Harem Master: Seduction System - Chapter 355

Capítulo 355: New Protagonists- Feng Xiao, Long Chen, and Qin Wu

Alaric stepped back through the shimmering, bruised-violet vortex of the portal, the sensation washing over him like a bucket of ice water followed immediately by a blast of furnace heat. The spatial compression squeezed his atoms, then snapped them back into place with a nauseating lurch that would have emptied a lesser man’s stomach. He didn’t stumble. He stepped out onto the stone floor of the secret residence in the Celestial Dragon Empire with the steady, heavy tread of a conqueror returning to his forward command post.

The air here was different. It crackled with a denser, more aggressive ambient Qi, a sharp contrast to the smoother mana of the West. It tasted of iron and ancient dust.

Lin Ruoli was waiting for him. She stood by the heavy oak table in the center of the underground chamber, her posture rigid, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She was dressed in the formal, high-collared silk robes of a Guildmaster, a futile attempt to armor herself against him. Alaric could smell her anxiety—a tart, metallic scent cutting through her expensive perfume. She looked efficient, professional, and entirely breakable.

“Master,” she bowed low, her forehead nearly touching the stone. “You returned quickly.”

“I have a lot to do,” Alaric said, his voice echoing in the stone chamber. He walked past her, his black boots clicking rhythmically on the floor. He didn’t stop to greet her properly. He walked straight to the main strategy table, a massive slab of dark jade carved with a relief map of the Empire. “Did you get what I asked for?”

“I have mobilized the Jade Serpent’s shadow network,” she reported, turning to follow him, her silk robes swishing. “It will take time to sift through the gossip of an entire empire. There are… millions of voices, Master.”

Alaric sat down on the heavy, high-backed chair at the head of the table. He didn’t gesture for her to sit. He gestured for her to come to him.

“I don’t have time for millions of voices,” he said, his voice flat. He patted his thigh. “Come here.”

Lin Ruoli hesitated for a fraction of a second—a reflex of her old dignity—before obeying. She walked over and settled onto his lap, her movements stiff. Alaric wrapped a heavy arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him. He could feel the heat of her body through the layers of silk. He didn’t treat her like a lover; he treated her like a stress ball, a warm, soft object to ground him while his mind worked on higher calculations.

He shoved his hand into the slit of her robe, bypassing the fabric to grip the soft, yielding flesh of her thigh. She gasped, her body stiffening, then melting into the touch as her conditioning kicked in.

“I want specific patterns, Ruoli,” he instructed, his fingers digging into her skin, exploring the curve of her hip with absent-minded possessiveness. “I don’t want gossip. I want the impossible.”

“Impossible, Master?” she breathed, her hands resting tentatively on his shoulders.

“You know the type,” Alaric said, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the jade map. “The stories that sound like bad fiction. Someone who fell off a cliff and came back holding a legendary sword instead of a broken spine. Someone who was beaten to a pulp, crippled, and called ‘trash’ by his entire clan, only to suddenly rise up a month later as a genius who slaughters his enemies.”

He squeezed her thigh hard, making her wince. “Someone who suddenly possesses ancient pill recipes that have been lost for a thousand years. Or a martial artist who fights three ranks above his level and wins by pulling a mysterious, glowing artifact out of his ass.”

Lin Ruoli nodded slowly, her brow furrowing. To her, these sounded like the legends of the Saints, the myths of the founding Emperors. “Fortuitous encounters,” she murmured, using the term common to her people. “The Heavens blessing the lucky ones with destiny.”

“Exactly,” Alaric sneered, the word tasting like bile. “Blessings. Destiny. Or… theft. I want to find these ‘blessed’ individuals.”

He leaned back, dragging Lin Ruoli with him, his hand moving higher, his thumb tracing the line of her groin through her undergarments. “These people are dangerous variables, Ruoli. They disrupt the order. They break the rules. And where there is disruption, there is opportunity for us. I want to find these rising stars before they burn too bright and set the whole damn world on fire.”

He looked up at her, his ruby eyes boring into hers. “Also,” he added, his voice dropping to a low, guttural rumble, “check who is around them. Are there… jade beauties? Cold, unattainable Sect Leaders? Forgotten princesses in distress? These ‘heroes’ always seem to attract women like flies to honey.”

“I… I understand,” Lin Ruoli said, her breath hitching as his thumb pressed down, sending a jolt of electricity through her. “I will filter the reports for… romantic entanglements.”

“Good. Now go. And don’t come back until you have names.”

He smacked her ass as she scrambled off his lap, the sound sharp and final.

