Dual Cultivation: Gathering SSS-Rank Wives in the Cultivation World-Chapter 380 - Main Queen Palace

The Grand Hall of the Main Feline Clan pulsed with tension masked by opulence.

Chandeliers made from crystallized beast cores hung from vaulted ceilings, casting golden light across marble floors inlaid with patterns of hunting cats. Long tables stretched the length of the hall, laden with roasted meats, exotic fruits, and wine that glimmered like liquid rubies.

Hundreds of catkin nobles and warriors filled the space—most with sleek black fur, some with white, others with silver streaks running through their hair.

Their ears twitched with every sound, tails swishing as they conversed in low, careful tones.

But all eyes kept drifting toward the elevated platform at the hall’s far end.

Three thrones sat there. Massive. Carved from obsidian and adorned with gold filigree depicting ancient feline deities mid-hunt. Each throne was occupied.

The left throne held a woman with pure white hair cascading past her shoulders, contrasting sharply against her dark skin. Her outfit was a tight-fitting black dress that hugged every curve, slit high on both thighs to allow freedom of movement. White cat ears sat alert atop her head, twitching occasionally as she surveyed the room with ice-blue eyes. Her claws—painted silver—drummed against the armrest in a rhythm that betrayed impatience.

The right throne was occupied by a woman whose black hair was cut short, almost boyish, framing sharp features and amber eyes that missed nothing. She wore a crimson leather bodysuit that left her shoulders bare, revealing intricate tattoo markings that denoted her lineage. Her tail coiled around the base of her throne like a serpent, and her posture was relaxed—almost bored—as she picked at her teeth with one claw.

But it was the center throne that commanded attention.

Grey hair. Long and flowing like molten silver, framing a face that could have been carved from stone for all the emotion it showed. Her eyes were narrow—calculating—and her jaw was set in a way that suggested she was grinding her teeth beneath closed lips. She wore a form-fitting silver gown that seemed to shimmer with every breath, her ample chest rising and falling with controlled fury.

Her name was Helvora. Queen of the Main Feline Clan.

And right now, her mind was replaying words she’d heard from a recording crystal just hours ago.

"...men in this world are trash because women allow them to be."

The voice had been male. Deep. Confident. The kind of voice that shouldn’t exist in a world where men were kept as protected ornaments, not warriors or leaders.

"Well, if she’s more beautiful than the cat kin queen, I’d certainly enjoy having a taste of her."

"I mean, I could punish her. Just like I’m punishing this woman here."

Then flesh slap sounds filled her mind and moans of a woman.

Helvora’s jaw clenched harder. Her knuckles turned white as her grip tightened on the throne’s armrest.

CRACK!

The sound echoed through the hall like a gunshot. Conversations died instantly as hundreds of heads turned toward the platform. The armrest of Helvora’s throne—solid obsidian reinforced with cultivation arrays—had shattered. Pieces of black stone tumbled to the floor, glittering in the chandelier light.

The woman on the left throne leaned forward slightly, concern flickering across her features. "Sister?" Her voice was soft but carried easily in the sudden silence. "What happened? Are you still thinking about that pathetic Matriarch Mamoon?"

Helvora didn’t answer immediately. Her grey hair swirled around her shoulders as if caught in an invisible wind, though the air in the hall was perfectly still. When she spoke, her voice was low—dangerous.

"Forget everything." Her narrow eyes opened fully, revealing pupils contracted to slits. "I will just kill that bastard with my own hand—"

BOOOOOM!

The explosion came from above.

The entire hall trembled. Dust rained from the ceiling as massive cracks spider-webbed across the marble overhead. Chunks of stone broke free, plummeting toward the crowd below.

Screams erupted. Nobles dove for cover. But the warriors—dozens of elite catkin guards stationed throughout the hall—moved with predatory grace. They leapt upward, claws extended, slashing through falling boulders mid-air. Stone shattered into harmless fragments that clattered across the floor.

"Protect the Queens!" one warrior roared, her voice cutting through the chaos.

But before anyone could form a defensive perimeter around the thrones, the ceiling opened.

Not collapsed. Opened.

A circular section of marble and reinforced arrays simply disintegrated, leaving a gaping hole through which night sky became visible. And through that hole, bathed in moonlight, a figure descended.

She landed in the center of the hall with enough force to crack the marble beneath her boots.

Tiger ears. White with black stripes, sitting alert atop a head of wild black hair. Her skin was sun-bronzed, and her body was wrapped in a simple black combat robe that left her arms bare, revealing corded muscle and old scars. But it was her eyes that drew every gaze—golden, glowing faintly with barely restrained bloodlust, pupils contracted to vertical slits.

Sabrina.

The hall erupted in murmurs.

"A tiger-kin?"

"What’s a tiger-kin doing here?"

"Isn’t she—"

"That’s Sabrina!" someone shouted from the back. "The one who won the Fifth Circle Competition!"

