Starting With an SSS-Rank Goddess Summon!

Chapter 385: An 8.8?! [Bonus Chapter]

Silas reached down, grabbing the hem of his dark charcoal Henley shirt.

With a single fluid motion, he pulled the fabric up over his broad shoulders and tossed it aside onto the velvet bench.

The moment the dark cloth peeled away, the light of the dressing suite caught the sculpted shape of his physique.

His torso was a masterclass in violence and refinement.

Because of the endless qualitative upgrades from his Mythic Gold Core, Silas’s musculature didn’t merely look athletic... It was packed with striating fibers that gave his chest, shoulders, and abdomen the appearance of an ancient war deity carved from bronze and polished marble.

His broad flared lats tapered down into a razor-sharp V-line, framing a rock-hard eight-pack that expanded whenever he drew a breath.

Harper’s smirk instantly froze.

Her parted lips parted slightly wider as a sudden involuntary hitch caught in the back of her throat, and the sharp playful banter died on her tongue.

Her violet eyes widened, tracking the sharp contours of his pectorals, the deep valleys of his serratus muscles, and the broad sweeping expanse of his clavicles.

A deep violent flush of crimson bloomed beneath her pale skin, rushing from her cheeks all the way down the exposed neckline of her violet dragon-silk corset.

"Well?" Silas asked, raising an eyebrow as he caught her stunned stare. "You going to hand me the shirt, or are you just going to stand there catching flies?"

Harper swallowed hard with her throat suddenly feeling parched.

The playful arrogance that usually defined her demeanor shattered, replaced by an instinctual magnetism that pulled her forward like a moth to a blazing flame.

"I..." Harper whispered, her voice dropping into a breathless one. "I have to... inspect the measurements first. For sizing accuracy."

Before Silas could step back, Harper boldly closed the remaining distance.

She reached out with both hands. Her warm, slender fingers pressed directly against the center of his chest.

Zzzzt.

A microscopic involuntary spark of purple static leapt from her fingertips, skittering across his skin with a faint tingling warmth that his Gold Core instantly absorbed.

Harper didn’t pull away. Instead, her palms flattened against his firm, chiseled pectorals, sliding slowly outward toward his shoulders.

Her breath hitched again as she felt the unyielding muscles beneath her hands.

"Holy hell, Silas..." Harper murmured, her fingers curling slightly as she traced the edge of his collarbone.

Her eyes were completely locked on his chest, her pupils blown wide with lust and awe. "What kind of monstrous training regimen are you running in that territory of yours? This isn’t normal. You feel like solid titanium wrapped in heated leather."

"It’s just core circulation," Silas answered dryly, though his jaw tightened slightly at the bold, intimate drag of her nails across his skin. "Now hand over the—"

Harper completely ignored him.

Her hands smoothly slid downward, trailing over his sternum before splaying wide across his sculpted upper abdomen.

Her thumbs traced the deep defined grooves between his abdominal plates, pressing firmly into the dense muscle.

"Stop squirming," Harper whispered, a wicked,flushed smirk returning to her lips as she leaned into his space.

Her breasts, barely contained by the dragon-silk crop top, brushed lightly against his bare forearm with every breath. "I’m checking the torso taper... If the waist isn’t measured properly, the enchanted silk will bunch at the hem."

She slowly stepped around him, her hands gliding seamlessly along his ribcage to grip his flared latissimus dorsi.

As she moved behind his back, her palms swept upward across the vast muscular terrain of his shoulder blades and trapezius.

She traced the long, powerful lines of his spine, marveling at the sheer width of his back.

"Your shoulders are ridiculously wide," Harper gasped softly, pressing her chest flush against his upper back for a fleeting deliberate second.

The heat radiating from his skin seeped straight through her corset, making her core thrum with a sudden dizzying spike of adrenaline. "It’s actually unfair. Most guys in the academy spend millions on alchemical body-sculpting elixirs and still look like bloated balloons. You look like a walking predator... The good kind..."

"Harper," Silas warned in a low voice, turning his head slightly over his shoulder to meet her hooded violet gaze. "You’re fondling, not styling."

"I am multitasking, Lord Graves," Harper shot back shamelessly, giving his lower back an appreciative firm squeeze before stepping back around to face him.

