The Scum Emperor's Redemption System - Chapter 65

Chapter 65: Psychosexual Trial (2)
The heat was unbearable, a searing fire coursing through Argider’s veins. Desperation drove him from the maid’s lingering gaze, her confused expression burned into his memory. He fled down the hallway, pressing himself against the cool stone wall in a futile attempt to extinguish the inferno consuming him. Shame gnawed at him, more suffocating than the heat itself. To think she’d seen… that. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the moment away, praying no one else would stumble upon him.

— [Psychosexual Trial Quest]

— [Description: Connect With Your Wives Emotionally]

— [Time Remaining: 3 days]

Huh? Connect with them emotionally? What was that supposed to mean? Argider frowned, confused. Hadn’t she already done that? Or at least… she thought she had. Was the system implying otherwise? How rude.

“Argider?”

The voice made his heart lurch. He turned, already knowing who it was.

Esmeralda.

The Empress stood there, poised and sharp as ever, though her eyes flicked down briefly. Her lips curved into a faint, disbelieving smirk as realization dawned.

Argider flushed crimson, scrambling to shield himself. “I-It’s not what you think—”

Esmeralda raised an eyebrow, her tone icy. “Why am I not surprised? Tell me, Argider, have you already brought another whore to your chambers?”

Her words cut deeper than any blade. Argider’s mind raced, his tongue tripping over itself. “No! No, it’s not like that—I swear, it’s really not what you think!”

“Of course it’s not,” she said dryly, her scoff echoing down the hall. Without another glance, she turned on her heel and started walking away, leaving him floundering in her wake.

“W-Wait!” Argider called after her, his brow furrowing. “You’re not going to punish me or anything?”

Esmeralda paused, half-turning with a look of genuine confusion. “Punish you? For what?”

Her indifference sent a chill through him, an odd contrast to the flames raging beneath his skin. Was this truly the past? It felt like it—like those days when power meant nothing, when the empire’s most feared man was still treated like a shadow, ignored and dismissed.

“Where’s Fialova? And… and the others?” he asked, the words spilling out before he could stop himself.

Esmeralda’s expression hardened. “How should I know?”

Argider bit back a curse, realizing too late how foolish his question had been. Of course, she wouldn’t answer. She never did, not then, not now.

Without another word, the Empress swept down the corridor, her figure disappearing into the shadows. Argider sagged against the wall, torn between anger and relief. At least she hadn’t tried to humiliate him further—or worse, force him into something he couldn’t fight against.

Then, he stood outside the ornate door of his third wife, Lady Faeralys, he couldn’t decide whether to knock or flee. His knuckles hovered just shy of the mahogany, trembling not with fearbut… anticipation. Yes, anticipation.

“I’ve done this before,” he muttered to himself, straightening his posture. “I’m not a coward—”

The door swung open before he could finish. There stood Faeralys, draped in her signature crimson gown, her hair a cascade of fire framing a face set in stone. Her emerald eyes flicked over him once, unimpressed, before she leaned languidly against the doorframe.

“Well, if it isn’t His Imperial Highness,” she drawled, her tone dripping with venomous amusement. “Come to grace me with your presence after all this time?”

Argider smiled weakly, scratching the back of his neck. “Faeralys, you look radiant as always—”

She held up a hand, silencing him with a single elegant motion. “Don’t start. I’m not in the mood for your sweet talk.”

“But I didn’t even get to the sweet part yet,” Argider protested, his tone light, though the weight of her glare made his grin falter.

“Why are you here?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

“To… visit?” he offered, spreading his hands in what he hoped was a disarming gesture.

“Visit?” Faeralys let out a sharp laugh, the sound more cutting than any blade. “Visit, he says. After abandoning us all for how long? Don’t flatter yourself, Argider. Your presence is neither missed nor desired.”

Before he could muster a defense, she stepped back and slammed the door in his face, leaving him blinking at the polished wood.

“Right,” he muttered to himself, turning on his heel. “One down. Three to go.”

Next on the list was Lady Isolde, his third wife. If Faeralys was a blazing inferno, Isolde was a glacier—cold, distant, and utterly indifferent to his charm. Still, Argider thought, glaciers could melt. All it took was the right touch… and perhaps an apology or two.

