Demonic Dragon: Harem System - Chapter 750

Capítulo 750: Back Home

Asgard was alive.

Not just rebuilt—truly alive.

Where there had once been ashes, craters, and the lingering smell of smoke, now rose aligned streets, light-colored stone houses reinforced with simple runes, new roofs reflecting the daylight. The sound of hammers, voices, and footsteps mingled with the smell of freshly baked bread and hot metal. Merchants haggled over prices, children scurried between makeshift stalls, messengers crisscrossed the square with scrolls strapped to their belts.

Three months ago, all of this had been a cemetery.

Now, it was a city in full bloom.

In the administrative center—a solid building, still simple, but functional—Monica sat behind the main desk. The “boss’s desk,” as the residents already called it. It wasn’t a throne, nor anything ornamental: it was wide, made of reinforced wood, covered with maps, contracts, stamps, and reports piled up in a way too organized for someone who didn’t take it very seriously.

She read silently, pen in hand, noting adjustments to a newly signed contract.

Thanks to the Veil Company, Asgard had something rare in that world: fair agreements.

Supply of ore in exchange for mutual protection. Trade routes with clear clauses. Paid jobs without blatant exploitation. Nothing perfect—but honest enough to be revolutionary.

Monica sighed, turning the page.

“If one more of these cities tries to sneak in a hidden clause…” she murmured to herself.

The door burst open.

“I’M GOING TO KILL SOMEONE.”

The impact was literal.

Agnes practically threw herself onto the sofa against the wall, dropping her bag on the floor and stretching her legs as if she had just returned from a war—which, technically, wasn’t that far from the truth.

“They don’t know how to hold a spear, Monica. A. SPEAR.” She ran a hand over her face, exhausted. “The Beast Monarch sent me ‘experienced soldiers.’ If that’s experience, I’m a delicate fairy.”

Monica didn’t immediately look up.

She just smiled.

“Good job.”

Agnes blinked.

“…is that it?” She turned on the sofa, facing Monica. “I spend weeks teaching basic discipline to a bunch of brutes who think roaring solves everything, and you say ‘good job’?”

Monica finally looked up, resting her elbows on the table.

“Yes. Because you didn’t give up, you didn’t kill anyone, and now they know how to form a line without tripping over each other. That’s progress.”

Agnes huffed, sinking further into the sofa.

“I hate it when you’re right.”

“I would too, if I were in your place.”

Agnes closed her eyes for a few seconds, taking a deep breath. Then she opened one, staring at the ceiling.

“Monica…” her voice lost its explosive tone. “When is Strax coming back?”

The question hung in the air.

Monica didn’t answer immediately. She looked back at the contracts, calmly organizing them, as if that gesture also helped organize her feelings.

“Why?” she asked, neutrally.

“Because I’m getting worried.” Agnes sat sideways now, more serious. “It’s been a month since he’s been in the far north. A month. With ancient ice, blizzards and… whatever else that place holds.”

Monica took a deep breath.

Then, without getting up, she reached out her hand.

A soft crackle of electricity ran through the air.

Strands of lightning magic — controlled, delicate — stretched to a distant shelf, enveloping a teapot and a cup. The objects floated gently to the table, landing without a single sound.

Agnes watched in silence.

Monica served the tea calmly, the steam rising slowly.

“Drink,” she said, pushing the cup toward Agnes. “You’re too tense to even complain properly.”

Agnes took the cup, still suspicious.

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“It does.” Monica brought her own cup to her lips. “Everything’s fine.”

Agnes frowned.

“‘Fine’ as in ‘no problem’ or ‘everything’s fine’ as in ‘the world hasn’t ended yet’?”

Monica smiled slightly.

“Both.”

She took a sip of tea before continuing.

“He’s coming back now,” she said casually. “In fact… he should be arriving soon.”

Agnes froze.

“…what?”

As if the sentence had been a trigger.

A tremor ran through the floor.

Not violent—deep.

Like something gigantic crossing the sky high above. Agnes jumped up, dropping her cup on the table.

“Monica.”

“Yes?”

“Did you feel that?”

Agnes stood motionless for half a second.

Then she frowned.

“…something big is coming.”

Monica didn’t answer immediately.

She simply brought the cup to her lips again, took a quiet sip of tea, and… laughed.

Not a laugh. A short, almost satisfied laugh.

“Look out the window, Agnes.”

The answer was automatic.

Agnes walked quickly to the wide window of the administrative building and pushed the curtains aside.

The sky over Asgard was clear.

Deep blue, broken only by high clouds… until the light changed.

A colossal shadow glided over the city.

Agnes’s eyes widened.

“…no.”

The air vibrated.

A roar echoed—deep, ancient, so powerful it made rooftops tremble and flags flutter as if a gale had swept through them.

Then she saw it.

A black dragon.

Enormous.

