"Young Master..." Helena's voice trembled from her position.

Viktor's head snapped up. His three wives—Helena, Kaida, and Bella—stood there completely naked, moonlight painting their curves in silver. Their faces twisted with worry as they stared at him.

"Viktor, what's wrong?" Kaida stepped forward, her scarless skin glowing. "You just... stopped. Your face looked—"

"Are you crying?" Bella whispered, her cat ears flat against her head.

Viktor blinked. His hand moved to his cheek, fingers coming away wet. A single tear. Small. Pathetic.

Like the pre-cum his dick leaked when he was horny.

He stood abruptly, the movement making all three women flinch. His softening cock—still coated in Helena's juices—swung between his legs as he grabbed the bedsheet, wrapping it around his waist.

"Young Master, talk to us—" Helena reached out.

"You all can go and sleep."

The words came out flat. Cold. Viktor turned toward the door, not meeting their eyes.

All three women froze.

"W-what?" Kaida stammered. "Viktor, we're not done—you just—"

"It seems I need to fulfill my husband duties," Viktor continued, pushing past them into the hallway. "Sleep. I'll handle this."

Bella's tail drooped. Her yellow eyes went wide with confusion and hurt. "B-but... Young Lord, we want to—"

"Sleep."

Click.

The door to another room shut behind him.

The three women stood there, naked bodies glistening with sweat and fluids, staring at the closed door. Their pussies still ached—empty, needing to be filled again. Helena's breasts leaked milk onto the floor. Kaida's thighs trembled from the aftermath of multiple orgasms. Bella's tail twitched with confusion.

But he'd just... left them.

Alone.

"Did we... do something wrong?" Bella whispered, her voice small.

Helena's jaw tightened. "No. Something's wrong with him."

"That tower," Kaida muttered, her mercenary instincts kicking in despite her fucked-stupid brain. "Arrival of a dungeon and his suddenly losing his pervert side... are they linked?"

Viktor moved through the darkened hallway, moonlight streaming through cracked windows. His bare feet padded against cold stone floors. The bedsheet dragged behind him like a cape.

His mind raced.

'A dungeon. A fucking dungeon tower.'

The translucent blue system window appeared in front of him, following his movement.

[ Host seems distressed. ]

"So if someone enters the dungeon," Viktor said aloud, voice hollow, "they can just kill those wooden dolls and I'll lose my ability?"

[ Indeed. Each Floor Boss loss results in a permanent ability removal. ]

Another tear slid down his cheek. Viktor wiped it away roughly, looking toward the window—toward the massive tower that now dominated the mountain range in the distance.

Its peak scraped the clouds. Purple and pink light pulsed along its surface like a heartbeat.

"It seems the night is cold," Viktor muttered, voice cracking. "My eyes are leaking water."

[ Given the salt consistency, Host is crying. ]

"Shut up, you bastard."

Viktor stopped at the window, pressing his forehead against the cold glass. His reflection stared back—dark eyes, messy hair, horns barely visible beneath. The mark of what he'd become.

"But why am I able to feel that dungeon tower inside my mind?"

[ Because it has designated you as its Sponsor. The connection is permanent. ]

Viktor's hands clenched into fists. "Of course."

He breathed slowly, ruffling his hair with both hands. His mind went back—not to this life, but fragments of... before.

'Did I really expect myself to stay like those teenagers?'

The realization hit like cold water.

Just like how teenagers lose themselves in college romance, enjoying their lives, forgetting that once they become husbands and marry—it's not just sex anymore. It's responsibility. Children. Income. Empire-building if you're unlucky enough to have abilities that demand it.

"For me, it would have been easier," Viktor whispered to his reflection. "But now... given my ability to have more wives—I literally need more income."

His reflection didn't answer.

"And from what my Primordial self wants," Viktor continued, voice bitter, "it seems I'm required to get an empire. Not just a household. Not just a manor. A fucking empire."

The knowledge settled in his mind like it had always been there. Memories that weren't his—or were they? His higher self. The Primordial Incubus who'd orchestrated this entire reincarnation.

He understood now.

Why the dungeon arrived. How it functioned. The mechanics. The rules. The cruel elegance of it all.

Viktor turned from the window, facing the system interface directly.

"How much investment do I have to make in it?"

The window shifted, text reformatting.

[ Dungeon Investment Requirements: ]

- 12 Silver Coins minimum per floor

- Ability Books (Host's abilities converted to loot)

- Artifacts (Host creates using Craftsman abilities)

- Floor Rewards (Must incentivize exploration)

Viktor stared at the list, his stomach sinking.

"..."

So if an explorer won the first floor, they'd get twelve silver coins. Or abilities. Or artifacts he'd personally created using his own powers.

The tower—the thing he'd imagined would only be climbed by his wives bouncing on his tower—had become a reality where strangers would climb it, fight through it, and potentially strip him of everything he'd gained.

Viktor blinked.

There was nothing he could do right now except accept it.

"Since Helena is my first wife," he said slowly, "the first tower floor should have subordinate puppets with her abilities?"

[ Indeed. Each tower floor is designated to one wife. Subordinate enemies possess diluted versions of that wife's abilities. The Floor Boss possesses Host's abilities and requires manual control. ]

"Manual control."

[ Host or designated proxy must control the Boss during invasion attempts. ]

From all this blinking and processing, Viktor finally laughed—dry, humorless. "So my higher self wanted to make me stronger through fighting experience."

[ Indeed. Host's Primordial consciousness determined that combat experience was lacking. ]

"Of course."

Naturally, Viktor realized, he'd been controlled from the start. First, thrown into lust—drowning in sex, indulging in his wives' bodies until his brain melted. And now? Now he was being thrown into combat.

The allure of sex and abilities had pulled him in. Now, knowing he'd lose both if he sat idle, he was being forced to fight.

He could have yielded. Could have said he was just a puppet.

But the truth was simpler.

He was being guided—no, 'controlled'—by his own higher self. The version of him that had lived, conquered, grown bored, and decided to be reborn. The Primordial Incubus who'd forgotten what it meant to struggle.

Just like most humans, Viktor thought bitterly, identifying themselves by their titles, names, roles—instead of remembering they were their higher selves. The consciousness that chose to be born into this life with predetermined suffering, obstacles, pleasures, and eventual death.

"Wearing philosophy from past worlds seems to keep me sane," Viktor muttered, shaking his head.

Since he couldn't do anything productive right now—no point in yelling or raging without results—he needed to work. Plan. Strategize.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway.

Viktor's head turned.

Mira appeared, breathing hard, her naked body flushed. Her massive breasts bounced with each step, milk still leaking from her nipples. Her green eyes were wide—panicked.

"Husband!" She stopped in front of him, gasping. "Did you just see that thing outside?!"

Viktor blinked at her. His mind still processing dungeon mechanics, investments, floor designations—

"Is Toby asleep?" he asked instead.

Mira nodded quickly, catching her breath. "Yes, though he was searching for you earlier..." Her voice softened. "Viktor, what is that tower? The villagers are terrified. Some are saying it's the end times. Others think it's a god's punishment—"

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