Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users - Chapter 389

Chapter 389: He’s Forgotten That Arrogance Only Works When No One Is Watching 2

For a long while, neither of them spoke. They simply sat there across from one another, perched on a branch so enormous it made mountains look small, sipping tea that appeared in their hands as easily as a thought.

The steam rose slowly, curling and fading into the glow of the living chessboard between them. The pieces shifted and breathed faintly, as if waiting for their next command.

They weren’t just myths. They weren’t just names whispered around mortal fires. They were women—older than any history book could capture, older than the ruins mortals worshipped without even remembering why.

Friends, rivals, companions across ages, bound more by familiarity than by loyalty. Their laughter wasn’t forced, and their silences weren’t awkward.

They carried the ease of those who had lived too long to care about filling every quiet moment, who could sit across a board for centuries and still find amusement in the way the pieces moved.

It was the succubus who broke the silence again. She leaned forward, her elbow on the table, her chin resting in her palm, and her violet eyes glittered with sly amusement.

“You’ll laugh at me for this,” she said, “but I like the humans. Since that meteor, they’ve been growing faster than even I thought they would.

They sprout ambition like weeds—quicker than rabbits making heirs.”

The elf gave her a sideways look, dry but faintly amused, the kind of look only an old friend could give.

“Ambition burns itself out if no one tends it. Wings alone won’t carry them. They’ll need roots if they want to last.”

The succubus swirled her tea lazily, her tail flicking against the wood in idle rhythm. “Roots bore me. Wings make better shows.”

The elf’s tone was steady, quiet, but strong. “Wings without roots burn in the first storm. You know this.”

The succubus exaggeratedly rolled her eyes, though her smirk softened as if she couldn’t help herself.

“Always the lecture. Always the voice of reason. One day you’ll admit chaos has its charms too.”

The elf didn’t argue. She simply slid another piece across the glowing board with graceful fingers.

The succubus’s pawn shrieked in protest before bursting into sparks that sank into the bark. “Perhaps,” the elf said, her voice as calm as ever, “but reason still wins games.”

The succubus pouted, a fake, playful thing, before grinning again, sharp teeth flashing faintly.

She leaned back, arching her body with deliberate laziness, the picture of smug delight. “Let him stew, then.

Let him rage. Let him dig through the dust of debts he pretends don’t exist. All that means is when he finally breaks, I’ll enjoy the sound twice as much.”

The elf set her final piece into place. The board pulsed once, bright and certain, sealing the outcome. “Not long,” she repeated, her voice low and calm. “He’s already taken the bait.”

The succubus tilted her head, pretending disappointment, then laughed softly and raised her cup in a mock toast.

“Then I’ll drink to that. After all,” she said, her eyes gleaming as her tail flicked behind her, “the sweetest part has always been watching them stumble before they realize they’ve only ever been pieces.”

The colossal tree swayed faintly, roots twisting through cracks in reality, its branches stretching into haze so high they disappeared from sight.

Their laughter carried farther than it should have, spreading like music through the endless spaces of the void.

But even as it faded, the current of their conversation pulled again, drifting back into something heavier.

The elf lifted her gaze toward the canopy above, her eyes narrowing slightly. When she spoke, her voice dropped lower. “And then there is the one tied to the human director.”

The succubus’s smile grew sharper, though her tail stilled in midair. “Ah. That one. Difficult. Withdrawn. The kind who walks in shadow but never hides.”

The elf nodded slowly, strands of green hair sliding against her robe. “You’d call them antisocial now, maybe. But not weak. Never weak. When they stir, whole tides change.”

The succubus chuckled softly, though there was something almost reverent in the sound. “When they stir, even I stop smiling for a while.”

Neither of them said the name. They didn’t need to. The implication hung heavy between them.

The human director, so sharp and unshakable, hadn’t built that calm alone. His authority, his certainty—it wasn’t born purely from him.

The silence behind him had always been deliberate.

The succubus set her cup down with a faint click. Her eyes danced with sly delight. “It makes the director more dangerous than most mortals will ever realize.

He doesn’t hide behind borrowed power like the others. He moves like someone who already knows there’s a hand resting on his shoulder.

That’s why his calm cuts deeper than panic ever could.”

The elf gave a soft hum, the smallest nod of agreement. “It explains why he sees more than he should. And why Valakar won’t be able to dismiss him.”

The succubus leaned forward, her grin curling sharper. “Which means the old fool will eventually trip on his own pride.”

Her laugh came smooth and mocking as she flicked one of the living chess pieces off the board with a tap of her finger.

The tiny creature squealed, flailing as it fell, and broke into sparks before it even touched the bark.

The elf sighed, her patience steady, and conjured a replacement with one fluid motion. The new piece slid neatly into place, ignoring her companion’s mischief.

“And that,” she said quietly, “is why you never win, sister.”

The succubus’s grin widened, her fangs flashing faintly. “Win? I already won the moment you sighed.”

The elf gave her a dry look, but her lips curved faintly despite herself. Their banter softened the mood again, their rhythm so natural it could have been mistaken for trivial, but the weight beneath it never faded.

The elf’s gaze dropped back to the glowing board. Her voice came calm, edged with quiet warning. “Still, when the next move comes, the void will learn more than it wants.”

The succubus swirled the last of her tea, her smirk never faltering. “Good. Let them squirm. Eternity’s been boring lately.”

The colossal tree creaked in answer, its roots curling through shattered spaces, stretching farther than any mortal or god could follow.

And on the branch, the board between them glowed faintly, carrying the weight of a game far older and far larger than the gods below could ever imagine.

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