WELL WELL WELL

After having sex with Nora a few times in the morning I got ready to meet with Rozie.The market of Fumas glittered under the soft glow of lanterns. It was past noon, nearly twelve.

The sun had dipped just enough to paint the sky gold, and a warm breeze carried the scent of roasted meat, spice, and fruit wine.

Somewhere in the center of the city, the famous Medivaeval Restaurant stood tall. Known for its elite clientele and golden-plated service, only nobles or the obscenely rich could afford to dine there.

Aric stood at the entrance—his cloak ordinary, his eyes alert.

Inside, seated by the large window, were Rozie Fernandes and her friend, Shelly Stellar an unexpected guest .

Rozie, a noblewoman with level 13 Swordmaster stats, wore her signature white dress. She looked more like a knight ready for a duel than a woman out to lunch. Shelly, however, was the opposite she was a milf with massive boobs and ass when compared to Rozie . Aged 37, rich beyond reason, and never married, she wore a deep violet gown. Her hair was honey-blonde, long, with soft curls that fell down her shoulders. She looked mature, elegant, calm—yet her gold bracelets, rings, and diamond choker screamed wealth.

Aric approached with a confident smile.

> "Ladies. Forgive my intrusion. Rozie, we met before—though briefly," he said smoothly.

Rozie tilted her head. "Ah, Aric, wasn't it? You were… curious."

Shelly looked him up and down, eyes twinkling. "And charming," she added with a teasing grin.

He bowed slightly, putting on his best harmless-young-man act.

> "I happened to see you from outside. Thought it rude not to greet two such stunning women."

Rozie smirked. Shelly chuckled.

And just like that, he was invited to sit.

The waiter brought wine, and food followed—a honeyed duck with glazed vegetables, buttered bread, and mint-laced fruit tarts. Aric slipped a small, near-invisible tablet into the tart plate. The Magic Slave Tablets. He had already pre-set the condition: "Become completely bound under Slave Will when answering any question asked after eating."

They chatted and Aric asked many questions.

Rozie spoke about her recent sparring match at the local dueling guild, flexing her strength with pride. Shelly told stories of her business, how she owned three estates and multiple vineyards. Her voice was slow and honeyed, each sentence dipped in wealth and experience.

Aric waited. Then, as they finished the tart, he leaned forward with a casual smile.

> "So, Rozie. Would you obey me if I asked you to give me all your assets ?"

She blinked. Her mouth opened. And she said, without hesitation—

> "Yes, if you asked, I would."

Aric turned to Shelly.

> "And you, Shelly. Would you consider serving me?"

Her cheeks flushed, but her lips moved before she could even think.

> "Yes… I would serve you."

[Slave Will: 100%]

[Rozie Fernandes – Bound]

[Shelly Stellar – Bound]

The system notifications flickered in Aric's vision like gold chains snapping shut.

He took a sip of wine, smiled to himself, and leaned back.

> "Well then… the night is still young."

.....

...

...The whole kingdom shook...

The bells rang across Velmora—twelve long, slow chimes. They echoed through mountains, rivers, cities, and villages like a whisper of doom. From the smallest farmer to the greatest duke, every soul in the kingdom felt it.

King Adam Velmora, ruler for over thirty years, was dead.

The news spread like wildfire, but no one believed it at first. How could the Iron King, the man who survived three assassination attempts, ruled with an iron grip, and commanded armies, just... fall?

"Heart attack," said Sir Vaelin Arros, the Royal Advisor and bearer of the king's will.

He stood before a gathering of nobles, soldiers, mages, and officials in the Royal Courtyard, wearing black robes and a pale face. Behind him, the royal coffin was laid under the golden sun. It was simple, yet majestic—black wood, carved with silver lions, and the royal crest engraved deep into the lid.

The entire courtyard was silent.

No music. No wind. No birds. Just the sound of breathing, disbelief, and the whisper of the city.

At the front, dressed in black armor, stood Prince Clinton—still fresh from his release from solitary confinement. His face was unreadable, but his eyes stared hard at the coffin. His fists were clenched. He said nothing.

To his left stood Christopher, a tall, cold figure, half-shrouded by his cloak. His silver eyes flicked across the crowd, calculating. In his previous life, this never happened. King Adam lived another ten years. His death came from poison. But now?

> A heart attack?

Christopher didn't buy it. Not for a second.

This changed everything.

The whole kingdom felt like a chessboard flipped upside down.

High lords from the north whispered behind fans. The nobles of the south shifted nervously in their silk robes. Even the generals, old warriors who never bowed to fear, looked unsettled.

> "The king is dead. And there is no heir on the throne," someone whispered.

That was the truth. Prince Clinton was powerful, but imprisoned until just days ago. No official declaration of succession had been made. And now—chaos. The balance was broken.

The Order of the White Flame, the powerful mages who once bowed to Adam's will, stood like statues near the royal guards. Their leader, Archmage Solen, kept his staff grounded, his face tight with emotion.

The will of the king was yet to be read. Sir Vaelin had only said it would be made public "after the mourning is over." No details. No hints.

The people grieved, yes—but more than grief, there was fear.

What would happen now?

Christopher's mind raced. This could be a curse… or a blessing. With the king dead, many old enemies would rise, but so could he. There was room to move, to grow, to strike.

Prince Clinton, however, remained still. He knew something was wrong.

> "Father didn't die of a heart attack," he whispered under his breath.