Strongest Incubus System

Damon accompanied Morgana again three days after the meeting with Verden, although Ester had made it very clear that she considered it a temporary concession and not permanent authorization for him to start acting again as if his body had not spent six months trying to die. The carriage left the mansion early in the afternoon, carrying only a small escort group, Elizabeth on another route to resolve a minor tax dispute, and Aria trapped in the office with the thankless task of comparing transport records. That visit, according to Morgana, was supposed to be simple. A formal conversation with Baron Caldrick Voss, lord of a lesser house that controlled important warehouses near Arven’s southern border.

The meeting would take place at an administrative property outside the city, an old manor used by merchants and local nobles for discreet meetings. Morgana explained along the way that Caldrick held a registered debt against Arven regarding ”cargo protection” during the period when her stepmother controlled Albert. The problem was that, according to the records recovered by Aria, that protection had never been provided. The goods had been escorted by guards from the duchy itself, but the former Duchess had signed a contract agreeing to pay an absurd fee to House Voss.

”So he charged for doing nothing,” Damon said, sitting across from her in the carriage, the dark cloak resting over his shoulders and an expression far too calm for someone who seemed increasingly irritated.

”Technically, he charged for keeping men available,” Morgana answered, looking at the documents on her lap. ”In practice, yes. He charged for doing nothing, and now demands interest on that nothing.”

Damon nodded, as if that confirmed a very old theory about opportunistic nobles. ”I am beginning to understand why Elizabeth likes short sentences in meetings. The more they talk, the more you want to test the resistance of the walls with their heads.”

Morgana raised her eyes from the papers, and for the first time that afternoon, she almost seemed relaxed. ”You are forbidden from testing any wall with any head.”

”All of them?”

”All of them.”

”Even clearly poorly built walls?”

”Damon.”

”I am merely exploring legal limits.”

She let out a sigh, but there was a small smile at the corner of her mouth. That kind of conversation had become more frequent over the past few weeks. Not because the problems had diminished, but because Morgana was beginning to remember that she could exist between one problem and another. She slept more, ate better, and allowed Elizabeth to review certain letters before answering with legal threats that could start unnecessary conflicts. She still worked too much. Far too much. But now, sometimes, she stopped when someone insisted. That was already more than anyone had managed before.

The administrative manor stood on a low rise surrounded by ancient trees. There was a stone courtyard in front, a dry fountain at the center, and two guards bearing the Voss crest positioned near the entrance. They bowed to Morgana, though Damon noticed both of them spent too long looking at him. Rumors of his awakening had already spread through the region, naturally distorted. Some said he had returned from the dead. Others said he was a corpse animated by ice. Cherry, upon hearing that, had commented that finally someone understood his personality.

They were taken to a large room on the second floor, where a long table had been prepared with tea, glasses, fruit, and documents organized far too neatly. Morgana sat at the head without asking permission, and Damon took the chair to her right, keeping his posture calm, his hands visible, and the cold contained beneath his skin. He had been improving in that regard. He still made glasses fog up if he lost patience, but he no longer froze objects just by breathing near them. Ester had called that ”survivable,” which, coming from her, was practically a medal.

Baron Caldrick had not yet arrived, so the two were left alone with two of Morgana’s guards near the door and a nervous servant serving tea. Morgana leafed through the documents while waiting, but she did not seem as consumed as before. Damon observed that in silence for a few seconds and decided not to turn the small improvement into a sentimental comment. He had learned that Morgana reacted badly to direct praise when she was trying to look like a duchess.

”Did you sleep yesterday?” he asked.

Morgana did not raise her eyes. ”Six hours.”

”Is that true or creative accounting?”

”Five hours and forty minutes.”

”Rounding up is fraud.”

”I am a duchess. I call it politics.”

Damon accepted the tea the servant offered, though the liquid began to lose heat the moment it came near his fingers. He set the cup down before it became aristocratic iced tea. ”If Caldrick agrees to renegotiate, how much does that reduce?”

”Little in total. A lot immediately.”

”So it is a small piece.”

”Small pieces hold large bridges.”

He looked at her. ”That was good.”

”I know.”

”Did you practice?”

”Perhaps.”

Damon laughed quietly, but the laugh vanished when quick footsteps echoed from the corridor. They were not the organized steps of a noble arriving with elegant delay. They were hurried, irregular, almost desperate steps. Morgana noticed at the same time and slowly closed the folder. The Arven guards near the door straightened their posture.

The door opened forcefully.

Baron Caldrick Voss entered pale, sweating, with his gray hair disheveled and his coat open as if he had dressed in a hurry. Behind him were four knights wearing armor with no visible crest, but their posture was far too military to belong to ordinary bodyguards. Caldrick’s gaze passed over Morgana, then Damon, and something in his face cracked a little more. He looked disturbed. Not merely nervous. Frightened.

”M-My Lady Arven,” he stammered, trying to recover a dignity that had clearly fled before entering the room. ”Forgive the delay. There were... complications.”

Morgana did not rise. ”What kind of complications?”

