Demonic Dragon: Harem System - Chapter 682

Chapter 682: A good name

The woman gasped, her eyes wide and dilated like those of a cornered animal.

Sweat dripped from her pale skin as she looked from one to the other—Strax and Samira—as if trying to comprehend what exactly was before her.

Dragons…

Demons…

These words echoed inside her mind like hammer blows, mixed with the distant sound of heartbeats that she couldn’t tell if were hers or the earth itself.

“Wh… what… have I…” her voice cracked, tearing from her dry throat. “What have I gotten myself into!?”

Strax looked up slowly, the gold of his irises sparkling like embers under a lightless sky.

A crooked, almost lazy smile played on his lips.

“It finally dawned on you.” He spoke softly, his tone vibrating like suppressed thunder. “Not exactly a good day to serve a ‘false god,’ is it?” Samira let out a soft, almost delicate laugh, but there was venom in every note.

She twirled her sword and rested it on her shoulder, leaning slightly, watching the kneeling woman.

“It took you a while, you know?” she commented, her tone mocking. “I swear I thought you were smart enough to run at the first chance.”

The woman shook her head, her hands trembling.

“You… you’re not human…”

Strax sighed, feigning annoyance.

“I’ve heard that before.” He took a step forward, each movement making the air vibrate as if the world hesitated to touch him. “And every time someone says that… they find out they’re right.”

The woman tried to back away, but Samira flicked her wrist—and a blade of fire pierced the ground, cutting off her escape.

Heat licked the stones, the scent of sulfur and mana mingling in the air.

Samira smiled, a beautiful, cruel smile.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

The woman looked from one to the other, terror growing to near hysteria.

She knew what power was. She knew what demonic energy was.

But this… this was different.

They didn’t seem to be using power. They were the power.

“The ‘divine worship’ you so champion,” Strax said, moving closer until his shadow covered her completely, “is nothing more than a farce. A power game to pretend to worship what you don’t understand.”

He crouched down, his golden eyes burning like suns. “And now, what you see before you… is what you’ve pretended to worship for eons.”

The woman swallowed.

“A-are you… Dragons… for real…?”

Samira snorted impatiently.

“I thought the miasma had affected your hearing.”

Strax chuckled softly, the deep sound echoing like something ancient.

“Yes, my dear. Dragons. And, if it’s any consolation, demons too.” He held out a hand, and the air around her buckled, sparking. “But not the ones who crawl in hell… the ones who created it.”

The woman let out a soft, barely audible moan.

Her body seemed to lose strength just looking at them.

Samira approached slowly, lowering herself to the woman’s level.

Her gaze was cold, but there was a strange calmness there—as if she were teaching a disobedient child a lesson.

“Listen, young lady…” She began, her tone too sweet for the situation. “You and your cult will be of some use now. And who knows, if you’re obedient, you might be able to keep half your souls intact.”

The woman tried to speak, but her voice wouldn’t come. Fear paralyzed her more than any chain.

Strax straightened, glancing sideways at Samira.

“See? She learns quickly.”

Samira shrugged, her sarcasm unmistakable.

“Learning through fear is the most efficient way.” She looked up at him, the scarlet glow in her eyes reflecting the gold in his. “But tell me…” she gave a slight smile, “what exactly do you intend to do with the cult?”

He crossed his arms, his expression returning to its thoughtful, provocative tone.

“Hm… let’s see. Use them all to create an army of madmen to dominate this entire continent? Well, our main purpose was to grow stronger and have an army. Let’s start with that. How about that?”

Samira arched an eyebrow, observing Strax’s sudden enthusiasm.

She rested her sword on the ground, her fingers gliding absently along the golden hilt, and the fire enveloping it dimmed to a dancing ember.

“An army of lunatics?” she repeated, her tone pure irony. “And you really think these fanatics have the discipline for that?”

Strax turned his head, his golden gaze flashing, and replied with the calm of someone who had already thought everything through.

“They don’t need discipline. They need fear… and faith.”

“Oh, of course.” She laughed, leaning in slightly, the red glow in her eyes reflecting his. “Fear and faith. The perfect recipe for disorganized carnage.”

“Exactly.” His smile widened, almost predatory. “And who said we want organization?”

He gestured slightly, and the air around him trembled. “A swarm is more useful than an army. It’s unpredictable. It destroys everything. It spreads chaos. And while the world tries to understand what happened, we grow.”

Samira watched him silently. There was something in his tone—a conviction she recognized, something between madness and vision.

She rested her chin on the hilt of her sword.

“We’ve grown up, huh?” she murmured. “And then what?”

Strax looked away to the horizon, where the ruins still smoldered.

“Then… we take what’s left.”

Samira sighed, as if hearing a child talk about playing war.

“You talk as if the world were a set table, Strax.”

He looked back at her, serious for a moment.

“Isn’t it?”

Silence.

The woman kneeling between them trembled, the sound of her ragged breathing filling the space between her words.

Samira broke the silence with a small smile.

“Okay.” She straightened. “Let’s say I accept your idea. We have a bunch of hysterical worshippers, willing to bleed for anything that seems divine.” How exactly do you want to convince them?

Strax stared at her, his gaze now more focused, predatory.