Her cheeks were burning a radiant shade of pink, but she wore her brazenness like a badge of honor. "And an elite stylist deserves compensation for her labor."

She picked up the charcoal shadow-silk shirt, shaking out the sleeves.

"Arms up," she commanded with mock authority.

Silas let out another quiet, resigned breath and raised his arms.

Harper stepped in close, carefully guiding his broad arms through the enchanted sleeves.

The fabric was extraordinary... the moment Silas’s skin made contact with the inner lining, the mythril-threaded runes hummed to life, automatically contracting and shaping itself to match the exact contours of his torso.

Harper moved her hands to the front of his chest with her fingers brushing lightly against his bare skin as she slowly, deliberately fastened each platinum button from the navel upward.

Click! Click! Click!

She took her sweet time, ensuring her knuckles dragged across his abs with every single button she secured.

By the time she reached the high mandarin collar, her breath was brushing against Silas’s jawline.

"There," Harper whispered, smoothing the lapels flat against his chest with both hands, her eyes glittering with pride. "Look at that. Pure untouchable perfection..."

Silas turned toward the triple gilded mirror.

The transformation was striking.

The charcoal shadow-silk shirt clung flawlessly to his frame, accentuating the width of his shoulders and the taper of his waist while subtly concealing the raw terrifying power beneath an aura of dark understated elegance.

The platinum trim along the cuffs and collar caught the ambient light with a refined metallic gleam.

"Not bad," Silas admitted, rolling his shoulders to test the fabric’s flexibility. "Doesn’t restrict movement at all and it feels like a combat tunic."

"Because it is, idiot," Harper laughed, stepping up beside him in the glass and linking her arm through his.

She leaned her head against his bicep, grinning at their reflection.

"It’s high-tier defense wear. Now come on, let’s go show the princess what she missed out on."

CLICK-CHUNK!

The heavy doors of the Master Suite unlocked and swung open.

Standing in the corridor with her arms tightly crossed over her chest was Seraphina Bloom.

The crimson-haired noblewoman had been tapping her stiletto against the quartz tile with the rhythmic fury of a ticking warhead.

Beside her, Reginald stood with his hands folded behind his back, maintaining an expression of stoic neutrality despite having listened to Seraphina’s low-volume curses for the past ten minutes.

The moment the doors parted, Seraphina’s head snapped toward the threshold.

Her crimson eyes flared with hostile fire which instantly, violently extinguished the second Silas stepped into view.

Seraphina froze.

Her breath hitched in her throat with her lips parting as her crimson eyes swept over the towering dark-haired Lord.

The bespoke shadow-silk shirt fit him like a dream, balancing his rugged intimidating presence with the aristocratic sophistication expected of high-tier nobility.

"Well, well, well," Harper gloated, walking out beside him with an insufferably smug grin plastered across her face. "Look who’s speechless. Care to offer a critique, Princess, or is your noble vocabulary too limited to handle how good he looks?"

Seraphina quickly caught herself, snapping her mouth shut as a radiant rosy blush exploded across her pale cheeks.

She raised her chin, desperately clawing back her dignity.

"The... the choice of shadow-silk is passable," Seraphina muttered, clearing her throat and looking away from Silas’s chest with great difficulty. "Though the platinum threading on the cuffs is slightly ostentatious. Still... it suits his natural frame adequately. An 8.8."

"8.8 my ass, that’s an easy 9.5!" Harper argued loudly.

"Silence, woman!" Seraphina snapped back, her eyes flashing with renewed competitive hunger.

She stepped forward, pointing an aggressive, manicured finger at the dressing room. "Round one is over. It is time for round two! Master Jean, bring out the next ensemble!"

Master Jean, who had been watching the entire exchange with the giddy excitement of a theater director, immediately clapped his hands.

"Right away, Lady Bloom! For the second presentation, we have prepared an exquisite Imperial Midnight-Duster paired with white dragon-leather trousers!"

Harper and Seraphina instantly locked eyes with the invisible lightning and fire crackling between them once more.

"Same rules!" Harper challenged, raising her right hand. "Rock, Paper, Scissors!"

"Prepare to be annihilated," Seraphina hissed, raising her own fist.

"ROCK! PAPER! SCISSORS! SHOOT!"

THWACK!

Harper threw out a flat open palm... Paper.

