In the distant Astral Plane…
Time and space hold no meaning here.
A colossal floating tower in the style of ancient Greece drifts atop a blue-white expanse of etheric particles.
A golden-haired elven sage, standing around 190 cm, sits within a lavish Greco-style building. She appears to be in her early thirties, yet her face is devoid of wrinkles, retaining the flawless skin of an 18-year-old. Her complexion is unnaturally fair—not the pallor of death, but an ethereal, radiant beauty, as if woven from an otherworldly dreamscape. Her skin glows—literally, as if starlight emanates from within, making her dazzling in a literal sense. Her golden hair shimmers like the star Lilith, known as Venus. Her beauty is unearthly, an embodiment of perfection unattainable by mortals. She wears a sheer, white silk dress that clings to her body, accentuating a figure like that of a sultry 20-year-old, with 36F breasts and alluring hips.
Before the elven sage are rows of crystal balls.
She gazes into them with keen interest, watching the stories unfold.
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Nidesia, its capital, the port city of Ansterdam.
A figure, about 175 cm tall, clad in a conical hat and cloak, with features reminiscent of the Eastern Shenzhou, stands on a ship nearing the shore. The samurai sword at his side marks him as a warrior from the far-eastern Shenzhou land of Yingzhou, the nation of ninjas and samurai.
Nearby, in a brothel, several courtesans lounge on a sofa. Before them kneels a naked, bound man—slender, fair-skinned, a typical "pretty boy." Two men in noble attire stand behind him.
"Hasn't Lady Lorena arrived yet? I bound this faithless cur for her," says a middle-aged man with a mustache.
"I caught him, old man. Why do you always steal the credit?" retorts a tall, lean, handsome man of about 26, roughly 190 cm, exuding the roguish air of a noble's troublemaking son. He seems eager to prove himself to a woman.
"I provided the intelligence," the older man snaps, glaring disdainfully.
"Mmph!" The bound man, gagged with a ball gag, whimpers in fear.
"You old fool, vying for Lorena's heart? Give up—she only loves dashing men like me!" the younger man taunts, sparking an argument.
"Young man, women prefer mature, steady men, not impulsive boys," the older man lectures.
"You—" Before the younger can retort, the door opens. All eyes turn to a stunning woman entering, holding a noble's cane.
Tall at 175 cm, she wears a black-and-red cloak over a revealing black leather outfit. The one-piece design features a short skirt with black lace trim and a sleeveless, shoulder-baring corset top, its spherical cups barely containing her ample chest, drawing every male gaze. Her arms, in elbow-length gloves, are mostly hidden by the cloak, one hand gripping the cane. Knee-high black heeled boots enhance her statuesque figure, exuding a commanding, sensual aura. Her long platinum-blonde hair, adorned with a fully bloomed red tulip, cascades down. Her skin is deathly pale, almost corpse-like, rare even among Rosenland's "white people." With crimson lips, she resembles a porcelain doll—beautiful yet eerie. Her eyes, framed by thick black eyeshadow, radiate a queenly dominance, her gaze slanting down at the room with playful disdain, her angelic face clashing with her devilish smirk.
"You've waited long, haven't you?" she says with a wicked smile, tossing her cloak aside.
The younger man, Mark, catches it, hanging it carefully on a rack. She hands him her cane, which he dutifully stores.
"So, this faithless man's been caught, Lisa," she says, glancing at the kneeling man. A 170 cm woman with brown hair follows—Lisa, dressed in a tight black dress, exuding a sharp, professional air. Her shoulder-length hair reaches her chest, and she wears crisp white gloves like a butler. Her dress, with a high collar to her ears and a plunging V-neck revealing a 34D cleavage, is scandalously short, ending at her crotch. A black fishnet top covers her exposed chest and collarbone, paired with fishnet stockings and garters, and open-toe heeled boots, giving her a sultry secretary vibe. Her stern, cold demeanor and subtle eyeshadow enhance her commanding presence, though less intense than her mistress's.
"Indeed, caught. This man, my sister's lover, dared lust after me. He deserves death," Lisa says coldly, drawing a hidden blade from her boot's heel and advancing on the whimpering man.
"Handle it, Lisa. I have matters to discuss with these charming men," the platinum-blonde says, sitting on the sofa among the courtesans, embracing them while crossing her legs. Lisa grabs the man's throat, lifting him, and drags him out amid his muffled cries.
