The dungeon floor trembled as the orcs appeared, their massive bodies towering over the battlefield. Muscles hardened like stone, tusks glinting, and their roars echoed through the dark chamber. Orcs—creatures known for their ferocious strength and brutal combat skills—were now charging at Ray and his newly bound slime clan.

  The slimes, however, did not retreat. Instead, they bounced forward, their gelatinous bodies shifting into battle-ready forms. With a unified motion, they launched themselves at the orcs. What looked like harmless blobs moments ago became weapons of fluid destruction. Some expanded and wrapped around the legs of orcs, pulling them down, while others compressed themselves into hardened spheres, striking like heavy cannonballs.

  The orcs fought back viciously, swinging massive axes and clubs. Their strikes shattered some of the slimes into fragments, but what stunned Ray was watching those same slimes reform instantly, their bodies stitching back together as if nothing had happened. Even when one was completely torn apart, the bond of the contract allowed its essence to regenerate or revive.

  And then there was Violet.

  She moved like a storm through the battlefield, her violet-and-black form gleaming ominously. Each wave of her hand sent powerful bursts of corrosive slime toward the orcs, melting their weapons and armor.

  She even shifted her body into sharp-edged whips and blades, slicing through enemies that tried to overwhelm her. Her aura radiated confidence and authority, and the orcs—fearsome as they were—stood no chance before her monarch power.

  Ray stood at the back, his ghost sword ready, but he didn’t need to intervene much. Watching Violet tear through the orcs with elegance and raw power filled him with pride. So this is the strength of the slime clan… my soldiers.

  The battle raged on, but despite being outnumbered, the slimes overwhelmed the orcs with persistence, adaptability, and sheer regenerative advantage. One by one, the orcs fell, their roars fading into silence.

  When the last orc collapsed, Violet stood at the front of the slime army, victorious yet calm, her gaze turning back to Ray as if awaiting his approval. Ray smiled faintly. This is amazing. Even if one of them falls, they will rise again. I couldn’t have asked for better allies.

  But as he sheathed his sword, he felt it again—that uneasy sensation gnawing at his core. Something was wrong. The dungeon was quiet now, too quiet. And then, at the far end of the chamber, a massive door slowly appeared, its surface engraved with ominous patterns glowing faintly.

  Ray narrowed his eyes. The orcs were only a prelude. The final showdown of this floor had begun.

  Ray pushed open the towering black door, and the heavy sound of stone grinding against stone echoed through the chamber. The slime clan and Violet slipped back into his shadow realm, their glowing forms fading into the darkness within him. Now, he walked alone.

  At first, the room was suffocatingly dark, an endless abyss that seemed to swallow even his breath. Then—fwoosh—one torch lit up, burning with an eerie blue flame. Another followed, then another, until a perfect circle of cold fire illuminated the massive hall.

  At the far end, a throne carved of obsidian and bone rose from the shadows. Upon it sat a woman.

  Her beauty was unearthly, dangerous, and overwhelming. Her aura filled the air with temptation, drawing the soul closer against its will. She was half demon, half succubus—the Monarch of Love, Lust, Sex, and Beauty.

  Her dress was exactly as her presence demanded: a two-piece set.

  The top piece was a bandeau-style bikini top with thin straps and a prominent gold-colored clasp or detail at the center front between the cups. Her breast’s lower part, her belly, was bare, smooth, and glowing faintly under the torchlight.

  The bottom piece was a long red skirt that reached below her knees, almost to her ankles. It featured a high slit on one side, revealing her leg, with a knotted or draped detail around her hip area, creating a flattering silhouette. Her dress appeared flowy and hot, lustrous and sexy, perfectly reflecting her name.

  Her gaze locked on Ray, eyes glowing crimson, a faint smile curving on her lips. Around her, archdemons stood like statues, their eyes gleaming with bloodlust. Their claws dripped with dark magic, their presence suffocating, forming a circle of predators ready to pounce.

  The air grew heavy. The floor trembled. The stage was set for a death play.

  But Ray did not falter. He stood calm in the center of it all, his hand resting on the hilt of Nyxaria the Death. His eyes did not waver from the monarch upon the throne.

  For in that moment, beyond the looming demons and the seductive monarch’s crushing aura, Ray had found something greater. Something he needed more than anything else.

  Not survival. Not glory. Not fear.

  It was purpose—a reason to wield his power, to press forward, to fight until everything fell before him.

  And as the torches burned brighter, the true battle of this floor was about to begin.