More voices overlapped.

"I heard she ran away before accepting her reward!"

"She insulted the Matriarch and fled like a coward!"

Sabrina’s mouth twitched. Her tail lashed behind her once, twice, the tip snapping like a whip. She straightened slowly, rolling her shoulders as she surveyed the hall with those predator eyes.

Then her gaze locked onto the three thrones.

"So," Sabrina said, her voice cutting through the murmurs like a blade. "Which one of you three is the Queen?"

Silence crashed down.

The sheer audacity of the question—the casual disrespect—made several warriors reach for their weapons. But before anyone could move, one did.

A catkin warrior with sleek black fur and a curved blade at her hip blurred into motion. She twisted mid-air, her body spinning like a top as she delivered a devastating roundhouse kick aimed directly at Sabrina’s head.

"Don’t be impudent with our Queens, you filthy—"

The kick never landed.

Sabrina didn’t even turn her head.

There was a flash of red. A spray of crimson that arced through the air in a perfect parabola, splattering across the marble floor in thick droplets.

The catkin warrior’s body—cut cleanly in half at the waist—fell in two separate pieces. Her eyes were still wide with shock, her mouth frozen mid-insult as her upper torso hit the ground with a wet thud. Her legs collapsed a moment later, twitching.

Blood pooled. And then it moved.

Instead of spreading across the floor like it should, the crimson liquid began to writhe. It gathered itself, pulling inward, rising upward in a grotesque parody of life. The blood took shape—humanoid, feminine—until standing where the pool had been was a woman.

Red hair. Long and wild, the color of fresh arterial spray. Her body was wrapped in a skintight red latex suit that left absolutely nothing to the imagination—every curve, every line of muscle, the outline of her nipples pressing against the material, even the distinct shape of her slit visible between her thighs. Cat ears sat atop her head, the same crimson as her hair.

Her right hand was still extended, fingers shaped like a blade. Blood dripped from the tips.

She tilted her head, crimson eyes sweeping across the stunned hall. Then she smiled—sharp, feral, utterly devoid of warmth.

"Because," she purred, her voice like silk over steel, "we will kill everyone else."

The hall exploded into chaos.

Warriors surged forward from all directions, blades drawn, claws extended. "PROTECT THE QUEENS!" "KILL THE INTRUDERS!" "SOUND THE ALARM!"

But neither Sabrina nor the red-haired woman moved.

Then the sky changed.

VWOOM-VWOOM-VWOOM

Hundreds of green magical circles bloomed in the air above the hall like poisonous flowers opening at midnight. They appeared out of nowhere—geometric patterns spinning slowly, arcane symbols glowing with sickly emerald light. Each circle hummed with power, layering over each other until the entire ceiling looked like a massive spell formation.

Every head tilted upward. Warriors froze mid-charge. Nobles stopped scrambling for cover. Even the three queens rose slightly from their thrones, eyes narrowing at the impossible display overhead.

"What is—" one warrior started.

Nothing.

Her mouth moved, lips forming words, but no sound emerged. She tried again, shouting this time, her face contorting with effort.

Silence.

Absolute, suffocating silence.

Panic rippled through the hall like wildfire. Warriors grabbed their throats, mouths opening and closing like fish gasping for air. Nobles clawed at their faces, eyes wide with terror as they tried to scream and produced nothing but vacuum. Even the ambient sounds—the crackling of torches, the rustle of clothing, the scrape of boots on marble—all of it vanished.

The world had been muted.

Helvora’s eyes widened, her narrow pupils contracting to pinpoints. ’Arcane silence magic.’ Her mind raced. ’Tier four at minimum. Covering this entire hall? Impossible. The mana cost alone would—’

Her jaw clenched as understanding crashed down. ’Unless...’

She moved to stand, pushing herself up from the obsidian throne with both hands. Her grey hair whipped around her shoulders as cultivation energy began to gather—

A hand landed on her shoulder.

Gentle. Firm. Undeniable.

Helvora’s entire body went rigid. She turned her head slowly, grey eyes sliding to the side to see who dared—

A woman stood directly behind her throne.

Nine tails. Silvery-white mixed with streaks of crimson, each one swaying lazily like silk caught in an invisible breeze. The tails seemed to phase in and out of reality, their tips glowing faintly.

Her body was wrapped in a tight crimson dress that struggled to contain massive breasts, and her golden eyes—sharp, predatory, ancient—fixed on Helvora with the intensity of a apex predator sizing up prey.

Fox ears twitched atop her head as her lips parted.

"You are not allowed to stand." Her voice was clear, cutting through the silence like a blade through water. The only sound in the entire hall. "Just watch." 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

Helvora’s mouth twitched, her lips pulling back to bare teeth. ’How dare—’

"How dare you—" she started, her voice coming out strangled, fighting against whatever magic suppressed it.

But before she could finish, the woman’s golden eyes flashed.

And then everything changed.

The hall ’emptied’.