Asmodeus System: Stealing My Bully's Mother

​Sorin Veld dropped into a low stance. The longsword in his hand was cloaked in pure aura—life energy forged beyond its limits.

​The pressure was overwhelmingly dense. Snowflakes around them came to a standstill in the air, solidifying as if time itself had frozen.

​”Hah... you’re too stubborn for someone severely injured, Valera,” Sorin chided. His voice flowed calmly, piercing the wind.

​Valera grinned ferociously. Her bared teeth challenged the danger. ”Tch. And you talk too much for a knight who’s about to kiss the dirt.”

​The female knight shifted her heel. Two steps back. Her left hand effortlessly lifted the giant Zweihander.

​Meanwhile, her right arm—wrapped in black bandages from the demon’s claw mark—hung stiffly at her side. Completely useless.

​Seeing his opponent’s stubbornness, Sorin stopped wasting time. He shot forward. His steps were measured.

​CLANG! CLASH!

​His silver sword flashed. Thrusting. Slashing. Incredibly fast, yet full of precision. Sorin wasn’t aiming for her life, but every strike was designed to lock down Valera’s movements.

​All his attacks were focused on the right side of Valera’s body—the blind spot where her right arm was ruined.

​Valera clicked her tongue. She wasn’t a knight who fought by the book. She fought like a cornered wolf. Wild. Brutal.

​CLAAAAANG!

​The blade of the Zweihander clashed hard. Sparks of gold and silver exploded in the air, blinding thousands of pairs of eyes in the stands.

​The veins on Valera’s left arm bulged intensely. Every time she twisted her body to parry from the right side, the wound beneath her bandages felt as if it were being torn by an iron hook. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, exhaling thick white steam amidst the freezing air.

​On the arena’s tiered seating, the Rosenberg soldiers held their breath. Senior officers began to whisper. Our prideful Northern Dog is going to fall any second now, they murmured.

​But at the edge of the arena, Ethan Valen merely leaned silently against the stone wall. His black shirt fluttered gently. His dark brown eyes were extraordinarily flat. Watching without a ripple of emotion.

​The rhythm of the fight grew increasingly suffocating.

​Sorin glided back elegantly, letting Valera’s counter-slash cleave only the wind. Losing her target, Valera’s body stumbled slightly to the side.

​”Give up,” Sorin warned from five paces away. The tip of his sword pointed straight at Valera’s chest. ”I don’t want to hurt you anymore. You have no chance of winning.”

​Valera spat onto the snow. Thick red blood dripped from her bitten lip.

​”My right arm might be trashed, Sorin,” Valera hissed. Her golden eyes were now completely feral. ”But my life is still intact to bet on the line right here!”

​Sorin let out a short sigh. He charged forward again. This time with a full-powered vertical slash. His intention was singular: to disarm Valera.

​Valera raised her Zweihander horizontally.

​CRASH!

​Valera’s knee slammed into the snow. Her leather armor creaked loudly, withstanding the brutal pressure of Sorin’s aura. However, instead of dropping her sword, Valera looked up.

​The pain tearing through her arm was burned into fuel. The Golden Beast Aura that had dimmed earlier suddenly exploded. A solid golden light pulsed, coating her legs, her left arm, and her giant sword.

​A feral growl escaped Valera’s throat.

​Sorin’s eyes widened slightly. He realized something: This woman is throwing the rest of her life into one final strike!

​Valera shifted her shoulder, letting Sorin’s sword slide off her blade at an angle. Sorin’s balance tilted slightly forward. In that crucial second, Valera kicked the flat of her opponent’s blade hard.

​The Knight’s balance shattered. Sorin prepared to leap back.

​But Valera refused to give him distance. Shifting her weight to her right heel, she spun her body and unleashed a blind horizontal slash.

​Sorin leaped chest-high, escaping death.

​However, the exact moment his iron boots touched the ground, Valera had already spun her body back around. Instead of using the blade, the female knight thrust the pommel straight forward.

​THUD!

​That strike coated in Golden Beast Aura hit Sorin squarely in the solar plexus. The air was forcefully knocked out of his lungs.

​The body of Rosenberg’s strongest knight was thrown backward. He had to plunge his sword into the ground to keep from falling flat on his back.

​Thousands of spectators instantly fell silent. That one-armed woman had just beaten back Sorin Veld.

​Sorin was stunned. His solar plexus throbbed with an incredible ache. Slowly, he pulled his sword from the snow and stood up straight again. Across from him, Valera was panting heavily, sweat drenching her face.