A few hours passed. The underground chamber remained silent, a tomb of anticipation. Alaric spent the time refining the mana flow of the residence’s wards, reinforcing the stealth arrays with his own Void-touched magic. He was building a fortress under the nose of a dragon.

Finally, the heavy oak door creaked open. Lin Ruoli returned. She looked exhausted, her hair slightly askew, ink stains on her fingers. She carried a stack of jade slips—magical information storage devices used by the cultivation world.

“Master,” she said, her voice tight with a mixture of fear and awe. She approached the table and placed the slips down like offerings to a dark god. “I have filtered the noise. I burned through a hundred favors and activated sleeper agents I haven’t touched in a decade. Most were just rumors… drunkards’ tales. But… three. Three stand out. They fit your description of… ‘anomalies’.”

Alaric picked up the first jade slip. He didn’t read it with his eyes; he pressed it to his forehead, letting the information flood directly into his mind.

Target 1: The Northern Frozen Wastes.

The mental image formed instantly: a young man, barely twenty-five, with sharp, hawk-like features and eyes that burned with a cold, blue intensity that seemed to freeze the very air around him. His name was Feng Xiao.

The intel Lin Ruoli had gathered was detailed, pieced together from the whispers of shattered clans and the ashes of burned sects in the unforgiving North. Feng Xiao was once the crown jewel of the Feng Clan, a prodigy born with a silver spoon in his mouth and talent that made the elders weep with joy. Then, at age twelve, the heavens seemingly turned their back on him. His cultivation vanished overnight. He became a cripple. Trash. The laughingstock of the entire Northern Wastes.

For three years, he was spat on. He was the mud beneath the boots of those who used to fawn over him. The report detailed the humiliation with clinical precision: his fiancée, Nalan Yue, a haughty, ice-cold disciple of the prestigious Frozen Cloud Asgard, had publicly annulled their engagement. She had stormed into his clan hall, thrown the engagement contract in his face, and humiliated him and his father before the entire city. It was the classic setup for a tragedy.

Then, the anomaly occurred. Feng Xiao vanished into the mountains for a year, presumed dead by the cold or the beasts. When he returned, the “trash” was gone. In his place was a monster.

He wielded a terrifying “Blue Lotus Flame” that could melt heavy armor into slag in seconds and freeze a man’s blood mid-pump. He wasn’t just a warrior; he was an Alchemist of impossible skill, refining pills that baffled the old masters of the North. He had single-handedly slaughtered the rival clans that had mocked him, turning their fortresses into tombs of ice and fire. He was now a Martial King, renowned across the North as the “Flame King,” though he was still young enough to be a disciple.

Alaric pulled the jade slip away, his eyes narrowing as he processed the data.

‘So this is how he overturned his fate,’ Alaric thought, a cold smirk playing on his lips. ‘He went from trash to treasure in the blink of an eye. That’s not natural talent. That’s intervention. He didn’t just find a book; he found a teacher. Or a source. Someone, or something, taught him how to refine pills that master alchemists can’t comprehend. He’s got an encyclopedia in his pocket.’

He tapped the slip against the table. ‘He needs rare fires to evolve his technique. The report mentions him hunting “Heavenly Flames” in dangerous forbidden zones. That makes him predictable. If I dangle a fire he can’t refuse… he’ll walk right into my mouth.’

But it was the next part of the report that really caught Alaric’s interest. The woman.

Feng Xiao wasn’t traveling alone. He had a childhood friend, a girl who had stuck by him when he was “trash.” Gu Ling.

Lin Ruoli’s network had dug deep on this one. Gu Ling wasn’t just a clan daughter. She was a “Golden Phoenix” hiding in a chicken coop. Her background was terrifying. She was, in reality, a scion of the Gu Emperor Clan, one of the ancient, reclusive families of the Celestial Dragon Empire.

The Gu Clan had produced a Martial Emperor ten thousand years ago. Their bloodline was royalty among cultivators. Her father was currently a Half-Step Martial Emperor, a man who could likely crush the Jorailian Kingdom easily unless Alaric himself goes to fight. And this clan… they were the Emperor’s dogs. Completely subservient to Huang Long.

‘Interesting,’ Alaric mused, his mind spinning webs. ‘A girl with the blood of Martial Emperors, hiding in a backwater town, protecting a fallen genius. She’s the shield. She’s the reason he hasn’t been squashed by the big powers yet. She’s his guardian angel.’

