Extra's Life: MILFs Won't Leave the Incubus Alone-Chapter 207: Everyone knows.

The letter arrived at dawn.

The saintess had just finished her morning prayers when a delicate knock came—gentle, refined, noble. She opened the door with a small, serene smile that illuminated the room with warmth.

A courier bowed deeply, the sun catching the brass buttons on his uniform and glinting off his polished boots.

"An invitation for Her Holiness, from the Leonidus household."

Her eyes brightened like a child receiving a long-awaited gift, the kind that promises both joy and discovery. Her fingers trembled slightly as she accepted the parchment, the weight of the seal familiar and reassuring, yet heavy with unspoken consequence.

Behind her, Aiden—still wearing the guise of Prophet Lucifer—froze. So completely that the flames in the candle sconces flickered as though they, too, were startled by the sudden shift in the room’s energy.

She broke the silence and unfolded the letter.

"Oh! A formal banquet! To honor the Church and welcome us!"

Aiden’s mind screamed:

No.

No no no no no.

The women. All of them would be waiting. Seven of them, counting only those he knew personally.

Seven women who had once lain in his arms, who knew him in ways that the Saintess never could.

And he had not touched even one of them in over a week.

A cold shiver crawled down his spine, creeping along the curve of his back, crawling beneath his skin like ice crawling beneath the surface of water. It felt... almost holy.

She clasped the invitation against her chest, the paper crisp against her robes.

"That sounds... wonderful."

Aiden tried, his voice breaking slightly as he grasped at control, "We are very busy. The Church needs—"

She shook her head gently, tilting her chin up with the quiet authority of someone who had never been taught to compromise on matters of courtesy.

"Prophet, they honored us with kindness. It would be rude not to accept."

"That’s... not necessarily—"

"They even requested you specifically."

Aiden blinked, a bead of sweat forming at his temple. He felt a terror unlike any before—real, palpable, gnawing.

"That’s... nice of them," he said weakly.

She beamed, the light from the morning sun catching the halo of her golden hair.

"We’ll depart within the hour!"

Aiden stared at her smile and silently cursed every god, demon, and half-baked deity that had ever meddled in his life.

The carriage ride was quiet. Too quiet. The wheels crunched over frost-hardened gravel, each echo amplified by the cold morning air.

She hummed a hymn softly, the sound vibrating through the carriage like sunlight striking glass, golden strands of hair shifting with each gentle note. The air carried the faint, comforting scent of her incense: a delicate mixture of myrrh, frankincense, and something floral that smelled of purity itself.

Aiden kept glancing out the window.

Because someone was following them.

No—watching.

It was not human. Not entirely. Something ancient pressed against the edges of the world, an intangible force that made the air crackle faintly. A whisper of inevitability. A presence that should not have seen him.

He clenched his jaw, knuckles whitening.

She noticed, tilting her head slightly, her brow furrowed in a subtle but precise curiosity.

"Prophet? Is something wrong?"

"Nothing," he lied, each word tasting metallic in his mouth. He tightened his grip on the seat beneath him. Something was coming. Something that had waited for this precise moment.

The Leonidus mansion appeared over the hill, a jagged silhouette gilded with sunlight, grand, dangerous, alive. The marble steps gleamed, reflecting the morning frost. And on those steps, the women waited.

Seven of them, and more. Every maid in the household lined the balcony, eyes glinting with unspoken tension. Every gaze unfulfilled, every stance brimming with the promise of reckoning.

Smiles bloomed—radiant, predatory, intoxicating.

She gasped softly, lips parting in awe. "They’re so beautiful... like angels..."

Aiden wanted to leap from the carriage and vanish into the mountains, leaving frost and fear behind him.

Catherine stepped forward with effortless poise, a goddess in silk and steel.

"Oh, Saintess. An honor."

Shila bowed slightly, her robes brushing the ground. "Thank you for inviting us... Lady Viscountess."

Catherine’s gaze slid to Aiden, slow, deliberate, calculating. Her smile was beautiful—but it was a blade hidden in velvet. The kind of smile that remembered exactly how he had made her scream into pillows and promised that she intended to return the favor.

Sabrina approached next, gliding forward like a shadow over polished marble.

"So this is the famed Prophet Lucifer. Welcome... home."

Her voice dripped venom wrapped in silk.

Eve leaned against a pillar, tailing her smirk like a cat observing a mouse commit suicide. Flora whispered loudly to Luna, "He looks nervous."

Luna’s whisper, a soft hiss: "Good."

Akidna crossed her arms, Tanya cracked her knuckles audibly. The sound echoed in Aiden’s ears, marking the countdown to his mental undoing. He swallowed hard, each gulp a struggle.

