Demonic Dragon: Harem System - Chapter 680

Chapter 680: Playing with the prey

The ground was cracked, covered in stone fragments and residual energy.

The flames of golden and scarlet mana clashed against the cold blue-gray flowing from the slant-eyed woman’s daggers.

The metallic sound of the blows echoed rhythmically—fast, precise, almost choreographed.

Samira advanced, her body in constant motion, fluid as water, lethal as fire.

Each step left a shimmering trail on the ground, as if the earth itself bowed to her presence.

The woman blocked her attacks with her curved daggers, thin, black blades shrouded in a dense mist that distorted the air. But even with all that demonic energy pulsing around her, she was on the defensive.

Samira pressed the pace.

Since training with Scarlet and the other girls, she had reached a new threshold—not just of strength, but of control. Sword mastery was no longer just technique.

It was intuition, instinct, and absolute precision.

Her movements were elegant, each strike tracing perfect lines in the air.

She no longer needed to think to fight.

Her body responded before the thought even arose.

An arcing strike.

The woman spun back, the air crackling as the two blades clashed.

Gold and black sparks mingled, snaking through the air like dueling serpents.

The woman stepped back, her gaze cold and expressionless.

“Have you improved, or have you always been like this? It seems you… hid your talents well,” she said, her voice low, almost a whisper that barely survived the sound of the wind.

Samira didn’t answer.

She wasn’t there for conversation.

The tip of her sword scratched the ground, and on a whim, she lunged forward again.

The strikes came in succession, each faster than the last. Three horizontal slashes, a twist of the wrist, a vertical thrust.

The woman dodged by millimeters, her black cloak ripping in several directions.

The Phoenix attacked like a flaming whirlwind.

“Why don’t you just tell me what you’re here for?” Samira asked between blows, without pausing.

“I’m getting tired of dealing with ghosts.”

The woman blocked another attack, the impact sending sparks flying between them.

“I didn’t come to fight you,” she replied, taking a few steps back, her slanted eyes still calm. “Don’t interfere.”

Samira swung her sword, clearing the air around her with a movement that dispersed the negative energy.

The hot wind that accompanied her blew the dust away.

“Interfere?” she asked, her tone icy. “Then choose another place. I was really looking forward to fighting someone, but you’re uninteresting.”

She advanced again.

The woman’s two black blades crossed in an X, blocking the vertical strike.

The impact generated a shockwave that spread for meters, cracking the ground.

The woman slid to the side, trying to escape.

But Samira matched the movement perfectly, striking in the same direction, as if anticipating her step before her foot even touched the ground.

Her blade passed a hair’s breadth away from the woman’s neck, severing a lock of her hair.

The woman leaped back, landing softly on a broken beam.

Her gaze was different now—more cautious.

“You… are at the master level,” she said, and there was a faint trace of surprise in her voice. “You’ve reached the peak, and yet you continue to grow.”

Samira spun her sword and rested it on her shoulder.

The wind made her red cloak flutter like wings.

“And you keep talking too much.”

She snapped.

The distance between them disappeared in the blink of an eye.

The blow came from above, vertical, charged with concentrated mana.

The woman crossed her daggers to block, but the impact was so intense it cracked the blades.

Samira took advantage of her imbalance and spun her body, her heel hitting her opponent’s chest with a sharp blow.

The impact threw the woman against a stone wall, which shattered into pieces.

The ground shook.

The woman coughed up blood, her breathing ragged. The black daggers now trembled in her hands, covered in fine cracks.

Still, she didn’t look angry.

She looked… uneasy.

“You…” she said, slowly standing up. “None of this is personal. So don’t interfere with my plans.”

Samira narrowed her eyes.

“You’re desperate,” she stated, taking a step forward. “Are you trying to escape? I thought you were more of a woman.”

The air around them seemed to vibrate—as if the atmosphere itself refused to accept the imminent end of this fight.

Samira took a step forward, the tip of her sword scraping the ground. The metallic sound echoed, cutting through the silence between them.

The hot wind lifted the Phoenix’s hair, and the faint flames around her danced in response to her rising mood.

The woman was breathing heavily, but her eyes were still cold. No fear, no anger. Only calculation.

She twirled her daggers, the fragments of black mana still pulsing in the cracks in the metal.

“Run?” she repeated, her tone a mix of irony and exhaustion. “Do you really think that’s fear?”

Samira raised her sword and pointed it at her chest.

“I think it’s cowardice.”

For a moment, silence. Just the distant crackle of flames and the muffled roar of battles on the horizon.

Then the woman smiled—a small, fragile smile, but filled with something dark.

“No…” she whispered. “This is… strategy.”

Before Samira could react, the woman plunged one of the daggers into her abdomen.

The impact caused dark energy to explode in spirals, engulfing her body completely. The runes around the arena lit up, as if something were forcing space to distort.

