Killed by the Hero. Reincarnated for Revenge... with a Lust System

The night burst into colors.

Above the Scarlet Forge City, fireworks bloomed in red and gold sprays, splattering the sky with blazing trails that reflected on the black walls veined with ember. In the streets, drums pounded at a primal rhythm, joined by shrill flutes that seemed to make the air itself dance. The people thronged together, drunk on wine and celebration, thousands of faces lifted to the night as if each spark could burn their souls.

I passed through the palace gates, and everything changed.

The outside clamor turned into a muffled hush, broken only by deep laughter and stifled sighs. Here, the air smelled of resin and mulled wine—but also of offered flesh. Half-naked dancers, their skin gleaming with oil, swayed between the basalt columns. Their hips rolled as if each step were an invitation, and lantern light slid across their smooth bellies, their heavy breasts trembling with every motion.

Serving girls moved among them, young and full-figured, crystal goblets in hand. The dark wine spilled to the brim, thick, nearly black, sometimes dripping along their fingers, which they licked with the tip of the tongue before offering the glass. Others bore ripe fruits, split pomegranates, heavy grapes, juicy mangoes dripping down to their wrists. Each bite they took, each drop running down their throats, gave the impression they were already fucking the entire hall with their gaze.

And in the middle of it all… me.

The only man in this palace of women.

Their eyes locked on me the instant I entered. Some glittered with surprise, others with icy distrust, and others still with that troubled mix of curiosity and desire I knew all too well. No man had crossed these walls for centuries. Not one. And here I stood, surrounded by curves, breasts, thighs wrapped in silk, by scents of musk and wine.

My heart hammered harder. Not from fear—no. From raw excitement. Their silence was heavy, but I read in it more than rejection: I had become the object. The anomaly. Prey and predator both.

My gaze slid over a dancer who arched her back a few steps away, her belly rippling, her breasts rolling under a sheer veil. She met my eyes, her smile widening, feral. As if she wanted to test whether I was truly made of flesh.

Fuck. They were all devouring me.

Still, I walked with my head high, my boots striking the polished marble. My reflection flickered in every cup, between red lips stained with wine, tongues sucking on sticky fingers, and low laughter that made bare chests tremble.

They were waiting. And I already knew no feast had ever welcomed a guest like me.

The entire hall seemed built for her.

Kaenira.

Seated on the dais, the General of the Scarlet Forge City, absolute mistress of this palace where no cock had ever dared enter. And me, alone, planted in the middle of her domain, an intruder in a harem that wasn't mine.

She was immense, sculpted like a living statue, her obsidian armor straining against her chest. Enormous breasts, heavy, pressed so tightly they made the metal blanch at the edges. Her black hair pulled back, baring the gleam of her powerful neck. And her eyes… fuck, her eyes. Yellow, slit like a she-wolf's. Authoritative, cruel, but not indifferent. She fixed me with the stare of someone appraising a rare anomaly, a male forbidden to exist here, yet standing tall before her.

Around me, the crowd shifted. Hundreds of demonesses—nobles, courtesans, heiresses—each more voluptuous than the last. Breasts spilling from silk, thighs slicked with perfumed oil, hips draped in jewels. Their gazes slid over me like tongues, mixing curiosity and hunger. They leaned in to whisper, every movement sending fresh waves of heavy flesh, nipples jutting under sheer cloth.

And among that tide, two presences stood apart.

Sahryne the Golden, of the Southern Territory.

A goddess of sand and sweat. Her bronzed skin gleamed, tattooed with black symbols running down her belly and vanishing between her thighs. She laughed, a warm laugh rolling like a promise of seed. Her wide hips pulsed under a clinging veil, her swollen breasts rising with each peal of laughter, two massive globes barely held by fabric. She bit into a mango, orange juice dripping down her chin, her tongue lapping slowly at the droplet that slid between her breasts. Fuck. Even her simplest gesture looked like an invitation to bend her over the nearest table.

And Velithra the Cold, of the Western Territory.

