Extra's Life: MILFs Won't Leave the Incubus Alone-Chapter 215: The Dragons Grief

The empire.

The mighty empire, the only empire of this known world.

Even thinking the word made the air feel heavier, as if the very syllables carried the weight of history—wars that scorched continents, treaties signed with trembling hands, Noble houses built upon mountains of bones and triumphs.

The empire stood as an epitome of power, a tapestry of ancient bloodlines woven with arrogance, brilliance, and unrestrained ambition. Each of the main houses—monstrous pillars of wealth—was powerful, ingloriously powerful.

Powerful in military, powerful in magic, powerful in politics; powerful in the way a storm was powerful, or a volcano, or a sleeping dragon curled above a hoard that could drown nations in gold.

A single main house could conquer three neighboring kingdoms.

Not tame, not politely negotiate, not merely defeat—conquer.

Overrun. Absorb. Dominate.

There was enough might in each house to carve a new age from the bones of the old. Enough might to crush continents if left unchecked. Enough might that, by all reasonable expectation, the empire should have been in the brink of civil war every decade—emperor or no emperor, crown or no crown, unity or pretended unity.

But no.

Even after the great tragedy.

Even after the long, uneasy peace.

Even after centuries of quiet tension twisting between houses like invisible thorns—

The empire endured. Unshaken. Unbroken. Steady like a titan who refused to kneel.

By the hands of the Imperial family.

Why?

How could a single bloodline manage goliaths, manage titans, manage fire-breathing draconic Noble families hungry for dominion?

Why, you ask?

Aiden knew.

He could feel the answer lurking beneath every political whisper, every carefully controlled story, every moment the emperor’s shadow extended across the land like a cloak that hid something—something ancient, something that made even monsters bow.

The Imperial family were monsters of a different kind.

Not monsters by cruelty or madness.

Monsters by possession.

They possessed one single thing that no one else in the world did. One single thing that turned world-ending houses into obedient children. Aiden knew what they held, what they guarded, what they embodied—

—but that was knowledge for another time.

Knowledge far too heavy to place upon the world just yet.

For now, Aiden needed to grow.

Grow more.

Grow faster.

And of course...

Fast growth attracts flies.

Flies like the one standing in front of him now.

The father of the main character.

The general manager of the Slayer Guild.

A hulking shadow of a man whose presence filled the room with a suffocating heat, like an over-stoked forge. His wide shoulders blocked out half the light behind him.

His jaw was clenched so tightly that veins pulsed along his temple like thick ropes straining to snap. His breath came heavy, labored with fury he barely held in check.

He loomed over Aiden and Arina—Aiden seated comfortably, Arina perched neatly beside him, her legs crossed, her posture straight, composed in that slightly arrogant way that came naturally to her.

The newly popular guild, Arcane, had become their pride. Their territory. Their symbol of influence.

And this man—this general manager—had barged in like a bull into a temple.

Aiden lifted his eyes lazily, as though bored, as though the hulking man was nothing more than a mild annoyance.

"John," Aiden said, because he genuinely couldn’t be bothered to remember the man’s real name. "What do you want?"

The hulking figure trembled with indignation.

"That’s not my—!"

But before he could finish, Arina cut cleanly through his temper like a shard of ice.

"It’s useless," she said, waving a hand dismissively without even looking at him. "Completely useless, John. Doesn’t matter why you came. Our answer is the same."

Her tone sharpened as she continued, each word like a silver dagger expertly thrown.

"Our guild will not close."

"We will not ’partner’ with the Slayer Guild."

"And we will not sell anything to you."

The repeated will not was a hammer striking the man’s ego with each beat.

Aiden added, "Yes, John, so please scoff off. Some of us are busy."

"THAT IS NOT MY NAME!" the man roared, face turning crimson.

But neither Aiden nor Arina flinched.

In fact, Aiden blinked slowly, almost pityingly.

The man took a shaky breath, pointed a thick finger at them, and spat, "You will regret this! Both of you! You— you don’t know who you’re messing with!"

His voice cracked—more from frustration than threat—and he stormed out, practically shaking the walls with each pounding step.

Aiden watched him go, then exhaled lightly.

"Potato, potata," he murmured. "Same thing. Bugs will be bugs. Interferers will interfere. Nature of things."

Arina finally rose from her seat, smoothing her skirt and brushing off imaginary dust. She watched Aiden slide casually into her chair—her throne-like seat of authority—and the way he fit into it so comfortably made her lips curl upward.

He didn’t sit like a guild master.

He sat like a man who expected the world to seat itself for him.

"Guild master," she said with a small bow of her head, "what will our next step be? We already have more than a thousand members."

Aiden tapped the armrest, thinking only for a heartbeat before answering.

"Same as the Adventurers Guild," he said. "We filter."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Filter?"

He nodded.

"Split the useless from the capable. The capable from the talented. The talented from the geniuses. The geniuses from the miracles."

He raised a finger.

"Miracle bringers are rare. But they exist. And oh they exist in plenty number..."

Arina leaned closer. "So you want to grade them? A, B, C, like the adventuring guild?"

"Yes," Aiden said, "but also no."

She blinked.

"That kind of grading makes it hard to spot miracle bringers. Even an F-rank adventurer might hold the potential of an SSS."

He didn’t speak with awe.

He spoke with certainty.

"For now," Aiden continued, handing her a thick batch of papers, "we categorize by class. Warrior, tank, mage, caster... everything. Subclasses, advanced branches, specializations. A clearer system. Something...something more efficient."

Arina flipped through the pages. Her eyes widened with each sheet.

