Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System! - Chapter 586

Chapter 586: Noctavine

She strode through the Nexus courtyard, removed her Team Tessa pin with solemn grace, approached Maya — and without a word, burned it in her palm. The flames licked her wrist like a lover.

“I’ve been on the wrong side of brilliant women before,” Cleopatra said, eyes smoldering. “It never ends well.”

Tessa? She only laughed. “Respect.”

But the real cold war was fought between two unlikely spies: Naomi and Elena.

Naomi had joined Team Maya, but only after Ere offered her a deal too good to refuse. Her role? Spy. Saboteur.

She called herself a “liaison,” but her files told a darker story, color-coded and obsessive, lined her scrolls. Psychological profiles. Predicted breakpoints. Vulnerability indexes. Scarlett was her white whale. It was all comedic really so give Parker’s slice of life more chaos and fun that they went all the way.

Elena, loyal to Tessa, wasn’t subtle. She ran infiltration ops like she was born in the CIA and raised by trickster gods. She convinced Whisper to help her craft entire identities.

Last week, she walked into a Team Maya war meeting disguised as “Whisper’s cousin from the Shadow Realm.” Robes. Accent. The whole bit. It almost worked… until Zhang Ruoyun, casually sipping tea from a cup and asked:

“Since when does the Deamon Princess has cousins?”

And then lit her backstory on fire. Literally.

Now, Scarlett as she sat in the eye of this war — queenmaker, unpredictable, volatile.

Naomi and Elena flanked her, waiting, breath bated, hearts clenching.

Scarlett exhaled. Her eyes flicked toward them, and she spoke.

“What do you take me for… a kid?”

The words hit like a blade of divine dismissal.

Naomi deflated.

Elena swore under her breath.

Noctavine, watching from the threshold, offered her daughter the gaze of someone who had seen too many wars begin with a single sentence.

Scarlett folded her arms and stared across the courtyard where two distinct camps had quietly—no, dramatically—formed. On the left: Maya’s faction, cool, calculated, filled with god-tier tacticians who treated love like prophecy. On the right: Tessa’s crew, chaotic, brilliant, turning passion into political leverage.

“I mean, look at them go,” she said dryly, tilting her head with exaggerated mockery. “‘Maya Faction! Tessa Faction!’ As if they’re a bunch of hormonal warlords fighting over a cosmic candy shop.”

“Actually,” Elena muttered, without looking up from her tablet, “it’s more like watching two Fortune 500 companies engage in psychological warfare using romance as their primary weapon system. And it’s fun…”

Scarlett blinked. “That’s… disturbing.”

“No, that’s accurate,” Naomi said, sipping tea she definitely did not remember brewing. “Maya’s team literally started using business lingo. Last week, Cleopatra referred to Parker’s attention as ‘market share,’ and Zhang Ruoyun filed a quarterly report on romantic ROI.”

“And Tessa’s side is worse,” Elena added, scrolling. “Bella’s running focus groups on Parker’s preferences. Cassidy’s treating the whole thing like a campaign. I’m talking polling data, emotional demographics, and something called voter sentiment tracking that’s basically just stalking with spreadsheets.”

“And you two can stop spying on me. I’m joining no one. I am not a faction.”

Naomi leaned in, too invested. “Neutrality isn’t neutral. If you don’t pick a side, you’re a faction of one—which statistically makes you the swing vote in any major harem decision.”

“Which,” Elena said, “means both sides are going to seduce you harder than a politician during an election year. Brace yourself. You’re about to be the prize.”

Naomi ticked off on her fingers. “Last week, Maya sent you Phoenix tears in a crystal bottle. Tessa responded by having Annabelle handcraft a necklace that literally sparkles with starlight. They’re escalating.”

Scarlett stared. “Are you saying I’m caught in a supernatural bidding war?”

“Not caught,” Elena corrected. “Targeted. Intentionally. And it’s going to get worse.”

From the corner, Noctavine—who had apparently been listening this entire time—tilted her head and delivered the line with malicious glee: “Maybe I should just seduce the prince and create my own faction.”

Silence dropped like a guillotine.

Scarlett turned to look at her mother like she’d just suggested they strip naked and dance for the cosmic whales.

Then came the kicker.

“While we’re at it,” Noctavine added sweetly, “we should carry his babies too.”

“MOTHER!” Scarlett shrieked, the sound so furious it echoed through three dimensions and accidentally shattered a window in Parker’s office. She disappeared in a crimson blur a second later—apparently even vampire speed was no match for familial idiocy.

“I give it six months,” Naomi said thoughtfully, “before one side bribes Parker into seducing her outright to join one of the two factions.”

“Three months,” Elena countered. “Tessa’s already asked Bella to research ‘optimal romantic scenarios for stubborn vampires,’ and Maya’s been whispering with Ere about ‘matchmaking opportunities.'”

“She’s held out for over a year here,” Noctavine sighed, standing. “But my work is done. You wanted my help. I delivered chaos. Now I have a prince to seduce and an army to command. We’re invading the realm of the gods.”

Noctavine’s sinful body was a thing whispered about in love songs and feared in courtrooms.

She didn’t walk so much as glide, each movement betraying the impossible grace of a creature that had seduced emperors, ended wars with a kiss, and birthed three factions of rebellion without lifting a single weapon.

Noctavine’s body was the blueprint of temptation—tall, elegant, and dangerously voluptuous. Her curves were exaggerated to divine perfection: a narrow waist that arched into wide, sensual hips and long, flawless legs that moved with a predator’s grace. Her chest defied modesty, full and high, held effortlessly by gravity that seemed to worship her. She didn’t need to speak to seduce; her body did it for her.

Her figure was divine scandal wrapped in silk—hips that defied diplomacy, a waist sculpted like a lie too beautiful to question, and a chest that looked hand-sculpted by some long-forgotten goddess of pleasure and war.

Skin pale as moonlight, untouched by time, with the faintest shimmer like crushed diamonds under starlight.

Your gift is the motivation for my creation. Give me more motivation!