Her opposite. Skin white, almost chill, yet radiant under the lanterns. Her silver hair spilled over broad shoulders, her white silk gown hiding nothing: her breasts surged forward, swelling the fabric until each dark areola was etched against it. Heavy silver necklaces weighed on her throat, but her gaze was heavier still. Her icy eyes fixed on me without blinking, and yet… I saw the desire there, brutal, repressed. She gripped her goblet of wine as though to shatter it, her thin lips trembling, but her body betrayed her: her thighs rubbed together, imperceptibly, as if the palace heat was already burning her.

And me? I stood there, cock hard against my thigh, in this hall reeking of wine, sweat, and musk. One man. A thousand female eyes. And three demon queens, three fucking predators, waiting to see what I dared do.

Then came the hour of gifts, a tradition here—to offer Kaenira a present at the start of the ten-day banquet.

The offerings paraded past, each more sumptuous than the last. Kaenira sat rigid on her obsidian throne, her yellow gaze sliding over every gift without her stone mask breaking. A runed dagger, a chest of abyssal coins, a cloth embroidered with scales. She received them all with a slow nod, as if she absorbed the people more than the objects.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

— "The Dagger clan seeks to buy back its losses…"— "They show more flesh than wealth."— "Always the same farce."

Wine flowed, servants passed, dances resumed between each offering. Then Sahryne rose.

The Golden.

Even without a word, she dominated. Her skin glistened under the light, ink spirals curling down to the hollow of her thighs. Her sand-colored dress fell open over her wide hips, her jewels chiming at each step. She bore a golden spear, tall, forged in the desert's fire. But no one looked at the weapon. Everyone's eyes clung to her swollen breasts, pressed tight under translucent cloth, each breath rolling them like waves.

She slammed the spear's shaft to the floor with a sharp crack. Her smile set the hall ablaze.

— "May it serve you, General," she said, her voice low, rich. "Not to pierce your enemies… but to remind them the South watches. The sands never forget."

Whispers spread at once:

— "She speaks as an equal…"— "The South wants its place at this table."

Sahryne smiled, a warm laugh spilling from her painted lips. She bit into a pomegranate seed handed by a servant, red juice running down her chin. She didn't wipe it. She let the drop trail between her breasts, a silent provocation.

Then came Velithra.

The Cold.

Her white gown cloaked her like a mantle of snow. Silver hair cascaded over her broad shoulders, silver jewels glinting cold under the lanterns. She advanced slowly, bearing a pale cloth spun with dragon scale, shimmering like frost.

She bowed deeply—too deeply, almost—as if to remind all of discipline. Her voice was calm, sharp as crystal:

— "May the ice of the High Peaks accompany you, General. The forge exists only by the cold that tempers iron."

No barb. No open challenge. But every word carried weight.

Murmurs rose again, softer, sharper:

— "The West… always with its warnings."— "She doesn't laugh, but she sees everything."— "What do you think she's waiting for?"

Sahryne, still standing, chuckled lightly. Not enough to insult, just enough to be heard.

— "Cold may be needed," she said, her golden eyes locked on Velithra's. "But it has never fed anyone."

Velithra barely lifted her chin, her pale lips tightening into a near-invisible smile.

— "And heat burns as much as it warms," she replied. "Sand always cools by night."

Not a word louder than the other. No raised voices. But the hall had heard. Some women snickered, others turned away, feigning ignorance.

Kaenira said nothing. She merely brushed her fingers over the golden spear, then the white cloth, as if already balancing both offerings in her mind. Her gaze never shifted, yet her silence weighed heavier than any word.

And me? In the middle of it all, I felt their eyes return to me. Sahryne blazing, Velithra frozen. Two queens trading proverbs like blades. And me, the intruder, who should never have been here.

My turn was coming. And I knew my gift had to crush all others.

After a few more offerings from important women, silence fell at once. As though the hall itself had stopped breathing. My turn. Never had a man taken part in this ritual. Never. And yet my footsteps rang on the marble, heavy, inevitable, as I advanced toward the dais.