He pictured this Gu Ling. The report described her as ethereal, a beauty that could topple cities, with a gentle demeanor but a terrifying cultivation base of her own. She was deeply in love with Feng Xiao.

‘If I take her,’ Alaric thought, his grin widening, ‘I don’t just break the hero’s heart. I gain a hostage against an Ancient Clan. And… I gain a direct line to the Emperor’s inner circle. She is the key to the North.’

He set the slip down. Feng Xiao was a threat, yes. A walking nuke with a temper. But he was also a ladder.

Alaric picked up the second slip.

Target 2: The Eastern Archipelago.

The mental images shifted. The smell of ozone and frost was replaced by the tang of salt and blood. A man named Long Chen.

Born to a lowly fisherman in a stinking coastal village, a nobody destined to die gutting fish or drowning in a storm. He had no clan, no background, no resources.

He disappeared during a catastrophic typhoon that sank the entire fishing fleet. He was presumed dead, food for the sea beasts. Six months later, he walked out of the surf, naked, unharmed, and radiating a terrifying aura.

Since then, he had carved a bloody path through the coastal dojos. He didn’t use normal weapons. He wielded a strange, living plant spirit—a “Blue-Silver Vine”—that was harder than steel, drank blood, and moved with a mind of its own.

But that wasn’t all. The report detailed impossible feats. He could breathe underwater. He could walk on the waves. And most dangerously, he could control sea beasts. Massive, leviathan-class monsters obeyed his whistle. He had united the fractured pirate clans under his banner and shattered the blockade of the Royal Navy single-handedly, sinking a dozen warships with a wave of his hand.

He was a Martial King, undefeated in single combat, known as the “Sea Devil.”

Alaric rubbed his chin, analyzing the feats.

‘He fell into the ocean and came back a god,’ Alaric thought. ‘He didn’t just learn to swim. He found something down there. A dragon’s legacy? A sea god’s inheritance? His body is too tough for a normal human. He took a cannonball to the chest and laughed. That smells like a bloodline transformation.’

He focused on the “Blue-Silver Vine.”

‘A plant spirit weapon. Versatile. It binds, it pierces, it defends. But it’s also… weird. It doesn’t fit the “sea beast” theme. It feels like he has… two distinct power sources. Like he’s juggling two different destinies.’

Alaric’s eyes flashed with calculation. ‘But his strength is the water. On land, far from his beasts, far from his element… he might be vulnerable. He’s a king in the ocean, but a fish out of water on the plains.’

And the women? Long Chen was a conqueror. The report mentioned a woman by his side. Princess Hai Lan.

She was the former princess of the Sea God Island, a mystical sect that guarded the eastern ocean. Her sect had been destroyed by the Empire’s navy years ago. She was a fugitive, a beauty with hair like seaweed and eyes like pearls. She was haughty, proud, and utterly devoted to the man who promised to restore her kingdom.

‘A fallen princess seeking revenge,’ Alaric mused. ‘She’s the political legitimacy to his pirate army. She gives him a cause. If I take her… his coalition crumbles. Pirates don’t follow a man who can’t keep his woman.’

He visualized Hai Lan. The report called her the “Siren of the East.” Beautiful, deadly, and carrying the secrets of the Sea God Island’s ancient arrays.

‘She’s useful,’ Alaric decided. ‘I can use her knowledge to fortify my own coastal defenses. And Long Chen… he’s a brute force weapon. I’ll need to bait him onto dry land. Maybe a tournament? Or a “treasure” hidden deep inland?’

He tossed the slip onto the table. “A fisherman who commands leviathans. Cute. But ultimately, just a big fish in a small pond.”

He picked up the third slip. This one felt… heavier. Darker.

Target 3: The Western Deserts.

The mental landscape shifted to dry, harsh red sands and the smell of dried blood. A slave gladiator named Qin Wu.

The intel on this one was fragmented, pieced together from the ravings of madmen and the silence of graveyards. Qin Wu had no background. No clan. No money. He was meat for the arena, sold by bandits when he was a child. He fought with a rusty spear. He should have died a hundred times in the pits.

But he didn’t.

He had an unbreakable will and a body that healed unnaturally fast. He could take a sword through the gut and keep fighting, his wounds closing up in hours rather than weeks.

But the most disturbing part of the report was the aftermath of his battles.

“He is known as the ‘Soul-Eater’ in the underground circles,” Lin Ruoli had noted in the margin. “The reports are… unsettling.”

When Qin Wu defeated an enemy, they didn’t always die from physical wounds. Many were found with no lethal injuries, yet their life force was simply… gone. Extinguished like a candle in a gale.

