Chapter 83: All Will Perish.

The air in the chamber had shifted.

Minutes ago, it had been thick with sweat, moans, and stolen sin. Now, it was perfumed with incense and tension, silence laced with the faint rustle of Catherine’s silk dress as she sat once more in her rightful place—a viscountess, polished and untouchable.

Her hair gleamed under candlelight, carefully combed to perfection. Rouge touched her lips, and the lace of her gown hugged her body in practiced elegance. She wore the mask of nobility with centuries of refinement behind it. But no powder could hide the faint flush in her cheeks, nor the reddened curve of her neck, nor the glow in her eyes—the unmistakable aura of a woman who had been claimed.

Arina noticed at once.

Her warrior’s instincts catalogued everything in moments: the softness in Catherine’s lips, the looseness of her posture, the quiet afterglow clinging to her like a second skin. A glow no battlefield ever gave.

Jealousy stabbed her chest like needles, sharp and unwanted. She was not a woman who envied. She had seen comrades gutted, children orphaned, cities leveled. Her heart had no room for pettiness. But this wasn’t petty—it was primal. Catherine radiated ownership. She belonged.

And Arina hated how much she noticed.

Her gaze slid toward the man seated beside Catherine. Aiden. Golden-eyed, calm, posture deceptively loose as he lounged on the sofa. But she knew the truth: that body was a coil of steel wrapped in silk. That face—too perfect, too deliberate—was sculpted by hands unseen, as though a god had lingered too long on a single creation.

If she were another woman, she would have already fallen. But she wasn’t. She was a warrior, drenched in monster gore, her hands hardened by steel hilts and blood. She had cut through horrors that made men soil themselves. She wasn’t a woman who stared.

And yet... she kept staring.

Her gauntleted fingers lifted almost on their own, tracing the line of his jaw. Cold steel kissed warm flesh. A thrill ran through her even as she scowled at herself.

Gods... he feels alive. Alive in a way the rest of us forgot how to be.

"You really are fucking gifted," she murmured, sarcasm draped thin over something raw. "Big dick, big balls, and a face like that... what are you? A fucking god of beauty, or some shit?"

The laugh that followed was brittle. She hated how it trembled.

Aiden didn’t flinch. He let her touch linger, golden eyes steady, expression unreadable. That stillness unnerved her more than resistance ever could.

Beside him, Catherine’s fingers curled tight into her skirt. Her teeth pressed into her lip until a bead of blood bloomed. For years she had mastered composure, had worn pride like armor. But now, seeing another woman—this warrior-bitch—touch him so casually, so boldly, she trembled with a fury she could not voice.

Aiden’s hand closed gently around hers, pressing her wrist down. Not rough, not domineering—commanding. A silent message.

Not now. Wait.

She obeyed. Barely.

Arina smirked, withdrawing her hand at last, feigning innocence. "Okay, okay. I’ll stop. Your woman looks ready to burn me alive."

The warrior leaned back, steel skirt clinking as she crossed her legs, thigh armor scraping softly. Casual mockery. But Catherine felt the mockery like a knife.

"...Shall I continue?" Aiden asked, voice quiet, calm—the calm of a storm about to break.

Arina tilted her head, silver hair cascading like molten moonlight. "Go on, golden boy."

His eyes darkened. "Like I told you in the letter—the dungeon will break soon. Very soon."

The words cut through the chamber.

Catherine stiffened, her heartbeat spiking. She turned sharply to him, panic in her chest, but his hand squeezed hers under the table—firm, steady. Later. I’ll explain.

Arina’s grin faded, replaced by steel focus. She leaned forward, plates of armor creaking. "And you said humanity won’t survive when it happens."

Her tone carried no jest now.

"The times before, it was the nobles. The ones who should’ve cleansed the dungeon. But they didn’t. They got fat. They got drunk on their power. They—" her eyes flicked to Catherine, sharp as blades "—bathe themselves in this."

Her voice was venom.

Catherine’s lips parted. The old her would have lashed back, drowned the room in venom twice as strong. But this time... her gaze fell. Her fingers tightened around her gown, trembling.

"I won’t deny that," she whispered.

Arina blinked. She had expected fury, denial, arrogance. Not this.

Catherine’s voice broke as she continued. "We nobles have fallen. We scheme. We hoard. We sharpen daggers against each other while the world rots. Our blades rust. Our honor decays. So yes... you’re right."

Her voice cracked. The admission was heavier than any insult.

Arina almost faltered, but she smirked instead, hiding her surprise. "Being aware won’t fix the problem."

Aiden cleared his throat, voice cutting through the tension. "It’s not that simple. If it were, I wouldn’t have called you—the Slayer, the Berserker—into my home."

Arina barked a laugh. "I won’t fuck you."

Aiden sighed. "That’s not the point." His golden eyes sharpened. "The reason the dungeon break will scorch the world... is because the nobles won’t be there at all."

Catherine’s head snapped toward him, fury blazing. "How could you say that?! If the threat comes, we’ll face it! If others won’t, then I will!"

Her pride bled into her voice, hot and trembling.

Arina chuckled, lounging back, savoring the spectacle. "Well. This is getting interesting."

"It’s not that, Cathe," Aiden said firmly. His jaw was tight. His voice was steel. "I told you—I’ll explain later."

He turned back to Arina—

"Don’t you look away from me!" Catherine snapped.

Her voice cracked like a whip, trembling with rage and desperation. His eyes met hers instantly.

"I don’t care what others think. I care about how you think. Do you see me like she does? Like I’m just another noble slut? Money, power, and just sex...?"

Her voice trembled. Her eyes glistened. Pride and fear knotted inside her.

Aiden exhaled, the sound heavy.

"Of course you lot are all the same," Arina sneered, pouring salt onto the wound.

"I wasn’t talking to you," Catherine snapped, venom dripping.

"You called me a bitch," Arina retorted coolly. "Can’t let that slide, whore."

Catherine rose slightly, fury flashing. "Do you know who you’re speaking to? Daughter of the Archduke. Tenth heir to the Empire. Watch your tongue."

Arina leaned forward, grin feral. "Tenth place in whoring. Your screams echoed through the whole damned estate. The way you wailed under his di—"

SLAM!

The table split under Aiden’s fist. Wood splintered, candles toppled. His aura surged like wildfire, filling the chamber with crushing weight.

[Mesmeric Majesty is being used]

Golden power poured from him, thick as molten metal. The walls rattled, air thickened, heat pressed against their skin. The windows trembled in their frames.

For ordinary men, it would have shattered bone, driven them to their knees. But Catherine was dragon-blooded; scales shimmered faintly across her flesh, her breath ragged. Arina’s armor flared, humming as it absorbed the shock. Their hair whipped wild in the storm of his presence.

But they froze—not out of weakness. Out of the sheer, cutting force of his command.

His golden eyes blazed, jaw locked tight. "There will be a civil war," he growled. His voice shook the marrow of their bones. "A horrifying, death-looming civil war. And every noble. Every commoner. Every soul of this empire will die. EVERYONE."

Silence. Heavy as tombstone.

The candle flames trembled, guttering low.

And for the first time, both women saw it in his eyes. Not lust. Not cold ambition. Not control. But dread.

The kind of dread only a man carrying the weight of kingdoms could know.

"...so, shall we start again. " Aiden voiced calmly.