Eyes slashed into me. Hundreds of slitted, yellow, red, golden stares. Some filled with shock, others distrust, a few… with barely contained desire. Their whispers hissed at my ears like arrows:

— "A man? Here?"— "He dares…"— "What could he possibly offer?"

I didn't answer. My hand was already clutching the black case I'd had forged for this night.

Kaenira didn't move, but her yellow eyes never left me. I felt their weight on my skin, a claw poised to strike.

I stopped before her. Slowly, I lifted the lid. A red gleam burst forth, like living ember.

A necklace. Forged from pure abyssium, dark and gleaming like a night of steel, set with a scarlet jewel that pulsed like a beating heart.

A murmur shook the crowd, then stifled cries, gasps, nervous laughter.

— "Abyssium…!"— "He gives that… to her?"— "A jewel worth an army…"

Sahryne burst into warm laughter, her golden bracelets chiming like chains.

— "So this is it," she purred, her voice rolling. "The man who toys with abyssium tonight. Bolder than I thought."

Velithra, motionless in her white gown, inclined her head. Her glacial voice cut through the tumult like a blade:

— "Bold, yes. But the jewel is beautiful. Even our mountains hold no stone like this."

Her gaze slid from me to Kaenira. A silent message: this was more than a gift. It was a challenge.

Kaenira finally rose. The entire hall froze. Her figure, tall, armored, dominated all. But when she stepped down a stair, she looked at no one else. Only me.

She came closer. Too close. Her warm breath brushed my cheek, her armor parted enough to reveal the deep valley of her chest. Her gloved hand grazed mine as she took the necklace. I felt the leather slide, her fingers gripping longer than needed.

The necklace gleamed in her hands as Kaenira straightened. The entire hall held its breath. I heard the drums in the distance, dull, like a heart deep in the stone.

She raised the jewel high, the red gem blazing like a coal in the night. Her voice cracked out, grave, commanding:

— "The greatest gift of this night… comes from a man."

A shiver swept the hall. Servants froze, dancers halted mid-step, even the boldest nobles lowered their eyes. This was no mere thanks. It was a proclamation.

I felt the stares sear into me. Jealous, disbelieving, aroused. Some women chuckled, others clenched their jaws.

Sahryne laughed aloud, her throat dripping with sweat after too much wine.

— "Ha! He's put us all on our knees without lifting a finger!"

— "Don't kneel so quickly, Sahryne," Velithra retorted, her cold voice slicing through the laughter. "A jewel is not a victory. It's a wager."

They locked eyes, and the hall breathed harder. Jealousy vibrated like a taut string. Some women whispered barbs:

— "The Golden smiles too brightly."— "The Cold won't admit she burns, but look at her fingers, they shake."— "Kaenira said it before us all… humiliated."

Heat surged in my chest. Fuck, I had unleashed a storm.

Kaenira's stare never left me. Her yellow eyes gleamed in the torchlight, but behind her, through the palace's great openings, the sky burned. Fireworks burst, red, gold, green, reflected in her pupils as though she held the entire celebration within herself.

She stepped down another stair, necklace still in hand. Her chest rose slowly, swelling against the too-tight armor. She leaned close, close enough for her breath to graze my cheek.

— "Do you understand what you've just done?" she murmured.

I held her gaze, throat dry but smiling.

— "Yes. I just set you all against each other."

A flicker passed through her eyes, between irritation and amusement.

— "Arrogant…" she breathed.

She turned back to the hall, jewel still raised.

— "Let the feast continue!"

A thunder of drums rose. Dancers swayed again, hips rolling, veils flying to the music. Servants poured more wine, spilling down arms, splattering silks. Nobles laughed once more, but every sound was edged. Nothing was innocent now: each woman measured herself, compared, cast me glances heavy with calculation and hunger.

I stood still, Kaenira only steps away. Fireworks flared behind her, bursting like showers of blood and gold. And I knew, deep in my gut, this wasn't just a feast. It was the beginning of a duel.

Her, the General, mistress of this city.Me, the intruder, the only man ever tolerated in these walls.

Our eyes met one last time, and I saw fire reflected there. Not only the flames in the sky. The ones that would soon consume us.