Champion Of Lust: Gods Conquer's Harem Paradise!

The obsidian gates of the Obsidian Estate opened before the car could even slow to turn—an unspoken message that he was expected. The drive was long, lined with ancient, towering trees whose leaves whispered with the weight of forgotten power. And then—at the very end of the driveway—stood a man who didn't belong to this world.

Pyris Obsidian.

The word handsome didn't begin to cover it. It felt ridiculous, almost wrong, to describe him with something so simple. He was carved from elegance itself, with an effortless presence that could humble gods and kings alike. His golden eyes burned with a quiet fire—intelligent, knowing, ancient in ways that defied reason.

Dressed in understated refinement, Pyris wore a long-sleeved black shirt, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, paired with sleek, tailored trousers. No jewelry, no ostentatious flair—just pure, effortless dominance.

Drakon stepped out of his car, meeting Pyris's gaze head-on. That golden stare didn't waver—it was like the heir had been expecting him since the sun first kissed the mortal realm that day.

A smirk played on Pyris's lips. Subtle. Dangerous. Inviting.

"Crown Prince, if you may," Pyris said, gesturing toward the estate's entrance with a casual grace that felt anything but casual.

Drakon nodded silently, falling into step beside him. They walked through the grand halls—dark marble floors reflecting the low golden lights, shadows dancing along the towering walls.

Pyris led, always two steps ahead. Just enough to remind Drakon who truly owned this moment.

"Did you expect me, Young Duke?" Drakon finally asked, his voice low, steady—but layered with cautious respect.

Pyris's smirk never faded. His golden eyes cut back toward Drakon, sharp and knowing.

"Call me Lord Pyris, it's easy that way." came the smooth reply, dismissing the question entirely with effortless poise. And in that silence—between those unspoken words—the acquisition of the Dragon Empire had already begun.

____

The night air was thick with tension and purpose as Drakon sped back toward his estate. The supercar's engine growled against the silence of the open road, a deep, predatory hum that mirrored the prince's thoughts—sharp, relentless, focused.

But this drive wasn't weighed down by dread—it carried a pulse of anticipation.

For the first time in a long while, Drakon actually looked forward to what was coming. The conversation with Pyris Obsidian had been more than a success—it was a turning point, a reminder that power wasn't just about lineage or brute force. It was about vision. And Pyris had it in terrifying abundance.

When Drakon arrived back at the estate, his entourage was already prepared—silent, disciplined, and ready to move. The older woman sharp eyed him curiously, sensing something had shifted within him. But she said nothing. She didn't need to. The air around him said enough.

The others didn't even try to ask—they knew better.

The convoy moved out swiftly, their vehicles slicing through the darkness with precision until the towering lights of the launch event came into view.

And then—power.

The energy in the air was tangible as they approached, thick and oppressive like a storm ready to break. The entrance was draped in excess, with velvet ropes and security that made lesser nobles feel important. The red carpet stretched out like a vein of ambition, glittering under flashing lights as if begging for attention.

Drakon stepped out, his expression cool and unreadable. Around him, royalty paraded—nobles with gilded smiles, princes and princesses adorned in silks and gemstones, their presence loud and suffocating. They preened under the artificial glow of status and wealth.

But to Drakon, they all felt small.

After witnessing House Obsidian—after standing in the same space as Pyris—these so-called elites were nothing more than decorative shadows. No prince could hold a candle to Pyris's effortless, terrifying authority. No empress, no royal heiress could rival the women he had seen in that estate.

Monsters, his mind whispered.

The memory clawed back into him—the second miss of House Obsidian, Aurelia. The way her eyes had turned toward him, sharp and cold, like death itself had leaned forward to taste him. In that moment, he'd felt his soul slip—as if life itself had recoiled in fear.

And Alexa the human princess—those dark golden eyes that seemed to know. He doubted he could hide a single thought from her gaze. It wasn't just beauty with them—it was raw, suffocating power.

Then there was the one Pyris called, Alera.

Just thinking about her made his pulse stutter. Her mere presence was like standing on the edge of oblivion, calling your soul forward to see if it would dare survive. A bead of cold sweat slid down his temple. His throat felt dry.

Monsters, the word echoed louder this time. Not of flesh and blood alone—but of something far older. Something ancient.

He took a breath, steadying himself. No one noticed his unease. No one could know that the Crown Prince of the Dragon Empire had glimpsed something so terrifying it left even him shaken.

As Drakon stepped onto the red carpet, the atmosphere shifted—like gravity had suddenly thickened around him.

This was his domain.

The hum of conversation dulled for a heartbeat, and then—recognition swept through the crowd like wildfire. Heads turned. Whispers followed in hushed, reverent waves. Nobles straightened their postures, heirs and dignitaries offered sharp nods of respect, and even the most arrogant of princes faltered in their smug expressions.

He was Drakon, the Crown Prince of the Dragon Empire. Not just a title, but power personified—dominance wrapped in dark golden robes stitched with black patterns of his bloodline heritage, shimmering like liquid shadow under the soft lights. Every inch of his presence screamed royalty, authority, and a future ruler destined to reshape his empire.

"Your Highness," voices murmured from all directions as he passed. Some bowed their heads. Others dropped into slight, respectful inclines—no one dared offer less.

The red carpet didn't feel like a luxury beneath his feet—it felt like a throne path, laid out for a king not yet crowned.

Behind him, his entourage followed closely. The older woman kept a respectful distance, her sharp gaze cutting through the crowd with silent warning. The two others—a man in his thirties and another woman—matched the formality of the moment, embodying silent power and loyalty.

But Drakon? He didn't need to posture. His authority was unspoken, draped across him like an invisible mantle.

And yet, even amidst the admiration and fear in their eyes, all he could think of was how small this grandeur felt compared to what he'd witnessed at the Obsidian estate.

The princes here—dressed in their tailored arrogance, flaunting titles and legacies—were nothing more than children pretending to be kings.

The princesses and noblewomen? Adorned in glittering gowns and heavy jewels, yes—but none carried that bone-deep power of Alera or the suffocating knowledge that bled from Alexa's gaze. Stay updated through My Virtual Library Empire

These royals were just… decorations in his new view of power.

Still, Drakon played his part. His steps were measured, his posture perfect. He nodded when necessary, accepting the waves of recognition with a cold, effortless grace. The respect was expected—it was his by right. But the fear he'd felt earlier? That chilling reminder of what true power looked like and how held the power of the young generation?

That lingered under his skin like a brand.

The launch was alive with energy, the hum of power woven into every corner of the grand venue. Guards stood at attention, the elite of society mingled in calculated circles, and reporters buzzed at the edges, desperate for a glimpse of true influence.

But as Drakon moved through the crowd, every interaction felt hollow.

They didn't know what real power was. And as that cold realization settled deeper into him, Drakon couldn't help but smirk.

Tonight, they celebrated wealth, titles, and legacy.

But he knew better.

The true game had already begun for the empire and other empires. And it wasn't being played on red carpets or behind diplomatic smiles—it had started the moment he shook hands with Pyris Obsidian.