"What, surprised my secretary's strength?" the woman, Lorena, teases, fondling the courtesans while eyeing the shocked men.
"No, Lady Lorena's beauty demands a capable protector!" Mark flatters.
"Lady Lorena, my resources found that scoundrel's hideout," the older man, Robert, insists, unwilling to be outdone.
"Your devotion is felt," Lorena purrs, blowing Robert a kiss, making him swoon.
"You—" Mark, upstaged, fumes, but Lorena interrupts, "But Mark, you personally caught him." She smiles, beckoning. Mark leans in, letting her stroke his stubbled cheek like a pet. "A reliable man."
"Of course! For you, I'd brave anything!" Mark boasts.
"Even bedding me?" Lorena's sultry gaze melts him. "O-Of course!"
"Robert, wait outside?" She winks at the dejected older man, grabs Mark's hand, and heads to a bedroom.
Soon, moans and gasps echo from the room. Robert, outside, clenches his fists in frustration.
Inside, Lorena straddles Mark, her face pressed to his sweat-drenched chest. "Your body's perfect, Mark."
"All for you, Lady Lorena!" he says eagerly.
"Would you give me more?" Her lashes flutter, stirring his heart—and his arousal.
"Everything!" Mark gazes at her doll-like face.
"Your heart?" She presses her hand to his chest.
"Of course!" he says, entranced.
"Thank you," Lorena purrs. Suddenly, her left hand covers his mouth, her right hand's red nails extend two to three centimeters, and with inhuman strength, she rips through his chest, yanking out his heart. Biting the still-connected artery, she sips the blood like a soup dumpling, the pulsing heart pumping Mark's blood into her lips.
"Aaagh!" Mark writhes, but her hand muffles his screams. To outsiders, it sounds like kinky play.
Slurp, slurp. Lorena drains him, licking the bloodied heart, then her fingers, arm, and face with a seductive grace.
Knock, knock. "Lisa?"
"Yes."
"Clean up."
Ten minutes later, Lorena, back in her leather outfit, emerges, her face clean. "Robert, so reliable, waiting fifty minutes."
"Your words are my command," he replies.
"Care to join me at the market?" Her overly sweet smile stuns him.
"Of course!" Robert notices her arm bent at a ninety-degree angle, inviting him to escort her. He slips his arm through, and they walk out.
"Robert, fetch my cloak and cane," she says sweetly.
He complies, draping the cloak over her and handing her the cane. They leave the brothel.
"Robert, won't your wife and daughter mind you with me?" she asks coyly.
"With a beauty like you? Never!" he smiles.
Lorena's smile turns wicked when he looks away, then shifts back to radiant charm. "The market has so many things girls love!"
Soon after, at Ansterdam's port, the Yingzhou ship docks. Three samurai in conical hats whisper.
"Nidesia? Is our prey here?" one asks.
"No, but it's part of my plan. Think you can face her directly?" the leader replies.
"What's the plan, Lord Ruo?"
"By coming here, our distant prey will eventually take the bait."
"How…?"
"You'll see soon. Prepare to enjoy a Rosenland beauty!" the leader laughs.
"Victory to Lord Ruo!" the others say.
In the Astral Plane
The elven sage shifts her focus to another crystal ball.
Northern Rosenland, Swadia Kingdom's border, Ingmanland, later known as Petersburg.
A white-haired, ashen-skinned man sits in a tavern, clearly not human. At 185 cm, his handsome face, though beardless, exudes rugged masculinity, the kind that makes women feel safe.
He is Thorne Markov, a royal vampire of the Markov family, once their prime heir, second only to the patriarch. With 100% pure progenitor blood, he's among the youngest royal vampires. He once shared a legendary romance with two other young royals.
Even as a human, Thorne was a nonconformist. Now, his morals differ from both vampires and humans, leading to his exile from the Markovs. Yet, he carries their heirloom, the Dark Silver Sword Markov's Blade, a top-tier vampire artifact, second only to the Dominatrix's Cursed Nightblade and the Zhao's Cornucopia.
"Still rejecting me, Kaylin?"
Sylannika, bordering the Turkic Empire
Sylannika, Rosenland's oldest region, was once dotted with city-states, thriving with overseas trade and birthing epic hero sagas. The conqueror Iskander hailed from here, leading Sylannikans eastward to find the world's end, crushing the Pars Empire and conquering most of Eta up to Inka.
