One of the Twelve Heavenly Kings, the Ninth Heavenly King, who turned the Kingdom of Aetherion upside down. As it turns out, she was the master of the High Ranking Demon and the one who manipulated the King into awakening the [Empress of Calamity].

"What happened to the capital?"

The Ninth Heavenly King didn't stop for an answer; instead, she rushed out of the hut and placed her attention on the distant capital. The tower was gone, and so was the eclipse. Even the Abyssal Compass, she could no longer feel its power.

"It was a failure," Jester answered. Unlike its master, it was not targeted by the dream spell and thus was monitoring the situation this whole time.

"I see… I don't think the [Empress of Calamity] would go down without a fight."

Had she unleashed her power, flattening this entire kingdom wouldn't have been a problem. The fact that the capital was still intact must mean that she surrendered of her own will.

"I guess this soul persona of hers is a failure."

Jester nodded. Then it asked a question it had been holding this entire time. "Master, what should we do now? The plan to kill the Divine Paladin failed. If even the Empress and the Curse of the Demon Lord cannot kill him, then…" It wanted to ask if there is still anyone or anything that could stop him.

Its fear of the Divine Paladin evident after it nearly died at the hands of the latter.

"Don't talk nonsense. No matter how powerful he is, in the end, he is just a human. If the plan failed today, it just means that we weren't prepared enough. The next time it won't be so simple"...

"Malcroth and Skarnyx may have failed to shake the Seven Kingdoms. However, Eight is almost done setting up his plans in 'that' kingdom. Soon, all of them will fall like dominoes."

At those words from the Ninth Heavenly King, the Jester was impressed. It clapped its hands and praised its master for being wise to no end.

"So what should we do now?"

"We… run away."

It almost fell on its face.

.

.

Royal Palace, King's Bedchamber.

With a nauseating lurch, the world swam back into focus. The King opened his eyelids, staring blankly at the ceiling for some time before reality seeped in.

"Ugh." He groaned. His head felt very heavy; effects of not getting enough sound sleep.

Groggily, he propped himself up on his elbows and stared ahead. The chamber was silent, bathed in the soft glow of the early morning light that streamed through the balcony doors. The King stared blankly, his memories a little disoriented.

A strange silence settled over the place as he recalled the events from his mind. That's right, a dream! He was having a dream. His sweat slicked body was evidence of the wretched, feverish dream he was having.

In that dream, he was unable to move his body and could only watch powerlessly as his wife was stolen in front of him. Immediately, his gaze fell upon the other side of the vast bed. It was empty, the silk sheet smooth and undisturbed.

There was no indentation or any signs of two people locked in extreme passion there. There was no scent, no perfume. The next instant, his eyes went towards the wall next to the bed, more precisely at the photo frame that hung there. It was intact and not broken.

Relief, so potent that it made him lightheaded, washed over the King.

He then noticed the pitch tent on his crotch area; there was an undeniable sign of something pressing against his fabric. This was not morning wood but rather an echo of the night's fantasy he had just dreamed.

It was all just a dream; what was he even thinking? He forcefully dismissed the thought. Nevertheless, somewhere in the corner of his mind, it still bugged him. And so, he swung his legs over to the side of the bed and started looking for signs.

The chamber was pristine. Impeccably clean. The air smelled pure and fresh with no trace of the musk that had plagued his nightmare. The couch by the balcony was clear. The table where his wife and Reinhardt mated with passionate heat in their loins was neatly arranged.

The rumpled blankets, the damp patches, the very vision where the act of debauchery was committed, all of it was gone. As he thought, it was all a dream; there was no way his wife, the Queen, would do something like that with one of the heroes.

It was just his imagination running wild. He sighed; the sound heavy in the quiet room. His relief was real; however, it was undercut by a hollow sensation. From within his heart, he felt a profound sense of… disappointment.

Disappointment from the fact that none of the things that happened in his dream were real.

The King clutched his chest; a part of him, a part he desperately wished to hide, wanted all of it to be true! It was immoral, shameful, and scandalous, yet the raw intensity, the hunger, the sheer ecstasy he witnessed in the vision was world shattering.

It evoked a feeling that he had never experienced before, like somebody was squeezing his heart. He felt pain, yet at the same time, he felt a surge of excitement from it. It was still vivid: the sight of his wife, looking absolutely mesmerising as she rode another man's cock.

The gravity of the scene, of their union, as rivulets of nectar slid down her thighs… it had sparked something in him, something that now guttered at his lower abdomen like a hungry beast.

No, he shook his head, desperately trying to dislodge the thoughts out of his mind.

It was a bad dream, that's all it was. By no means did it represent the true thoughts of his heart.

That said, denied as much as he tried, but now that the seed of corruption planted by Minerva in his mind can never be suppressed.

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