  The torches flickered violently, their cold blue fire bending as though bowing to the figure on the throne. The Monarch of Lust, Love, Sex, and Beauty—the half-demon, half-succubus sovereign—rested her cheek against her hand, her crimson eyes never leaving Ray.

  Ray tightened his grip on Nyxaria the Death, but inside his heart a strange unease stirred. The woman before him was not just another monarch, not just another trial of the dungeon. Her aura was too familiar. The way it wrapped around his soul felt… remembered.

  And then it struck him.

  Eryndor.

  In a life long before Raylight, Eryndor had divided himself into eight sacred fragments—each one carrying not just raw strength, but his very essence: power, memory, and soul. Five of these pieces were mere relics of strength scattered across the tapestry of time and worlds. But the eight fragments were different—they were his truth.

  And this monarch… she possessed one of them.

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  The fourth piece.

  The Mirror of Soul.

  It was not just a relic—it was the vessel that held Eryndor’s pure soul and memories. It was the key to awakening. If the Mirror resonated within Raylight’s sealed heart, then the true self of Eryndor would awaken. But the Mirror could only shine fully in the presence of one thing—

  Serenith’s reincarnation.

  The thought made Ray’s chest ache. Serenith… the one who remained when gods and monarchs betrayed him, the one he had sworn to love beyond eternity. If her reincarnation was out there, then his awakening was bound to her presence.

  But first, he had to claim the fragment.

  And yet—something still tugged at his mind. Something far more dangerous than the trial before him. The woman. The monarch herself.

  Her beauty was intoxicating, her aura suffocating, but beneath it, Ray recognized something.

  The way her magic pulsed like a melody he had once known. The way her gaze, sharp yet oddly sorrowful, pierced into his soul. The throne room’s silence was broken when her lips curled into a faint smile.

  “Have you truly forgotten me, Eryndor?” she whispered, her voice like velvet and fire.

  Ray’s eyes widened. Is that a illusion or echoes or he really heard her asking something. But her lips didn’t moved.

  Her name slipped past his lips before he could stop it.

  “Seraphyne…”

  The Monarch of Lust, Love, Sex, and Beauty.

  The one who sat before him now, holding the Mirror of Soul.

  And the battle between fate, memory, and desire had just begun.

  Seraphyne’s crimson eyes glimmered under the dim torchlight, her elegant throne room almost trembling with the aura of her power. She had been created by Eryndor—a masterpiece born from his own essence. In a way, she was his child, his creation meant to embody perfection. Every motion, every thought, every action she performed had been honed to impress her master.

  Long ago, Eryndor had built the Eternal Flower Garden for her—a realm where she could move freely without restraint, a sanctuary to rest from the endless pressure of perfection. But that freedom came with a hidden burden. The moment Eryndor had fallen in love with Serenith, a pang of jealousy struck her core. She could not understand why her creator, her master, would turn his heart elsewhere. That jealousy became a catalyst for evolution.

  Seraphyne had chosen the path of lust and beauty, transforming into her monarch form. Her appearance matured, her presence intoxicating, yet inside, she remained an immature child craving the approval of the one who made her. She became the third most beautiful being in the world, after Serenith and Eryndor’s lover, wielding her skills of lust, love, and seduction like weapons.

  For centuries, she had tried to bend Eryndor to her desires. She had used every method—flattery, seduction, even intimacy—but he had refused, treating her not as a lover but as his own daughter. That rejection shaped her, forged her ambition, and yet, paradoxically, deepened her loyalty. Though denied in one way, he entrusted her with one of his most vital essences—a fragment of power beyond imagination.

  Now, as she faced Raylight, a strange sensation prickled her senses. There was a presence she could not ignore—a pulse, a resonance of someone she had known intimately, someone whose existence she had once protected. Eryndor’s essence flowed within him.

  Seraphyne’s mind raced. Could it be him? Could this boy, this young man, truly carry the fragment she had guarded for centuries? Her curiosity battled with caution, and her pride wrestled with the fragments of loyalty that had defined her existence.

  She stood, her monarch aura flaring, a delicate but deadly balance of lust, beauty, and power, as she whispered to the empty throne room, almost to herself:

  “Could it really be… him?”

  The flickering torches cast shadows across her face, revealing a mixture of uncertainty and determination. Raylight was no longer just a boy before her—he was a puzzle, a threat, and perhaps… a part of Eryndor himself.

  And in that moment, the game between creator and creation, power and desire, past and present, began to twist into something neither could fully predict.

