Extra’s Life: MILFs Won’t Leave the Incubus Alone

The name Arina still rang in Aiden's mind like the toll of a distant bell, sharp and persistent, though he tried to silence it.

More than Three days had passed since his ultimatum to her—a blade of time he had forged with cruel precision.

He had thought she would not come. He had almost convinced himself that she had vanished, or that his warning had been nothing more than smoke curling into an empty sky.

"...then I am coming as well.."

His voice cracked slightly at the edge, though he masked it beneath the practiced calm of a knight.

Changing into his regular uniform, the sigil of the empire blazing across his uniform, he felt the shift of weight and identity both—leather against flesh, duty against desire.

"Well, I won't ask why, you always do whatever you want .." amber voiced, taking his arm.

But something was strange, hours before The Slayer had come to the church school… asking for the best healer. Yet even she admitted, almost incredulously, that the Slayer bore no injuries before.

A contradiction that gnawed like a hidden worm in fruit.

And there was more: the Slayer's guild and the Church never walked side by side. Their history was carved in blood and suspicion. Amber herself had been dismissed, pushed away, as if her presence was a provocation, when she tried visiting the slayer guild.

Aiden's jaw tightened. Something in this knot of events smelled wrong—like incense masking rot beneath.

Akidna and Tanya joined them, not from necessity but from affection, for Catherine's orders had summoned them to serve at the palace garrison.

Staff shortages, they said, though Aiden suspected bureaucracy was but a mask for other motives. The four walked together, and Aiden's thoughts swirled in uneasy currents.

The training fields were quieter than he expected. Only a few knights moved, their wooden swords clattering dully against practice dummies stuffed with straw.

Even the rhythm of their strikes lacked vigor, as though they knew the forms but not the spirit. The commander himself stood among them, his blade rising and falling with deliberate strength, sweat tracing rivulets down his scarred arms.

He was flanked, as always, by three women whose beauty gleamed like polished armor—ornaments to his pride as much as companions.

Aiden's eyes narrowed. Aethal had been right. The commander was a jealous cunt, through and through. A giant brute, but a brute blinded by envy.

Still, power could be useful, even if wielded by fools. The commander had mastered the art of silence at the right time, of bowing before Augustus, claiming the kill.

Aiden had seen many men rise that way—lips pressed shut while their eyes memorized every movement of their master.

But downfall, too, was etched on him. Aiden could see it in a single glance: pride calcifying into brittleness, arrogance leading him toward an inevitable break. Envy, in the end envy gnaws at men like him.

They entered the palace. Servants hurried through corridors, arms laden with scrolls and sealed papers.

The air was a constant hum of motion—armor clinking, sandals scuffing stone, whispered instructions fluttering like wings. The scent of wax and parchment mingled with steel oil.

"Well then, sir Aiden, this is our stop, we are hear to serve, but don't worry..." Akidna voiced, as she came near Aiden's ear.

"..in emergency, knights are allowed in the palace, and maids are allowed inside the garrison house..." She whispered, ever do seductively.

Tanya smirked at the audacity, but Aiden offered no reply. Desire was a weapon; he had learned that long ago. Yet even weapons could cut their wielder.

Amber walked beside him, silent yet radiant, her body draped in the habit of a nun. Her curves pressed against the dark cloth like hidden fire.

Every knight they passed turned to look—some with reverence, some with hunger thinly veiled. But none approached. Her robes were shield and curse both; to touch her would be blasphemy, to desire her a silent sin.

The paradox only deepened her allure.

"Aiden!"

The voice jolted him. Aethal strode forward, grinning with the familiarity of an old comrade.

His eyes danced with mischief, though beneath it Aiden glimpsed the calculation of a man who watched more than he revealed.

"Another gorgeous woman?" Aethal jeered, nodding toward Amber. "What are you doing, stacking them like trophies? The gods will strike you for hoarding beauty."

He greeted Amber with a half-mocking bow. "Just joking, I greet The abbess."

Amber's smile was restrained, polite, though her gaze flickered with unease.

Aethal leaned closer to Aiden, dropping his voice. "why the fuck you're here...?"

Aiden offered nothing. Silence, for once, was his ally. He just jestured to lead the way and aethal only shake his head like a person who just gave up.

, he followed Aethal's lead through the winding passages until at last they reached the healing wing.

The door opened.

The scent hit first—iron, sharp and bitter, blood not yet scrubbed clean. The air was heavy, cloistered, carrying the faint sting of herbs crushed too hurriedly.

The room held shadows even in daylight, as though grief itself lingered against the walls.

And on the bed—

Arina.

Her body was broken, blood caking her hair and pooling beneath bandages that had already darkened to crimson.

She looked more specter than woman, her skin pale as wax. Yet her presence struck him like a hammer.

Beside her stood Meliodas, his figure unmistakable. The Baron himself was here, armored knights at his flanks, their cloaks embroidered with his crest.

It seems, it was his men, who had found her at the foot of a mountain, beneath one of the hanging dungeons—places where only ruin and secrets lived.

Aiden greeted him. The Baron smiled, not the strained courtesy of politics but genuine recognition. Here was a man who knew Aiden and did not judge him—a rare currency.

Arina stirred.

Her eyes opened, glazed at first, then sharpening. Recognition flared, disbelief chasing it, and finally something rawer: a wound deeper than her flesh.

She had not expected him. Perhaps she had prayed against it. Yet here he stood.

But then her gaze shifted, and all her trembling focus fell on Amber.

In a heartbeat her pain was forgotten. She rose as though her body were unscathed, a wild grace surging through her.

Before anyone could stop her, she seized Amber by the waist, her grip desperate, almost possessive.

The room erupted in gasps.

"What?!! Miss Arina!!" Baron belouf, trying to grab her.

With a sudden leap, Arina launched toward the window—her old escape, reckless and swift. Shards of glass shattered around them, catching sunlight, sparkling like frozen tears.

"Arina!"

The Baron's voice carried surprise more than anger.

"Farewell, Aiden. I missed your pretty face." She beckoned.

The chamber quieted, dust motes drifting in the heavy silence. Two Nobels left baffled. While Aiden smiled.

'she is getting desperate...' he thought.