Gathering Wives with a System Chapter 411: Worries About The Domain Of NTR, Meeting Solkara Race Lord

Soon after taking on the class advancement quest, Isaac made his way back to the office.

Documents piled up in every corner. Reports, requests, budget forms, personnel distributions, building timelines.

The city expanded quicker than anticipated, and such expansion brought challenges that no level of fighting strength could resolve in a flash.

Bureaucratic tasks seemed never-ending.

Fortunately, he no longer handled it solo.

Old Man Jeremy occupied the seat opposite, sleeves pushed up, spectacles resting low on his nose while he sifted through papers at a consistent rhythm.

His actions revealed his seasoned expertise.

He skipped re-reading what he grasped already, and he swiftly noted problems requiring Isaac’s review.

For some time, the room filled only with the scrape of pens and the sporadic flip of sheets.

Then Jeremy paused.

He grabbed a folder from nearby, scowled, and shifted his glasses. His forehead gradually furrowed as he scanned the title once more, almost wishing the text would alter.

Moments later, he spun the folder toward Isaac and met his gaze.

"We’re planning a concert?" he inquired.

Isaac kept his focus on his work initially.

"Yeah," he replied, giving a nod while initialing yet another paper.

Jeremy eyed him briefly, then released a drawn-out sigh that sounded more like a complaint.

"Why? We’re swamped enough already. Why add a concert right now? Do you want me keeling over from overwork?"

Isaac lifted his head at last, a subtle grin playing on his lips. "Relax, old man. Even if you drop dead, I’ll revive you."

Jeremy’s eyelid flickered. "That doesn’t reassure me at all."

Isaac let out a light laugh and reclined in his seat. "I mean it about the concert, though. We’ll leverage Celia’s fame to soothe the populace. Lately, too much chaos has unfolded. Beasts, conflicts, urban conquests, displaced folks. Folks are on edge, whether they voice it or not."

He waved gently at the window, from which faint city noises drifted in.

"An occasion like this—one lively and recognizable, broadcast across the whole settlement—can steady the public’s moods. It offers them a distraction from dread. From an administrative angle, it benefits us greatly."

Jeremy pondered quietly, then gave a gradual nod. "That... actually holds water."

Isaac went on, offhandedly, "Plus, the bigger her stardom grows, the more devotees I attract to my faith."

Jeremy went rigid.

He set down the folder and fixed Isaac with a particular expression, the sort typically aimed at wayward young kin or dubious sect heads. Indeed, it was the first one, absolutely not the second.

"...So the whispers were accurate? Folks are truly worshiping you like a deity?"

Isaac’s grin faltered.

"I didn’t aim for this outcome. It simply... occurred," he explained, massaging his forehead.

Jeremy eased back into his chair. "I’m not buying that."

Isaac held off on answering right away.

Unwanted, his mind wandered to the system interface he avoided checking too frequently.

His spheres of influence.

Especially the uppermost one.

NTR.

His face grew somber.

’Maybe I should scrap the concert?’ he pondered.

The notion flitted through his thoughts repeatedly.

’Should Celia’s fame surge further, and if more admirers fixate on her...’

’I could genuinely become the God of NTR.’

The concept churned his gut.

He’d toiled relentlessly for his achievements. He’d erected the settlement, rescued inhabitants, tilled soil, oversaw supplies, battled creatures. Still, somehow, that was the influence the system deemed most fitting for him.

Unfortunately, the concert proceeded regardless.

Isaac exhaled softly and sat upright.

"At this stage," he murmured, mostly to himself, "I’m just wishing the Market wraps up fast. If my farmer reputation spreads wider, perhaps the Farmer Domain will surpass the NTR Domain."

Jeremy arched a brow. "What was that?"

"Nothing major," Isaac responded hastily. "Simply... yearning for certain issues to fade away soon."

Jeremy shot him a doubtful glance but dropped the subject. They dove back into their duties.

Moments ticked by.

Abruptly, the voice of Qlippoth—the Abyss Monster tied to Isaac and the massive White Parasite Tree—resounded in Isaac’s head.

[Master, hazardous individuals lurk beyond the city walls.]

[They arrived via teleportation.]

Isaac’s pen halted midway through its motion.

His demeanor shifted to grave seriousness instantly.

Jeremy picked up on it right away.

"Something wrong?" he questioned.

"It’s fine. Merely a small matter. Let’s continue," Isaac answered steadily.

Before Jeremy could probe more, Isaac dispatched a clone to the city’s edge.

The clone reached the primary entrance in mere instants.

Five shapes lingered there, evidently in wait.

They couldn’t pass for ordinary humans.

Crimson skin. Four limbs. Dark, eyeless gazes that gleamed softly. Their forms towered and bulked out, exuding an innate aura of intimidation.

The leader up front emanated the most potent vibe.

Next to him was a figure with an evident academic vibe, clutching a rod and draped in multi-layered garments inscribed with strange markings. The other trio hung back, stationed by the gate barriers, quiet and watchful.

The academic one advanced first and offered a courteous incline.

"Salutations, Lord Isaac. We hail from the Solkara race. This is our leader, Averon Solkara. We learned of your ascension to power and arrived to extend our felicitations," he stated.

Isaac observed them keenly prior to replying.

"Appreciate your visit," he responded with a courteous dip of his head. "Come along, please. I’ll lead you to a suitable spot for discussion."

Even with their abrupt showing, Isaac refrained from displaying aggression immediately.

He’d always planned to mold the city as a commerce center, a venue where various peoples could mingle sans instant violence. Baring teeth at each surprise guest would doom that vision.

While they moved, his mind raced.

’Crimson skin. Four arms.’

’Solkara race...’

A recollection from Professor Catherine surfaced.

’Close to the Eltari race.’

That bit caused his eyes to narrow a touch.

These visitors had bypassed Emily’s settlement completely and headed directly to him.

That fact alone rendered the excursion dubious.

They entered an opulent reception area inside the administrative structure. The decor was refined yet not excessively lavish. A servant promptly brought refreshments and set down cups before the visitors, then departed silently.

"Quite the pleasant space," Averon remarked, settling in comfortably.

He alone among the Solkara took a seat. The academic stood at his rear, as the remaining three posted up by the barriers, vigilant sentinels.

"Thank you for the kind words, Lord Averon," Isaac said, claiming his chair. "Now, I suspect you’ve got a key matter to address. Else, it’s tough to justify such an abrupt and... insistent entrance."

Averon grinned. "Forgive our intrusion. We ought to have dispatched notice beforehand, but events compelled swift action."

Their exchange remained courteous.

Their expressions stayed composed.

Yet, Isaac sensed a nagging unease slithering in his thoughts.

It was faint, akin to a tacky residue he couldn’t fully dislodge.

He disliked Averon.

Not merely due to the Solkara race’s deeds, but at a deeper core. An off-putting quality about the individual irked him, though he couldn’t identify the cause.

"You lately seized the Eltari race’s settlement. One of their commanders fled and sought our aid to retake it," Averon declared.