  The air crackled with malevolent energy as Seraphyne’s chilling command echoed across the ravaged landscape. “Finish him, my Archdemons! Tear the interloper apart!”

  A wave of seven Archdemons, creatures of shadow and terrifying power, descended upon Ray. Their forms were monstrous—a tangle of horns, leathery wings, and razor-sharp claws, each one radiating an aura of destruction. Ray, sword in hand, met their charge with lethal precision.

  He was a blur of motion, his blade carving arcs of brilliant light against the encroaching darkness. He ducked under a behemoth’s sweeping claw, retaliating with a powerful thrust that pierced the demon’s heart, causing it to dissolve into black smoke with a shriek. Another two attempted to flank him; Ray spun, parrying one’s strike with his sword’s flat and kicking the other in its massive jaw. The distraction allowed him to unleash a rapid succession of strikes, felling both.

  Even as he fought, his mind was a storm. Every parry, every dodge, every killing blow was a mechanical act, a desperate attempt to ignore the true source of his torment: Seraphyne. He could see her, perched atop a crumbling ruin, her eyes burning with a terrifying, familiar hunger. Seraphyne. The name was a whisper in his soul, a melody of joy and unimaginable grief.

  He faltered, a moment of distraction that cost him a searing wound across his arm from a demon’s serrated wing. The pain was dull compared to the sudden, overwhelming rush of memories he had been so desperately trying to repress.

  The soft, pink blanket. The gentle warmth of a tiny hand clutching his finger. The proud, loving smile of a father looking down at his creation.

  The long nights of teaching, of sharing secrets of the cosmos. The eventual, tragic necessity of locking her away, not out of malice, but desperate, terrified love—a love that had failed.

  With the force of a supernova, the memories slammed into him. He wasn’t just fighting an enemy; he was fighting the consequence of his past, the corruption of his own kin. The Archdemons surrounding him hesitated, sensing a profound shift in their target.

  Ray lifted his hand, his eyes now clear and utterly cold, no longer clouded by confusion or pain. He didn’t need a sword, only a final, decisive action.

  Snap.

  The sound was sharp and singular, slicing through the din of battle. It was the only warning. At the sound of the finger snap, every Archdemon—seven towering, terrifying beings—froze. In the next instant, they did not just die; they vanished, dissolving not into smoke or blood, but into dust, a final, silent evaporation of existence.

  Ray slowly turned.

  Seraphyne was no longer on the ruin. She stood directly behind him, her face a mask of predatory desire, a primal force barely contained within her beautiful, corrupted vessel.

  “Why are you so familiar?” she purred, her voice dripping with intoxicating power. “But that’s not matter. Let’s make baby. You have the strength who can have the best sex I want and can help me to give birth a child who will bear the chaos. Both your six-pack body and hard penis with that big size can satisfy my curving womb.”

  She moved with impossible speed, and before Ray could react, a vine-like tangle of shadow and crimson energy erupted from her hand, wrapping around his chest and limbs. It was the Love Bind skill, a technique of forced, irresistible desire. Ray was not surprised to get bind. He got bind because he met his creation, his beloved daughter. He have to stop her.

  Ray focused every fiber of his being, channeling all his mana into breaking the Love Bind. Seraphyne hadn’t fully realized the presence of her master within Ray, and that gave him the opening he needed. A wave of pure energy surged outward, striking her directly in the chest. The impact caused her to cough blood, and she slammed against the wall, staggering back.

  Ray approached her carefully, his eyes softening as he spoke.

  “Hey, Sera! It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

  Her eyes shimmered with tears for reasons even she didn’t fully understand. She looked up at him, struggling to speak, but he continued, his tone gentle yet resolute:

  “Sorry, Sera. But take some rest in the ‘Eternal Flower Garden.’ We will meet soon.”

  Without giving her time to respond, Ray activated Kiss of Healing, placing a tender kiss on her forehead. The energy flowed from him into her, healing her completely. In an instant, she teleported safely to the Eternal Flower Garden, leaving the dungeon empty and silent.

  With the dungeon cleared, Ray obtained the fourth fragment, the Mirror of Soul. Yet, he felt a lingering restraint—the fragment’s true power remained sealed. The condition for the second awakening had not yet been fulfilled.

  A heavy weight pressed on his chest. He collapsed to the ground, his vision blurring as if he were drowning in an endless sea. Amid the darkness, he sensed a familiar presence. A soft voice pierced through the haze:

  “Hey, you? Hey?”

  A girl lifted his head, calling him gently. Exhausted and overwhelmed, Ray lost consciousness, the world fading to black.