[Chapter 270. The rhythm of Blood]

"Clara, change of plans. You will finish this within the hour," Searanox said while turning away from the two of them, his voice dropping to that dangerous cold that preceded his most ruthless actions.

He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her flinch. The air in the storage room seemed to thin, pressing in on her from all sides. The mountain of loot before her, once a manageable task, now seemed like an impossible avalanche.

Clara paled at the sheer scale of his demand. Her eyes darted from the towering piles of armor and weapons to an imaginary clock on the wall. "My Lord, I—I don't believe this will be possible," she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. Her hands trembled. A stack of rings slipped from her grasp, clattering loudly against the polished stone floor.

"I will send someone up here to help you," he said over his shoulder, his armored boots making sharp, decisive sounds as he marched toward the node stone. There was no reassurance in his tone, only a statement of fact. He didn't wait for her response, his mind already on the next step.

The violet light of the node stone flared, bathing him in its ethereal glow.

"I don't like this. He is on edge," Iris muttered softly. She remembered the last time he had behaved like this—a few days after he became a Progenitor, when he stopped at nothing to prepare himself. He had that same predatory gleam in his eyes today. A single-minded focus that terrified even her. Her tail swished uneasily, a low growl rumbling in her chest.

Inside the Atrium, Searanox found the two people he was looking for. Samantha and Rayan stood near an empty section of the hall, tending to the dozen survivors he had just rescued. The victims faces were a mixture of relief and lingering trauma. Their eyes were wide, darting at every shadow and sudden movement.

"Rayan, Samantha," Searanox's voice cut through the low murmur of the crowd. "You two will head over to the Storage floor and help out there. Let someone else take care of them." His tone was clipped and impatient.

They both turned, expressions shifting from confusion to concern.

"They are still in shock and shouldn't be left alone right now," Rayan said, his protective instinct flaring. He gestured to the huddled figures.

"Did I say to leave them alone?" Searanox retorted, his voice a blade of ice in the warm air of the Atrium. "I said you two will go up and help out there. This is of the utmost importance."

A few citizens nearby turned toward them, conversations dying in their throats. Tension thickened the air—a palpable wave of fear and respect. The rescued group flinched, curling in on themselves at his display of authority.

"Of course, my Lord," Samantha said. Her voice was firm, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of unease. She grabbed Rayan by the arm and pulled him toward the node stone. He followed reluctantly, his gaze lingering on the survivors for a moment before turning away.

With them moving, Searanox returned to the node stone, appearing on the second floor in another flash of violet light. He walked to the room where Kylith was staying, knocked once, and opened the door without waiting for an answer.

Kylith sat on the edge of the bed. Her posture was stiff, her expression wary.

`Let's see how much I can figure out about leveling and the System itself, he thought, his eyes locking onto her.`

She was just as bare as when he had left her. The dim light of the room caught the smooth planes of her red skin, emphasizing the subtle grey undertone beneath. Seeing who had entered, she arched her back slightly, posing for him. A dark, sharp nail traced a slow, deliberate path down her own figure—from the hollow of her throat, between the swell of her breasts, and over the flat of her stomach, stopping just above the thatch of midnight-black hair.

"Have you come for more?" Her voice was a low purr, designed to entice. The amber of her eyes held a glint that was equal parts invitation and challenge.

Searanox didn't answer right away. Instead, he pulled the simple wooden chair from the small table and sat down, his posture ramrod straight. His grey armor stood in stark contrast to her vulnerable nakedness. "No," he said, his tone entirely flat. "I came for you to answer more of my questions."

She pushed herself up from the bed with fluid, sinuous grace. Her bare feet made no sound on the cold floor as she approached. Her tail a thin whip of muscle ending in a spade, flicked behind her with each swing of her hips. She didn't stop when she reached him. Instead, she climbed onto his lap, the coolness of her skin pressing against his rigid armor plates as her knees bracketed his thighs.

"And what does little old me get in return?" she asked, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. Her fingers traced the hard lines of his breastplate. Her breath was warm against his ear.

"Depends on how helpful your answers are," he answered, his voice unyielding. He wrapped his arms around her, gauntleted hands resting on the small of her back. It was an embrace of possession, not affection. "I might consider feeding you on a regular basis."

She leaned her head on his shoulder, her midnight hair spilling over his armor. She gently kissed his neck, her lips cool and soft. "Regular," she murmured with a sigh of victory. "So you are going to keep me after all."

"I would like you to answer me: how long does it take someone to reach level twenty?"

Kylith shifted her weight on his lap, her amber eyes narrowing as she considered the question. "That depends on who they are, their connections, and their resources. Then there is dedication. The more you invest your life into it, the faster it goes." She leaned in, leaving a faint mark on his neck, feeling his steady, controlled pulse beneath her mouth.

