Asmodeus System: Stealing My Bully's Mother

​The carved mahogany door shut tightly. The soft click instantly locked out the rest of the world.

The Main Tower’s VIP room was dimly lit, illuminated only by the intentionally dimmed glow of crystal lamps. The moment the automated soundproof barrier activated, Kaelia von Ashford threw herself to the floor.

Her knees slammed hard against the plush carpet. Her body, draped in the wrinkled maroon gown, completely collapsed.

The small silver tiara sat askew amidst her fiery red hair. Tears now spilled profusely down her cheeks.

The girl... was now weeping hysterically.

The black fire-rose Lust Brand tattoo on her lower abdomen flared with an incredibly blinding intensity.

Kaelia felt an agonizing, torturous heat, while simultaneously craving a touch deep within her womb.

"My Master... ahh... My Master..." Kaelia sobbed. She tightly hugged Ethan’s legs, who remained standing quietly before her. The athletic yet slender body shivered like a dry leaf caught in a hurricane. "I-I thought I was going to die... When the Priest’s needle almost pierced my finger, I wasn’t thinking about Edward, I didn’t care about my father... I was only thinking of you..."

Hearing that confession of pure despair, Ethan didn’t reply with sweet words. He didn’t embrace the girl with the warmth of a holy hero.

The dark-brown-haired youth simply looked down. He pressed his right palm softly—bypassing the layers of her gown, resting it right over Kaelia’s lower stomach where the seal resided.

WHOOSH.

Ethan channeled pure Sin Mana. The dense, crimson-dark energy seeped into Kaelia’s skin. Acting exactly like glacial ice water dousing the embers of hellfire.

The heat torturing Kaelia’s womb instantly subsided drastically, replaced by a soothing coolness that made the girl’s tense body slowly go limp.

Kaelia let out a long exhale that sounded almost like a moan of relief. She leaned all her remaining body weight against Ethan’s leg, nuzzling her face obediently into his thigh.

Once Kaelia’s breathing regulated, Ethan walked over to the black leather sofa and sat down. He pulled Kaelia’s hand so the girl sat closely beside him. Ethan’s face swiftly morphed back into the mask of a cold manipulator.

"Your first major crisis has passed, Kaelia," Ethan said seriously. "Now, it’s time we make sure the Southern Faction won’t behead you tomorrow morning. Write a letter to your father, Duke Reinhard."

Isolde, who always thought two steps ahead, had prepared everything in the drawer of the VIP room’s desk. Ethan handed over an elegant piece of paper watermarked with the red-gold crossed eagle wings—the grand crest of the Ashford family—along with a quill and red ink.

Kaelia nodded obediently. With hands that still trembled slightly, she began to write in the beautiful calligraphy typical of high nobles.

"Do not write a single word of apology," Ethan commanded. His sharp eyes monitored Kaelia’s every stroke of the quill.

"Write a firm report. Tell your father that Prince Edward has proven to be incredibly weak and fragile, unfit to lead the kingdom. And as the Ashford heir, you have chosen a much stronger piece for the benefit of your faction."

Kaelia looked at Ethan with puffy golden eyes. Framing this emotional betrayal as a ’Southern Faction tactical move’ was the most brilliant and logical way to stem her father’s wrath.

Kaelia folded the letter quickly, then sealed it with red wax bearing the Ashford eagle crest.

A political time bomb had been perfectly planted.

One hour later. The night grew deeper, and the crystal lamps in the room were left dimmed.

The secret door behind the bookshelf slid open soundlessly. Isolde von Rosenberg slipped inside.

The Archmage wore a highly conservative navy-blue silk nightgown that reached the base of her neck. Tightly hiding the sprawling black rose root tattoo across her flawless back.

Even though her beautiful face looked slightly exhausted from enduring the insane resonance in the hall earlier, her posture remained straight and breathtakingly elegant. Her gold-rimmed glasses reflected the dim light in the room.

"Duke Alaric is extremely busy in the West Wing, My Master," Isolde reported softly. She stood in a posture of absolute submission before Ethan. "The nobles of the Northern Faction are in a panic watching their indirect ally be destroyed so easily. My husband won’t look for me for at least two hours. I used the excuse of handling emergency bureaucracy related to tonight’s incident for the Council."

Ethan nodded in satisfaction. He rose from the sofa, looking at Isolde with a gaze far sharper and darker than usual.

