Netori: Reborn as the Human Aphrodisiac

If there is one thing that all monarchies of the Purple Dawn have in common, it is the value of the purple. Purple is the color of kings, in theory reserved for the ruler.

And so just like the Tyrian purple popularized on Earth by the Roman and Byzantine Emperors, when Odoacer established the Great Blood Empire, he received the Purple Mantle from the Weaver, on that day proclaiming himself…the King of Kings.

The subsequent emperors preserved the mantle, passing it down from one ruler to the next. And even after the Empire's collapse, the remnants of the Hadu kept it safe, waiting for the day one worthy to shoulder its powers would arise to inherit it at last.

But if the Purple Mantle was that easy to shoulder, its legend wouldn't have outlasted the Empire. Only Superior Beings of the Hadu bloodline could awaken the mantle's powers—making it useless in the Uriah's hands.

And so, from a fearsome divine artifact, the mantle devolved into a ceremonial object, a mere symbol of the ruler's authority.

Not anymore. The moment Vel lowered the mantle on Mithras' shoulders, a swirl of divine power coiled up his form. Blinding flashes of light sweeping through the throne room as the mantle turned into a purple imperial garb embroidered with lustrous white patterns.

[Ding! Ding! Ding!]

[Blood Genesis…unlocked!]

[The Weaver is Pissed Off…unlocked!]

The system's voice rumbled in Mithras' mind. Here, he stood up—towering above Vel in the imperial garb. His aura unfurled the moment next, and from the lowest of lords to the highest-ranked marquis, all dropped to their knees, unable to withstand…Mithras' Majesty.

He'd not yet unlocked the skill proper. Just the flashes of Majesty were enough to bring hundreds of templars to their knees! So what would it be once Mithras unlocked the true Majesty? Only time could tell. And in that instant, no one really cared—no one except for a little someone who hid amidst the crowd, disguised as an ordinary damsel.

'Cutie pie, the purple fits you like a glove. But why does it make me so happy, proud and terrified?' The damsel whispered, vanishing subsequently. Except for Mithras and Vel, no one noticed her. But as if bound by a tacit understanding, both acted as if they'd not detected her true identity.

"All hail Your Highness," Vel said in a rare mischievous tone. Mithras' lips curled up, but he didn't answer right off, turning his back to the Queen-Regent.

"It rolls off your tongue like drizzles of honey. Yet I'd trade that title in a heartbeat to become your majesty," Mithras said, and reading between the lines, Vel rolled her eyes, concealing her flushing cheeks with a silent mantra. "Rascal," Vel whispered, causing Mithras to break into a mild laugh as he left with his crew.

"I take that as a compliment."

---

Later that day, Mithras freed the slaves. Gaiseric's slaves, who really had better standards of living than the average noble anyway. For as the saying goes, the prime minister's dog ranks higher than a minor official. And of all the kings of the Purple Dawn, Gaiseric was notorious for spoiling his subordinates—treating them better than most of his relatives, siblings included.

Sadly, as freedom is not always the best path moving forward, most of them decided to stay as servants anyway—perhaps confused by Mithras' charm, or just not wanting to lose the living standards they'd gotten accustomed to, regardless. The royal palace became a desert overnight, with the palace servants and royal relatives all following the Prince of Astalon.

"6,000 servants. Bloody hell, how are we going to house them? We don't need that many." Alone in her study, Cassandra browsed through a pile of documents, handling the logistics of the situation.

The servants didn't come empty-handed, providing a large supply of Ener Crystals, treasures and assets. For while on the surface, the law enabled the servant class to own property, more often than not, it was the lords who managed their servants' assets.

Why? Because the law sucks.

One, lords are responsible for their servants before the law. A servant doesn't have legal responsibilities—meaning that if a lord doesn't keep a close eye on his servants, they could literally sink their entire house. Two, servants can own assets, but they cannot own the land—leaving them vulnerable to exploitation unless they receive their master's assistance. And who the fuck helps for free?

But while this influx of servants came with a substantial net worth, the cost of keeping them around far exceeded their value. Especially since the Astalon themselves already had servants galore. Thankfully, the thirsty royal relatives who used all the excuses under the sun to stay glued to Mithras also came with money.

Otherwise, Cassandra would have been forced to take from Mithras' stuffed bank account.

But as the matriarch's thoughts trailed off, the study's door flew open, closing in a micro-second as a raven-haired youth appeared at Cassandra's back, arms wrapping around her neck. "Hello, mother dearest. Missed me?"

"Hello, my golden boy. Stop calling me that." Cassandra snapped immediately, yet still let herself get comfortable in Mithras' arms.

"Why? You don't like being my mom? Cassandra, you're breaking my heart," Mithras said with a sulking look.

"You know what I mean!"

"No. As a matter of fact, I don't know what you mean unless you tell me what you mean. You women really be thinking that we lads have some kind of radar to detect the petty thoughts in your petty minds. News flash, we don't. So, tell me what you are feeling so I can love you proper," Mithras said and leaned in, leaving Cassandra completely speechless.

Silence settled in, Cassandra's heart spiraling out of control as she fumbled for words.

"Ah, love, love, love. You're lucky it's me. Come on then…let me spoil you rotten," Mithras said, taking Cassandra in a passionate game of Smooch and Rut.

A few hours later, a shirtless Mithras lay in his bed, a smiling Cassandra lying beside him with her head resting on his chest.

"Talking about games. Have you been practicing the Game of Muk'Bal?" The Astalon matriarch asked in a blissful tone that left no doubt about her satisfaction level.

Muk'Bal, an ancient fighting game invented by the Blood Aristocracy and popularized all over the world. Many of the battles in the Sanctuary followed that game's rules, making its mastery indispensable for those who aimed to explore the Holy Land.

"Nope. Don't care to. I will learn it on the fly."

"The new year starts in three days. You are joining the Academy as a five-star recruit for the Sanctuary Team, and you don't even know how to play Muk'Bal? Vel'Asha even arranged for Lyssandra to become the new coach of the Sanctuary Team so she could help you. Are you not afraid of being ridiculed and disappointing your dear Queen-Regent?" Cassandra asked in a suspicious tone.

Mithras ignored her, pretending to not notice the jealousy in her words.

"It's just a silly fighting game. I have a lot more important things to do than waste time on something I can master in a heartbeat." Mithras wasn't being arrogant. With the Wisdom of the Slithering Emperor and the System to back him up, the Game of Muk'Bal posed him no challenge, making the effort unnecessary.

"Talking about important things. Is the thing I asked ready?" Mithras asked, immediately causing Cassandra's mood to sour a little.

"Yes," she answered anyway, looking the other way. Mithras didn't allow it, forcing his godmother to look him in the eyes.

"What's wrong? You can join if you want. You know I'd want you there."

"And I don't. I like our time together being exclusive. Sharing you…is a necessary evil I just learned to accept so I wouldn't lose you. Not something that makes me leap from joy." Cassandra replied in a calm and straightforward tone. And to this…Mithras had nothing to say.