Extra's Life: MILFs Won't Leave the Incubus Alone-Chapter 214: Its Happening

Amber—once the dutiful daughter of the lord, once the girl who bowed her head before every altar without a whisper of doubt—opened her eyes slowly, as though waking in a world she no longer recognized.

Her lashes fluttered once.

Twice.

A third time, heavier, as the remnants of last night clung to her like warm fog.

Then her gaze landed on him.

Aiden lay beside her, still asleep.

No glamour.

No disguise.

No mask carved from divinity or shadows.

Just Aiden.

His natural white hair spilled over the pillow like threads of moonlight, the strands faintly glowing where the dawn brushed them. His golden eyes—closed now—rested under soft, almost fragile lids.

Without his usual sharp expression, without the air of danger he carried like a second skin, he looked... human. Almost boyish.

Amber’s breath caught.

She pressed a hand against her chest, feeling her heart thrum fast—too fast—like a bird beating against the bars of its cage.

He really is... beautiful.

Not the artificial kind. Not the holy kind.

A different kind—one that made her throat tighten for reasons she still didn’t fully understand.

She pulled the blanket higher around herself, suddenly shy even though he was asleep. The room around them was still dim, the morning light barely spilling through the stained-glass window of the church quarters.

The colors—pale blue, gold, and soft rose—stretched across the stone walls, making the chamber feel warmer than it truly was.

Amber shifted slightly and felt her skin brush against the smooth sheets. She glanced toward the mirror across the room. Her hair was tousled in an oddly flattering way, falling around her shoulders like silk. Her cheeks held a faint flush.

But what shocked her most—

Her body.

Her figure had always been called "healthy," "sturdy," or "soft" by polite nobles. None of them had been bold enough to call it chunky, though many meant it. She had accepted it. Welcomed it, even. It made her feel real.

But now—

Her waist looked narrower.

Her shoulders gentler.

Her skin... glowed.

A soft sheen like polished marble kissed by warm sun.

Her lips parted slightly.

Is this...?

She turned toward him again.

Of course it was him.

the incubus.

His mere presence altered people, reshaped them, refined them. She had read that somewhere—no, she had heard it whispered by flustered noblewomen long ago, though she never believed it. It sounded ridiculous.

But seeing herself now...

She swallowed, feeling a wave of embarrassment crash over her. Yet beneath it, under the heat in her face, something else pulsed softly.

A quiet pride.

So this is what it feels like... to be chosen.

But the warmth inside her quickly clashed with a cold memory.

Aiden’s voice.

Aiden’s words.

"Your god is a lie. The first prophet was a con artist."

Her spine tightened. Her fingers curled into the sheets. Her jaw clenched.

How could he say that?

How could he say something so cruel, so disrespectful to everything she’d built her life on?

Anger sparked, sharp and raw, tracing the same nerves that last night’s closeness had softened.

She remembered her fury—hot, blinding—that had burned even as she stood before him. Remembered how she’d shouted, how her voice cracked from the sheer force of disbelief.

But last night he had simply taken out the holy texts.

Not the new ones—

the old ones.

Versions buried under revisions.

Editions altered by kings and priests.

Histories rewritten.

Dates crossed out and replaced.

Amber squeezed her eyes shut, remembering the way his voice had gone quiet—almost gentle—when he turned the pages for her.

Showing her the "miracles" that had been edited in centuries later.

Listing the rituals that had been erased.

Tracing the names of villages destroyed in the "holy cleansing" no priest dared speak of.

He didn’t yell.

Didn’t mock her.

Didn’t gloat.

He simply showed her.

And she had felt the ground slip beneath her feet.

What am I supposed to believe now?

She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold her own shape together.

He hadn’t shattered her faith—

he wasn’t that cruel.

He had exposed its cracks.

Her mind drifted back to Shila—the abbess—her cold stare, her thin smile. A woman who had climbed the sacred hierarchy not through devotion but manipulation, politics, and hidden relationships.

Amber always thought Shila was wicked.

Now... she wasn’t sure she was wrong.

She wasn’t sure she had been right either.

Everything felt confusing.

Amber walked toward the balcony, the cool breeze brushing her warm skin. She pushed open the tall window doors. The morning air was crisp, scented faintly with wet leaves and incense drifting from the distant chapel.

The sky was a soft blue—gentle, serene, almost mocking.

A world so peaceful on the surface, while underneath, everything was beginning to tremble.

She leaned forward, placing her hands on the cold stone railing. The wind tugged at her hair, brushing it back like invisible fingers.

"Things are going to change..." she whispered, her voice swallowed by the breeze. "Aiden... your path... this world..."

She didn’t know whether to fear it or embrace it.

Below, the courtyard was already alive.

Nuns in white and pale pink robes bustled toward the massive new building at the corner of the district—the guild Aiden had birthed into existence in only a few days.

A guild run by nuns, priests and all with it members.

