Champion Of Lust: Gods Conquer's Harem Paradise!

The crash that followed echoed through the hall like thunder—or like the sound of an Emperor's dignity shattering into a thousand pieces.

Crystal shattered against marble with musical violence, the sound sharp and clear enough to make every guest wince reflexively. The noise was so pure, so perfectly crystalline, that it seemed to hang in the air for moments after the impact.

Deep red wine splashed across the Emperor's pristine white ceremonial robes like blood across snow, staining the expensive fabric in patterns that looked disturbingly artistic. The liquid soaked through the silk with the enthusiasm of wine that knew it was making history, spreading in dark patches that would be absolutely impossible to clean—especially since this was the kind of wine that left permanent stains.

'And there goes about ten thousand high mana cores pieces worth of ceremonial robes,' Pyris thought with satisfaction. 'Not to mention the Emperor's dignity, which is probably worth even more.'

"How dare—" the Emperor's voice erupted in fury, his face flushing crimson to match the wine decorating his robes. The sovereign's carefully maintained composure—the kind of regal bearing that took decades to perfect—cracked like the shattered crystal at his feet.

But before he could complete his outraged demand, before he could unleash the kind of imperial wrath that could end careers and possibly lives, Song dropped to his knees among the broken glass with the dramatic flair of someone who knew exactly how to steal a scene.

His entire body trembled with what appeared to be absolute, bone-deep terror. When his voice came, it was pitched perfectly—the exact tone of a lowly servant facing divine wrath and expecting to die for his transgression.

"Your Imperial Majesty! Oh, merciful sovereign, this worthless servant begs your infinite forgiveness! This unworthy wretch has committed an unforgivable sin against your divine person!"

'And the Oscar goes to...' Pyris thought, impressed despite himself by Song's performance.

The Emperor's mouth opened again, rage building like a storm about to break, his face turning interesting shades of purple and red. But Song's panicked voice cut through the air like a knife through silk, his words tumbling over each other in perfectly orchestrated chaos.

"Please, Your Majesty! Have mercy on this clumsy fool! This servant deserves death for such an offense against your sacred presence! Oh, what crime have I committed against heaven itself! Surely the gods themselves weep at my incompetence!"

Again, the Emperor tried to speak, drawing breath to deliver what was probably going to be a legendary verbal beatdown, but Song's voice rose to meet him, cutting through the attempt with the precision of a master performer.

"Your Majesty's robes! Ruined by this insignificant worm! How can this servant ever atone for such blasphemy? Perhaps if this unworthy one were to throw himself from the highest tower? Or maybe if I were to serve in the deepest dungeons for the rest of my miserable life? Oh, the shame! The unbearable shame of having touched your divine garments with common wine!"

'This is beautiful,' Pyris thought, watching the Emperor's face cycle through approximately seventeen different shades of frustrated purple. 'Song's not just apologizing—he's performing an entire one-man show of self-abasement.'

The pattern continued with the relentless efficiency of a well-oiled machine. Every time the Emperor drew breath to speak, Song's voice would rise again like a tidal wave of remorse and terror, cutting through the air with another round of increasingly dramatic self-flagellating apologies.

"Perhaps this worthless creature should be fed to the royal dogs? Or maybe boiled in oil? Oh, but even that would be too merciful for one who has committed such sins against your imperial magnificence! Maybe if I were to—"

"I should clearly be—"

"Oh, but Your Majesty's kindness knows no bounds! To even consider speaking to such a lowly—"

"Will you just—"

"The wine! Oh, the precious, precious wine! Wasted on these priceless robes instead of gracing your divine lips! This servant should have his hands removed for such sacrilege!"

'I'm genuinely impressed,' Pyris thought, watching the Emperor's increasing desperation. 'Song's managing to interrupt him without actually interrupting him. It's like watching a verbal combat master at work.'

The performance was so convincing, so perfectly pitched between terror and self-destruction, that several guests actually stepped back in sympathy for the poor waiter's plight. A few of the more tender-hearted nobles looked like they wanted to comfort the clearly distraught servant.

'Even the audience is buying it,' Pyris noted with satisfaction. 'Song's not just good—he's legendary.'

The entire banquet hall had turned to watch this spectacular display of imperial humiliation. The Emperor stood there, wine-stained and speechless, looking less like a divine sovereign and more like a man who'd been caught in the world's most embarrassing sitcom episode.

His pristine white robes were now abstract art in red wine. His carefully styled hair was disheveled from his attempts to dodge the flying liquid. His face was a fascinating study in frustrated rage—the kind of expression that would probably become a meme if this world had internet.

'And the best part?' Pyris thought with wicked satisfaction. 'He can't even properly punish Song because Song is being so apologetic that any punishment would make the Emperor look like a monster.'b Also given what Song was wearing (a black bowtie with a black dragon on it) unlike other servants, it meant he was directly a person from House Obsidian. Not hired.

Song continued his masterful performance of terror and remorse, keeping the Emperor trapped in a prison of his own frustrated rage while the entire nobility of the realm watched and whispered.

'Checkmate,' Pyris thought, his smile widening as he led Lekiza through another perfect sequence. 'Game, set, and match.'

The Human Emperor's attempt to approach Alexa had been turned into the evening's entertainment, his dignity shattered as thoroughly as the crystal on the floor. And the best part? There was absolutely nothing he could do about it without looking even worse.

'Sometimes,' Pyris mused as the dance continued, 'being the protagonist means you get to orchestrate the most beautiful disasters.'

The banquet would be talking about this night for years to come. And every single person present would remember exactly who had been in control of the situation from start to finish.