Its wings were vast like moving walls, black scales absorbing light instead of reflecting it. Each wingbeat seemed to bend the sky around it, and its presence crushed the air, causing the city’s own mana to react in visible waves.

Flying slightly below and beside it…

A second dragon.

Red.

Half the size—but still gigantic by any reasonable standard. Its scales gleamed like incandescent metal, and the heat emanating from it made the air ripple, creating faint mirages above the rooftops.

The two crossed the sky in perfect synchronicity.

The entire city stopped.

Merchants interrupted negotiations. Children pointed to the sky. Soldiers reached for their weapons… and then hesitated, sensing something familiar about that presence.

Agnes felt her heart race.

“Monica…” she swallowed hard. “Is this an attack?”

Monica rose calmly from her chair, approaching the window beside her.

She watched the dragons for a moment.

Then she smiled.

“No.”

She crossed her arms.

“He’s back.”

Agnes turned slowly to face her.

“…he?”

As if in response to the word, the black dragon tilted its body in the air.

And, for a brief moment, Agnes saw the silhouette above the creature’s neck.

A familiar figure.

“Strax…” she murmured.

The red dragon roared in response, shorter, more aggressive—and Agnes recognized the pattern.

“And Scarlet,” she added, with a half-smile of disbelief. “Of course she’d come making noise.”

The dragons began to descend.

Not falling—in a controlled spiral.

The black dragon landed first, outside the main walls, the impact making the ground tremble, but without destruction. The red one landed right behind, releasing a short burst of fire into the air, more theatrical than necessary.

The city’s mana adjusted around them as if recognizing those presences.

Agnes let out a nervous laugh.

“When he said it was a dragon, I thought he was joking…”

Agnes still had her hand resting on the windowsill when she saw the impossible happen.

The black dragon raised its body with a movement too fluid for something of that scale. The scales began to dissolve into lines of dense mana, like solid smoke being pulled into an invisible core. The wings retracted first, folding in on themselves until they became nothing but shadowy trails. The elongated neck contracted, the colossal head dissolved into dark fragments that spun in the air.

In a few seconds, where before there had been a creature capable of crushing walls…

There was a man.

Strax landed on the ground with firm feet, the impact too light for someone who had just carried tons of mass. The black cloak fell over his shoulders as if it had always been there, and his eyes swept the horizon with familiar calm, assessing Asgard like someone returning home.

Agnes felt her jaw drop.

“…ah.” was all she could manage to say.

Before she could fully process it, the red dragon did the same.

But in a much less subtle way.

The flames around the creature’s body closed like a curtain, and the heat exploded outward in a brief flash. The silhouette shifted amidst the fire, shrinking, reshaping itself… until Scarlet emerged from the flames, landing with one foot forward, the other back, clearly pleased with her own entrance.

She cracked her neck.

“I hate long trips,” she complained, running a hand through her still-smoky red hair. “It always messes with my body temperature.”

Agnes let out an incredulous laugh.

“This… this is ridiculous.” She rubbed her eyes. “I’m watching two dragons turn into people in the middle of the city and nobody’s freaking out enough.”

“They are,” Monica said calmly. “They just haven’t realized yet that freaking out is already past the point where it helps.”

But Monica wasn’t looking at Strax.

Nor at Scarlet.

Her gaze had drifted down.

Specifically… to Scarlet’s lap.

“…hm.”

Agnes noticed the pause.

“What?”

Monica took two steps forward, moving closer to the window, her eyes alert and sharp.

Scarlet adjusted something in her arms, grumbling.

“Stop moving, brat. You’re going to fall.”

That’s when Agnes saw it.

A small, bluish, crystalline body, curled against Scarlet’s chest.

Too small to be an artifact. Too alive to be just condensed magic.

A little dragon.

Its scales reflected the light like polished ice, shades of light blue and silver mingling as it moved. Its tiny wings were folded close to its body, and its thin tail swayed slowly, as if assessing the world around it.

“…no.” Agnes whispered.

The little dragon raised its head.

Its enormous, silvery-blue eyes opened wide as it perceived the movement of the city. It analyzed everything in silence for a full second.

Then it let out a short, crystalline sound.

Something between a crack of ice… and a greeting.

Monica felt it.

Not as raw mana, but as a presence.

Ancient. Dense. Promising.

She narrowed her eyes slightly.

“Strax not only returned…” she murmured. “He brought a new problem.”

Agnes turned to face her.

“That’s a baby dragon.”

“Yes.”

“A baby ice dragon.”

“Exactly.”

“In Asgard.”

Monica crossed her arms slowly.

“…exactly.”

Outside, Scarlet finally looked up, realizing she was being watched. She waved with her free hand.

“Hey!” she shouted. “Are you going to keep staring or are you going to come down? This place smells less of ash than I remembered.”

Strax gave a half-smile.

“I see the work paid off.”

Monica sighed.

“Of course it paid off,” she said, already moving away from the window. “Because you always arrive when things are stable enough to break everything again.”