“We won’t convince. We’ll prove.”

Samira tilted her head curiously.

“Prove?”

He extended his arm slowly, and the ground shook. Gold and black runes appeared beneath the kneeling woman’s feet, who gasped as she felt the energy pulse beneath her skin.

“Humans believe what they see.” His tone was almost didactic. “Let’s give them a show.”

The woman began to tremble uncontrollably, trying to speak, but the sound barely came out. The runes beneath her pulsed, draining her own mana.

Samira looked at her, her smile returning.

“Ah… so the first ‘divine messenger’ will be her. What sweet irony.”

Strax smiled, satisfied.

“Exactly. We will use her as a conduit.” Let her carry our “revelation” to the rest of the cult. Tell them that true power has descended to earth.

Samira clucked her tongue.

“Hm. I like that idea.” She glanced at him sideways. “Just don’t let her die before she speaks, okay?”

“Of course not.” He raised his hand, and the runes dimmed, but still burned beneath her skin. “She’ll live long enough to spread fear.”

The woman gasped, looking up, her eyes watery and confused.

Sweat and tears mingled with the blood dripping from the runes that ran up her arms.

Strax took a step closer, regarding her with genuine curiosity.

“You’ll serve well. But…” he tilted his head, “tell me, before you begin your new life…”

He lowered himself to her. His gaze was cold, but not hostile—just curious, like that of a predator examining still-breathing prey.

“…what’s your name?”

The woman blinked, confused, as if the question didn’t make sense.

It took a few seconds for her to answer, her voice hoarse and shaky.

“M-my… my name…?”

Strax waited patiently, the smile still tugging at the corners of his lips.

“L-Lilith…” she managed to murmur, her breath ragged. “I… my name is Lilith…”

Samira repeated the name softly, testing the sound.

“Lilith… it sounds too beautiful for someone in your cult.”

Strax nodded.

“So, Lilith…” He reached out and touched the top of her head with his fingertips, and the runes around it glowed gold. “What a Demon Queen name.”

…

The late afternoon light streamed through the guild’s golden stained-glass windows, reflecting off the mounds of coins, spirit stones, and condensed mana bars that littered the floor. The sound of the clinking metal was almost hypnotic—a golden melody of pure victory.

Rogue was literally lying in a sea of ​​money.

She spread her arms and let the coins slip through her fingers, a victorious smile plastered across her face.

“I swear…” she said, laughing as a sapphire rolled over her abdomen. “If anyone told me we’d make an empire’s worth of profit in seven days, I’d call them a liar.”

Frieren, sitting elegantly on a neat pile of coins, merely raised an eyebrow. She held a wineglass with the calmness of someone observing a rare painting.

“I told you the trade in concentrated mana crystals would be promising.” Her voice was calm, musical, but carried that “I told you so” air. “You just thought I was exaggerating.”

Rogue rolled onto his side, staring at the elf with a mocking half-smile.

“Promising? Frieren, we practically broke the city’s market. Half the guilds are begging to trade with us!”

Frieren took a sip of wine and smiled, almost imperceptibly.

“Hm. I call this ‘the beginning of a new economic order.'”

“I call it getting rich so you never have to get out of bed again.” Rogue flopped onto his back again, laughing loudly, as the coins scattered like a metallic wave.

The guildhall was chaos—but a luxurious chaos.

Open jewelry boxes, piled high with contracts, scrolls of parchment bearing the seals of powerful merchants, and even a crown no one remembered where it came from.

Rogue lifted the crown into the air, twirling it in his fingers.

“You know… I think this belonged to the king of Ebrath, right?” “She said with the innocent expression of someone who knew perfectly well where she had come from.

Frieren didn’t even bother to look.

“Correct.” She set the cup down and began rearranging a pile of coins by type of metal alloy, something only she would have the patience to do. “And don’t ask me how she got here.”

Rogue laughed, resting her chin on her arm.

“Oh, relax, no one will miss it. If he were smart, he wouldn’t have bet with me.”

Frieren sighed, but there was a glint of amusement in her eyes.

“You cheated.”

“Me?” Rogue placed a hand on her chest, feigning offense. “I only used skills acquired through hard work and dedication.”

Frieren let out a low sound, almost a laugh.

“Stealing someone’s destiny and using it to win a bet isn’t exactly ‘dedication,’ Rogue.”

“It’s efficiency!” “No,” she countered, sitting down with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Besides, you didn’t complain when the profits started rolling in.”

The elf arched an eyebrow, looking around at the sea of ​​coins.

“I never complain about profits. Only the methods.”

Rogue tossed a coin in her direction—which she deflected with a flick of her mana.

“Then we’re even!”

For a few seconds, only the clink of coins and the soft crackle of the fireplace filled the air.

The atmosphere was relaxed, almost absurd given the wealth surrounding them.

Rogue stretched her legs and looked up at the ceiling, sighing.

“You know what’s funniest? A week ago, I was swearing we were going bankrupt. Now…”—she picked up a spirit stone the size of an apple and tossed it into the air. “…I can literally buy a country.”

Frieren crossed her legs and calmly watched the stone fall into Rogue’s hand.

“I wonder how the others are…”