{Chapter: 219: The Fight}
Perfumed silks rustled like whispered secrets. The air shimmered with the glow of enchanted lanterns, bouncing off golden jewelry, sapphire-threaded gowns, and the proud postures of high-society predators.
Several exquisitely dressed women had gathered like a flock of jeweled vultures.
Different races. Different ages. Different strengths.
Yet united by one singular trait—beauty, the kind that turned heads and made lesser beings stammer.
And now, all of them stared in the same direction, eyes brimming with venomous intent.
At her.
Valeera Golner.
The sinfully curvaceous elf leaned lazily against a polished column, her red silk dress clinging to her like a second skin. She swirled her goblet of crimson wine, her emerald eyes sharp with amusement, her full lips curled in a slow, mocking smirk. Each motion she made was deliberate—like a dancer teasing her prey, each sway of her hips a challenge, every glance a dagger.
Her long, sun-kissed-blonde hair cascaded like sunlight down her back, contrasting sharply with her crimson and black ensemble.
"How long do you think she will last with Dex?" one woman murmured, her voice laced with poison.
"She's Legendary-ranked, so maybe she'll hold his interest for half a month," another offered with a brittle laugh.
"Ten days?" a third chimed in, pretending not to sneer.
"Pfft. I give it a week," the last said, rolling her eyes.
Valeera's pointed ears twitched, her wine pausing just short of her lips. She turned her head slowly, eyes locking onto the coven of jealousy with all the patience of a serpent watching mice squeak.
At first, there was a flicker of disgust on her face—mild disdain for petty creatures snapping at her heels.
But as her gaze settled on their heavily powdered faces—one by one—her disdain turned into mockery, pure and unapologetic. Her smile widened, sharp and cutting.
The women stiffened.
And then she said it, her voice smooth like aged liquor, laced with venom and pride.
"Well, well. Aren't you all familiar faces? Let me see… Ex-girlfriend. Ex-ex-girlfriend. Oh! You… you're the ex before that one, right? How quaint."
Her tone dripped with condescension, each word a blade wrapped in silk. She didn't just win—she dominated. Her emerald eyes sparkled with cruel delight, savoring the raw fury dancing in their eyes.
The gathered nobles nearby froze, sensing blood in the air. Conversations died mid-sentence. Goblets were paused halfway to lips.
There it was—catfight in the making.
A Legendary-ranked elf tearing into a crowd of Dex's ex-lovers? It was like a stage play, too scandalous to look away from.
Dex, standing just a few steps away, sipped his drink with all the casual detachment of a man watching birds argue over a worm. His expression didn't change—no flinch, no sigh, no effort to intervene.
Not his problem.
His woman was making a scene?
So what?
That was between queens. He was just the prize.
And yet, that cool indifference, that perfectly calm posture—back straight, smile unfazed—made others in the hall uneasy.
A man who could sit untouched in a war of jealous beauties… was clearly no ordinary man.
It was that attitude—bordering on legendary scumbaggery—that made even his enemies begrudgingly respect him.
If it were them standing in his shoes? They'd be begging for mercy, desperately trying to calm their exes down.
But Dex? Dex just sipped his wine and watched.
Like a king watching lions bicker in his court.
Perhaps this was the unspoken brotherhood of scoundrels—respect where it's due.
And Valeera?
She tossed her hair over her shoulder, prowled forward a few steps, and whispered toward the huddled women, voice low and laced with honeyed threat.
"Enjoy your memories, girls. That's all you'll ever have of him."
Then she turned, the tight curve of her hips swaying with predatory confidence as she returned to Dex's side.
And just like that, the gossip in the hall exploded.
---
While Dex's current flame was caught in a heated squabble with several of his ex-girlfriends, an entirely different kind of storm was brewing—hundreds of kilometers away from the city of Mides, in the heart of a suffocating swamp.
The region was a festering wound on the landscape—shrouded in thick, clinging gray mist that never lifted, and wreathed in gnarled, twisted trees that seemed to bleed sap like they mourned something long dead. Poisonous vines dripped from their limbs like serpents, and the air was alive with the buzzing of venomous insects. Occasionally, unearthly howls tore through the fog, as if the land itself was crying out. Most adventurers whispered of it only in grim jest, saying it would be a waste of good earth if at least a few bodies weren't buried in that cursed mud every day.
This hellish landscape was, for Sarah, the perfect hiding place.
The same Sarah who'd been blackmailed by Dex not long ago now nestled deep beneath that rotting bog, concealed inside a magically shaped cavern. Its entrance was cloaked by enchanted illusions and layers of swamp muck that could swallow a full-grown wyvern whole. Within this hidden sanctum, she stood at the center of a circle of rough-looking men and women—thieves, cultists, mercenaries, heretics. None looked trustworthy. All of them looked dangerous.