​”Incredible,” Sorin praised sincerely. ”But for what? What makes you so willing to die just to leave this land?”

​Valera clamped her jaw shut. She didn’t answer. There was no point explaining her absolute submission to the young man currently leaning at the edge of the arena.

​Sorin understood that silence. He raised his sword chest-high. All of his remaining non-elemental aura concentrated onto the steel blade. Its pressure was now enough to crush bones.

​”You are a great knight, Valera. Therefore, accept my final respect,” Sorin said sharply.

​Valera smirked widely with a bloody corner of her lip. She pulled her Zweihander to the side, squeezing out the very last drops of her golden aura.

​Silence. Only the rustle of the north wind filled the emptiness of the arena.

​Then, in a single breath, Sorin shot forward.

​Not a slash, but a straight thrust as fast as lightning. The tip of his sword carried a pressure capable of piercing through basalt stone. Impossible to dodge.

​And Valera indeed had no intention of dodging.

​In her insane calculation, Valera leaned her body forward. Opening her left side wide.

​STAB!

​The silver sword failed to hit her heart, yet it pierced through the toughness of Valera’s leather armor. It tore through her right side near the collarbone straight through to her back. Fresh hot blood spewed onto the snow.

​Sorin’s eyes bulged. She did it on purpose?!

​It wasn’t a foolish sacrifice. As Sorin’s sword was temporarily lodged in her flesh, Valera concentrated all her remaining strength into her left hand. She swung an ultimate slash from bottom to top.

​The giant golden blade slammed brutally into Sorin’s arm.

​CLAAAAAANG!

​The silver sword slipped from Sorin’s grasp, launched high spinning into the air before plunging far away into the snow. The remaining force of Valera’s swing squarely hit Sorin’s chest.

​The Knight was thrown back. Falling hard on his backside. The plate armor on his chest cracked, emitting thin smoke.

​The arena was as silent as a graveyard.

​Valera Voss stood tall. The tip of her giant sword drove into the ground, supporting her violently trembling body. Her body poured fresh blood. Her right arm hung dead. Yet she was the winner.

​Sorin stared at his empty hand, then looked at the blood-soaked woman. A faint smile formed on his lips. A smile of defeat laden with respect.

​”I lost,” Sorin declared loudly. He bowed his head. ”You deserve to leave. No one is more worthy of bearing the Rosenberg name on their back than you.”

​Valera panted, but her eyes returned the respect. ”You were a handful yourself, Sorin.”

​From the highest balcony, Duke Alaric von Rosenberg stepped down.

​All the soldiers immediately bowed deeply. The giant man’s footsteps were laden with authority. Alaric stopped right in the middle of the arena. His pale blue eyes stared at Valera as hard as an eternal glacier.

​There was no room for excuses. The Duke was the manifestation of northern honor.

​”You have proven yourself, Valera,” Alaric’s voice echoed heavily. ”With this, your oath of service to the Rosenberg banner is officially concluded. You are no longer a knight of the north.”

​Valera let go of her sword hilt. With a trembling left hand, she reached behind the collar of her armor. Pulling out a silver badge bearing an ice rose. The token of loyalty she had carried since over a decade ago.

​She stared at the cold badge for a moment, recalling all the blood she had sacrificed. Then, she handed it over to Alaric with an open palm.

​”Thank you for your guidance, My Lord Duke,” Valera said, bowing respectfully.

​Alaric took it. Gripping it tightly beneath his bear cloak. His face didn’t change. There was no anger.

​”Leave with your head held high, Valera,” Alaric ordered quietly. He turned around and walked away without looking back.

​Valera straightened her body. She pivoted on her heel, ignoring the Duke’s back, and searched for the figure waiting for her.

​She stared straight into Ethan Valen’s dark brown eyes. Stomping her foot into the snow, Valera lowered her voice, yet her new oath was heard by the thousands of pairs of ears still standing in silence.

​”My sword... and my entire life, now exist purely to serve Ethan Valen.”

​Ethan didn’t smile. There was no arrogant smirk of a cheap winner. The young man merely pushed himself off the wall, strolling casually toward the woman who was now officially his absolute property.

​Valera’s physical limit finally ran out.

​The exact moment Ethan arrived in front of her, the strength in Valera’s knees evaporated. Her body swayed forward.

​Ethan reached out his left hand, catching Valera’s waist sturdily. The knight leaned limply against his broad chest. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, enduring the pain that was beginning to swallow her consciousness.

