My Taboo Harem!

Their residual essence surged toward the mansion the moment they died—desperate, hungry, and already claimed.

Consort did not move:

Her expression stayed calm, almost serene, as if the end of the world had been nothing more than a mild inconvenience. The short kimono still barely covered her, the wind continuing to toy with the hem across the bare curve of her ass and the heavy, shameless sway of her breasts, every inch of her looking like sin that had decided to wear violence as perfume.

The Djinns had been pure Void Essence.

Food and resources for her mistress.

After the power required to summon and command those swords, her mistress would need every drop of it given her condition and since she had to make sure she served her connection to the world... lest she angered the little gods and laws of the Earth Realm.

A golden key floated in the air beside her where the last Void Djinn had died, turning slowly in the fading wounded light.

Consort reached out, closed her fingers around it, and slipped it into her kimono.

Then she simply disappeared—vanishing back into the mansion as if she had never left the ground, as if the heavens had never shaken, as if five creatures of pure void had never been unmade in a single breath.

Luckily it had only been her and her mistress at home when the Void Djinns tried to sneak in.

The Maxtons and the Heavenchilds were still playing far, far above their depth if they truly believed they could steal from the Ashfords and walk away with anything except their own extinction.

***

Unlike the formidable Ashfords, the remaining Legacy Families did not possess the protection Consort and her Mistress had quietly granted that ancient house.

They possessed ancestral formations, hidden guardians, sealed inheritance realms, powerhouses sleeping beneath their estates and enough treasures to make ordinary cultivators mistake accumulated wealth for invincibility.

Their Legacies had spent centuries reinforcing their treasuries, and hiding their keys behind protections designed for beings who had once ruled worlds rather than companies.

Yet all of that proved terribly inadequate against creatures that did not enter through doors, cross ordinary distance or care whether reality had given them permission to exist inside a vault.

The Void-Djinns moved through the void itself and by the time the guardians of those great families sensed something cold passing through their estates, the treasure they guarded so much had already vanished and the thieves had become little more than a bad feeling crawling along the backs of their necks.

The Ashfords had been different.

Their arrogance had always been different too in the eyes of the two families:

For years, the Heavenchilds and Maxtons had watched the Ashfords break away from the old alliance, defy their orders, insult old hierarchies and behave as though the wrath of the strongest Legacy Family on Earth amounted to inconvenient weather.

Everyone had believed the Ashfords were bluffing or some secret arrangement whose strength had been exaggerated through decades of careful silence.

No one had imagined that their confidence rested upon something far worse than a treasure or dormant guardian.

The Ashfords had Consort, and behind Consort stood the entity whose laughter could make the Void itself listen.

Three Void-Djinns had discovered that truth:

They had entered the Ashford Estate expecting another silent theft and instead found an entity and a woman holding a katana beneath a roof the universe itself seemed unwilling to offend.

Their deaths had been swift enough that the two surviving Void Djinns who’d finished robbing the last three families barely understood what had happened before retreating through the void, carrying with them the first true warning of the night.

The other Legacy Families had received no such mercy.

Inside one of the hidden chambers beneath the Heavenchild estate, thirteen golden keys floated before Danton in a slow, glittering orbit.

He sat at the head of the long black table with one leg crossed lazily over the other, his posture carrying the careless authority of a man occupying a chair that had never belonged to him and would never dare object.

Golden hair now framed his handsome face while one hand rested against the arm of the chair and the other turned a crystal glass he had not bothered to drink from.

The thirteen keys were not identical.

One resembled a golden feather whose edges burned without heat, another curved like the fang of a celestial beast, a third had been fashioned into a branch bearing tiny leaves that opened and closed with each rotation. Several carried inscriptions while others refused to cast reflections in the polished surface of the table beneath them.

Together, they formed a captive constellation; thirteen key gathered from thirteen Legacy Families.

Marcus sat several places away, lounging in his chair while scrolling through something on his phone.

He appeared only partially interested in the keys, though the occasional glance he directed toward them betrayed the satisfaction beneath his boredom. His father, Elliot Heavenchild, sat nearer the head of the table in immaculate white and gold, his severe expression carefully controlled as his eyes followed the circling treasures.

Harold Maxton stood close enough for the keys’ radiance to crawl across the deep lines of his face, while Grandpa Maxton sat beside him with a thin, hungry smirk stretched across his ancient features.

Grandpa Maxton could scarcely believe the sight before him.

How long had he imagined this moment?

How many years had he spent picturing every one of those key gathered in one place, stripped from the hands of families who still believed the Coffer remained a collective inheritance rather than a carcass waiting for the strongest predators to divide it?

Decades of planning had led to this chamber:

Decades of false smiles, patient alliances, buried records, blackmail, arranged loyalties and murders and carefully planted servants had slowly exposed the weaknesses of each Legacy house.

The Heavenchilds and Maxtons had studied ancestral families until they knew more about some families’ defenses than those families’ youngest heirs did.

Yet planning alone could never have completed the theft.

The greatest fruit of all that labour sat at the head of the table:

’Danton.’

His power, his ancient mind and the Void-Djinns bound through the five Chained elves had accomplished in one night what might otherwise have required another century of preparation.

Thirteen keys now floated within reach, and with each slow revolution, their golden light appeared to polish Grandpa Maxton’s greed into something almost holy.

"To think we are finally this close," Grandpa Maxton murmured, leaning forward as though the keys might vanish if he allowed himself to blink for too long. His smirk deepened while his yellowed eyes moved from one treasure to the next.

"A few more breaths, one final key, and the Coffer will belong to us."

Harold’s smile mirrored his.

All they needed now was the key held by the Park Family.

Once that fourteenth authority entered the formation, the oldest protections surrounding the Coffer would no longer recognise the difference between rightful owners and thieves. The vault that had held centuries of accumulated Legacy wealth would open, and everything hidden inside it would finally pass into the hands of those bold enough to take it.

Danton clicked his tongue and shifted his attention away from the golden keys.

The sound was quiet, but every Chained elf standing near reacted as though a whip had cracked across the chamber.

Before them waited the two Void-Djinns that had survived the Ashford Estate because they’d been busy elsewhere or they would’ve shared the same fate.

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