Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation

Chapter 221 – You Hit Like a Rich Boy

Lux didn’t speak.

Didn’t pose.

He just moved.

Fast.

Tarrek leapt first—blades spinning, feet bouncing off the walls, screaming like a banshee with a sword addiction. His style was wild. Messy. Improvised. And fast as hell.

But Lux wasn’t slower.

He vanished. A flicker of black.

Teleport.

Reappeared right behind Tarrek mid-leap and kicked him in the back, sending the big gargoyle through a table, two chairs, and a fancy sound crystal that shattered in a shriek of demonic autotune.

”YOU CHEAP SHADOW-STEPPING BASTA—!”

-CRASH!

Scarn fired next—launching tiny enchanted knives like they were an overdue magic tax, every one arcing at Lux’s pressure points.

Lux leaned.

One dagger passed his cheek. Another his thigh.

He caught the third mid-air, spun, and threw it back with zero ceremony.

It embedded in Scarn’s forehead. Not deep. But deep enough to make the gargoyle squeal and duck behind the clone’s throne.

Miraxa growled and charged, fists wrapped in explosive brass runes. She didn’t bother with subtlety—she lunged, fists swinging like cannons.

Lux met her head-on.

Blades clashed with her knuckle-wrappings in a clang that sent demonic power cracks spidering across the floor.

She grinned—teeth sharp.

”Oh,” she hissed. ”I love this.”

Lux didn’t grin.

He just headbutted her.

Hard.

She staggered. He stepped in, buried Devorare into her shoulder, then spun and punched her across the jaw with the hilt of Amare so hard she slammed into the clone’s throne, almost knocking it over.

Clone #5 lifted an eyebrow. ”...Can I get a drink while this happens?”

Zevra moved at that moment.

Fast.

Too fast.

A blur of black fur and heat, claws flashing, tail whipping the air. She leapt at Lux’s back, coming from his blindside—

Except Lux had fought hellhound-types before.

He snapped his wing sideways, catching her mid-pounce and flinging her into the ceiling.

The roof cracked.

She laughed.

”You hit like a rich boy,” she growled, mid-fall.

He met her with Abyssal Grasp.

Tendrils exploded from the shadows beneath her just as she landed—wrapping, twisting, driving into her joints and dragging her hard across the floor. She fought them—bit, clawed, raged—but one tendril slammed her into a wall, another pinned her tail, and a third drove into her thigh with a meaty snap.

She screamed.

Lux didn’t blink.

Another orb floated into him.

Then another.

And another.

Tarrek was back.

He screamed, flipped over Lux’s head, and landed on the throne like a chaotic little gremlin. ”YOU THINK YOU’RE HOT SHIT, BUT I’M A RANKED BLADESINGER, MOTHERFU—”

Lux grabbed his leg mid-sentence and yanked.

Tarrek yelped, flipped upside down— and Lux drove both daggers into his stomach.

Twice.

Twist. ℯ

Pull.

Guts. Everywhere.

Tarrek screamed. And still kicked.

Lux used Agility, flipped backward over him, and as Tarrek rolled, tried to stand—

Lux beheaded him with one clean horizontal slash.

Scarn screamed from behind the throne.

”FUCK THIS I’M OUT!”

Lux turned and raised a hand.

”Demonic Orbs.”

Fifty angry rubber-ball-sized black stars burst into the air around him.

They hummed.

Then flew.

One crashed through Scarn’s leg.

Another blew out his kneecap.

Ten more hit his back, exploding in curseflames and concussive mana.

He fell.

Hard.

Face first.

Dead.

Miraxa stumbled to her feet.

Bloodied.

Burned.

Still grinning.

”You’re insane,” she spat.

Lux walked toward her.

”No,” he said calmly. ”I’m rich.”

And then he shoved Amare into her heart, pressed against her chest, and whispered...

”Thanks for the views.”

She choked.

Fell.

The last orb floated into him.

Zevra tried to stand.

Lux turned, walked toward her, and raised Devorare.

She stared up at him.

”Wait—” she gasped. ”Do you even know why we did this?!”

Lux paused.

Then crouched.

Face close.

”I don’t care.” But yeah, he bet for the bounty.

And slit her throat.

Slow.

Clean.

The orb floated.

Entered him.

He exhaled, finally.

Calm again.

The throne room smelled like cooked pride.

Clone #5 whistled. ”Well. That escalated deliciously.”

Lux reached behind the throne and cut the restraints without a word.

Clone #5 rubbed his wrists. ”I was having a spa day before the vault-slam.”

Lux stood still for a second, surrounded by corpses.

Then looked up.

[System: Enemy signals— Detecting.]

[Pride Syndicate HQ—notified.]

Lux didn’t turn.

Didn’t speak.

But his eyes gleamed.

He pivoted slowly, boots squelching in the blood pooling across the floor, and let his gaze settle on the infernal phone still balanced on its little tripod. The live-stream feed was still running—comment bar on the side flying so fast it was barely readable. The viewer count had exploded into the six digits.

Lux tilted his head toward the camera, just slightly, that lazy little smirk curving at the corner of his mouth like he was leaning into a private joke.

”...Hello,” he said.

The chat detonated instantly.

”HOLY FUCK IT’S HIM”

”NO WAY THAT’S THE REAL ONE???”

”LMAOOO WE ALL THOUGHT HE WAS A PAPER PUSHER??”

”SON OF GREED MY ASS THIS GUY’S A BUTCHER.”

”Marry me. I swear I was a virgin!”

”Did you see that head kick??”

It was almost funny. Almost.

Because Lux caught the tone beneath the frenzy—shock. This was the first time most of them had seen him fight.

No. This was real.

And judging from the comments, most of these idiots had spent years thinking ’Lux Vaelthorn doesn’t fight’.

That being the heir of Greed meant you had bottomless pockets and nothing sharp but your tongue.

”Wait... he can actually kill people?”

”I thought his whole thing was spreadsheets??”

”Wasn’t this guy in a wine magazine last month??”

”No lie I bet he never even cleaned his own blade before this.”

”BRO I SWORE THIS GUY WAS SOFT.”

”Thought the armor was just for fashion?? Hello???”

”Okay but can we talk about those teleport kills??”

”No wonder nobody comes back from pissing him off.”

”Someone clip that head toss, I’m making it my ringtone.”

Lux’s eye twitched.

’...Oh. So that’s why they came at me like a pack of dumbasses,’ he thought, remembering the earlier swarm, the rat-level bounty hunters, the mercs in over their heads. ’They thought I was an easy paycheck.’