Extra's Life: MILFs Won't Leave the Incubus Alone-Chapter 213: The empress’s Letter.

After a few days.

Peace in Leonidus was never real peace.

It was the quiet that lingered after a storm but before a worse one—the kind of silence where even wind felt hesitant, as though the sky itself was waiting to see which of Aiden’s lies would bloom into reality next.

Days had passed since the assassins were slaughtered, since the saintess’ identity had been rewritten, since the Church had realized something in Leonidus was slipping out of their grip like sand through trembling fingers.

And in those days, Aiden remained Lucifer.

He walked the city’s stone roads with his prophet’s robes, trailed by whispers and awe. Mothers pressed their foreheads to the ground. Older men cried when he healed their limbs with nothing but a touch. Children followed him in clusters, pointing at the faint glow surrounding his fingertips.

Miracles.

But they were not miracles.

They were skill manipulations—precise, elegant illusions crafted from stolen movements and copied talents. Arina’s gifted skill, Copy, had become one of the most devastating tools in Aiden’s arsenal. The trifalling war? The sweeping blade strikes? The shield-shattering magic bursts? All of them—borrowed from slayers, adventurers, elite mages.

Aiden didn’t need to learn everything.

He just needed to witness it once.

And the people worshipped him for it.

Their fear of the church waned. Their devotion shifted.

And devotion—Aiden knew—was the most valuable currency in an empire that was on the verge of collapse.

The emperor lay sick, the empress fought rebellions, archdukes whispered treason, nobles gambled for territory...

And rumors whispered that the emperor was already dead.

No one had time to care about the Church’s tantrums.

Even the letters that arrived from Augustus—tightly sealed, stamped with imperial wax—were panicked in tone. Augustus demanded explanations. He asked what happened in Leonidus. Why the saintess was involved. Why his family was now standing beside a man claiming to be a prophet.

Aiden smirked whenever he broke open one of the letters.

Augustus knew nothing.

The Church knew less.

And the empire had no time to challenge him.

All perfect.

All intentional.

He stood at the outer balcony of the church tower, overlooking the city. The wind was cool, brushing against his face like fingers tugging at his thoughts. Below, hundreds of people gathered around the stone courtyard, whispering prayers with his name in them.

Lucifer...

Lucifer...

Please look at us—

It was intoxicating.

It was dangerous.

And it was exactly what he needed.

Footsteps approached him—light but confident.

Luna.

She came to his side, her red hair tied back, armor gleaming faintly beneath her cloak. "The mages from our region have arrived," she reported. "Powerful ones. They owe our house favors. They will guard the city’s perimeter and purge threats on sight."

Aiden nodded without looking at her. "Good."

"And the knights from the garrison arrived as well," Luna added. "They’re stationed at every gate. Not even a rat could sneak in without being skewered."

There was a small pause.

A breath of pride.

A rare softness.

"You don’t need to worry anymore."

Aiden let the words sit in the air.

Worry?

No.

Preparation?

Always.

"They won’t attack again—not like last time," she continued. "Security is now at its maximum."

Aiden tilted his head. "Maximum is never enough."

Luna blinked. "Aide—lucifer"

"Not when the church is sharpening knives in the dark."

Before Luna could respond, another presence slipped beside them.

Arina.

Her eyes glowed with the pride of a job completed. "It’s done," she said. "The guild is established. Everything is prepared. The building, the staff, the dormitories, the enchanted registry."

She paused, then smiled.

"And people are already lining up to join."

Aiden faced her fully.

"How many?"

Arina took a slow breath. "Hundreds."

Aiden arched a brow. "Hundreds?"

"Because of the advertisement."

She repeated it with amusement.

"Free healing.

Free healing.

Free healing."

The three words echoed like a holy chant—ironically more powerful than any scripture the Church ever printed.

Aiden grinned.

"Good. Very good."

"And the Church won’t make a move yet," Arina added. "They’re silent. Cautious. Confused."

"I know," Aiden murmured. "My spy told me."

The Inquisitor—still in his grip—had whispered every secret the Church tried to conceal. Every strategy. Every panic-filled meeting. Every hesitation.

They would not attack Leonidus again.

Not until they understood what "Lucifer" truly was.

By the time they did—

it would be too late.

Aiden walked through the halls of the church, heading toward the saintess’ room.

Her chamber was larger now—grand, ornate, generously prepared by nuns who believed they were serving a holy woman. The air inside smelled faintly of perfumed incense, roses, and the sweetness she naturally carried.

He pushed open the door.

She sat on her bed, waiting for him.

Calipso.

