The heavy oak doors of the private sanctum in the inner sector of the Church of Ellaria slammed shut behind them.
Inside the luxurious high-end chamber — velvet drapes, gilded furniture, and crystal chandeliers meant for honored guests — Elarion lost control.
He roared, grabbing a marble side table and hurling it across the room.
It shattered against the far wall with a deafening crash.
A gilded chair followed, splintering into pieces.
He swept his arm across a decorative shelf, sending priceless holy relics and vases crashing to the floor.
“What kind of sick solution is this?!” he bellowed, voice raw with rage and shame.
“How can a Goddess utter such words?! This is blasphemy! Filth! I would rather die than let that worthless trash lay a single finger on any of you!”
His golden armor gleamed under the soft lantern light, but his face was twisted in fury, golden hair disheveled, chest heaving.
The four women stood back near the doorway, each lost in her own storm of thoughts and painful decisions.
Aurora was the first to move.
The princess stepped forward, her lavender gown whispering against the marble floor, long dark purple hair swaying.
Tears shimmered in her golden eyes as she gently placed her hands on his armored chest.
“Husband… please,” she whispered, voice trembling.
“You will hurt yourself…”
Elarion’s rage faltered the moment he looked at her.
This was the girl he had been promised to since childhood — the one he had loved quietly for years.
His expression softened.
He cupped her cheek with a gauntleted hand, careful not to press too hard.
“Don’t worry, Aurora,” he said, voice hoarse but gentle.
“We will try another solution. There is no way I’m going to let anyone lay a hand on you… on any of you.”
Aurora’s lips parted.
“Elarion…”
Charlotte Blackrose stepped closer, her glossy backless white-and-emerald dress clinging to her voluptuous elven curves, pointed ears twitching with tension.
Her mature, refined face showed deep conflict.
“Elarion… but if the Goddess spoke true… for six months we haven’t been able to obtain a single clue about your curse. If this is real… You only have until morning.”
Elarion’s eyes widened as if she had slapped him.
“Master… how can you suggest such a thing? How can I let anyone touch you all… when I love you with all my life?”
Charlotte’s cheeks flushed faintly at his open declaration in front of everyone, but she held his gaze.
“But Elarion… if something happens to you, as your teacher, I cannot live with myself. Even if it is such a shameful act… we should do whatever is required to save your life.”
Elarion’s fists clenched so hard his gauntlets creaked.
He turned, eyes landing on Astrid.
The royal knight captain stood silently at the side, her black glossy latex-and-leather armor hugging her athletic frame like a second skin.
Her bright pink hair was still slightly messy from the earlier battle, her cool, proud face deep in thought.
She had accompanied him since the very beginning of his adventures — the one who had fallen in love with him along the long, bloody road.
Next, his gaze moved to Morgana.
The fallen vampire queen lifted her head.
Her fiery red hair framed a face of regal beauty, pale skin flawless, subtle fangs hidden behind full lips.
Her glittering red dress clung tightly to her extremely voluptuous figure, deep slits revealing powerful thighs.
Her crimson eyes softened with rare warmth as she met his gaze.
“Don’t worry,” she said quietly, voice low and commanding.
“I won’t let any man touch me…”
…except you, she added silently in her mind.
Elarion nodded, a flicker of relief crossing his face.
Then came the knock.
Astrid opened the door.
An imperial attendant bowed deeply.
“Hero Elarion, the Great Emperor Kraven Vossarian has summoned you and your party to the palace… immediately.”
Elarion twitched visibly, mouth opening to refuse, but Charlotte placed a gentle hand on his armored shoulder.
“At least listen, Elarion. Please.”
The imperial palace throne room was a masterpiece of gold and purple marble, banners of the Vossarian family hanging from the vaulted ceiling.
Only Emperor Kraven Vossarian and Empress Valeria were present, seated on their thrones.
The heroines and Aurora knelt respectfully.
Elarion remained standing — the Hero of the Goddess held special status in Grandora.
No rank could force him to kneel, no order could compel him.
It was a privilege Emperor Kraven had always despised.
Kraven leaned forward, purple hair streaked with silver, his massive warrior frame radiating authority.
A faint smirk played on his lips.
“Hero, we heard that our Goddess was able to provide an answer to your curse. Is it true?”
Elarion’s teeth ground together.
He turned slightly toward Empress Valeria — the woman who had helped him behind the scenes for years, the one he greatly admired — as if seeking calm.
“The Goddess is spouting bullshit,” he growled.
“I will cure myself.”
The woman behind him tried to speak, to convince him, but Elarion refused to listen.
Emperor Kraven’s smirk deepened.
“Hero… why would the Goddess waste her time with mortals like that? Since she has already provided the solution… as her loyal believers, we must abide by it.”
Elarion caught the smirk.
Rage flared.
“So what are you suggesting, Emperor?
That my women sleep with your worthless grand-nephew.
The air grew heavy.
Emperor Kraven released his oppressive aura.
Elarion answered with his own radiant power.
The entire throne room tensed.
Hidden protectors around the chamber released their auras in warning — a silent threat not to disrespect the Emperor.
Morgana’s crimson eyes burned as she glanced toward the hidden shadows, fangs peeking slightly.
Before the situation could explode, a cold, commanding voice cut through everything.
“Hero. Follow me.”
Empress Valeria rose from her throne, her elegant white-and-gold imperial dress with golden armor accents flowing around her powerful, mature figure.
Her royal purple hair framed an icy, regal face.
The Emperor twitched visibly but said nothing.
Elarion followed her out.
The rest of the party remained, believing the hero was safe in the Empress’s care.
Emperor Kraven watched them leave, internally cursing.
He promised his daughter, Aurora, to Elarion to tie the hero to the empire… but the girl became lovesick and never tried to manipulate him.
Then he assigned his legendary mage Charlotte to the hero in the guise of teaching … yet even she stopped listening to his orders.
The throne room fell into heavy silence.
Thirty minutes passed.
The doors opened again.
Elarion returned beside Empress Valeria.
His face was destroyed — a mask of barely controlled despair and shame, eyes downcast, fists clenched so hard his knuckles were white.
The Empress spoke without a single flicker of emotion on her flawless face.
“The hero, with his valiant heart, has decided to try the purification the Goddess declared… once. If nothing happens, we will erase Prince Kael’s memories of the incident. Everything that happens now will never leave these walls.”
She paused, voice flat.
“Now… which one of you is ready to volunteer for the process?”
The heroines stared in disbelief.
They couldn’t believe Elarion had agreed.
Elarion kept his head down, shame and despair radiating from him, fists trembling at his sides.
A determined voice broke the silence.
“I… Wi…ll Sacrifice myself.”
Elarion turned slowly, face pale as death.
The hand that had risen belonged to Princess Aurora Vossarian — cousin of the very trash prince they had all been speaking of.