A guild that offered—

Free healing.

Free healing.

Free healing.

That phrase had already spread like wildfire through Leonidus. Every adventurer, every mercenary, every hopeful poor youth who once feared stepping into sky dungeons... now eagerly rushed to join.

Slayers were furious.

Merchants shaken.

The nobles confused.

And the church... unsettled.

Amber watched the steady stream of hopeful adventurers lining up outside the guild doors, clutching weapons and bags, excitement glowing in their eyes.

A revolution disguised as charity.

A quiet one.

A dangerous one.

Aiden’s doing.

She felt a hand touch her waist from behind.

Warm.

Steady.

Familiar.

Her breath hitched as she leaned back without thinking.

"Aiden..."

He hummed softly, barely awake. His fingers slid around her waist, pulling her closer. She felt the weight of his head rest against her shoulder, his breath warm on her neck.

"What are you thinking about?" His voice was low, rough with sleep. "You look too deep in thought for this early in the morning."

She hesitated, her heart thudding.

"...Your revolution," she whispered. "It’s too fast. Too bright. Great things burned the brightest right before they collapsed."

Aiden chuckled softly.

A soft, dangerous sound.

He tightened his hold on her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder.

"I know," he murmured. "I know how the mighty fall. How fast success turns to ruin. How envy grows sharper than any blade."

Another pause. A breath.

"But I am not one of them," he whispered into her ear. "And neither are you. Or Sabrina. Or Catherine. Or Flora. Or Calipso."

His arms wrapped around her even more fully now.

"We will rise," he said. "Above everything. Above everyone."

Amber didn’t know if she believed him.

But his voice—

it made her want to.

Before she could answer, footsteps echoed in the hallway.

Not hurried.

Not soft.

Balanced—too balanced.

The walk of someone trained to appear calm even when storms churned beneath the skin.

The door opened.

The saintess—Calipso—stepped in.

She no longer wore the white robes of purity.

She wore darker ones now—deep midnight purple trimmed with faint gold, a blend between priestess and succubus aesthetics. All by Aiden’s doing.

Her mask was down, revealing her face.

A face sculpted by the gods, refined by time, and now reshaped—subtly—by Aiden’s manipulations.

Her beauty was breathtaking, but her eyes—

Her eyes narrowed the moment she saw Amber leaning into Aiden’s embrace.

A twitch.

So fast most would miss it.

A small jerk of the fingers.

Jealousy, sharp as a blade’s whisper.

But she hid it quickly, smiling serenely.

"Aiden," she called, her voice soft, melodic. "The empress has replied to my letter."

Aiden straightened immediately, stepping away from Amber. Calipso’s gaze flicked briefly between them before she extended a letter sealed with the imperial crest.

He took it from her delicate fingers and broke the seal.

His eyes scanned the parchment.

Amber saw his expression shift.

Not into fear.

Not into worry.

But into calculation.

He folded the letter slowly.

"The empire is close to collapsing," he murmured. "The emperial family is cornered. The nobles are restless. The emperor’s health is failing faster than anyone expected..."

Calipso stepped closer, her gaze fixed wholly on him.

"Aiden... what should I do?"

He looked up at her.

"Go to the capital."

Her lips pressed together tightly.

"Are you... trying to push me away?" she asked quietly, a trembling edge in her voice.

Aiden raised a brow.

"You didn’t let me finish."

She blinked.

"When you go," he continued, voice calmer, "I will be able to follow. Then we reunite. You will go ahead—not as a pawn, but as what you are..."

She straightened instinctively.

"The saintess."

"Exactly."

She breathed out—relief and pride mixing.

"So I am preparing the way for you?" she asked.

"indeed..."

He gently placed a hand on her head, fingers brushing her hair in a rare gesture of tenderness.

"Act like the saintess the world believes you to be," he said softly. "Gather information. Observe everything in the capital. And report it all to me...every single bit."

She nodded, resolve hardening like steel.

As she turned to leave, her step paused.

Her eyes returned—

to Amber.

A heartbeat too long.

A stare too sharp.

Something dark pulsed beneath her serene expression.

Jealousy.

Possessiveness.

A wound she didn’t yet understand.

"Will I... get a reward?" she asked Aiden, voice almost playful—but edged with something deeper.

Aiden stepped toward her without hesitation, placing a soft kiss on her forehead.

"Yes," he said. "Yes You will."

Her eyes lit with a dangerous kind of joy.

She turned away, leaving the room with a lightness in her steps that didn’t reach her gaze.

Amber watched her disappear down the hallway, feeling a chill brush the back of her neck despite the warm sunlight.

Beside her, Aiden exhaled slowly—not tired, but thoughtful.

As the morning breeze swept across the balcony once more, carrying the faint toll of distant bells, Amber felt something shift in the air.

Not breaking.

Not healing.

Just shifting. Shifting towards him.