He was absolutely, irreversibly doomed.

.

.

The Banquet hall gleamed with golden light, chandeliers dripping with crystal brilliance, walls adorned with tapestries depicting battles, blessings, and saints long passed.

Women took their seats with flawless grace, a choreography of control, elegance, and silent menace. Aiden found himself trapped between Shila and Sabrina, the Saintess’s soft presence a warm contrast to the lethal energy that radiated from the others.

She smiled at the women, innocence itself. But the women smiled back, sharpened edges behind each curve of their lips, and in that instant, the room became a cage of unspoken threats.

Sabrina leaned forward first, her tone sweet but deadly.

"My Prophet has such... stamina."

The saintess blinked, confused. "Stamina? For prayer?"

Sabrina’s smile widened. "Oh, yes. He prays... passionately... very, verrry Passionately."

Catherine added, her voice velvety, low: "All night, sometimes..."

She blushed, heat creeping to her ears. "All night praying? Truly admirable..."

Aiden stared at his plate like it might offer an escape, a hole into which he could sink and be swallowed.

Eve giggled, brushing her foot up his calf under the table, electric contact that made his spine coil involuntarily.

Luna dropped her fork deliberately, bending low to whisper in his ear, "We’re going to ruin you tonight."

Flora leaned close from the other side, whispering, "Or kill you. Depends on our mood."

Tanya cracked a walnut with bare hands, the snap of shell echoing like a gunshot.

Akidna stared him down as though considering the precise location for his demise.

The saintess leaned closer, voice quiet but tinged with worry. "Prophet... everyone seems very... close to you."

Aiden coughed into his wine, a forced act of composure. The wolves around him smiled, all pretense of restraint slipping like shadows at dusk.

Then... the world shattered.

Bang!!!

A window exploded outward, shards of glass scattering like deadly rain, the sound shrill, sharp, almost metallic.

A black mana blade shot toward Shila’s throat, a streak of shadow that seemed to swallow light itself.

Time slowed.

The saintess froze, every muscle taut, breath caught mid-hymn.

Everyone gasped, a chorus of alarm and suppressed thrill.

Aiden moved. Not humanly. Not divinely. Something else entirely.

He blurred across the table in a motion that defied reality, catching the mana blade between two fingers and crushing it until it screamed.

The floor beneath his feet cracked. The chandelier above quivered violently. Walls trembled as though the building itself feared the force Aiden radiated.

Another assassin materialized in a swirl of shadows, the room thick with danger.

Aiden’s voice, low and terrible, rolled over them like thunder. "You dare... you dare to touch what is mine?"

The assassin staggered, clutching his amulet, choking on disbelief.

"You—you’re not—human—"

Aiden raised his hand. A pulse of dark light erupted, blasting the assassin clean through a wall. Silence fell like a stone.

’Wait... it should have been holy light...’ he thought, eyes dropping to the amulet chain that had fallen, glinting on the floor below.

Every gaze in the room locked on him: the women, Shila, even the trembling candle flames.

Aiden turned slowly, knowing, revealing. Too much revealed.

His eyes glowed, hair shifting like curling smoke, aura pressing down with gravity too dense to resist.

The saintess’s lips parted, awe and fear mingling in her soft gasp.

"P-Prophet... what... what are you?"

The women stared, a cocktail of desire, fear, and readiness to drag him upstairs in anticipation of reckoning.

Aiden exhaled, slow, deliberate, savoring the mix of terror, excitement, and admiration surrounding him.

"Well," he murmured, voice threading through bone and blood. "That’s... complicated."

The Saintess took a small, deliberate step back, her hands trembling slightly as she gripped her robes. Her breaths came shallow, measured.

In her chest, a curious mixture of awe, fear, and reluctant fascination swirled like a storm. She had been trained to see God’s power, to recognize divine wrath—but this... this was different. This magnetic energy and charm.

Aiden’s eyes, now glowing with that unearthly golden light, scanned the room slowly, deliberately, as if taking inventory of every thought, every heartbeat, every concealed intention.

"It seems, the cats out of the bag...." he murmured, low and smooth, but every syllable carried the weight of a coming storm. He scuffed his now white hair. His blamish godly looks.

The Saintess, lips pressed together, did not step back. Her voice was soft, trembling only slightly, but it cut through the tension like a chime in midnight.

She was familiar with this energy, this was what you called ember, the manipulation of life force.

"Lucifer...are you...are you an incubus?"

Aiden looked around, gazing at Catherine. "Lock the mansion love."

Catherine smiled.

"Haha...Done."