Demonic Dragon: Harem System - Chapter 737
Capítulo 737: True Tomb
The blue light pulsed one last time along the outline of the sculpted dragon—
and then the voice returned.
Less cold.
Less aggressive.
But much, much more attentive.
As if it had just woken from a forced sleep… and was now truly seeing.
The stone vibrated with a deep murmur, like the purring of magma beneath ice.
“I see.”
The tone softened, but the authority remained intact.
“One of our own… albeit corrupted by the ancient shadow.”
Strax smiled crookedly, his fangs clear, a feral glint in his eyes.
“Corrupted? …hahaha, I heard worse.”
But continue: you’re already accepting that I wasn’t lying.
The wall seemed to breathe.
The sculpted wings trembled with light, like muscles awakening.
The carved eyes lit up—now alive, burning, focused on him. — And this egg…
The voice lowered, becoming almost a whisper of recognition.
“…shouldn’t exist.”
The egg vibrated so strongly that Strax had to adjust it on his arm to keep it from escaping.
He raised the hatchling in response—not protectively, but proudly.
“That’s right.”
But it’s alive.
It’s here.
And it’s reacting to you, so…
Strax took a step forward, his scales crunching like hot metal against cold stone.
“Are you going to keep pretending you don’t know who it is?”
The wall fell silent for a few long seconds—long enough for the entire hall to seem to hold its breath.
And then…
” I recognize it.”
The voice trembled—for the first time, not with threat, but with ancient emotion.
Something between longing and pain.
“It’s the Empress’s blood.”
A slow beat echoed on the stone.
“My blood.”
Strax arched an eyebrow, as if he had just confirmed an old suspicion.
“So you are…?”
The light intensified, filling every crack, every sculpted scale.
“The Last Memory of the Ice Dragon Empress.”
“Kept to awaken only if a descendant returned.”
The egg vibrated furiously—not with fear, but with pure recognition.
Strax laughed, a hoarse, satisfied laugh.
“HAH! So I was right from the start.”
He stamped his foot, the echo spreading like thunder.
“And now?
Will you make way for the little one or do you want me to throw another punch?”
The light on the wall stirred—not in threat, but in indignation.
“Don’t you dare raise your hand against me, young demon.”
The rock trembled as if growing in size.
“I am only the veil, but I carry her will.” And she… doesn’t bow to brutality.
Strax shrugged—scales gleaming.
“Then open it.”
Simple.
The sculpted dragon opened its eyes fully—two glaring glacial slits—and stared directly at Strax.
“Prove you are worthy of carrying my heir.”
Strax smiled like someone who had just heard the best part of the day.
“With pleasure.”
The egg pulsed strongly, as if to say:
Yes. Show her.
The blue light that coursed through the veins of the sculpted wall intensified—first soft, then strong, then devastating, like an ancient heart racing after centuries of silence.
The sculpted dragon opened its eyes.
Not physically.
But incandescent light flooded the cracks in the stone, and the tomb itself seemed to breathe after an eternity trapped between memories and ice.
KRRRRRRAAAAAACK.
A line of light opened vertically in the center of the wall.
Then another, horizontal.
The cracks multiplied as if drawing the outline of a door… or as if giving form back to something that had been sealed with extreme care.
The egg vibrated so strongly in Strax’s arms that he had to adjust his grip.
He looked at the unborn hatchling and grumbled, but without hiding his pride:
“I know, I know. You’re excited.”
The dragon on the wall—or the spirit within it—spoke one last time, now with respect and a hint of disbelief:
“You are… truth.”
With a muffled roar, the stone retreated inward, bending, writhing, dissolving into bluish dust until it disappeared completely.
The door was open.
Before them, a deep, silent darkness, full of ancient energy, awaited.
Strax took a step forward.
And it was at that very instant that a cry echoed down the staircase behind:
“STRAX! STRAX, WAIT—!”
Mercedes came running, stumbling on the broken steps, breathless, covered in snow, sweat, and frozen water. Her face was a mixture of panic, exhaustion, and pure despair.
She finally reached the plateau and—
She stopped.
She stopped as if she had hit an invisible wall.
Her eyes widened.
Her mouth dropped open.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Because she was seeing.
The door.
The secret tomb.