Seraphina threw out a sharp two-fingered split... Scissors.

The showroom went silent.

Harper’s jaw dropped in horror.

"WHAT?! NO!"

"AHAHAHAHAHA!"

Seraphina’s melodic laugh echoed victoriously off the vaulted ceiling. She threw her head back, practically glowing with vindication as she looked down her nose at the crushed Lightning Lord.

"Scissors severs paper, you vulgar brute!" Seraphina declared proudly, stepping forward with the regal grace of a conquering monarch. "The balance has been restored! Now step aside and watch a true noblewoman handle styling!"

Without waiting for Harper to complain, Seraphina snatched the midnight-duster and dragon-leather trousers from the hovering tray, grabbed Silas firmly by the wrist, and aggressively hauled the towering young man straight into the Master Suite.

SLAM!

The heavy mahogany doors slammed shut once again, leaving Harper on the outside, frantically banging her fists against the wood while screaming bloody murder.

Inside the private sanctuary, the heavy click of the lock resonated with finality.

Seraphina let out a long satisfied exhale.

She set the white dragon-leather pants and the long midnight duster neatly onto the cedar dressing table, smoothing her crimson phoenix-silk gown as she turned to face him.

Her cheeks were still burning a soft beautiful shade of pink, but she forced her spine straight, attempting to project the authority of House Bloom’s future matriarch.

"Take that shirt off," Seraphina commanded smoothly, her melodic voice trembling with a microscopic edge of nervous anticipation. "The duster requires direct skin contact with the conduits on the shoulders for proper magical alignment."

Silas didn’t even sigh this time. He was completely numb to the absurdity of the afternoon.

"You nobles really love making up magical excuses to stare at people," Silas commented deadpan, reaching up and undoing the platinum buttons Harper had just fastened.

He shrugged the shadow-silk shirt off, tossing it onto the velvet sofa.

Seraphina stood completely paralyzed.

Seeing him in the chaos of the Secret Realm... covered in sand and dungeon grime was different from seeing him here, standing beneath the crystal-clear radiant illumination of the private dressing room.

Her crimson eyes drank in the sight.

The broad, muscular expanses of his shoulders, the deep, powerful cuts of his chest, and the terrifying chiseled definition of his abs made her mouth go completely dry.

Her heart hammered against her ribs at an alarming rate with a sudden intoxicating wave of heat pooling in the depths of her lower abdomen.

’He is... absurdly gorgeous,’ Seraphina’s thoughts raced wildly, her fingers clenching into the silk of her dress. ’Mother said men from the lower wards were unrefined and gaunt... This man looks like an ancient warlord sculpted by the gods themselves. How does someone who lived on cheap bread possess a body this magnificent?!’

Silas picked up the white dragon-leather trousers, looking over at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Are you going to help with the fitting, or are you going to keep staring at my ribs like they’re a geometry problem?"

Seraphina snapped out of her trance, a brilliant crimson flush spreading all the way to the tips of her pointed ears.

"I am... analyzing your proportions!" Seraphina defended herself frantically, stepping forward with brisk hurried steps. "As your future lawful wife, it is my duty to ensure your wardrobe adheres to the highest standards of the High Court!"

She grabbed the long, midnight-black duster from the table.

The coat was forged from the reinforced hide of a Void-Stalker, trimmed with shimmering silver runes that danced along the hem like liquid mercury.

Seraphina held the heavy coat open, stepping directly into his personal space.

Silas slid his broad arms into the sleeves.

The moment the coat settled over his shoulders, Seraphina moved in remarkably close.

Her trembling manicured hands reached up, resting flat against the broad expanse of his clavicles as she smoothed the heavy lapels down his chest.

Her touch was completely different from Harper’s bold aggressive fondling.

Seraphina’s hands were soft, deliberate, and reverent with her delicate fingers lingering over the dense muscle of his upper chest as if she were touching sacred, fragile relic glass.

’I feel like I like her touch better... Harper is just a pervert.’

As she worked the fastenings along his ribs, Seraphina looked up into his deep blue golden-ringed eyes.

"Silas," Seraphina began softly, her tone shedding its haughty armor in favor of genuine quiet curiosity. "Where did you learn your combat foundation? Your footwork... when we fought Ititius, it was very special."

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