Theodora Safisanis, a royal vampire of the Safisanis clan, second only to the patriarch, leads a group from Sylannika toward the Turkic Empire. Standing 290 cm tall, she towers over her entourage. Behind her is a death knight, Narcissus, 180 cm, with glowing blue eyes, wielding a massive sword. Beside him is a 175 cm woman in a hood, carrying a black double-curved blade radiating dark energy.
All wear hoods and cloaks, heading for the Turkic capital, Constantinople.
"If our vampire identities are exposed, let the exorcists think we're Dominatrixes from next door. Don't let the Safisanis name leak," Theodora says without turning, addressing her black-robed followers.
They nod. Theodora crosses into Turkic territory, gazing at a ruined Byzantine castle. In an ancient, obsolete Sylannikan dialect, she muses, "How nostalgic, my homeland."
"Even a queen like me feels nostalgia?" Her lips curl into a wicked smirk. "Indeed, purple is the finest shroud."
North Sea, north of Eliland
Beyond the Alamanti Empire lies a peninsula, home to the northern kingdom of Dans. Prince Ham of Dans stands on a sailboat heading from Eliland to his homeland. Bound to the mast is a noblewoman in a lavish gown, her alluring figure begging for rescue.
She struggles, muffled by a gag. "Mmph!"
Ham pinches her chin, sneering, "I'll make your father pay, Ophelina."
"My revenge begins."
Shenzhou, Zhendan Empire, colonial city of Jiufeng
The Zhendan Empire, Shenzhou's largest nation, hosts Jiufeng, a colonial city ceded to the Wesion Kingdom via treaty. Wesion, unified in recent decades, funded explorers who discovered the western New World and new routes to the East, securing Jiufeng.
Late at night in Jiufeng, shouts echo through Chinese-style streets. Three burly men pin a woman in a red qipao and red heeled boots to the ground, binding her.
"Let me go! Help!" The woman, 168 cm tall—a striking height in an era where Zhendan men average 160-165 cm—has her hair styled in a low, elegant bun, adorned with a gold ornament, exuding understated luxury. Her red silk qipao, embroidered with golden phoenixes, has a modest slit, radiating elegance. She is Mary Gonzales, or Li Muxun, the 20-year-old mixed-race daughter of Wesion Governor Gonzales and a Zhendan woman.With fair skin, expressive eyes, a high nose bridge, and delicate features, Li Muxun's beauty blends Zhendan grace with Wesion allure. Her 34D figure and long legs form a perfect S-curve in her tight qipao. Dubbed "Lingnan's First Beauty," she's had countless suitors, all rejected by her father, who deems them unworthy. At 20, he sees no rush to marry her off.
Tonight, black-clad men infiltrated the governor's mansion, abducting her to this dark street. Their amateurish kidnapping—failing to gag her first—allowed her to scream and resist, slowing them down. In the alley, they rectify their mistake, pinning her and binding her with ropes.
"Help! Help!" Li Muxun cries, tears welling, terrified as a sheltered noblewoman. Ambushed while heading to bed, she's overwhelmed, only able to scream and struggle against the strong men.
"Stay still, Miss Li! You're wanted by Mr. Ding!" One man twists her arms behind her, folding them into a W-shape. Another doubles a rope, looping it over her shoulders, passing it under her armpits, and wrapping her upper arms three times, lower arms twice, knotting it tightly at her wrists. The rope lifts her wrists, passing through the shoulder loop, pulling her arms upward to her shoulder blades, forcing her struggling limbs into a high, painful position.
"Agh!" Li Muxun cries. The men sneer, "Lucky it's us, Jiufeng's Sheng'an Gang, tying you. If it was our boss, you'd be worse off." They secure the rope in a Y-shape, locking her wrists inescapably.
"Help! Save me!" She struggles instinctively, but the box-tie tightens with every move, ropes biting into her flesh, her upper arms bulging like tires.
"No one's coming—" A man is knocked away by a governor's guard with a club. The gang's incompetence—allowing her screams—alerted the mansion and locals. Guards rush out, hearing her cries.
"Damn, think we're unprepared?" A thug fires a signal flare, summoning reinforcements.
"Miss!" A guard lifts Li Muxun, saying, "Hold on, I'll free you—" He's stabbed from behind. In his final act, he pushes her away from the gang.
