Asmodeus System: Stealing My Bully's Mother

​Clank. Clank. Clank.

​The heavy tread of steel-plated boots echoed down the marble corridors of the Main Tower. Every time the iron soles struck the floor, a layer of frost rapidly crept up the walls, choking the room’s temperature down to absolute zero.

​Duke Alaric von Rosenberg didn’t need to draw a sword to kill. His mere presence was enough to stop the hearts of the weak.

​As a Master Knight (Rank S), his aura was unimaginably dense and destructive. It was the physical manifestation of decades spent severing the heads of monsters and political rivals alike.

​Beside the colossal, pale-blonde man, Isolde walked at a measured pace.

​Both of her hands wrapped tightly around her husband’s arm. The Duchess’s face was painted with a flawless, sickly pallor. Her eyes were slightly bloodshot, as if she had spent the entire night weeping. She was delivering a masterclass performance of a mother devastated by the sight of her comatose son.

​"I’m going to mount that low-caste boy’s head on a pike," Alaric growled. His voice rumbled like muffled thunder trapped in his throat. "How dare a filthy rat lay a hand on Rosenberg blood."

​"Alaric, please... calm down," Isolde whispered, gently squeezing her husband’s arm. "I understand your fury. It breaks my heart to see Kurt like that. But murdering him in broad daylight will only drag our family’s name through the mud."

​Alaric stopped dead in his tracks. He turned his head, glaring at his wife with a stare as sharp as a blade. "Are you defending him, Isolde?"

​"I am defending our family," Isolde fired back instantly, meeting her husband’s gaze without flinching. She was an Archmage; she knew exactly how to argue with a furious Master Knight.

​"The Valen boy did use ice magic with the help of my heirloom ring due to an accidental resonance. But that isn’t what shattered Kurt’s mana circuit," Isolde continued, masterfully letting her voice tremble with sorrow. "The medical team found traces of black sulfur in our son’s blood, my husband. Bloodfire Elixir."

​Alaric’s pale blue eyes widened slightly. His jaw muscles locked tight.

​"Bloodfire?" Alaric hissed. "That black-market garbage? How could Kurt—"

​"He drank it right before the match," Isolde cut in, bowing her head as if to hide an unbearable shame.

​"Kurt’s ego was too fragile. He wanted a crushing victory, but the potion ended up burning his own veins from the inside out. If you execute Valen now, the royal court will intervene. The entire kingdom will know... the Rosenberg heir had to chug illegal narcotics just to fight an F-Caste student."

​Alaric froze like a statue. His exhales turned into thick plumes of white steam. His fists clenched so tightly that his leather gauntlets creaked loudly.

​For a pure warrior who worshipped physical absolute strength, the fact that his own flesh and blood relied on an illegal potion was a far more devastating blow to his ego than the defeat itself.

​Alaric’s fury was now split in two. Between the youth who struck down his son, and the black-market rat who smuggled the potion into the academy.

​"Bring the boy to the Hall of Honor. Now," Alaric commanded coldly, resuming his heavy strides. "I will interrogate him myself. If there is even a single lie in your story, Isolde... I will raze this academy to the ground with my ice."

​Thirty minutes later, the towering ebony double doors of the Hall of Honor swung open.

​Ethan Valen strolled inside with an incredibly relaxed gait. He wore only a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, paired with his black VIP uniform trousers.

​No weapons. No protective artifacts. His hands rested casually in his pockets.

​At the far end of the marble-pillared hall, Duke Alaric sat on the grand chair of honor, radiating the oppressive aura of a northern king ready to execute a prisoner.

​To his right stood Head Instructor Vane, his face deathly pale. To his left stood Isolde von Rosenberg, her head bowed in elegant submission.

​The moment the doors clicked shut behind Ethan, Duke Alaric refused to waste time with pleasantries.

​BZZZZT!

​The atmospheric pressure inside the room spiked thousands of times over. A shockwave of a Master Knight’s Ice Aura detonated from Alaric’s body, rocketing forward like an invisible wall slamming into everything in its path.

​CRACK! The marble floor beneath Alaric’s boots splintered like a spiderweb.

​Instructor Vane, a veteran Gold Knight, was forced to take a half-step back just to withstand the pressure. Meanwhile, Isolde furrowed her brow, holding her breath.

​For ordinary humans or Mages below Rank A, the pure, unadulterated pressure of an S-Rank Aura was more than enough to rupture their internal organs and force them to vomit blood.

​The lethal wave slammed directly into Ethan’s body.

​Yet, instead of collapsing or falling to his knees, a dense, crimson brilliance ignited deep within Ethan’s retinas.

​[Warning: Extreme Suppression Detected (Rank S Aura).]

[Activating Passive Defense Mode. ’Sin Mana Bypass Defense’ engaged as a circuit dampener.]

​A razor-thin, reddish-black layer of energy—completely invisible to standard magical sensors—coated Ethan’s skin. The demonic energy seamlessly neutralized the impact of Alaric’s Aura, letting it flow past Ethan’s body like a rushing river parting around a boulder.

​Ethan remained standing tall. His hands were still relaxed in his pockets. He didn’t even blink.

​Duke Alaric’s eyes narrowed. A flash of genuine shock crossed his hardened face. This boy... withstood my aura without chanting a single protective ward?!

​On the other hand, beneath his stoic demeanor, Ethan was quietly executing his Lust Domain manipulation. He didn’t aim it at Alaric.

