My Wives are Beautiful Demons - Chapter 575
Chapter 575: Disinterest
Dust still hung in the air, dancing slowly in the dim light of the Underworld sky. The hot wind from the Abyss blew through the rubble, scattering fragments of stone, bits of broken chains, and the metallic smell of recent destruction.
Vergil remained motionless. His hands returned to his pockets, and his cold, indifferent gaze fixed on the direction from which Ingrid’s body had disappeared.
He completely ignored the fact that Amon had vanished without even saying goodbye.
None of this surprised him. It was typical of the demon—leaving chaos behind like one abandoning a boring conversation.
Vergil took a deep breath. The air smelled of iron and ash.
There, miles away, a silhouette stood amidst the twisted ruins.
Ingrid.
She staggered, her knees buckling slightly under the weight of her own body. Her leather clothes were torn, her skin—once perfect—now a mosaic of cuts and burns. Blood slowly ran down her chin and dripped onto the dark ground, disappearing in smoke as it touched the contaminated earth.
For a moment, she just stared at her hand.
Blood dripped down her fingers.
And she… laughed.
A low, hoarse, joyless laugh.
“It’s… been a few years since I felt this…” she murmured, looking up at the horizon.
Her eyes, red as live coals, met Vergil’s.
There was something in them—a mixture of anger, respect, and an intense desire to prove something.
“You really got to me, you bastard.”
She licked her lips, savoring the metallic taste of blood.
And then, something began to change.
The wounds on her body began to slowly close—first the superficial cuts, then the deeper ones. The sound was wet, visceral: bones realigning, muscles stitching together, skin burning and regenerating with a purple glow.
In less than a minute, Ingrid Asmoday’s body was once again flawless.
Her face, once disfigured, returned to its cruel, savage beauty.
Only her gaze remained different—colder, more calculating.
She took a step forward, and the ground cracked beneath her foot.
The echo of the crack reverberated throughout the valley.
Vergil watched, impassive.
“If the regeneration spectacle is over,” he said, in the most bored tone possible, “can we move on to the real reason I’m here?”
Ingrid arched an eyebrow.
“Real… reason?”
“Yes,” Vergil replied, with the calm of someone discussing the weather. “I just came to confirm if you’re going to the tournament. I’m not interested in fighting, or wasting time. I just want to get this over with and get back to my wives.”
The silence that followed was… deadly.
Ingrid blinked slowly. The wind ruffled her silver hair, and dust danced through it.
She stood there, staring at him as if she’d just heard the biggest insult of the century.
“Your… wives?” she repeated, with a slight tremor of disbelief.
“Yes,” Vergil replied, still staring at the horizon, not meeting her eyes.
“You…”—she took a deep breath, her voice breaking for a moment, a mixture of anger and disbelief—”did you just ignore me…?”
Vergil glanced over his shoulder.
“Not exactly. I’m just prioritizing what really matters.”
Ingrid’s smile faded.
Her gaze narrowed.
The air around her shifted—the Void’s energy began to condense, forming small distortions in space.
“You…” she said slowly, each word dripping with venom—”ignore me… as if I were an insect.”
Vergil raised an eyebrow.
“You’re a demon. The term isn’t far off.”
The sentence was the spark.
Ingrid disappeared.
There was no sound.
Just a violent shift of air, and in the next instant—she was there.
Right before him.
The katana was already unsheathed, tracing a silver line through the air.
The strike was perfect. Swift, precise, lethal.
The kind of cut that could split a mountain in two.
The blade pierced Vergil’s body in a single motion—from collarbone to hip.
The impact sent a wave of energy flying, sending shards of stone and dust in all directions.
For a moment, the world seemed to freeze.
The sound of the cut echoed, pure and sharp, like a spirit’s scream.
Ingrid landed behind him, the sword still dripping with blood.
Her eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction.
She lifted her chin, taking a deep breath.
“That’s what I’m talking about…” she whispered. “It was too easy.”
But then—something was wrong.
The blood dripping down the blade evaporated.
And before she could even turn completely, the air vibrated behind her.
Vergil hadn’t moved.
He still stood in the same spot.
The same cold gaze, the same boredom in his eyes.