"Good work, Isolde. Because tonight, I have the most crucial task for you," Ethan whispered. His voice carried a tone of lethal urgency he very rarely showed. "Use your authority as Vice Principal. Transfer Elara Valen tonight."

Isolde’s icy blue eyes widened slightly. It was the first time she had ever heard that name.

"My little sister," Ethan continued. His aura plummeted instantly, turning as cold as a glacier. "She is fourteen years old. She has pale brown hair, and her body is incredibly fragile. And she suffers from Stagnant Mana Syndrome, which renders her completely blind. Currently, she is at the Holy Sanatorium in the Eastern Borderlands."

Isolde unconsciously held her breath.

The Master she had always viewed as the manifestation of absolute, conscienceless darkness... actually had a severely ill little sister?

"Prince Edward tried to send the Light Guard there," Ethan hissed furiously. "I’ve already eliminated them, but they won’t be the last. Pull her out of there. Transfer Elara to the secret VVIP medical facility beneath the academy’s North Wing, which falls under the jurisdiction of the Academy Council."

"O-of course, My Master," Isolde answered promptly without a second of hesitation. Her genius bureaucratic brain immediately kicked into high gear.

"I will issue a top-level emergency transfer order under the pretense of a ’rare case study for academy research’. I will dispatch the most trusted covert medical team tonight. In three days, she will arrive at Zenithar. Once she is in the VVIP facility, not a single noble—not even Alaric or King Valois himself—can touch her without my stamped approval."

Hearing that professional promise, the slight tension in Ethan’s shoulders loosened.

Isolde placed her right hand over her left breast, bowing deeply like a guardian knight. "On my name and my soul, My Master... I swear your sister will be safe under my watch."

The next morning.

The Star Meditation Room was located at the highest peak of the Main Tower. The room had absolutely no artificial lighting. Pure light came solely from the morning sky piercing through the giant glass observatory dome above, along with the faint glow of ancient mana crystals randomly embedded in the black obsidian floor.

Ethan arrived alone. Without Isolde, without Kaelia, and without Valera.

He wore only his black VIP uniform shirt. Both hands were tucked casually into his trouser pockets. His brown hair was tousled by the wind, and his eyes were still their normal brown—not yet burning crimson.

In the center of that void-like room, Sage Cornelius sat cross-legged on an expensive rug, his back to the entrance. His dull gray robe draped over his frail frame, and his old oak staff lay quietly across his lap.

"You came. On time. That is a good sign," Cornelius’s hoarse voice echoed, piercing the chest-crushing silence.

The old man lifted his oak staff slightly.

Tap.

A Tier-6 Spatial Ward instantly detonated without a sound, enveloping the entire room. Space and time within the glass dome were now absolutely isolated from the outside world. Not a single sound, spell, or aura could leak out or seep in.

Cornelius slowly turned his body around. His blind, milky-white left eye stared directly at Ethan’s face.

"In my twilight years, my eyes might no longer function, boy," Cornelius spoke slowly. "But my sense of smell... is far sharper."

The air in the room suddenly felt hollow. The oxygen seemed forcibly sucked away by the Sage’s mere presence.

"I smell the highly elegant scent of ice roses, the overly scorching scent of blood-fire, and the savage golden scent of sweat lingering on your shirt," Cornelius continued. His voice remained flat, yet every word struck the air like a sledgehammer. "You subjugated my Archmage, ensnared the Ashford heir, and leashed the Rosenberg executioner."

Cornelius fell silent for a moment. Letting the suffocating silence blanket them both before dropping the ultimate bomb.

"But what bothers me the most... is the incredibly ancient aroma of darkness masking all those scents," the Sage whispered softly. "An energy that shouldn’t have existed in this world since the Underworld War three hundred years ago. I know demonic mana when I smell it, Ethan Valen."

WHOOSH!

The room’s temperature plummeted to absolute zero in a millisecond.

Ethan’s brown eyes immediately blazed with an incredibly dense crimson hue. Black ice cracks spread wildly across the obsidian floor, branching out like lethal veins from beneath Ethan’s dress shoes.

His Rank B Sin Mana exploded, refusing to bow to the Sage’s spatial pressure.

Ethan pulled his hands from his pockets. Preparing for a life-and-death battle against the Tier-6 monster before him.

