Extra's Life: MILFs Won't Leave the Incubus Alone Chapter 398 - 393: The Price of Steel and Shadow

Aiden stood on the elevated platform overlooking Blackvein Forge. The air smelled of hot metal, crystal dust, and sweat. Hammers rang without pause.

Conveyor lines powered by anchored crystal cores moved faster than any natural workforce could manage.

Production numbers had tripled in the last month. That should have been good news.

It wasn’t.

"Batch seventeen failed again," an engineer reported, wiping grease from his hands. "The swords hold an edge, but they push the user into a rage after twenty minutes of combat.

Three soldiers in the training yard nearly killed each other this morning. One mountain clansman put another in the infirmary."

Aiden looked at the report tablet. The numbers were clear. Enhanced weapons worked better than anything the old empire produced, but the side effects were getting worse.

Not every crystal reacted the same way with human emotion. Some amplified aggression.

Others drained stamina too fast. Quality control had fallen behind the speed of expansion.

Elizabeth crossed her arms beside him. "We need examples. Execute the worst batches and the supervisors who signed off on them. Fear will tighten the line."

Nyra leaned against a support beam, her voice low. "Or let me handle it quietly. No public mess. No questions."

Aiden shook his head. "Not this time."

The real problem wasn’t the crystals. It was the people. A group of old imperial engineers had been caught sabotaging a major shipment meant for the sky-palace. They didn’t work for any outside enemy.

They simply believed Aiden was turning the empire into something unrecognizable—mixing clan labor with enhanced workers, replacing skilled traditional craftsmen with faster, cheaper methods. They called it monstrous.

He ordered the saboteurs brought to the half-built central forge hall. No chains. No aura pressure. Just a tribunal made up of engineers, clan elders, and soldiers.

The hall was loud with the sound of work continuing in the background. Everyone needed to see this.

The lead saboteur, an older man named Kael Voss, stood straight as he faced the mixed panel. "I served the empire for thirty years.

We built these forges with blood and tradition. Now you flood them with mountain barbarians and glowing rocks that twist men’s minds. This isn’t progress. It’s corruption."

A clan elder slammed his fist on the table. "Our labor built half this place. Your ’tradition’ kept us starving while you sat in warm offices."

An enhanced worker stepped forward, veins still faintly glowing from recent crystal exposure. "I can work eighteen hours without breaking. You managed eight. That’s why you’re scared."

The arguments grew heated. Elizabeth pushed for immediate punishment to set an example. Nyra suggested the quiet removal of the worst voices. Aiden listened to all of them, then stood.

"Loyalty isn’t bloodlines or years served," he said, voice carrying across the hall. "It’s results. Competence.

The empire grows or it dies. If your methods can’t keep up, step aside or improve. Sabotage doesn’t protect tradition—it weakens us all. You will fix every weapon you damaged.

Under guard. If the next batch meets standards, you keep your positions. Fail again and you leave Blackvein with nothing. This isn’t up for debate."

The hall fell quiet. Kael Voss looked like he wanted to argue, but the mixed tribunal’s stares stopped him. The message was clear: the old ways had a place only if they delivered.

They moved directly to the test firing of the new sky-palace weapon batteries. Six massive crystal cores, freshly installed, powered heavy cannons mounted on the outer walls.

The test was supposed to show the southern vassals that the empire’s defenses were now unmatched.

The first two shots tore through practice targets on the far ridge with perfect accuracy. The third core flickered. Then it surged.

"Overload!" an engineer shouted.

The cannon barrel glowed too hot. Cracks spread along the crystal housing. Soldiers scrambled for cover.

Aiden moved fast, channeling controlled aura into the stabilization anchors he had placed weeks earlier.

The excess energy bled off into the ground instead of exploding. The core still cracked beyond repair, but the other five held.

Partial success. Not the clean demonstration he wanted.

Elizabeth exhaled sharply. "We can replace it in three days."

Nyra scanned the crowd. "Someone pushed the load too fast on purpose. I’ll find them."

Aiden wiped sweat from his brow. "Do it quietly this time. But no killings unless necessary." He turned to the clan elders who had gathered to watch. "The mountains gave us these crystals. We need to use them right."

One elder, a broad-shouldered man named Torak, stepped closer. "The mountains also shake more lately. Deeper tremors. You dig and anchor too much. Something old is waking. We want more say in how far you go."

Aiden met his eyes. "We’ll talk after the southern tour. But the work doesn’t stop."

