Here it was — the silver doors of a one-story marvel. Not towering, but regal in design, styled with grace that matched any palace. The grand entrance was painted in pure silver, etched with golden lines that shaped into a pair of long fox ears.
Allen's heart pounded. Not from fear — but anticipation, curiosity... and just a little impatience. Elara's grip on his wrist was warm — not just guidance, but possession. Dominance.
Four other maids led the way. They moved in sync, like sisters bred from the same mother — same body shape, same eyes, same hair. Born to serve royalty.
They didn't touch the door.
It opened on its own, drawn by a force unseen.
What waited beyond was darkness — not shadowed, but black, like a silent cave.
Barefoot, they stepped inside, their soles tapping faintly against the polished floor. Allen followed the path, heart racing harder with each step, sweat already trailing down his temple. Natasha walked behind him, face unreadable, eyes lost in quiet thought.
Inside, Allen's gaze swept across the dimly lit hall.
"What timeline is this? This feels ancient… or behind time," he whispered.
There wasn't much to see. The palace interior was almost bare, lit only by thin streams of sunlight slipping through the curtained windows and the soft glow of orange candlelight flickering from a far-left corner.
There stood a long table.
Set for a feast.
Elven dishes, delicacies, and fruits filled the surface, and around it — seated figures, beautiful and powerful.
"Good day, family. I'm back," Elara called, smirking as she led Allen closer to the table.
All eyes had already turned to them the moment the doors opened. Gaze after gaze swept over Natasha… then settled on Allen. Unfamiliar. Unannounced.
Allen's instincts went into overdrive.
He could count them — eleven. Eleven elves, all beastkin in presence. His eyes stayed low, posture composed, even while his nerves sparked. He could feel his own aura humming, pushing confidence to the surface to cover the trembling inside.
"Greetings, royalties," Allen said casually, bowing deeply.
"You all look... radiant."
"Who's the handsome one you brought back, Elara?" a woman smirked from the table. She wore a golden crown on her blood-red hair — naked like the rest, skin glowing with age-defying beauty. Her breasts sat proudly, full and flawless despite her clearly mature age.
Throne Queen Three — Stephanie.
"He's—" Elara began, but Allen cut in smoothly, his tone sharp like a trained knight.
"I'm Allen," he said with a dramatic bow, one hand to his chest, the other extended.
"Not an elf, not a demon — a human. Smart. Handsome. White-cum, and... an evolving dick."
Gods, that sounds stupid, he thought, but it might just work.
"What an intriguing introduction," purred another woman nearby, biting her finger and eyeing Allen's confident posture — and clearly aroused state.
She had the same red hair as Queen Stephanie, red irises, but a much smaller bust. A golden pin in her hair marked her as royalty.
Princess Clara.
"White cum, you say?" the next woman asked — brown-haired, with fair skin and proportions that could only be described as "just enough." A matching pin sat in her hair.
She turned in her chair and spread herself playfully.
"How about you show me?" said Princess Mia.
"He's with me," Elara snapped, grabbing Allen's wrist again. Her eyes narrowed protectively.
"Come on, Elara," another girl purred — identical to Mia in every way. Her twin.
"You can share."
A richer voice followed.
"A human?" Queen Elizabeth, Throne Queen Number One, leaned forward. Her golden crown shimmered in the low light. Her breasts nearly rested on the table, too large to ignore, too divine to challenge.
"I've always wanted to mix bloodlines."
"I knew it," laughed another Queen beside her — crown gleaming, ass dominant, her body clearly blessed from the waist down.
Queen Liora — Throne Queen Two.
"We could all take turns."
"I agree!" all ten women at the table chorused, raising their hands with smirks.
"I don't," Elara said flatly, still holding Allen's wrist.
"He's mine."
"This is good," Allen whispered under his breath, smiling like a gambler who just saw the dice roll his way.
"ENOUGH."
The dining hall fell dead silent.
The air thinned, and even breath seemed too loud.
A voice — deep, masculine, ancient — had spoken.
From the end of the table, he rose.
Kealion. The King.
He stepped forward like a god wearing skin. Shoulders broad. Structure built like a myth. His length — massive — lay partially on the ground like a third leg. Golden crown on his head. Every step thundered without sound.
Allen's posture nearly collapsed under the sheer pressure. Kealion's aura wasn't just strong. It was absolute.
The King stopped inches from Allen.
He studied him — slowly — one hand on his thick beard.
"No long ears. No tail. No horns. Just ordinary... with a 'growing dick,' you say."
"I see nothing special," Kealion said, voice unreadable.
Then he paused.
"You said you're smart?"
Allen swallowed hard.
"Y-yes..."
The King turned his head slightly, red eyes glowing like embers in the dark.
"I'll give you one chance."
He paused. Everyone listened.
"We're investigating a new monster pattern outside the walls. In two days, you'll join the scouts. Prove yourself useful… and I'll make you my prince — something neither elf nor demon."
A pause.
"But fail…" the King's voice dropped lower, heavier.
"…and you won't live to regret it."
Allen's knees wobbled. Sweat drenched his back.
"I… I will not disappoint you, my king," he whispered, voice shaking.
"I don't care," Kealion replied, and with that, he turned and ascended the stairs, dismissing them all with silence alone.
"You okay?" Natasha asked softly, crouching beside Allen, whose face was still down, locked on the floor like gravity had gotten heavier.
His eyes were still trembling. Kealion's voice and presence echoed in his skull like thunder that wouldn't stop.
"I need to fuck," he whispered.
"What was that?" Natasha blinked, tilting her head with a grin.
"Let's go," Elara said calmly, her voice cutting in.
She took Allen's wrist again, possessive but composed. Around her, the other queens and princesses were still watching, some in envy, others in silent challenge.
"You'll stay in my chamber," Elara continued. "You too, Natasha. It would be unfair to take him away from you completely."
She led them both up the staircase, her gaze flicking back at the royal women — her rivals — with a silent warning. 'Don't try it.'
Allen followed, half-lost in thought, half-burning in fury. His body trembled — not from fear, but from drive.
"Damn it… damn it… damn it…" he muttered, teeth clenched.
Kealion's figure burned in his head like a curse. Every step Allen took echoed with that pressure.
'King or not… I'll crush him.'
His fists clenched so tight his finger bones cracked.
'How many ass abilities can I copy in two days?'
'I'll just keep fucking.'
Just then the green panel appeared in front of him hovering mid air like a tool for gods,
[Copy system tasks]
[Quest: Prove worth to the king]
[Duration: four days]
[Penalty if failed: Lose one ball. (Might as well leade to death)
[Reward: +50 charm and 1 new ability]
[QUEST BEGINS NOW..!]
Allen didn't look, he just listened as his heart pounded the more,
"Now a quest? Is this system after my life...like..for real?" He whispered as the ascended the stairs. "I don't even know what these monster are but....what I know is I'm not gonna lose a ball. Not in this damn gift of a world."
They reached the upper floor and walked the hallway. Elara stopped at the fourth wooden door on the right.
She opened it with a flick of her fingers. No magic — just authority.
The room welcomed them with soft, warm sunlight pouring through the wide window across from the door. The bed sat perfectly centered — polished, brown, neatly made — laid across black-and-white tiled flooring. The air was calm. Clean. Peaceful.
But Allen's aura refused to let it stay that way.
He didn't hesitate.
He grabbed Elara's waist and laid her down on the bed, eyes locked on her flushed face, hunger burning behind his stare.
"You're strong…" she whispered, breath uneven as her body reacted beneath him.
Allen didn't laugh. He just gave her a crooked smile — the kind you wear before you conquer something holy.
"How many rounds do you want?"