Extra's Harem: Invincibility Starts with Marriage and lots of Children-Chapter 155- Kyle’s dead

'!'

"N-no…"

Orion's body trembled as he processed those melancholic words from Kyle. They weren't spoken with mockery or anger—just a deep, unsettling calm.

The weight behind them was profound, almost echoing in the silence that followed, as if they carried something irreversible. Unlike Kyle's earlier casual tone, this felt final. Real. And that was what made it terrifying.

For a second, Orion's mind refused to believe it, but then he snapped his gaze toward the bodies lying around him. One after another. Each shift of his eyes widened them further. They weren't just unconscious… they were gone.

Dead.

His instincts reached out to detect life signatures, but there was nothing—nothing but silence.

And for the first time, those narrow, fox-like eyes of his opened fully. Wide. Shaken.

"H-how…?"

The question barely escaped his lips, more breath than voice. His vocal cords trembled with it. But before he could even try to comprehend, another reaction cut through the heavy air.

Prince Alden was rising slowly, her face pale, the oppressive weight of Orion's Qi no longer keeping her down.

'H…ow…'

Her mind stuttered. Her lips parted wordlessly as her gaze swept across the chilling stillness of the garden, where the nobles had once stood. Every single one of them—gone. No blood. No outward injury. Just… cold, lifeless bodies. The only indication of their demise was the lingering aftershock of Orion's own Qi resonance, yet even that explanation now felt absurd.

"W-what… how did he… m-mph… I mean, n-no, brother—?"

Her voice cracked mid-sentence, shattering the practiced tone of nobility. Pure disbelief slipped out before she clamped a hand over her mouth. Her gaze snapped back, and the sight stunned her even more—her brother, Prince Orion, on his knees, while the only one left standing unscathed was… Kyle Arcutus.

---

// Sh-should we help? //

One of the guards whispered telepathically, unsure if they were even allowed to intervene. None of them had ever seen the prince in this state—frozen, vulnerable, humbled. They didn't know exactly what had transpired, but they had seen that woman in red. That was enough to shake even seasoned warriors. Yet, despite the fear, their duty remained clear.

// We'll have to camouflage our attacks. He might be stronger than we expected. //

The other responded quickly. Their sole purpose was to protect the prince, no matter the odds. Cultivators lived with death on their shoulders—fear was something they'd long abandoned.

With a silent oath exchanged, both blurred forward.

Swish.

Swish.

The garden wind stirred briefly as their bodies moved with perfect synchronization, one guard shielding the other with his presence, the hidden one preparing the real strike.

Thud.

Thud.

They didn't even reach their target.

Both were hurled away mid-approach, their bodies crashing to the ground on either side of Orion like discarded dolls. Their momentum killed instantly. Their attack—meaningless.

Orion didn't even look at them. He was too lost in the crushing realization that this gathering—this stage he had so carefully set to display his might—had become his ruin. Everyone he brought for support, for dominance, now lay dead.

His expression emptied.

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"Hah… another two. At least they had good instincts," Kyle muttered, casually shaking his hand as if brushing off dust, before removing it from Orion's hair.

The prince's head drooped downward, eyes landing on the soft grass.

Unblinking. Disbelieving.

Everything he had built, every alliance, every calculation—it had all collapsed in a single afternoon. No blood. No battle cries. No grand war. Just silence. Just the suffocating quiet of a massacre so complete that it felt like fiction.

Yet it wasn't.

He could feel it—no trace of Qi, no pulse of energy. Nothing remained. Even the noblewoman, who had been the most cautious, was gone. This wasn't a skirmish. It was a clean sweep.

A graveyard. That's what this place had become.

But how? And why?

There had been no signs. No intelligence reports suggesting Kyle Arcutus could do this. He wasn't even supposed to be here.

A mortal? Capable of such absolute erasure?

He'd planned for everything—even used the one favor from the Roharians to safeguard against the appearance of the blood demoness.

He expected an old crone, not a youthful beauty cloaked in death. That misjudgment alone had doomed him.

Now, he was face-down in the dirt.

Defeated. Humbled. But not broken.

"Haah…" He let out a slow, bitter breath. "I should not have underestimated you, Kyle Arcutus…"

His lips curled into a faint smile, despite everything. All his plans had been for naught—but the greatest misstep had been underestimating the one variable no one saw coming.