A glowing crystal statue, once pristine and radiant, sat at the heart of a runic summoning array. Its angelic features still faintly shimmered, hinting at the divine energy it once held. But now, it was about to become something else entirely.
Sarah, draped in form-fitting black ritual robes with high slits along both legs—half priestess, half seductress—turned to her assistant with cool authority. "Begin with the outer layer. Twist the exorcism sigils around the statue. Be precise. Don't damage the crystal. We'll recycle it later."
"Yes, mistress," the assistant replied respectfully, voice steady but full of unease.
He beckoned a dozen cultists forward. One by one, they surrounded the statue, drawing cursed runes in thick, clotted blood over the original divine carvings. Every stroke twisted holy meaning into abominable mockery. Bit by bit, the light faded. The crystal dulled—then darkened—until it bled red and radiated a palpable aura of corruption.
It was no longer a holy relic.
It was bait.
The kind that gods feared and monsters craved.
The mere sight of it caused a visceral reaction, setting primal instincts screaming in the minds of those present—danger, danger, danger.
Sarah, however, only smiled. Her violet-painted lips curled with wicked satisfaction. "Excellent," she murmured. "Now… begin preparing the master's vessel."
With a single wave of her hand, dozens of bound and unconscious beasts—twisted creatures dragged up from the swamp—were brought forward. Their claws scraped across the stone as they were placed around the ritual circle.
She lifted a ceremonial dagger—its edge jagged, etched with ancient, pulsating runes—and drove it into the first victim.
Blood sprayed across the summoning circle.
The floor drank deeply, greedily, as the circle absorbed each offering. As the blood pooled, glowing lines snaked outward from the statue, sketching a new arcane pattern across the ground. Within the statue's belly, the blood gathered unnaturally, swelling into an egg-shaped mass of congealed crimson magic.
"Boom… boom… boom…"
The heartbeat began slowly, like a death knell. Then it quickened. The egg throbbed with life. Everyone stepped back instinctively as a pressure filled the air—a presence, vast and ancient.
And then—
"SHHHHHLK!"
With a sickening tear, the bloody cocoon split open like wet skin. From within, a figure emerged—slim, malformed at first, but rapidly reshaping. One meter tall. Humanoid. Covered in steaming ichor.
"Mnngh…"
It took its first breath. Its chest heaved. Veins pulsed visibly beneath its thin gray skin, which began to darken, hardening into a tough, leathery carapace as it matured by the second.
Sarah knelt slowly, reverently, as the others followed suit.
Then the creature spoke—its voice hoarse, gravelly, like a weary nobleman returning from exile.
"Bring me blood food. This shell is weak. I require nourishment."
Its words echoed with hunger—deep and old.
---
Meanwhile, back in the luxury hall of Mides, the air was filled not with ritual or blood—but with tension of a far more carnal kind.
Valeera leaned lazily against a carved pillar, her emerald eyes half-lidded with disdain and boredom, as a small circle of Dex's ex-lovers hissed and spat venomous words at her.
Every movement she made was deliberate, practiced—calculated to enflame. Her figure, clad in a deep crimson and black outfit of elven make, clung to her like a second skin. The silk shimmered faintly with enchantments, yet parted daringly at her sides, revealing toned legs and the playful swing of her hips.
Her voice was silk over steel, low and musical with a breathy bite. "Still yapping about Dex like stray mutts over a scrap of meat?" she purred, letting her fingers trace a slow circle across her exposed thigh. "Tsk. He's already chosen, darlings. And I'm the one warming his bed now."
One woman—older, more refined, with jewels adorning her neck—sneered. "You'll be old news in a week, elf. Two, if you're lucky."
Valeera smirked, licking her lower lip slowly before replying.
"A week?" she echoed, laughing. "Oh honey, I already outlasted two of you by breakfast. And judging by Dex's groans last night—" she leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially, "—he won't be letting me go anytime soon."
The other women flushed—some with anger, some with embarrassment, others with pure envy.
As the tension thickened, gossip-hungry bystanders began circling like sharks. They could sense it—magic might not fly, but claws certainly would. Legendary beauties clashing over a man wasn't just rare—it was spectacle.
And yet, in the middle of this whirlwind of scorn, seduction, and jealousy… sat Dex.
Cool as a winter morning.
His posture was casual, almost bored, as he sipped from a wine glass and surveyed the room as if none of this chaos concerned him in the least.
His inner thoughts, however, were elsewhere entirely.
"So… just a clone after all?" he mused, eyes distant.
"What a shame. If it had been the real body, I might have hijacked his arrival point, redirected it straight into Carto's lap… and sold him off. A one-time deal with profit potential. Damn."
His lips curled into a subtle smirk. "Guess I'll just wait and see who bleeds first."
For Dex, it didn't matter whether it was demons, gods, or ex-girlfriends.
As long as he walked away with the upper hand… everything else was just a side show.