The ancient blue light.
Strax holding an egg that pulsed like a heart.
And the newly formed image of a sculpted dragon fading into shimmering dust.
Mercedes froze.
Literally unable to move.
Strax turned his face to her, completely calm, as if he hadn’t just opened an ancient seal that probably no living mage would be able to touch.
“You’re late.”
His tone was almost irritatingly casual.
Mercedes still wasn’t breathing.
Strax tilted his head.
“Come on. Let’s go.” He gestured with his chin, as if beckoning someone into a tavern, not a forbidden tomb. “I won’t repeat myself.”
She blinked.
And blinked again.
“…Strax… what— what is this…? What did you DO…?” He simply shrugged, turning back to the darkness beyond the door.
“The little one asked to come in. So I came in.”
Mercedes opened and closed her mouth a few times, completely unable to process it.
Strax began walking down the hallway, the egg gleaming on his shoulder like a star clinging to flesh.
He paused for just a second, turned his head over his shoulder, and spoke in a firm—but not authoritative—tone. Just… fact.
“Hurry up. If you stay there alone, this tomb will fall on you. And I won’t be coming back for it.”
He didn’t wait for her.
He started walking as if it were the most natural thing in the world to enter an ancient cradle of ice dragons with a demonic-luminous egg on his shoulder.
Mercedes, still trembling, took an involuntary step behind him.
Because, even terrified, shocked, and completely lost…
She knew one thing with absolute certainty:
Strax couldn’t be stopped. And if he was coming in…
She’d better go with him.
The fog seemed liquid. It wasn’t vapor, it wasn’t ordinary magic, it wasn’t ice—it was like walking through condensed memory.
A cold that didn’t hurt, but pressed. A cold that stretched to the soul. That asked who you were and why you dared to enter.
Strax passed through the curtain of mist as if it were nothing. The egg on his shoulder pulsed once more, and the fog parted for him as if greeting an heir.
Mercedes wasn’t so lucky.
As soon as she passed through, the fog tightened around her skin like a ghostly hand, chilling her blood, making her knees almost buckle. She let out a muffled sound, her breath caught, and for a moment thought she would freeze right there.
Strax didn’t even turn to look.
But he said, with that irritating calm:
“Breathe. It’s not for you. It’s for him.”
Mercedes closed her eyes, struggling to draw the icy air into her chest.
And then the fog released her, leaving her stumbling forward.
She stumbled a few steps behind him—until everything changed.
The fog ceased.
The air cleared.
And suddenly… the world became bigger.
Much bigger.
A colossal cavern opened before them.
It wasn’t a room, it wasn’t a hall, it was a space so vast that its limits vanished into absolute darkness. The bluish light that still lingered on the doorway behind them didn’t even reach the ceiling. It didn’t even illuminate the distant walls.
It was like entering the interior of an empty world.
Mercedes held her breath.
“B-by all the gods…”
Strax merely tilted his head, observing the dark abyss ahead.
“Hmm. Big.”
As if it were the most trivial thing in the universe.
He raised his right hand.
He snapped his fingers.
CLACK.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of tiny spheres of fire surged into the air around them. Fiery, alive, pulsating like little suns. They floated upward, scattering across the colossal space like crimson constellations.
The sea of darkness receded, revealing the true scale of that cavern.
Mercedes gasped.
Strax remained impassive.
Flames danced on the rocks, revealing:
— colossal columns of black ice supporting nothing;
— walls so distant that the echo took seconds to return;
— circular platforms interconnected by broken bridges;
— corridors carved vertically, suspended in the air, as if a dragon had dug its own house while flying.
The air was cold, but not the natural cold of the surface—it was the kind of cold that carried purpose. Cold that evoked power.
Dragon’s cold.
Mercedes hugged her own arms, trembling as she tried to keep up with Strax—who, in turn, walked as if this were simply another place.
“What is this place…?” she whispered.
Strax looked up, then to the sides, and finally at the egg.
“Her home.”
“Her…?” Mercedes repeated, but her voice died in her throat.
The egg pulsed.
A strong, firm vibration. Pure recognition.
Strax nodded, as if silently conversing with the hatchling inside the shell.
“Yes. This is the true tomb of the Ice Dragon Empress.”