Kyle Arcutus.

An anomaly. A monster disguised in human skin.

Still, Orion wasn't finished. This wasn't over. There was still Plan B.

"Everyone does that," Kyle replied coldly, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at the crumpled shell of the once-proud prince.

Naturally, it wasn't his fault. People do underestimate him for being mortal.

However, to think… this man, this vessel of an immortal—perhaps one of Aleriana's greatest future threats—had fallen so pitifully.

Not because he lacked strength.

Not because he lacked wit.

But because even the mightiest crumble before the unknown.

And Kyle… was the unknown.

"But I am not as everyone... Kyle," Orion chuckled, though blood tinged his lips. The laughter was hollow, a strained cough laced with pain and disbelief. He had been caught. He had fallen. Harder than he could've imagined.

But he was Orion.

And he would not fall twice.

"Kill him," he rasped, eyelids fluttering shut as his head touched the grass, surrendering to unconsciousness.

'—!'

'Something's wrong!'

"Olea—!"

Kyle turned his head ever so slightly, the breath barely forming on his lips when—

Thwack—!

Scklt!

A metallic whistle screamed through the air.

A blur of silver—then silence.

Kyle didn't scream.

He didn't cry out.

He just stopped.

His words hung unfinished, the sound of them stolen.

Eyes wide—not with fear. Not with pain.

But with pure disbelief.

A barbed spear had exploded from his chest, grotesquely beautiful in its craftsmanship—etched in ancient runes, its jagged edges dripping red, gleaming as though alive.

The garden fell into stunned stillness.

Drip... drip...

The blood fell in steady rhythm onto the grass, each drop blooming crimson into green.

The spear hadn't come with warning. No pressure. No killing intent. Not even a ripple of mana.

It had defied the logic of this world; it was just thrown with force like… like a bullet shot out of a gun.

Even the mind that defied logic couldn't stop it.

"Kurgh—!"

"KYLE!!!" Olea's voice cracked through the night like thunder, pure panic flooding her face as she emerged violently from his shadow. Her hand, which had barely formed to block, now clutched the embedded spear as if trying to pull time backwards.

Too late.

Far too late.

The spear had already pierced.

And her hand trembled against the searing heat of its phoenix-scaled shaft, the crimson licking her fingers like fire refusing to die.

"Kyle—!" Mialthara gasped.

The ever-composed blood fiend now stood paralyzed, her humanoid form still half-liquid, caught in between. As she had also moved, the moment saw the spear arrive just an inch away from him, but the speed was too inhuman, and due to not having any energy, she didn't sense it coming.

She had arrived late.

Too late.

Even her keen senses—always detached, always sharp—hadn't seen it coming. And now, she watched in silent horror as Kyle's body began to fail.

His fingers twitched once.

Then again.

As though trying to grasp a phantom string of reality.

"Ahhg—"

:: H–human!? ::

His breath shuddered out, shallow and thin.

Blood trickled steadily down the spear, running along the grooves like a river mapping his fading life.

Kyle lowered his gaze slowly, his eyes trying to comprehend what he was seeing.

Trying to process it.

Not panic.

Just… disbelief.

Like someone waking from a dream and finding themselves in a nightmare.

"Syst—" His lips moved weakly. No sound came, only a shallow gasp as he tried to call out, seeking to understand what had happened.

However, he knew exactly what happened here, or at least his mind seemed to realize that this spear came from a long distance with far surpassing speed, such that his body was unable to react in time.

The speed exceeded what his mind had detected as something entering his domain; yet, the speed was like a bullet—something one could detect but cannot react to in time.

And exactly, he knew from the red texture of the scales dipped in blood to whom this weapon belonged.

It was Roharians.

The merchant family rose to the elite classes after defeating them one by one.

But now it was too late.

"…Haah…"

His body jerked—once.

Then stilled.

And with a dull, heavy thud, Kyle collapsed forward into the grass.

Face-first.

The spear still embedded, its cruel barbs jutting upward like a gravestone.

Olea didn't scream.

Mialthara didn't move.

For that one suspended breath in time—

—The world had stopped.

[ System synchronization failure detected; host's safety is compromised... initiating shutdown sequence....]