Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation

Chapter 423 – Know Your Place!

Meanwhile—

Sira was having the time of her life.

She descended on Lama like a meteor of sass and murder, her silhouette framed by flickering domefire and Pride aura. Her claws sparked like polished obsidian razors, and her smile could’ve gotten her exiled from three different Realms for emotional damage alone.

Lama snarled, fire coiling around her whip like a viper in heat, and swung hard— but Sira caught it mid-flame.

The chain wrapped around her arm, branding her skin with faint embers, but she didn’t flinch. She twisted with catlike grace, pulling the demoness toward her like reeling in a flirtation she already owned.

”You really should’ve stayed away from finance,” Sira purred, voice syrupy and cruel.

Then kneed Lama in the gut.

The Pride-enhanced blow shattered the weakened mana barrier around Lama’s torso like glass. Her breath fled her lungs in a violent gasp as she was launched downward.

She smashed into the cracked asphalt like a dropped chandelier, kicking up chunks of molten stone and snapping pavement with a deep, echoing CRACK. A crater formed around her, ragged and jagged—like the earth was embarrassed to hold her.

Sira hovered above her, eyes glowing with arrogant fury. Her wings flared like a queen entering court in a dress made of flame and ego.

”I’m not my dad,” she said, voice soft but serrated, floating down like a royal executioner. ”But I’m not just his daughter either,” she added with a maniac smile.

Lama coughed, flame-drenched hair whipping around her face. She growled low, trying to rise on shaking arms— and Sira stepped on her chest with one gleaming heel.

”Know your place,” Sira said coldly, pressing down until the stone beneath cracked louder, ”middle management.”

Lama’s whip slithered up Sira’s thigh—fast as a whipstrike.

Sira’s eyes widened— but grinned.

The whip exploded—not in fire, but in mimicry. Lama’s stolen skill pulsed through it... a partial copy of Pride Claw.

Sira backflipped just in time, the mimicked claws grazing her thigh with enough force to tear her silk armor. A thin line of blood shimmered.

”Cute,” Sira said, licking the wound like a cat tasting spice. ”Let’s dance.”

Across the battlefield—

Dravik roared and slammed a corpse into the ground, sending necrotic shockwaves outward in a stinking pulse of meat and magic. Bones cracked and black smoke rolled in thick tendrils, seeking purchase on Lux’s soul.

Lux raised a single hand.

”Barrier.”

The translucent dome of Demonic Barrier shimmered to life in front of him—gold-tinged, circular, and etched with glowing sigils shaped like profit margins and balance sheets. The necrotic waves smashed against it with wet, rotten force.

[Conversion Complete: +7.3% Mana Recovered.]

[Barrier Integrity: 68%]

[Note: Unclaimed corpse magic has been redirected to Petty Cash Reserve.]

”Thanks for the refund,” Lux muttered, flicking his dagger into a reverse grip. ”Now let’s talk about your liquidation.”

Dravik charged.

Big mistake.

Lux didn’t move backward.

He stepped forward.

His hand glowed—fingers humming gold.

He stabbed a dagger into Dravik’s foot. Right through the boot. Right into the bone.

The giant warlord howled.

And Lux smiled.

”I love when you scream. It sounds like bankruptcy.”

He raised his arm. The orbs above him tightened into a tight pinwheel—each one glowing with layered debt curses and explosive notes from collapsed infernal trade contracts.

”Let’s do this.”

”Abyssal Grasp.”

The ground ripped open.

And Hell answered.

Black tendrils howled out of the void—dozens, each one thick as a man’s torso, snapping and snarling with shadowy rage. They pierced the earth, coiled around Dravik’s legs, gut, arms, and neck—ensnaring him like a monstrous bouquet of nightmares.

He shrieked, arms flailing, claws slashing uselessly as the tendrils lifted him. Bones cracked. Flesh rippled. The Terror status inflicted hit home.

[Skill Activated: Abyssal Grasp]

[Target: Immobilized. Status: Terror – Applied.]

[Additional Effect: Muscle Compression – 34% Attack Reduction.]

Lux floated in front of him now, golden eyes glowing like an accountant at the gates of judgment.

”You know what your problem is?” he asked, calm as a spreadsheet.

Dravik thrashed, drooling necrotic filth.

”You think being powerful means you get to be dumb forever. But even demons have credit limits.”

He stabbed both daggers into Dravik’s chest with precision.

Twisted.

Blood sprayed.

Then tapped him with a glowing hand.

”Midas Touch.”

Golden light crept from the touch—up his throat, over his jaw, into the soft folds of his shoulder. The skin crystallized, shimmered, hardened—gilding a third of Dravik’s massive body like an unwanted trophy.

[Skill Activated: Midas Touch]

[Conversion: 34% (Partial)]

[Note: Excess gold value: 1.7 million SC (locked). Asset freeze pending.]

Dravik whimpered.

Lux leaned in close, voice a whisper. ”You’re lucky I’m not billing you interest.”

And stepped back.

The tendrils crushed.

The sound was awful.

But not fatal.

Because Karzon chose that moment to rally.

He roared, hammer blazing again as he launched a vertical slam down toward Lux.

Sira—having just dodged a mimic fire strike from Lama—spotted it.

”Hey, CFO! Want me to finish your forge toy?”

Lux didn’t look. ”Go for it. He’s already gold-sleeved.”

Sira vanished midair—Pride Step, fast and furious—and reappeared behind Karzon in one flash of golden heat.

She wrapped her legs around his waist in a sinfully flexible grappling lock and raked her claws up his back, sparks flying from armor and flesh alike.

Karzon screamed—swinging his hammer wildly.

He elbowed her, hard—sending her spinning. Her Pride aura flared, stabilizing her.

She grinned, blood dripping from her lips.

Then bit his ear off.

Karzon shrieked like a dying volcano.

Lux calmly reached up—caught one of his orbs midair—and threw it into Karzon’s face.

-BOOM!

The orb exploded with a delayed debt curse. An invoice slammed into Karzon’s soul so hard it sent him crashing to the ground like a sack of overdue regret.

But he wasn’t down.

He rolled. Snarling. Shoulder dislocated. Gold creeping up his ribs.

”YOU—INSOLENT—”

Lux teleported directly above him, blades crossed, and kicked downward like a falling dividend report.