"Don't come near!" Li Muxun trembles, realizing the guards are outnumbered, fighting desperately with no chance to save her. She's not rescued—she's in grave danger.
"Run, Miss!" the dying guard gasps. The other two are cornered. With the mansion nearby and more guards likely searching, she must flee, screaming to draw help.
"Thank you! Be careful!" Kind-hearted but helpless, Li Muxun, bound, turns and runs, tears streaming.
"Don't run, Miss Li!" A thug chases her.
"Stay away!" She sprints, screaming, "Help! Save me!"
She darts into a familiar alley closer to the mansion. Adrenaline fuels her, letting her run in heels and a restrictive qipao.
But her stamina falters. "Agh!" The thug tackles her to the ground.
"Your face is precious to our boss!" He cushions her fall with his elbow, sparing her face.
"Let me go! Mmph!" A cloth is stuffed in her mouth. "No more screaming! Should've—" A thud interrupts, and smoke erupts from a smoke bomb, blinding them.
When Li Muxun looks up, a handsome, almost feminine young man is carrying her in a princess hold, leaping across rooftops.
"Mmph!" She struggles.
"Quiet, it's no use. Ever heard of me? I'm Ge Qianyu, the thief who can steal anything. Lingnan's First Beauty, I'm stealing you!" Ge laughs, holding her tightly.
"Mmph?!" Li Muxun wails, despairing. Escaping the gang only to be caught by the elusive thief Ge Qianyu, uncatchable by all? If he takes her, no one will find her.
"Mmph!" She sobs, overwhelmed.
"Don't cry!" Ge lands on a rooftop, removing her gag. "Don't scream, and I won't gag you. Deal?"
"You…" Li Muxun glares, heartbroken. Her submissive nature yields, and she stops shouting.
"Heh, beauty, don't worry. I'm not like those gangsters. I'm gentle with women—no force!" Ge grins, carrying her. Li Muxun closes her eyes, dreading her fate.
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Western Rosenland, the Elventic
In the heart of the Elventic lies a misty realm, unreachable by human ships, known as the Overseas Fairyland.
Now, in the Fairyland, twin brothers stand before an elven army in golden armor, facing a dark, imposing force. The twins, with golden hair, are strikingly handsome, their beauty otherworldly. Their skin glows with an inner light, like the astral sage. At 198 cm, with long limbs and gymnast-like builds, they are supermodel-esque.
One twin wears a Greco-style helmet with phoenix-wing adornments, wielding the orange-hued Sacred Sword Sunflare, one of the three elven holy swords. Forged by the smith god Vulcan and enchanted by Hyperion, Lord of Dawn, it once shattered a continent.
The other wears a helmet with blue dragon motifs, holding a gold-and-silver staff topped with a full moon and a blue-flaming sword. He is an Origin Mage—what humans call a Supreme Mage.
Behind them, High Priestess Alhana Starwind, 188 cm, with golden hair, appears as a stunning 28-year-old in a robe similar to the astral sage's, accentuating her curves. Her beauty, though exquisite, remains within mortal limits, unlike the twins or sage. She sits in a chariot drawn by four pegasi, grimly eyeing the enemy—dark elves in black armor.
From their ranks steps a towering figure shrouded in shadowy mist, an Origin Mage from the ancient war, Maleksis, brother of High King Aerion. His form is obscured, but a peculiar Spartan helmet is visible, its black faceplate resembling a skull with large eye sockets, a flat nose, and carved teeth. Two fist-sized purple gems adorn the "eyes," with massive demonic horns on the sides and a rhinoceros-like horn on the forehead. Six spikes protrude from the back, forming "hair."
In the crystal ball, Maleksis raises his head, as if sensing the sage's gaze, his eerie electronic voice rumbling, "Are you watching, Aida?"
The sage smirks coldly, shifting her attention to a row of gray crystal balls.
Only a Supreme Mage can block another's scrying. Neither Maleksis nor the twins are true Supreme Mages, or in elven terms, Origin Mages.
Like a lottery, the sage casts magic on the gray balls, expecting the usual blankness.
But today, one flickers to life.
Curious, she peers in. "You're joining this dance of fate, Dominatrix?"
Sophia von Dominatrix appears in the ball.
The sage touches her slender neck. "A… pleasure collar?"