"Walk me through it. Give me a few examples." His voice remained steady, his gauntleted hands holding her firmly in place.

"In the Empire, you are only allowed to partake in dungeon clears after you reach adulthood." Her fingers traced patterns on his armor. "And even then, you must possess the required level and paperwork to be let in. Mostly, you can buy a slot—it costs a few coins and you have to wait a long time before you're allowed to enter." Her tail wrapped loosely around his leg. "That's why most travel into the wastelands and hunt roaming beasts there. It takes a long time to reach the required level to enter a dungeon."

She pressed her hips down firmly, a physical punctuation to her explanation.

"That is, if you are a half-breed like me..." Her voice held a bitter edge that briefly cut through her seductive facade. "If you are full-blood, you can enter the spire inside a major city whenever you like. They aren't as efficient as the beasts outside, but the sheer numbers make up for it. As I believe you already know." Her lips traveled higher, kissing his jawline.

"Yes, I have noticed that. But that doesn't answer how long it takes," Searanox said, ignoring her advances. His gaze remained fixed on the wall.

"Shhh~ You wanted to know everything, right?" Her breath was warm against his ear. "If you are of Noble blood, it's likely your family has their own dungeons. You're freed from the restrictions of the common folk." Her hands roamed higher, tracing his collarbone. "They don't hunt beasts outside; dungeons are the first thing they encounter. They train with weapons from a young age and join teams that clear the dungeon for them. It's unfair, if you ask me."

Her voice held genuine resentment before she composed herself, slowly pressing her lips to his to sway his focus. They kissed for a moment before Searanox pushed her away slightly, his grip on her back tightening just enough to maintain control.

"Keep going, before you ask for a treat."

She pouted, a brief flash of defiance in her amber eyes before she pressed her face back against his neck. "Alright. Let me think. I started hunting beasts a bit later than normal—a couple of harvests late."

`A couple of harvests. So I guess that would be like a week or so.` He thought.

"That's not that long," Searanox said, thinking about the fields outside his city. "But just to be sure, can you tell me how long this Incursion will last?"

She pulled her face back, her amber eyes meeting his. "We are deployed for six cycles of Erona." Her tail tightened slightly around his leg.

"Clarify Erona?"

"Erona is one of our moons." Her voice was matter-of-fact. She traced a finger along his collar. "We have two, you know. Erona and Moros. Erona is the smaller one, faster in its journey across the sky."

"Alright, and how many harvests are in one cycle?" Searanox asked softly, his mind racing.

"None. There are twenty cycles between each harvest." She leaned in. "A cycle is a full turn of Erona around our world. Twenty cycles, then the harvest comes."

Searanox ran his fingers over her spine. The skin was unblemished by scars. "Wait a moment. You are staying until the Incursion is over, right?"

"Naturally. We can't walk through the portal again after passing. At least, that is what the deployment orders said," she answered, pushing back into his touch with a soft moan. "We are here until the mission is complete, or until we are... dead."

"And when does this Incursion end?" His gauntleted fingers pressed into her skin.

"With the end of this world's Infusion. You barely know anything," she said with a snicker, kissing his neck again.

`That would mean six lunar cycles are four weeks. That would make one harvest roughly every three months.`

His mind whirled through the numbers.

"You aren't lying to me, are you? That would mean my city has two harvests every cycle," he said coldly.

Kylith pulled back with wide eyes. "Two harvests every cycle? Well, your world is full of vegetation." Her voice softened with a trace of sadness. "Ours... is not so generous."

"Kylith, how many harvests does it take for someone to reach level fifteen, or even twenty?"

"For me, it took several. Quite a few." She nipped at his lips, a playful bite.

"A number, dear, then you can have your kiss," Searanox whispered against her lips.

"Like fifteen or twenty," she said, before pressing her body closer and kissing him, her tongue darting out to trace his lips.

He kissed her back as he processed what she told him.

`That would mean it took her roughly three years, close to four. To think I reached level twenty in less than a couple of weeks.`

The disparity was staggering—a testament to the sheer brutality of his own path, paved with the bodies of millions.

He broke the kiss, leaving a tingling warmth in its wake. His fingers tangled in the silken strands of her midnight-black hair. "How often does my little one have to feed?"

"Twice a cycle," she answered without hesitation, her eyes gleaming with feral hunger as she nipped at his jaw. "The first hunger comes after the full turn of Erona, and another when Moros reaches its zenith in the sky. It is the rhythm of my blood, the pulse of my existence."

"Alright, little one." His other hand moved to her hip, claiming ownership with every touch. "I'll let you join me in bed once a week. Every seventh sunset, you will be fed."

His words were a command, not a request, leaving no room for negotiation.