“Shadow’s Curse!” Samira instinctively recoiled, crossing her sword in front of her. A wave of dark mana spread out, swallowing the dust and extinguishing the light.

For a moment, everything was silent.

Then came the sound: shhhhhh.

As if the air were being sucked into an invisible point.

The smoke slowly dissipated, and what remained in the woman’s place was only a black mark on the ground—a pulsing demonic seal, spinning in the opposite direction of the earth’s natural runes.

Samira clenched her fist.

“Damn you…” she muttered, leaping back and scanning her surroundings with her spiritual perception.

And then she felt her.

The woman reappeared on top of one of the houses surrounding the field, her body still shrouded in dark smoke.

The cracked daggers were now strapped to her back, and her aura seemed more stable—more restrained.

She looked down at Samira with an air of cold triumph.

“I said… don’t interfere.” Her voice was firm, but there was a slight tremor. “The plan is already underway, and you won’t stop it. None of you will.”

Samira raised her sword, ready to advance, but something in the woman’s expression made her hesitate for a brief moment.

There was fear there now—not of her, but of something behind.

The woman froze.

Her gaze, previously fixed on Samira, slowly shifted to the side.

Then, upward.

The shadow fell over her before she could react.

Out of nowhere, a hand—large, firm, covered in a golden glow and black traces of ancient energy—grabbed her neck tightly.

The sharp thud of impact echoed as her feet were lifted off the ground.

The woman gasped, the daggers falling and dissolving into particles of shadow.

Her eyes widened, reflecting the figure holding her.

And time seemed to stop.

Before her stood a man.

A being.

Standing on the same rooftop, his presence distorted the air around him.

Tall, imposing—his body wrapped in a noble black cloak, with gold details that moved as if alive.

Each embroidered dragon seemed to breathe, its scales glinting in the light of the distant fire.

But what drew the most attention were the horns.

Two long ebony horns, curved upward and slightly backward, emanating a dense, primal energy.

His eyes—golden, deep, implacable—gleamed with an intensity that made her shiver.

The woman tried to speak, but the pressure on her neck increased.

She let out a hoarse sound, a mixture of pain and surprise.

“You… shouldn’t…” she tried to say, but her voice faltered.

The man inclined his head, his expression unwavering.

His voice, when it came out, was deep and calm, like the distant roar of a dormant volcano.

“Shouldn’t what?” he asked. “Be careful of the rats you sent to delay me? Please. Do I look like nothing to you, miss?”

His fingers tightened a little, and the sound of bones cracking filled the air. The woman tried to respond, but her gaze was already beginning to lose focus.

Even so, a flash of fear—genuine and uncontained—flashed for a moment before disappearing.

“W-Why… you…” she tried to say, but the words were lost when the man simply released her.

Her body fell, dissolving into shadow before even touching the roof. Only a trail of dark energy lingered in the air, soon consumed by the golden mana expanding from the man.

Silence.

The smoke slowly dispersed, and his figure became clear under the reddish light of the sky.

The wind blew his black cloak, revealing the golden embroidery in the shape of dragons, each one moving subtly, as if breathing.

His ebony horns gleamed, contrasting with his golden eyes that seemed to carry the glow of a thousand suns.

“Hm…” he murmured, staring at the horizon. “A useless distraction.”

Then, behind him, a soft voice rang out:

“It took a while.”

The man slowly turned his face, a small smile curling the corner of his lips when he saw Samira standing a few meters away, her sword resting on her shoulder, her red cloak billowing in the wind.

“I was letting you have some fun,” he replied, his tone calm but laced with irony.

Samira raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms.

“You know I hate being interrupted, right?”

He gave a light, husky laugh, the sound reverberating as if the air around him vibrated with it.

“I know,” he replied. “That’s why I let you play with the prey before you arrived. I thought it was polite of me.”

Samira took a deep breath, looking away for a moment. The wind carried the scent of iron, mana, and dust.

“Playing, huh?” she asked, her tone somewhere between amusement and irritation. “Do you think that was a fair fight?” She was running away from me, and you—” she pointed her sword at him “—came in to steal the final straw.”

“Steal?” He laughed, a deep, powerful sound. “If it were a steal, I would have finished her off before you raised your sword.”

She stared back at him, her golden eyes glowing faintly.

For an instant, their auras touched—and the air vibrated, crackling as if the space couldn’t withstand the pressure of the energy emanating from them both.

The man watched her for a few seconds, until a slight smile—almost complicit—appeared on his face.

“Besides, don’t tell me you didn’t have much fun.”

Samira sighed, then laughed.

“That’s right,” she admitted. “But I should have used more force. I underestimated that thing.”

The man crossed his arms, watching her with a look somewhere between curiosity and provocation.

“It’s rare to hear you admit something like that.” “I’m not admitting anything,” he replied, chuckling lightly. “I’m just saying… next time, I won’t joke around so much.”