Champion Of Lust: Gods Conquer's Harem Paradise!-Chapter 362: Pyris Arrives? 2

Outside the alley, Pyris stood with an air of indifference, his golden eyes gleaming under the dim morning light, but the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed something far more sinister—a sharp, unhinged amusement at the scene before him. Despite his presence, no one felt him, no energy signature, no ripple in the fabric of mana. He was simply there, unseen, unfelt—watching.

The air outside the alley buzzed with life; nobles engaged in hushed conversations over lavish breakfasts, aristocrats sipping golden elixirs in expensive cafés, their whispers carrying the weight of politics and power.

Yet, within this single darkened corridor, an entirely different world existed.

With a single step, the entrance of the alley warped.

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Reality itself twisted, bending under his will as a dome of absolute isolation snapped into place, sealing the battlefield from the outside world. Not a sound would escape, not a flicker of energy would alert any prying eyes. No witnesses. No interruptions.

Even the guards stationed within the nearby buildings, men who should have been vigilant, men trained to react at the first sign of disturbance—fell unconscious without resistance. Their bodies slumped against walls, heads resting on tables, the city unaware of their sudden plunge into unnatural slumber.

Inside the alley, Pyris moved.

It was not a step, nor a teleportation. It was something far more terrifying—as if he had simply existed in multiple places at once, phasing through reality itself until he was no longer on the outskirts but standing between the assassins and their half-dead prey.

The ground was unrecognizable, charred and fractured, the destruction so severe that the once-solid stone beneath their feet had turned into a blackened wasteland of molten cracks and smoldering embers.

The scent of burned flesh and scorched metal tainted the air like a curse, suffocating and vile.

Silent Night lay in the midst of it all, barely clinging to existence.

Her once-pristine form was a ruin of blood and burns, her once-powerful frame now reduced to something pitiful and fragile. Her skin, charred beyond recognition, cracked with every shallow breath she took, embers still glowing in the deepest burns that marred her body. Her clothes—nothing but scraps of torn, melted fabric barely clinging to her form—failed to conceal the sheer extent of the damage.

She should have been dead.

Yet, despite the utter devastation, her fingers twitched, a stubborn refusal to let go, a dragon’s defiance even in the face of oblivion.

The moment Pyris appeared, the atmosphere shifted.

The two phantom assassins—who had been nothing but collected, methodical executioners until now—stiffened.

Their instincts screamed danger.

A presence that had not existed before was suddenly there, inescapable, overwhelming, drowning them in its suffocating weight.

One took a cautious step backward, his fingers twitching toward his weapons. The other, Blood Burn Fiend, remained still, but his expression—twisted in mocking amusement just moments ago—had darkened into something grim and calculating.

Their mission had been clear.

Kill Silent Night. Erase all traces. Leave no witnesses.

Yet now, an anomaly had stepped in.

And judging by the suffocating pressure sinking into their bones, they had just become the prey.

Pyris slowly lifted his head, his golden irises gleaming with something raw and violent, the eerie glow casting flickering shadows across his face. His gaze swept over Silent Night’s broken form before shifting toward the assassins, unhurried, as if memorizing their very existence—as if deciding how best to erase them.

’She didn’t take her dragon form, huh? How stubborn!’ Then, his voice broke the silence—low, steady, yet dripping with something venomous, unforgiving.

"How dare you vampires attack a noble dragon?" The words were not a question. They were a sentence.

And then—his aura crashed down.

The very air shattered.

An unrelenting, crushing force descended upon the alley, slamming into the two phantoms with the weight of a thousand mountains, their bodies locking in place as though the fabric of reality had conspired to bind them where they stood.

The ground beneath Pyris’s feet splintered, massive cracks spiderwebbing outward as his fury manifested into pure force, an oppressive storm of sheer dominance that made even the very laws of nature hesitate.

The shadows around them trembled.

The air burned.

And the vampires understood—

They had just provoked something far beyond their comprehension.

They, of course, recognized Pyris—or at least, what appeared to be him.

But what the hell was he doing here?

More importantly, why was he defending a woman tied so closely to his supposed enemy? Shouldn’t he be pleased that they were handling her for him? Shouldn’t he be indifferent at best, or even grateful?

No… something wasn’t adding up. A flicker of unease passed between the two assassins. How the fuck were they supposed to explain this?

Pyris, however, didn’t give a damn about their thoughts.

Without sparing them another glance, he knelt down, his movements slow and deliberate as he reached for Silent Night. His fingers brushed against the grime and ash coating her broken form, his palm settling carefully beneath her head.

She was barely breathing.

As Pyris cradled Silent Night’s head in his hands, his expression darkened even more. Her body was scorched beyond recognition, her once-formidable presence reduced to a frail, broken figure. The once-pristine silent special envoy of the Dragon Empire now lay motionless, her energy reserves depleted—Blood Burn Fiend had made sure she couldn’t even circulate her own energy to heal.

Pyris sighed, his fingers lightly brushing against the soot-stained strands of her hair.

Dracula and his games. The Vampire Emperor had a vicious habit of toying with his victims—breaking them mentally before delivering the final blow. He wanted them to feel desperation, to know they had no escape before he snuffed them out.

This was no different.

Dracula had orchestrated everything. He had ensured that Veyna and the other vampire nobles spoke about his secret dealings with House Obsidian—just loudly enough for Silent Night to hear. He had wanted her to panic, to feel the urgency to report back to Drakos immediately. And the moment she took the bait?

His assassins were already waiting.

His expression turned ice cold.

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"What a sadistic bastard."