When he reached her garden retreat, he found her seated on a marble bench, surrounded by blooming orchids. She didn’t look up as he approached, her attention fixed on the book in her lap.

“Isolde,” he began, his voice warm and inviting.

She turned a page, as if he hadn’t spoken.

He cleared his throat. “My dear, it’s been too long. I was hoping we could—”

“Too long,” she interrupted, her tone icy. She finally looked up, her gaze locking onto his. “Yes, it has been. And yet, not long enough.”

Argider blinked, caught off guard. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t mean to neglect me? Didn’t mean to disappear for months on end without so much as a letter?” Isolde snapped the book shut and stood, her cool composure cracking just enough to reveal the simmering resentment beneath. “Spare me your excuses, Argider. Whatever you’re here for, I’m not interested.”

She brushed past him without another word, leaving him standing amid the flowers, thoroughly dismissed.

“Two down,” he muttered, resisting the urge to kick over an innocent orchid.

By the time he reached Callista, his fourth wife, Argider’s confidence was beginning to waver. Callista had always been the playful one, quick to laugh and even quicker to forgive. Surely, she would welcome him with open arms—or at least with less disdain than the others.

He found her in the stables, brushing down her prized mare. She didn’t glance up as he entered, though he swore her grip on the brush tightened slightly.

“Callista,” he greeted, putting on his best winning smile. “You’re as lovely as ever.”

“Hmm.”

Argider waited for more, but it didn’t come. He stepped closer, hands clasped behind his back. “I thought we could talk. Catch up.”

“Talk?” Callista finally turned to face him, her expression neutral. “Talk about what, exactly? How I suddenly feel so replaced? How you left me all wondering what I meant to you? Or should we skip straight to the part where you beg for forgiveness and I pretend to care?”

Argider’s smile faltered. “That’s… not fair. You know I had my reasons.”

“Oh, I’m sure you did,” she said lightly, turning back to her horse. “You always do. But forgive me if I’ve stopped waiting for them to make sense.”

“But Callista—”

“Goodbye, Argider.” Her tone was final, leaving no room for argument.

Argider sighed as he left the stables, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Three down,” he muttered. “Just one more.”

The last stop was Fialova, his fifth wife and perhaps the most devoted of them all. If Fiorenza was fire, Calienne ice, and Zerenna wind, Emarel was unyielding stone—solid, immovable, and utterly impervious with her own devotion.

He found her in the throne room, standing at the head of the long table where she often held court in his absence. When she saw him enter, her expression didn’t change.

“Argider,” she said simply, her voice calm but cool.

“Fialova,” he replied, attempting a casual tone. “I thought I’d—”

“Save it,” she interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ve already heard from the others. Let me guess: you’re here to explain, to apologize, to justify whatever selfish reason kept you away?”

“Well, when you put it like that…” Argider tried for humor, but her sharp glare cut him off.

“You don’t get to waltz back in here and expect us to fall at your feet,” Fialova said, her tone steady but firm. “We’ve moved on, Argider. Perhaps it’s time you did too.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t mean to, didn’t want to, didn’t think it would matter,” she said, her voice rising slightly. “It’s always the same with you, isn’t it? Excuses, deflections, and that ridiculous charm you think will fix everything.”

Argider flinched. “I’m trying,” he said softly.

“Try harder,” she snapped, her gaze unwavering.

With that, she turned and left the room, leaving him standing alone in the echoing silence.

As Argider made his way back to his chambers, he couldn’t help but laugh—soft and rueful. The mighty emperor, undone by four women who had every right to despise him.

“Well,” he muttered to himself, flopping onto the nearest chair. “That could have gone better.”

He wasn’t going to lie, there were moments when he found himself missing the times when he’d been a woman. Back then, everything felt less… overwhelming. The world didn’t crash into him all at once, leaving him feeling hollow and disconnected. Now, it was as if everything came too fast, too sharp, leaving him deprived of something he couldn’t quite name.

Before he could sink further into his thoughts, the door creaked open, drawing his attention. It was her again, the same maid he’d kept seeing.

“Your Imperial Majesty?”