Asmodeus System: Stealing My Bully's Mother

​Morning hadn’t fully broken. Pale blue light seeped from behind the VIP Room’s curtains, illuminating the freezing wooden floor.

​The lingering scent of hearth charcoal blended heavily with the sweat of a long night. The cold winter air hung thick, suffocating the stone walls.

​Ethan Valen rose from his wooden chair. His neck was slightly stiff, but his dark brown eyes glared sharply. There was no trace of sleepiness there.

​He turned his head toward the large bed in the center of the room.

​Isolde was fast asleep on the left side. Her platinum-blonde hair was a mess, partially covering her pale face. From her exposed shoulder, a dark aura faintly glowed—the demonic essence that had just merged with her soul. The Ice Queen’s breathing sounded deep and steady.

​Beside her, Kaelia lay haphazardly. Her arm dangled out of the blanket, nearly touching the floor. The Fire Princess’s breathing sounded heavier, responding to the extreme exhaustion that had crushed her ego last night.

​Ethan stared at the two of them in silence.

​”Tch, leaving without saying goodbye again...” Asmodeus’s voice suddenly echoed in his head, hoarse and full of mockery. ”Leaving two women you just shattered and reshaped on the bed. You truly are a cold man, My Lord.”

​Ethan didn’t reply. His expression was as flat as marble.

​He grabbed his black shirt. He buttoned it up one by one calmly, covering his chest and arms which were littered with fresh wounds. As if he were donning armor for the next battle.

​After draping a thick dark cloak over his shoulders, he stepped out.

​The door closed. Click. Almost soundlessly.

​The hallway of the Main Tower was still deserted and foggy. Freezing air seeped from the pores of the stone walls, turning exhaled breaths into thick mist.

​Several servants who were lighting candles hurriedly stepped aside and bowed deeply the moment they saw him pass by. The terror in their eyes was enough to explain Ethan Valen’s reputation.

​Ethan didn’t look back. His footsteps were constant and steady.

​He walked along the east wing, passing the dark Student Council meeting room, then cutting through the library corridor until he arrived at a worn-out wooden door in the academy’s rear area. Its iron hinges were already rusted, indicating this path was rarely touched.

​Creeaak.

​The door was pushed slowly. A far more freezing north wind instantly slammed into his face, carrying snowflakes left over from last night.

​Ethan kept walking away from the academy walls, seeking an open area obscured by the dense frozen pines. After making sure there were no spies in the watchtowers, he loosened the clasp of his cloak.

​”Azhyrael.”

​BWOOSH!

​Incredible heat exploded in his shoulder blades. A pair of giant, reddish-black wings spread out, blowing away the surrounding snow. The base was as dark as night, while the tips blazed crimson like blood.

​With one powerful push, Ethan shot into the air, cleaving through Zenithar’s morning mist.

​The expanse of frozen pine forests and small rivers below him blurred past like dead silver veins. The north wind battered sharply, but Ethan’s flying posture was now much more controlled.

​He dove through the low clouds, tilting his shoulder smoothly to balance gravity against his Sin Mana.

​”Hmm, not bad,” Asmodeus commented, breaking the silence. ”Your flight is much more stable. Your wings no longer falter against the storm. Unlike that baby bird that almost broke its neck yesterday.”

​”Can you shut up?” Ethan snapped flatly.

​”Hah, of course not,” the demon chuckled. ”You’re flying all the way north, leaving the comfort of your room just to pick up that girl... Means she’s quite valuable, hm? Or do you just miss getting bitten by that wolf knight?”

​”I don’t miss anything,” Ethan replied coldly.

​”A beautiful lie,” Asmodeus whispered with satisfaction.

​Ethan ignored him. He strengthened Azhyrael’s flaps, shooting even more insanely through the air.

​His mind was locked onto a single name: Valera Voss.

​Two hours passed. The landscape beneath him changed drastically.

​Wooden houses vanished, replaced by leafless dead forests and giant stone cliffs that towered like the earth’s spikes. The air grew drier and the cold pierced straight to the bone. The northern territory—the domain of the Rosenberg Family.

​In the distance, the eerie silhouette of a Fortress loomed through the thick fog. Its towers paled, blanketed by a layer of ice. Its iron-plated wooden gates looked like the tightly locked jaws of an ancient monster.

​Ethan dove down, landing lightly in the outer forest area, about three hundred meters from the gates.

​His wings melted back into his spine, leaving behind a fading warmth. He straightened his cloak, then walked calmly along the snowy path. His boots crunched crisply on the thick snow.