However, contrary to expectations... Cornelius actually laughed.

A hoarse, dry laugh filled with deep bitterness. The old man made absolutely no move to raise his staff to attack.

"Hahahaha... Hold your killing intent, Demon Boy. If I truly wanted you dead, I would have executed you in the hall last night," Cornelius chuckled, shaking his head slowly. "On the contrary... I am very grateful to you."

Ethan narrowed his eyes sharply. "What do you mean, Old Man?"

"King Valois is a senile old fool who lets rampant corruption gnaw at the roots of his kingdom. Prince Edward is just an arrogant puppet whose brain is far smaller than his ambition," Cornelius hissed. His wrinkled face radiated pure disgust.

"I have lived far too long watching this political rot. But as a Sage, I am bound by ancient oaths to the crown. I cannot sever their necks with my own hands."

Cornelius stared straight ahead, locking onto Ethan’s crimson eyes.

"Therefore, I need someone," the Sage said seriously. "Someone strong enough, ruthless enough. I need a monster like you."

Ethan’s killing intent slowly subsided, replaced by a rapidly spinning intellectual vigilance. "A deal?"

"I will be your legal shield," Cornelius offered his golden bait. "The King will demand your head for his son’s ruin. Duke Alaric will constantly look for loopholes to kill you. The Council will find a thousand and one reasons to imprison you. But... with my authority as Headmaster, not a single one of them will dare touch a hair on your head."

"And in exchange?" Ethan asked, as cold as ice.

"In exchange, you will become my Blade of Darkness," Cornelius answered with absolute finality.

The Sage raised his staff, pointing toward the obsidian floor. "Beneath this academy... right at the bottom of the Underground Training Dungeon’s abyss... there is something that has been slumbering for thousands of years."

Ethan flinched internally. That dark abyss... was the very place he found the Asmodeus System.

"Activity at the bottom of that abyss has spiked drastically lately," Cornelius continued with a grim face. "If that thing awakens, this academy, and perhaps the entire kingdom, will be razed to the ground. I’m certain you’ve been down there. You are the only entity with a darkness affinity capable of penetrating the toxic miasma at its base."

Ethan fell silent. His brain processed calculations at lightning speed.

This offer was a massive political jackpot. He gained legal immunity from the strongest entity in the academy, along with legal access to return to the birthplace of the Asmodeus System. A place that might harbor power far more massive than what he possessed now.

A cunning, cold smirk—the true smirk of the Demon Lord—slowly blossomed back on Ethan’s face. He took a step forward, then extended his right hand.

"I will be your Blade of Darkness, Cornelius," Ethan whispered with sheer arrogance. "And you will be my shield."

Cornelius accepted the handshake. The handshake between the two rulers felt as cold as ice.

"A fair deal."

Ethan released the handshake, turned around, and began to stroll casually toward the exit. The unholy pact between them had been sealed.

However, right before Ethan’s hand touched the doorknob, Cornelius’s voice drifted into the air again. As calm as a morning breeze, yet far sharper than any sword.

"Oh, and one more thing, Ethan Valen," Cornelius said softly. "Do not ever dream of disappointing or betraying me. Because if you do... remember that I know exactly where your little sister is."

The blind old man scoffed faintly. "And unlike the foolish Prince of Valois... I don’t need to bother sending knights to reach her."

Ethan’s footsteps ground to a dead halt.

His hand on the doorknob clenched so tightly that the veins on the back of his hand bulged extremely. A lethal chill, infinitely denser than before, enveloped the youth’s entire body. His eyes blazed crimson with an intensity that nearly tore at his own sanity.

His weak spot had been touched.

However, Ethan forced his consciousness to maintain control. He knew that fighting a Sage was an act of foolish suicide. Elara still needed him alive.

Ethan turned his head slightly, glaring at the old man over his shoulder. The darkest demonic smirk was etched onto his face.

"I will remember that... Old Man," Ethan hissed, dripping with the absolute promise of death, before pulling the door open and stepping out of the room without looking back.

Once the wooden door sealed shut, the spatial ward inside the room slowly faded into the air.

Cornelius sat back down cross-legged. The old man closed his blind left eye. He let out a long, heavy sigh.

"Forgive me... old friend," Cornelius whispered to the silence of the empty room. His face was masked in profound regret. "But this time... I have to use a Devil... to fight a Devil."