And those he spared? They were worse. They became husks. Drooling idiots. The healers said their spirits had been shattered, their memories wiped clean, their cultivation bases completely drained. It was as if he struck not at the flesh, but at the soul itself.

Alaric frowned, his mind racing as he read the accounts of Qin Wu’s battles.

‘Shattered spirits? No wounds? That’s not a physical technique,’ Alaric analyzed, his eyes cold. ‘That’s a Soul Attack. A slave gladiator shouldn’t have access to high-level Soul Arts. Those are guarded by ancient sects or hidden clans. He couldn’t have learned this in a pit.’

He tapped the jade slip against the table, a rhythmic click-click-click.

‘He found something,’ Alaric deduced. ‘Buried in the sand. An artifact. A bead? A pendant? No… something ancient. Something hungry.’

He read about Qin Wu’s rapid rise. He learned techniques he shouldn’t know. He used sword styles from dead clans. He knew alchemy formulas that had died with their masters.

The realization hit Alaric like a hammer.

‘If it attacks the soul… does it consume it? If it consumes the soul, what happens to the memories? The experiences? If this kid is absorbing the combat experience and techniques of every master he kills… he isn’t just a grinder. He’s a mimic.’

Alaric’s expression darkened. ‘He could pull out a grandmaster-level sword art or a lost magic spell in the middle of a spear fight because he ate someone who knew it. He’s a wildcard. The most dangerous kind. He gains power not just by training, but by killing. That makes his growth curve exponential. Every enemy I send at him… is just food for him.’

And the woman? Even a monster like Qin Wu had a soft spot.

Mu Qing.

She wasn’t a slave. She was a “Fallen Fairy.” Once a prime disciple of the Heavenly Sword Sect, the most righteous sect in the West. She had been betrayed by her own senior brother, framed for a crime she didn’t commit, and hunted down. Qin Wu had saved her from being raped and murdered by bandits in the desert.

She was described as a beauty of “ice and jade,” with a temperament to match. She was crippled, her meridians damaged, but her knowledge of the orthodox sects was vast. She was Qin Wu’s moral compass. She kept him from becoming a complete demon.

‘She’s the leash,’ Alaric thought. ‘She keeps the dog from biting everyone. If I take the leash… the dog goes mad. Or… the dog comes to heel for a new master.’

He looked at the description of Mu Qing. Beautiful, tragic, broken but noble. A classic “damsel” who was slowly falling for her savior.

‘If I heal her,’ Alaric plotted, ‘if I fix her meridians… something Qin Wu has been trying and failing to do for years… she would owe me. And if I show her that her “savior” is actually a soul-eating monster… she might just seek comfort in the arms of a “righteous” merchant like me.’

Alaric leaned back, the three jade slips arranged before him like a hand of cards.

The Flame King in the North, with his ancient bloodline princess. The Sea Devil in the East, with his fallen island princess. The Soul Eater in the West, with his betrayed fairy.

Three heroes. Three destinies. Three harems waiting to be stolen.

“Master?” Lin Ruoli asked, watching him laugh with wide, confused eyes. She saw these men as terrifying monsters, freaks of nature. “Are these… threats to your plan?”

“No,” Alaric said, his eyes gleaming with a greed that made Lin Ruoli shiver. “They are crops. They are fat, juicy livestock. And they are almost ready for harvest.”

He stood up and walked to the massive jade map. He placed a marker on the North, the East, and the West. They were hundreds of thousands of miles apart, separated by mountain ranges and vast plains.

“Good,” he muttered. “No crossover. Their destinies don’t intersect yet. They are isolated pockets of luck. I can pick them off one by one without alerting the others.”

“Do we kill them?” Lin Ruoli asked, her voice hopeful. “If we send the assassins now…”

“No!” Alaric barked, turning on her. “You don’t kill a goose that lays golden eggs before you find out where it keeps the gold. These men… they have luck that defies reason. If you send an assassin, the assassin will trip and fall on his own blade, and the hero will find a secret manual in the assassin’s pocket. That’s how this works.”

He paced around the table, his mind whirring. “Eventually, they die. But first… we strip them. We see what they have that I want. The Flame. The Sea God’s legacy. The Cube. And… who they are banging.”

He looked at Lin Ruoli, his gaze intense. “Deploy watchers. Passive observation only. Do not engage. I want eyes on them, not blades. I want to know when they leave their base. I want to know their habits. I want to know their weaknesses. I want to know what makes them bleed.”