And his body… was intact.
No, not exactly.
She realized now—what she’d cut was regenerating so quickly that the flesh was reforming before it had even completely separated.
She had cut a body that didn’t obey the rules.
A body that rewrote itself as it was destroyed.
Ingrid’s eyes widened.
“Impossible…” she murmured. “Not even the Void can do it that fast…”
Vergil slowly rolled his neck, the dry sound of vertebrae shifting echoing in the air.
“Are you done?” he asked, his voice calm, almost soft.
Ingrid took a half step back, her heart beating faster, but her pride screamed louder.
“You think this scares me?”
Vergil took a deep breath and let out a soft sigh.
“No. But it upsets me.”
The ground around him began to vibrate—not with explosive power, but with pure presence.
Blue mana, dense and cold, gathered around his body like living mist. Space distorted, and stones began to float.
Ingrid reacted instantly, lunging forward with a short cry, the katana spinning in a downward arc.
Vergil raised his hand.
Out of nowhere, a wall of translucent energy formed between them—and her strike stopped, frozen in midair.
Sparks danced at the point of contact, the metal of the blade vibrating as if it were screaming.
Vergil took a step forward, and the wall of energy dissolved—but so did her strike.
Ingrid felt something wrong—a weight on her chest, a suffocating pressure.
The air around her grew heavy, as if a thousand tons of water were being pushed down on her.
“You’re fast,” Vergil said, his tone low and controlled. “But you don’t understand the difference between strength and power.”
He disappeared.
Ingrid barely had time to react.
A second later, something hit the ground beneath her feet—a punch, small, direct, but the force… it was immense.
The earth opened into a crater, the impact reverberating for miles.
Waves of energy raced through the ground, cracking the terrain and throwing dust into the sky.
Ingrid was thrown backward, her body spinning in the air before falling to her knees, gasping for breath.
“You…” she murmured, panting. “You are no ordinary demon…”
Vergil approached slowly.
“Have you been told that before?”
She gritted her teeth, rising again, her gaze burning with anger and a desire to prove a point.
“You will not humiliate me…”
Vergil just watched, his eyes shining with an icy light.
“I do not mean to humiliate you, Countess.”
“Then what is it?!” she shouted, pointing her sword at him.
“It’s just that I’m here against my will”—Vergil raised his right hand, and the space around him trembled—”…I don’t care about this shit, I just want to go back to sleeping with my wives again. So go ahead.”
The blue aura exploded.
The wind rose like a hurricane, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to bend around Vergil.
Ingrid had to stab her sword into the ground to avoid being thrown.
Even so, there was a smile on her lips.
A mad smile.
“Finally…” she whispered, her eyes shining. “Someone who can make me feel alive.”
Vergil shook his head, sighing.
“Women of the Underworld…”
The ground beneath their feet still trembled, cracking in jagged lines that stretched to the horizon. The wind of the Abyss roared through the cracks, carrying the echo of an ancient, almost sentient energy, as if Night itself observed this confrontation with dark curiosity.
Vergil remained still, the blue aura burning around him, distorting light and space. His eyes, cold and calm, contrasted with the chaos emanating around him—the serenity of a predator who saw no purpose in killing, but did so for sheer efficiency.
Ingrid stared at him, her silver hair whipping in the wind, her crooked smile growing amid the heat of the confrontation.
“You talk too much for someone who claims not to care,” she teased, wiping dried blood from the corner of her mouth.
“And you still talk, even after losing half your mansion and your dignity along with it,” Vergil replied emotionlessly, without even changing his tone.
She laughed.
“Dignity is for those who have time to care. I have something better… curiosity.”
Before he could respond, she vanished again. This time, not even the shifting air betrayed her movement—space simply gave way.
Vergil flicked a finger, and a thin blue slit sliced the air beside his head. Ingrid’s blade passed an inch from his face, drawing a thin line of blood that evaporated before hitting the ground.
“Better,” he murmured. “Quieter.”
She spun, slashing diagonally—Vergil blocked with an open palm. The sword clinked as if it had struck celestial steel. The impact sent a shockwave that opened craters around them.
“Damn it… what are you?” Ingrid hissed, forcing her weight against him.