Caldrick opened his mouth, but no sound came out. One of the knights behind him took a step forward, and Damon immediately noticed the shift. The man’s hand was too close to his sword. The other three positioned themselves discreetly, closing off exit angles. They were not protecting Caldrick. They were using Caldrick as an excuse to enter.

Damon placed his hand on the table.

Morgana noticed too. Her expression did not change, but her fingers touched the edge of the documents, moving them away from the space in front of her. ”Baron Voss, explain.”

Caldrick swallowed dryly. ”I... received a provisional order from the Council of Ducal Guarantees.”

Morgana narrowed her eyes. ”The Council of Guarantees has no authority over the person of a duke or duchess without a formal summons.”

”It was an emergency measure,” one of the knights said, his voice hard. ”In light of signs of document fraud and political coercion by House Arven, Duchess Morgana Arven will be conducted for preventive testimony.”

The silence that followed lasted only two seconds.

But it was enough.

Damon understood the maneuver before Morgana even answered. Someone had used her attempt to annul fraudulent contracts as a pretext to accuse her of coercion. If Morgana were arrested, even for a few hours, her enemies could declare administrative instability, freeze negotiations, demand overseers, and perhaps force Albert to formally resume authority, even without the conditions to do so. It was a bureaucratic trap supported by armed men.

Morgana rose slowly. ”Who signed that order?”

The knight pulled out a folded parchment. ”That will be discussed in the appropriate location.”

”So it was not signed by anyone with enough courage to show their name.”

Caldrick closed his eyes, as if every word from her brought him closer to his own execution. Damon realized the baron was not the brain behind this. An accomplice, yes, or a coward, perhaps both. But that operation came from someone bigger. Someone using Voss’s debt to lure Morgana into a controlled place.

The knight raised his chin. ”Duchess, surrender your sword and come without resistance. Your companions will not be harmed if they cooperate.”

Damon released a short breath.

It was not laughter.

Not exactly.

Morgana looked at him from the corner of her eye. ”Damon.”

He was still seated.

His hands were on the table.

The teacup in front of him froze until it cracked.

”I know,” he said, voice low. ”No killing without necessity.”

The knight saw the cup crack and drew his sword.

That was his first mistake.

The second was pointing it toward Morgana.

Damon disappeared from the chair.

It was not teleportation. Not yet. It was pure speed, cleaner than before, driven by a body that was finally beginning to understand its new meridians. The air snapped with cold when he crossed the room, and before any of the four knights could react, his hand seized the first man’s wrist. Ice climbed the armor in the same instant, locking the joint, the blade, and half the arm.

Damon twisted his body and hurled the man into the wall.

The wood cracked.

The knight fell breathless.

The second tried to attack from the side. Damon raised his left hand and created a short ice sword, still imperfect, but structured enough to fulfill its function. His blade met the enemy sword and did not break. More importantly, it conducted the impact downward, as Ester had taught him. Damon stepped forward, slammed his shoulder into the man’s chest, and threw him onto the table. Papers flew, tea spilled, and the table split in half when the knight crashed onto it.

The third pulled a throwing knife.

Damon did not even look at him.

A thin ice spear shot from the floor and pierced the man’s gauntlet, pinning his hand to the wall before the knife left his fingers. The knight screamed, more from shock than pain, and tried to free himself. The ice spread through his armor up to his neck, immobilizing him completely.

The fourth retreated.

He was the smartest.

It was not enough.

Damon advanced two steps and struck his chest with an open palm. The blow did not break bones, but released a controlled wave of cold that froze the armor from the inside and dropped the man to his knees, unable to breathe properly. The sword fell from his hand, hitting the floor with a metallic sound ridiculously small for what had just happened.

Everything ended in less than ten seconds.

Morgana remained standing beside her chair, motionless, but not frightened. There was anger in her eyes, and perhaps a hint of satisfaction she would never admit aloud. The two Arven guards still had their swords half-drawn, looking at Damon as if they had just realized they were unnecessary. The servant had curled up in a corner, hugging the empty tray.

Caldrick Voss was white as paper.

Damon walked toward him slowly.

The baron tried to retreat, but stumbled over his own leg and fell seated on the floor. ”I-I did not know they would do that.”

Damon stopped before him.

”Lie.”

”I swear!”

”You knew it was a trap. Perhaps you did not know they would draw swords. Perhaps you thought it would all be very clean, very legal, very polite. But you knew she would be taken.”

Caldrick began to tremble.

Damon crouched, grabbed the man by the neck, and lifted him with one hand.

He did not squeeze enough to break it.

Only enough to make it clear that he could.

The baron’s feet left the floor, and a pathetic sound came from his throat when his fingers tried uselessly to open Damon’s hand. The cold began to climb his collar, forming crystals in the expensive fabric. Damon raised him to face height, looking directly into his eyes with a calm so cold it seemed worse than fury.

”You tried to arrest Morgana.”

Caldrick whimpered. ”I-I was pressured.”

”By whom?”

”I do not know!”

Damon squeezed a little.

The baron’s eyes widened.