"This... this is revolutionary," she whispered. "This could give so many people jobs. Clear directives. Structured paths."

She looked at him again, her eyes shining.

"Aiden... you’re a genius."

Aiden nodded once.

"Yes...yes I am."

He meant it.

He believed it.

He didn’t hide it.

He also thought, half amused, half pragmatic:

If I didn’t do this, someone else eventually would. A world with mana and magic deserves systematic classification. My world did it. Why not here?

He could at least do this much.

.

.

.

After everything was finished at the guild, he came to the exit, where the entrance of the city laid open.

Aiden waved goodbye to the saintess. Calipso looked radiant even as exhaustion clung faintly to her features. She stood on the steps of her carriage, giving him one last stubborn look—half sweet, half possessive—before waving again.

Then she was gone.

Aiden finally let out a breath, long and relieved.

She had been on him twenty-four seven, her unyielding devotion smothering even for him. He didn’t dislike her—far from it—but her presence was... overwhelming.

As he turned back toward the palace, another carriage barreled down the road, golden and polished, the horses driven as though the driver’s life depended on speed alone. Aiden stepped aside just in time as the wheels thundered past.

It headed toward the palace—the Leonidus Palace.

He frowned.

"What now?"

One problem after another.

He began walking. He could have gained on them, but walking gave him time to think. To breathe. To prepare his expression. The wind brushed against his hair, carrying the subtle scent of smoke, flowers, and the residual mana always present in the sky-piercing capital.

By the time he reached the palace, the sun had climbed high, bathing the white stone walls in bright gold.

The golden carriage sat at the corner.

He saw the symbol—a dragon. A golden dragon, with wings unfurled in mid-roar.

Archduke’s house.

Catherine’s house.

His pace quickened.

Inside the palace, servants were scattered like frightened birds. Some hid behind pillars, some whispered nervously, others simply froze when they saw him—as if relief and fear warred inside them.

A servant girl ran up to him—Akidna.

" Aiden," she said, breathless, "where were you? Lady Catherine—she’s—she’s in the armory. In... rage."

Rage was too soft a word.

The echo of destruction rolled down the hall—crashing, slamming, a metallic shriek of armor hitting stone. The sound vibrated through the palace like a beast’s anguished roar.

Aiden sped up.

Servants flattened against the walls to let him pass.

He reached the armory door. The air around it was sharp, metallic, tinged with the scent of gold mana and burning fury. The temperature felt warped—as if Catherine’s grief had changed the atmosphere itself.

He opened the door.

Inside—chaos.

Armor scattered across the ground. Swords thrown aside. Shattered stands. A few shields were stuck into the stone walls as if hurled with inhuman strength. The room was heavy with the metallic tang of fear and heartbreak.

And Catherine—

Catherine stood in golden armor, her hair wild, her breath ragged. Tears carved glowing streaks down her cheeks. She rummaged through helmets, throwing them aside with desperate fury.

"WHERE IS IT? WHERE IS THE GOD—DAMN HELMET—! I WILL KILL THEM! I WILL KILL THEM ALL—!"

Aiden stepped forward.

"....Catherine."

She froze.

Slowly, she turned toward him.

Her eyes—normally fierce, blazing with warrior pride—were red, swollen, overflowing. A raging storm on the surface, but beneath it—shattered vulnerability. A child’s grief trapped inside a warrior’s armor.

"Aiden..." she whispered.

Then she ran to him.

And broke.

Catherine collapsed against him, her entire body trembling, armor clanking as her fists clutched his clothes. She cried—not the elegant, restrained tears of a noblewoman, but raw, guttural sobs that tore from deep inside her.

"They ...They killed him," she choked. "They killed my... father."

Her words were daggers plunged into air already heavy with grief.

Her tears burned against his neck.

Her breath shook like failing steel.

Aiden held her.

Not as a strategist.

Not as a monster.

But as the only stable point in a world that had just shattered around her.

Her father.

The Archduke.

The golden dragon.

A man too powerful to be felled easily.

Too important to die quietly.

Too influential to vanish without shaking the continent.

And yet—

Catherine’s grief was real.

Her tears were real.

Her trembling was real.

Aiden’s mind raced—calculating possibilities, implications, political ripples, hidden traps—but he kept his body still, steady, letting her crumble.

"Tell me," he said softly. "Everything."

She shook her head violently against him, the golden plates of her armor rattling with the motion.

"I don’t—I can’t—Aiden—"

Words dissolved into sobs.

He lowered his hand to the back of her head, fingers brushing gently over her hair, acknowledging the shattered pieces she tried and failed to hold onto.

For a moment, they simply stood there—

her grief a storm,

his presence the unmoving anchor.

And somewhere deep inside Aiden’s chest, a cold calculation whispered:

If the Archduke is truly dead... the empire has just changed. No the plot has just changed...and drastically so.

But another softer voice coiled beneath that:

Or perhaps... someone wants us to believe he is.

Catherine didn’t know.

She couldn’t know.

Not yet.

Her grief was honest—

—but the truth behind it?

That remained shrouded.

She trembled again, gripping him tighter, as if afraid he, too, would disappear.

Outside the armory, servants stood frozen, listening to her sobs, understanding instinctively that the golden dragon house had just lost its heart.

Aiden closed his eyes.

A storm was coming.

He could feel its breath.

And Catherine, shaking in his arms, was the first crack of thunder.

Her fingers tightened at his back.

"Aiden..." she whispered again, voice hoarse, barely audible. "Don’t—don’t let me fall...i...i..."

He held her closer.

"shuu...You won’t. I’m here, I’m always here..."