​”Rest,” Ethan whispered, his voice very close. ”I will handle the rest.”

​Valera wanted to answer, but her vision darkened. Her head fell in resignation onto Ethan’s shoulder. She lost consciousness.

​At the edge of the grounds, Alaric von Rosenberg watched it in silence. His jaw clenched, but his lips were tightly sealed.

​Valera had been taken to a guest room and tended to by a healer. Once he made sure she was safe, Ethan stepped out.

​The north wing hallway of the Rosenberg Fortress felt freezing. Without a cloak, clad only in his black shirt and pants, Ethan’s presence looked in stark contrast among the icy stone walls.

​An old servant crossed paths with him. Realizing who this young man was, the servant hurriedly stepped aside.

​”P-Forgive me, Young Master Valen,” the servant squeaked, bowing. ”This north wing corridor is rarely visited by guests. Is there anything I can help you with?”

​Ethan’s steps halted. A faint smile was etched across his face. A smile that didn’t reach his ice-cold eyes at all.

​”Hmm? Nothing at all. I just want to visit an old friend from the Academy,” Ethan answered lightly. Very friendly, yet hiding a lethal venom.

​The old servant swallowed hard, not daring to ask further, then hurried away.

​Ethan arrived at the end of the corridor. Stopping in front of a thick oak door. Without knocking, he turned its silver handle. The door opened soundlessly.

​He stepped inside and closed the door tightly.

​The room was gloomy. Sunlight only peeked through the cracks of the thick curtains. Cold air crept in.

​Near the window, Kurt von Rosenberg sat frozen in a wheelchair.

​The bright star of the north was now withered. His blond hair was dull. His ice-blue eyes stared vacantly through the glass, as if his soul had long rotted inside his body. A wool blanket covered his completely paralyzed knees.

​Ethan walked slowly closer.

​”I heard you never leave your room anymore, Kurt?” Ethan greeted. His tone was so casual. Like an old friend reminiscing about the past.

​No answer. Kurt didn’t even turn his head.

​”You know, I still remember everything,” Ethan continued. He stood beside the wheelchair, crossing his arms over his chest. ”I remember the day you laughed at me. I remember when your boot stomped my head into the mud. When you destroyed my heirloom ring, then spat on me in front of everyone.”

​Ethan recounted it as if telling a fairy tale. There was no explosive anger. There were no shouts of vengeance. Only an absolute coldness that crept in to crush the mind.

​Kurt remained silent. Blinking slowly as he stared at the snow outside.

​”You used to be the proud prince of the north. But look at you now,” Ethan swept his gaze over the skinny body. ”Just a paralyzed lump of meat who can’t even wipe his own drool.”

​Still no response. Kurt had locked his mind away from the outside world.

​Ethan crouched down. Bringing his face level with the vacant stare of the Rosenberg heir.

​”You probably don’t care about yourself anymore,” Ethan said quietly. ”But... what about Isolde?”

​A microscopic reaction occurred.

​Hearing his mother’s name, Kurt’s index finger on the armrest of his wheelchair trembled subtly.

​Ethan’s sharp eyes caught that opening. A cruel smirk curled on his lips. He leaned his face forward, getting closer to Kurt’s ear, and whispered his venom.

​”She is happy now, Kurt,” Ethan whispered, his voice extremely soft cutting through the silence. ”Living with me... she smiles much more often than she did in the north. And you know what? She serves me exceptionally well every single night.”

​Kurt’s breath hitched. The trembling at his fingertips spread wildly up to his wrist. His jaw locked so hard his muscles bulged, refusing to make a sound.

​”I could strangle you to death right now,” Ethan continued, delivering a mercilessly logical threat. ”But your mother would surely cry her eyes out. And for some reason, Kurt... I absolutely hate seeing my woman sad.”

​An absolute dilemma. Ethan let his words sink in, destroying the remnants of Kurt’s sanity. He had taken everything: his future, his honor, his body, and now, his mother.

​Feeling the show was over, Ethan stood up. He casually adjusted the collar of his shirt, then walked out without further ado.

​Click. The door closed softly.

​Kurt von Rosenberg was left alone in the dim light. He remained frozen. Unable to move, unable to scream out his suffering.

​However, from the corner of his ice-blue eye that had been vacant all this time... a single teardrop finally fell.

​That tear of absolute despair flowed down his pale cheek, fell silently, and soaked into the blanket covering his paralysis, vanishing without a trace.