”I asked by whom.”

”Lord Havelock! It was Havelock! He said that if I did not cooperate, he would buy my debt with Verden and take my warehouses! He said the order was legitimate! I swear, I swear, I did not want to hurt her!”

Morgana took a step forward. ”Havelock?”

The name clearly meant something to her. Damon did not take his eyes off Caldrick. ”Is he important?”

”One of the trade councilors of the neighboring duchy of Halbrecht,” Morgana answered, her voice hard. ”And one of the men who appears in contracts signed by my stepmother.”

Damon returned his attention to the baron. ”Convenient.”

Caldrick was now crying openly. Noble dignity had vanished completely, leaving only a man too small inside clothes too expensive. The smell came next, acidic and humiliating. Damon noticed before looking. The baron had pissed himself.

The silence in the room changed.

Damon looked down, saw the stain spreading across the man’s trousers, and sighed. ”That was fast.”

Caldrick sobbed. ”Please. Please, forgive me. I withdraw the debt. I withdraw everything. Arven owes House Voss nothing. Nothing. I will sign now. I will declare that the contract was forged. I will say whatever you want. Just do not kill me.”

Damon tilted his head. ”You are forgiving the debt?”

”Yes! Yes, all of it. Interest, fees, everything. I swear by my house.”

”By your house does not seem worth much.”

”By my life!”

”That sounds more honest.”

Morgana observed the scene for a few seconds, and Damon realized she was divided between the desire to interrogate the baron for hours and the immediate usefulness of that collapse. House Voss’s debt was small compared to the total, but his declaration could open the way to proving the chain of fraud involving Havelock and Halbrecht. Besides, a noble who had pissed himself from fear was usually less creative with lies.

”Put him down,” she said.

Damon looked at her.

Morgana held his gaze. ”He still needs to sign.”

Damon released Caldrick.

The baron fell to his knees, coughing and holding his own neck. A small circle of ice remained marked on the skin where Damon’s hand had held him. It was not deep, but it would be remembered for a few days. Perhaps a few years.

Morgana pointed to one of the Arven guards. ”Bring pen, ink, and witnesses. Now.”

The guard obeyed immediately.

Damon turned toward the fallen knights. ”And them?”

Morgana looked at the immobilized men, then at the parchment on the floor. ”Alive. I want names, orders, origin, and who paid. If any of them die before speaking, I will be irritated.”

Damon nodded. ”No killing.”

”For now.”

He almost smiled. ”Are you learning from me?”

Morgana gave him a cold look. ”Do not praise yourself.”

Caldrick, still kneeling on the floor, raised a trembling hand. ”I will sign. I will sign anything. The debt is forgiven. House Voss recognizes that the contract was imposed under illegitimate conditions. I will cooperate. I will testify. I... I can even pay compensation.”

Damon looked at Morgana. ”I like that last part.”

Morgana sat again, adjusting her coat as if the room had not been destroyed. ”I liked it too.”

A few minutes later, Caldrick Voss was signing a formal declaration with his hand trembling so much that the signature almost looked like another crime. Two witnesses from the house, terrified, were called. The Arven guards collected the false parchment from the Council of Guarantees, the knights’ weapons, and Voss’s documents. Damon remained standing beside Morgana throughout the entire process, saying nothing else. He did not need to.

The smell of fear did most of the work.

When they left the manor, Morgana carried the signed declaration, the seized records, and a new lead on Havelock. Damon walked beside her, controlling his breathing to keep the cold from continuing to leak. The fight had been brief, but had used more energy than he wanted to admit. Even so, there was simple satisfaction in having resolved something without allowing Morgana to be dragged away by bought knights.

In the courtyard, she stopped before entering the carriage.

”Did you lose control?” Morgana asked.

Damon thought for a moment. ”No.”

”Are you sure?”

”If I had lost control, they would be dead.”

She observed his face for a few seconds. The answer should have worried her, but there was too much truth in it to ignore. He had destroyed them all, yes. But he controlled where he struck, how much he froze, how much he frightened them. It was not delicate. It was not diplomatic. But it was not a massacre either.

”You protected me,” she said.

Damon looked at the manor behind them. ”They pointed swords at you.”

”That is not what I said.”

He turned his eyes back to her.

Morgana held the declaration tightly, but her expression was not that of a duchess now. It was only Morgana, tired, irritated, alive. ”Thank you.”

Damon was silent for an instant.

Then nodded.

”You are welcome.”

She entered the carriage, and he followed right after. When the door closed, the inner silence lasted only a few seconds before Morgana released a long sigh, resting her head against the backrest. Damon expected a scolding, perhaps something about him acting before the order or destroying someone else’s property.

Instead, she raised the signed document.

”One less debt.”

Damon looked at the sheet.

Then at her.

”And one less noble with dry pants.”

Morgana tried to hold it in.

She failed.

Her laughter came out low, tired, and unexpected. It did not last long, but it was real enough to fill the entire carriage. Damon smiled too, and for the first time since that bureaucratic war had begun, the victory did not seem merely strategic.

It felt deserved.