​He condensed the demonic pheromones into a single, invisible, razor-thin thread, shooting it straight at Isolde, who stood right beside the Duke.

​Thump!

​Isolde jolted slightly. Her icy blue eyes blew wide open.

​The pheromone thread struck her back, directly stinging the black rose root tattoo hidden beneath her thick gown. The brand instantly pulsed wildly, injecting a scorching heat that burned Isolde’s skin.

​An incredibly dense wave of pleasure—the lingering remnants of their wild dual cultivation—was violently dragged back to the surface of her nerves.

​Isolde had to squeeze her thighs together reflexively. Her fingers gripped the edge of the table beside her until her knuckles turned white.

​She was standing less than half a meter away from her rampaging husband. Yet her mind and her womb were being forcibly dragged into ecstasy by the very boy currently standing trial.

​M-My Master... ahh... what are you doing... right in front of Alaric... Isolde’s mind shrieked in panic.

​Her pale face began to flush. she bit the inside of her cheek until it bled, desperately gagging the moan that nearly slipped past her lips. The sheer danger of being caught by her husband at any second... paradoxically made the Sin Mana stimulation feel ten times more intoxicating.

​"So you are Ethan Valen," Alaric’s baritone finally shattered the silence. He dialed back a fraction of his lethal aura. "Explain this to me, rat. How did an F-Caste piece of trash wield pure ice magic and shatter the circuit of the Rosenberg heir?"

​Ethan pulled his hands from his pockets. He took two steps forward with the absolute grace of a true aristocrat.

​"I believe Madam Vice Principal and Instructor Vane have already provided you with the written report, Your Grace," Ethan replied, his tone chillingly calm, without a single tremor.

​"I am not asking them. I AM ASKING YOU!" Alaric roared. He slammed his fist into the armrest, shattering the solid mahogany into splinters.

​"The facts are quite simple," Ethan fired back, meeting Alaric’s glare head-on without flinching.

​"I merely borrowed the Ice Rose Ring as a medium to test my mana limits. During the match, Young Master Kurt consumed a black potion. The moment I blocked his fire assault, the freezing properties of the ring froze his already-boiling blood."

​Ethan paused, letting the silence command the room. "His mana circuit shattered due to an internal explosion within his own body. I never even launched a single offensive strike against him."

​"Bullshit! My son would never—"

​"Y-Your Grace," Instructor Vane interjected, finally gathering the courage to speak while bowing his head respectfully. "W-what student Valen says is the truth. The judging panel examined the blood Young Master Kurt vomited. There were traces of pure Bloodfire Elixir in it. His circuit was completely destroyed before the frost mist even touched his vital organs."

​Alaric froze rigidly. His jaw locked so tight the veins on his temples looked ready to burst.

​As a Master Knight, his instincts knew how to detect a lie. Instructor Vane was telling the truth. His wife’s report was logical. The medical evidence was indisputable.

​Ethan Valen didn’t kill his son. Kurt’s own ego was his executioner.

​"And as an addition, Your Grace," Ethan continued. His tone dropped lower, wrapped in polite etiquette yet heavily laced with lethal provocation. "If I had truly intended to kill him... Young Master Kurt would not have the luxury of drawing breath in the infirmary right now. I held my magic back at the very last second."

​That statement was an absolute insult to a Rosenberg. Beautifully gift-wrapped in the guise of ’mercy’.

​Alaric knew it. He wanted to tear this arrogant boy into bloody shreds. Yet the laws of the Kingdom and the Academy chained his hands. Executing a proven innocent VIP Champion—simply to satisfy his ego—would invite direct intervention from the King’s faction.

​A suffocating silence dominated the Hall of Honor for several agonizing minutes.

​"You are lucky, Valen," Alaric growled. His voice dropped to a deadly whisper. The Duke slowly stood up from his grand chair. "The law protects you today. But mark my words... I do not believe in coincidences. I will be watching you."

​Alaric turned, glaring at Instructor Vane with murderous intent.

​"I am not returning to the capital until my son wakes up. Prepare the Rosenberg Residence in the West Wing. I am staying here!" Alaric commanded absolutely. "And summon all my shadow commanders. I want to know exactly which rat smuggled that damned potion to my son!"

​Instructor Vane bowed in terror. "Y-yes, Your Grace! Right away!"

​Alaric scoffed harshly. He marched toward the exit, roughly grabbing Isolde’s arm to drag her along.

​"Let us go, Isolde," Alaric ordered.

​Isolde obeyed the tug of her husband’s hand dutifully. However, right before her body disappeared behind the towering double doors, Isolde turned her head back.

​She stole a glance at Ethan from behind her husband’s massive back.

​The Duchess’s face was still flushed hot from the lingering stimulation of the Lust Domain, but her lips slowly curled into a dark, utterly submissive smile.

​A secret signal that she was ready to carry out her Master’s next command... even from within her own husband’s bed.

​Ethan returned the smile with a lethal, demonic smirk. He watched the retreating back of the Duke, who was entirely oblivious that he had just led the most venomous snake right back into his own home.

​Ding!

[System Alert: Target ’Duke Alaric von Rosenberg’ has decided to stay.]

[Strategy Calculation: The Faction Target has voluntarily locked himself within the Host’s area of operations (Zenithar Academy).]

[First Phase of the Rosenberg Faction Annihilation: Commenced.]

​Ethan chuckled softly in the middle of the empty hall.

​"Welcome to my cage... Duke Alaric."