipples peaked against the thin silk. “So exquisitely… eager to learn.”

He didn’t wait for her reply. His hands moved with swift, practiced ease. The delicate strings of her bikini top were untied in an instant, the fabric falling away, exposing her magnificent, full breasts to his hungry gaze.

Xinfeng gasped, her hands flying up instinctively to cover herself, but Alaric gently caught her wrists, pulling her hands away. “None of that, Xinfeng,” he murmured, his voice husky. “Let your Lord admire your beauty. It is a sight that deserves to be savored.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing against one taut nipple. Xinfeng cried out softly, her body arching into his touch. He suckled gently at first, then with increasing passion, his tongue laving the sensitive peak, drawing out soft moans from her lips.

He moved to her other breast, giving it equal attention, while his hands moved lower, finding the strings of her bikini bottom. With another quick, decisive movement, they too were undone, the tiny scrap of silk falling to the fur-covered floor, leaving Han Xinfeng standing before him completely, gloriously naked.

Her body was a perfect blend of youthful innocence and burgeoning womanhood. Full, high breasts, a slender waist that dipped invitingly towards her curvaceous hips, long, athletic legs, and a neat triangle of dark curls already glistening with the dew of her rapidly building desire.

Alaric let his gaze roam over her, a predatory fire igniting in his ruby eyes. “Perfect,” he breathed, his voice thick with lust. “Absolutely… delectable.”

He lifted her effortlessly into his arms, her naked body cradled against his chest. Xinfeng wrapped her legs around his waist, clinging to him, her heart pounding, her body already trembling with anticipation.

He carried her towards the large, fur-covered bed, laying her gently amidst the plush softness. He stood over her for a moment, his own erection straining visibly against his trousers.

“Now, Xinfeng,” Alaric purred, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “Let us continue your… advanced cultivation. A lesson in pleasure. A lesson in submission. A lesson that will last… all day.”

He began to undress, his movements slow, deliberate, savoring her wide-eyed anticipation. Xinfeng watched him, her breath catching in her throat as his magnificent, sculpted physique was revealed. And then, her gaze dropped lower, and a soft gasp escaped her lips as she beheld his colossal, throbbing erection.

‘It’s… even bigger than I remember from the cave…’ she thought, her mind reeling, a mixture of awe, fear, and an overwhelming, undeniable desire flooding her senses.

Alaric knelt on the bed between her parted legs, his presence overwhelming. He leaned down, his lips brushing hers. “Ready to learn, my eager little ice flower?”

Xinfeng could only nod, speechless, her body already arching towards him, craving his touch, his possession.

The day that followed was a blur of relentless passion and exquisite pleasure. Alaric Steele, his lust finally unleashed after days of strategic planning and careful seduction, took Young Sect Mistress Han Xinfeng with a ferocity and stamina that left her utterly shattered and blissfully satiated.

He explored every inch of her magnificent, youthful body, his hands and mouth working tirelessly, eliciting cries of pleasure that echoed through the private chamber. He was ruthless, demanding, yet there was a strange, twisted tenderness in his possession, a sense of utter ownership that Xinfeng, in her shattered state, found strangely… comforting.

He took her in every conceivable position, on the bed, against the ice-carved walls, over the ornate furniture, even on the thick fur rugs before the hearth. He made her scream his name, made her beg for more, made her offer her body willingly, eagerly, desperately.

He filled her mouth with his cock, fucking her throat until she gagged, then forcing her to swallow. He spanked her reddened buttocks until she sobbed, he bit her sensitive neck and breasts, leaving marks of his ownership. He used her body as his personal playground, his dominance absolute, his pleasure paramount.

Xinfeng, her youthful energy and athletic resilience pushed to their absolute limits, met his demands with a surprising, desperate eagerness. Her initial shyness, her ingrained modesty, melted away under the inferno of his lust, replaced by a raw, primal need for his touch, his possession, his seed. She climaxed again and again, each orgasm more intense, more shattering than the last, her mind lost in a haze of overwhelming sensation.

He came inside her repeatedly, marking her, claiming her, ensuring his essence seeped deep into her very being. He didn’t stop until the sun began to dip below the frozen peaks, painting the sky in hues of fiery orange and deep violet.

Finally, as dusk settled over the Ice Heart Citadel, Alaric lay sprawled on the massive bed, Han Xinfeng cradled boneless and utterly spent in his arms. Her breathing was deep and even, her face flushed, her lips swollen, a faint smile of blissful exhaustion gracing her features. She was fast asleep, her body and soul completely claimed.

Alaric held her close, a sense of profound satisfaction washing over him. He had satiated his lust, thoroughly and completely. And in doing so, he had bound another beautiful, powerful young woman to his will, adding another exquisite jewel to his ever-expanding collection.

He glanced out the window at the darkening sky, the stars beginning to glitter in the crisp northern air. He felt the familiar thrum of his Divine Harem God System, a sense of power and contentment flowing through him.

He checked his status.

[Congratulations, Host! You have reached the Peak of Grandmaster Mage Rank!]

[Sustained, high-intensity intimate activity with multiple high-quality partners has significantly boosted mana reserves and spiritual resonance.]

Alaric smirked. ‘Peak Grandmaster. Good. That was… efficient.’

Then, another notification flashed.

[Advancement Condition to Archmage Rank Unlocked:]

[Successfully engage in intimate, soul-bonding activity with FIVE separate female individuals possessing power equivalent to the Archmage or Martial King rank (or Seventh Order Beast equivalent).]

[Current Progress: 1/5 (Kyss’andra – Seventh Order Siren Queen)]

Alaric’s ruby eyes gleamed. ‘Archmage rank… so that’s the key. Five Arch-level women.’ He thought of Kyss’andra, his captive Siren Queen, her power now his to command, her body his to explore. That was one.

His gaze drifted to the sleeping Sect Mistress Meng Yao in the chamber next door, her aura now undeniably resonating with the power of a newly ascended Martial King. ‘Meng Yao… she has just reached the required rank. And after tonight’s… consolidation of our alliance… she will be number two. Very soon.’

That left three more.

His mind immediately went to the two Archmage professors he had encountered. Lilliana Valtor, now in Jorailia, armed with his Recall Anchor. Maelis, still residing in the guest palace here, recovering, perhaps, from his dramatic rescue and their… shared exhaustion.

‘Lilliana and Maelis,’ Alaric thought, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. ‘Two powerful, beautiful, and remarkably resilient Archmages. They will make… excellent additions. And their current circumstances… make them surprisingly… accessible.’

He considered other possibilities. Archmage Priscilla, back at the Steele estate, guarding Queen Margaret and the consorts. A formidable woman, her loyalty currently to the crown, but Alaric knew loyalty was a malleable thing. And then there was Zylle Mordan of the Phantom Assembly, another Archmage whose path had crossed his, whose arrogance and beauty presented an enticing challenge.

‘Yes,’ Alaric mused, his gaze returning to the sleeping Han Xinfeng beside him, a silent promise in his eyes. ‘The path to Archmage is clear. And it will be… exquisitely pleasurable.’ He had the tools, the power, the ambition. And a world of beautiful, powerful women waiting to be conquered, to be added to his Divine Harem, to fuel his ascent to godhood. The night was still young, in the grand scheme of things. And Alaric Steele was just getting started.