The clans wanted autonomy. The engineers wanted respect. The crystals themselves seemed to push back. Success was creating its own fractures.

Aiden left Blackvein the next morning with a small elite group—Elizabeth, Nyra, and two trusted commanders. The sky-palace would stay anchored above the range for now, its weapons half-ready.

The southern buffer territories showed the other side of conquest.

In Harran, King Taren greeted them warmly enough in his hall. The man had kept his throne as a vassal and seemed genuinely relieved the fighting was over.

His nobles were another story. They sat at the long tables with tight faces while servants brought food.

"Taxes have doubled on merchant caravans," one noble complained during the formal dinner. "Our trade routes suffer while your forges take priority."

Taren tried to smooth it over. "The empire brings protection. The Pure Church won’t dare raid us now."

But Aiden saw the quiet conversations in the corners. A tax revolt was brewing. Merchants were already slowing shipments and hiding profits.

Vessia was smoother on the surface. Queen Lira ran her kingdom with clear competence.

She hosted Aiden in a private courtyard garden, speaking openly about supply lines and border security. Yet Nyra had already uncovered the problem.

Lira’s hidden bastard son, a capable young officer named Rhen, had been contacted by Pure Church agents.

They offered him official recognition and a claim to the throne if he undermined the new empire from within.

Lira didn’t know yet. Aiden decided to wait before telling her.

Lorrak was the messiest. The partitioned kingdom still felt the sting of defeat. Former King Draven sat in chains in a secure holding, but his loyalists had gone underground.

They spread pamphlets and whispers calling Aiden the new tyrant who would strip their lands bare to feed the sky-palace. Recruitment for small resistance cells was growing.

Nyra went to work immediately. She planted false information through captured Church infiltrators, making rebel groups suspect each other of betrayal.

Two cells attacked one another within three days, thinking the other had sold out.

Bodies were found with forged documents pointing in different directions. The underground effort slowed.

Elizabeth organized the Imperial Progress. Aiden spent days sitting through local ceremonies that felt endless. In one town he judged land disputes between farmers.

In another he watched traditional dances that lasted hours while secretly negotiating grain shipments with regional officials.

He kept his face calm, but the boredom tested his patience more than any battle.

The real test came when a Korran Vale raiding party crossed the border in force.

The three former rulers—Taren, Lira, and a representative for the partitioned Lorrak—were brought together for a joint military exercise to drive them back.

The planning tent was thick with tension.

Taren wanted a direct heavy cavalry charge. Lira pushed for coordinated archery and flanking with her lighter troops.

The Lorrak representative kept suggesting positions that conveniently left the other two forces exposed. Old hatreds ran deep.

Aiden listened to the bickering for ten minutes, then slammed his hand on the table. "Enough. We hit them in three columns. Harran takes the center road and holds.

Vessia flanks left with archers. Lorrak swings right and cuts retreat. No deviations. If any column fails its part, the raiders escape and I hold that ruler responsible. Personally."

The exercise succeeded, but barely. The raiders were driven off with heavy losses on their side.

Yet during the fighting, Lorrak troops hesitated just long enough for a small group of raiders to slip through their line. Aiden had to commit his own elite guards to close the gap.

After the battle, he gathered the three leaders again. "This is how it works now. You fight together or you lose together. Next time I won’t fix your mistakes."

That night, Nyra brought captured Church agents to Aiden’s tent. One of them carried coded messages. The new anti-Pope wasn’t just planning another crusade.

He was reaching out to factions inside the Sky Dungeons, trying to awaken or bargain with ancient powers to counter the Golden Womb’s growing influence.

Aiden read the decoded lines twice. "They’re desperate."

"Desperate enemies are dangerous," Nyra said. "They make alliances they’ll regret."

Elizabeth entered, still in armor. "The southern buffer is holding, but it’s fragile. We need to finish the weapon upgrades fast."

A runner arrived before dawn the next morning, breathing hard. News from the north.

Eldrenholt reported strange omens—blood moons, dying crops in patterns, and troop movements along the border that looked like preparations. The northern campaign was getting closer whether they wanted it or not.

Aiden stood outside his command tent as the sun rose over the southern plains. The empire was bigger, richer, and stronger than before. But every gain brought new cracks.

Internal sabotage, clan demands, noble resentment, Church intrigue, and now something ancient stirring under the mountains because of their digging.

He tightened his grip on his sword hilt. There was no going back. The price of steel was constant vigilance and hard choices.

The shadow of the north was lengthening, and the empire would meet it with everything they had built—flaws and all.