​His calm steps instantly triggered panic atop the fortress’s watchtowers.

​”Stranger!” a guard yelled from atop the wall. ”Stop right there!”

​Ethan didn’t slow down in the slightest. He kept walking with an oppressive calmness.

​Two secondary guards ran forward from the outer outpost. The tips of their steel spears were aimed squarely at Ethan’s chest. Their hands trembled violently, enduring the cold and the tension.

​”Hah?! Stop right now, you bastard!” the guard on the right snapped.

​Ethan’s steps halted a mere handspan from the spear tips. He slowly lifted his chin, glaring at the two soldiers with absolute coldness.

​”I’m not here for war,” Ethan stated quietly, yet his voice crushed the clumps of air around them.

​”Are you crazy?!” the guard on the left spat. ”Where are your travel papers?! No outsider can enter without permission!”

​”Call Duke Alaric.” A thin wisp of Sin Mana seeped from Ethan’s tone, forcing the guards’ instincts into submission. ”Tell him someone brings news regarding Serpent Tongue.”

​Those words dropped like lightning.

​The guard on the right turned deathly pale. The name of that assassin organization was the most dangerous taboo. Without a word, he turned around and ran frantically through the gates to report.

​The remaining guards held their breath, surrounding Ethan with cold sweat flooding their foreheads.

​Before long, the deafening screech of iron hinges echoed. The giant gates opened slowly, pulled manually.

​Duke Alaric von Rosenberg stepped out. His footsteps were heavy, as if shaking the stone floor. His white bear-fur cloak made the old man’s frame look increasingly massive and intimidating. His breath condensed into thick mist.

​Two elite knights trailed closely behind him.

​The moment Alaric’s pale blue eyes caught Ethan’s figure, a terrifying murderous aura immediately exploded from the Duke’s body.

​”You,” Alaric’s baritone boomed, his square jaw clenching. ”How dare you set foot on my land, you bastard.”

​Ethan stood tall without wavering. His hands were hidden casually beneath his cloak.

​”You look more vigilant than usual, Duke. Serpent Tongue must be giving you sleepless nights.”

​CRACK!

​A layer of ice instantly spread from Alaric’s boots, freezing the ground and snow around him. The chill of a high-tier Aura flooded the air.

​”Did you come all this way just to insult me in front of my own gates, Valen?!” Alaric hissed, his hand moving to greet the hilt of the greatsword at his waist.

​”I came to offer a way out,” Ethan replied calmly, ignoring the ice touching the tips of his boots. ”I will cleanse your house of the Serpent Tongue pests. Down to the roots. Leaving nothing behind.”

​A moment of silence. The wind seemed to stop blowing. That promise of slaughter was delivered with absolute certainty.

​Alaric narrowed his eyes, searching for a crack of a lie in Ethan’s flat face. Yet he only found an immeasurable, dark abyss.

​”And?” Alaric hissed suspiciously. ”What do you want in exchange? A new lie?”

​Ethan slightly loosened the clasp of his cloak at his neck. His dark brown eyes stared straight at the Northern Bear.

​”I want Valera.”

​Three words. Absolute and lethal.

​Alaric twitched. His shoulder muscles tensed severely, his grip on the sword hilt turning white. His deathly aura erupted twofold.

​”How dare you...”

​”Not to force her,” Ethan cut in coldly, halting the Duke’s advance with the sheer pressure of his voice. ”I’m not asking you to hand her over tied up. I’m only asking you not to interfere. Let her choose, once all this bloody business is settled.”

​The north wind howled softly. The guards around them held their breath in horror.

​High atop the fortress walls, Valera Voss stood frozen.

​Her black armor gleamed, reflecting the pale morning light. Her brown hair flowed freely in the wind. The female knight’s eyes were locked onto Ethan’s figure down below.

​Both her hands were clenched tightly at her sides. A strange turmoil—something she had long suppressed alone—struggled once again in her chest when her name was called out loudly in front of her master.

​Meanwhile, behind the window of the fortress’s left wing, Kurt stared blankly from his wheelchair. A thick blanket covered his lap.

​He saw his furious father. He saw Ethan standing arrogantly. Yet, there was no more terror or hatred in the blond young man’s chest. Only absolute emptiness, a tangible proof of just how permanent the mental damage Ethan had left inside his head was.

​In front of the outer gates, the tension refused to subside. Alaric had not yet given a definitive answer, and Ethan remained standing firm, defying the north wind. The strings of fate began to vibrate violently, preparing to shake the entire foundation of Granderer.