The name he had given her. The identity he had installed inside her dreams like a seed buried deep, wrapped in warmth and deception. She was no longer the saintess—not to herself. She believed she was a succubus like him. Believed she had been abandoned by heaven and accepted by him instead.

Aiden controlled his breath.

The mask she once wore was gone, lying forgotten on the pillow. The woman revealed beneath it was... astonishing. Too beautiful. Too gentle. Too dangerous to his self-control.

Her outfit—tight, form-fitting, dark—hugged her curves in a way that made Aiden’s jaw tighten. That had been her choice, not his. Something in her mind—something he’d planted—made her dress like a succubus should.

She raised her head slowly when he entered.

"oh Aiden," she whispered.

His fingers curled.

He hadn’t told her to call him that.

She decided that herself.

Calipso rose from the bed, stepping closer. Her movements were soft but deliberate, as though she unconsciously sought his warmth. Her eyes—once filled with holy clarity—now reflected something tender, hungry, and loyal to the point of tragedy.

Anything for Aiden...

He cleared his throat. "Calipso."

She smiled.

A soft, devastating smile that made a muscle in his neck twitch.

"Aiden," she answered. "You called for me."

He nodded, forcing composure. "I need a favor."

She stepped closer. Too close. The scent of roses and faint mana drifted from her hair. Warm breath brushed his collarbone.

"Anything," she whispered. "Anything for the one who saved me when everyone else wanted me dead."

Aiden’s throat tightened.

Another lie he had placed inside her.

But the way she said it—

so sincere...

so grateful...

so heartbreakingly willing—

made something cold crawl up Aiden’s spine.

He placed a hand on her head, patting her gently to shift her focus.

"It’s time," he said.

She tilted her head. "Time... for what?"

"To reply."

Her eyes softened. "Who must I answer?...the only person I will ever answer is to you and only you..."

Aiden looked down at her.

"i know my dear Calipso.....but, its time, time for you to reply...to the Empress."

Calipso’s breath caught.

A soft gasp. A ripple of recognition.

And then—

a flicker of something darker.

She lowered her eyes, her voice quiet.

"Yes... Aiden. I will write whatever you command."

Her fingers trembled slightly as she clasped her hands together—a tiny gesture, but one Aiden noticed. Aiden felt an ache settle in his chest that he quickly smothered. Not guilt. Not regret.

Just the awareness that he was now responsible for a girl whose entire sense of self he had rebuilt from dust.

He stepped behind her, guiding her toward the writing desk. Her steps were obedient, fluid. She sat when he nudged her shoulder gently.

The candles lit the room with soft gold, casting shadows across her exposed collarbones, across her cheeks, across the faint shimmer of mana that constantly pulsed beneath her skin.

Aiden placed a sheet of imperial parchment before her. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

Her eyelashes fluttered.

"What shall I write?" she whispered.

Aiden leaned down, his voice warm but firm.

"Write that...

the saintess has chosen her path.

That she stands with me—

the prophet.

And that the empire will soon understand truth the Church tried to hide."

Her lips parted.

She wrote.

Slowly. Gracefully. Almost lovingly.

Each stroke of her quill echoed like a promise.

Aiden watched her write.

Watched the way her shoulder blades moved beneath her clothes.

Watched the calm, absolute devotion in her gaze.

Something twisted inside him.

Dangerous.

Familiar.

Unwelcome.

But he let it simmer.

Because devotion—even if manufactured—was power.

And power was the only thing that would save him from the future that was hunting him.

When she finished the letter, she looked up, smiling softly, hopefully.

"Aiden," she whispered, "did I write it well?"

He took the parchment from her delicate fingers.

"Yes," he murmured. "Perfect... impeccably Perfect."

Her smile deepened—warm, bright, heartbreakingly sincere.

"I’m glad...

I want to be useful to you...my prophet, my Aiden.."

She pressed her hands to her chest.

"I want to stand beside you forever."

Aiden looked at her.

Really looked.

At her devotion.

At the identity he built for her.

At the fragile humanity hidden beneath succubus desire.

He reached out and stroked her hair once—

gentle.

Almost regretful.

"Good," he said quietly.

Calipso closed her eyes, leaning into his touch with a soft, relieved sigh.

Outside the window, wind brushed the glass—

a quiet warning.

A shifting of fate.

And in the dim candlelight, Aiden realized something unsettling:

The more he shaped her...

The more she shaped him.

But he stepped away before the thought could root itself.

"Prepare yourself," he said calmly. "Things will move quickly from now on."

"Yes," she whispered. "I will follow you."

Her voice trembled with devotion.

"I will follow you to the end."