Just then, Lilliana walked into the room. She was adjusting the collar of her robe, her hair still slightly messy from their earlier activities. She saw the maps, the jade slips, and the manic energy radiating off Alaric.

“Planning a war?” she asked, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

“A hunt,” Alaric corrected, grinning like a wolf.

Lilliana walked over to the table, picking up the slip about Feng Xiao. She scanned it briefly. “A genius alchemist with a mysterious flame. Powerful. Young. Arrogant.”

She looked at Alaric, a mischievous, slutty glint in her eye. “He’s a man, Alaric. A young, full-blooded man. If you want to break him… do we send someone to… distract him?”

She leaned against the table, her hip cocked, her robe falling open to reveal a flash of thigh. “A woman’s touch can lower a man’s guard faster than any spell. It’s a classic tactic. I could… go to the North. Pose as a wandering scholar. Or Ceanna could go… a Saintess in distress.”

Alaric stopped pacing. He went perfectly still.

The air in the room grew heavy, suffocating. The shadows seemed to lengthen.

He crossed the room in two long strides. He grabbed Lilliana by the throat—not to choke, but to hold, to possess. His grip was iron. His aura flared, dark and heavy, pressing down on both women.

“Listen to me,” he growled, his face inches from hers, his ruby eyes burning with a possessive fury that bordered on madness. “Listen to me clearly.”

Lilliana’s eyes went wide, her breath catching in her throat. Her nipples hardened instantly against the fabric of her shirt.

“My women,” Alaric snarled, his voice a low, vibrating rumble, “do not spread their legs for anyone else. Not for a mission. Not for a strategy. Not for a god. Not for the fate of the fucking world.”

Lilliana shivered, the intense, violent possessiveness turning her on instantly. Her knees went weak. “Yes, Alaric,” she gasped.

“We don’t use honey traps,” Alaric declared, turning his head to look at Lin Ruoli, ensuring she heard him too. “Because that implies you are bait. You are not bait. You are treasure. My treasure. My property.”

He squeezed Lilliana’s throat slightly, just enough to bruise. “If I want something from these boys,” he sneered, “I will take it. I will crush them with my boot. I will humiliate them. I will break their spirits. And then… I will take their women. Right in front of them. While they watch.”

He released Lilliana, shoving her slightly. She stumbled back, panting, her hand going to her throat, her eyes shining with adoration.

“I don’t need to whore out my own to win,” Alaric spat. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master,” Lin Ruoli whispered, looking at him with awe. His greed was their security. He would burn the world before he let another man touch what was his.

“We will use politics,” Alaric said, smoothing his own tunic, the rage instantly replaced by cold calculation. “We will use economics. We will use brute force. But the doors to my harem stay locked to everyone but me.”

He looked back at the map, his eyes tracing the path to the Northern Waste.

“Feng Xiao… the alchemist,” he mused. “He seems the most volatile. The most… loud. He’s likely heading to the capital soon. These types always gravitate toward the center. A tournament. A duel. It’s a trope.”

He tapped the map at the capital city. “We’ll prepare for him here,” Alaric decided. “We won’t chase him. We’ll let the fish jump into the boat.”

He turned to Lin Ruoli. “Your guild sponsors the upcoming Imperial Alchemy Tournament, yes?”

“Yes, Master,” she nodded quickly. “It is the biggest event of the year. Alchemists from all over the Empire come to compete for the Emperor’s favor.”

“Good. Rig it,” Alaric commanded.

“Rig it, Master?”

“Find out what he needs,” Alaric said. “These individuals… they always have a goal. A curse to cure. A broken meridian to fix. A soul to heal. Find out what rare herb or material is needed for that specific miracle.”

He grinned, a shark scenting blood. “Make that the grand prize. The ‘Nine-Suns Soul Restoring Lotus’ or whatever nonsense it is. He won’t be able to resist. Even if he knows it’s a trap, his ‘destiny’ will force him to come. He’ll walk right into our jaws.”

“I… I will look into the ancient texts,” Lin Ruoli said, her mind racing. “There are rumors of a ‘Heavenly Soul Grass’ that can repair damaged spirits.”

“Perfect,” Alaric said. “Get it. Or get a fake one. I don’t care. Just make sure he knows it’s here. Make sure the whole damn Empire knows it’s here.”

He looked at the three markers on the map. The Flame. The Sea. The Spear.

They were powerful. They were chosen by the heavens. They were heroes.

And Alaric was going to eat them alive.

“The trap is set,” he whispered. “And these little heroes… they have no idea that the final boss just entered the game.”