Asmodeus System: Stealing My Bully's Mother

​That morning, the main corridor of Zenithar Academy felt more freezing than usual. Thin snow clung to the windowpanes. However, it wasn’t the winter storm that made the students step aside, but rather the casual strides of Ethan Valen.

​The young man walked draped in his black VIP uniform. His dark brown hair was slightly tousled. Both his hands were tucked casually into his trouser pockets.

​Every time his shoes clicked against the floor, the lower-caste students hurriedly pressed their backs against the marble walls. Horrified whispers mixed with awe buzzed like a swarm of bees. Rumors of the F-Caste youth who had crushed Prince Edward’s ribs had spread like a plague.

​Ethan ignored the sea of fear. He walked straight ahead, stepping into the F-Caste Classroom.

​The room was still as pathetic as ever. Damp stone walls, cracked desks, and a dull blackboard. The very place where he used to be trampled underfoot by Kurt von Rosenberg.

​At the front of the class, an old instructor with cracked glasses immediately swallowed hard. Cold sweat dripped down his temples.

​"G-Good morning, Student Valen," he greeted with a trembling voice, bowing far too deeply for an instructor.

​Ethan merely walked past in silence, heading toward his old seat in the back corner.

​Two desks to his left sat a scrawny youth with dull gray hair. His posture was slouched, his pale blue eyes like a sky drained of color. Ciel.

​In the past, Ciel had never bullied Ethan, though he lacked the guts to defend him either. Now, seeing that lethal figure sitting so close, Ciel’s bony hands trembled.

​"E-Ethan... good morning," Ciel greeted, his voice barely a mouse’s squeak.

​Ethan turned his head slowly.

​"You... haven’t been in class for a while," Ciel added, hurriedly bowing his head, terrified of giving offense. "Everyone is talking about you. You proved... that the weak from our class can fight against fate."

​Ethan fell silent for a moment. He remembered this youth—one of the very few who had never looked at him with disgust.

​"I had some business outside, Ciel," Ethan replied flatly, yet without hostility. He gave a single, small nod, then turned his gaze back to the front.

​To Ciel, that nod was an extraordinary validation. To Ethan, this brief visit was merely a monument of a reminder; to see just how far he had skyrocketed from the absolute bottom of the food chain.

​Dusk fell. The pale orange hues on the horizon were slowly swallowed by the storm. The snow fell heavier, carried by the howling wind.

​Ethan stood on the third-floor corridor balcony of the Main Tower. His hands were still tucked inside his black shirt pockets. From this vantage point, his eyes swept across the entire academy. Without turning around, he already felt the familiar pulse of a Lust Brand approaching from behind.

​Kaelia von Ashford stepped onto the balcony.

​The Fire Queen wore her neat Student Council uniform, her red hair tied in a ponytail. Her demeanor was far more professional today. In her arms, she carried a leather-bound research journal.

​"I bring the results of the search you ordered, My Master," Kaelia reported.

​"Speak."

​Kaelia opened her notes. "The medical archives lack substantial data regarding total mana circuit paralysis that is sensitive to ancient energy. But... in the old records of the Church of Light confiscated by the council, I found a bizarre rumor."

​Ethan tilted his head slightly.

​"In the northern territories, there are whispers of a Priestess hiding in an isolated village. The church records refer to her as the ’Hidden Sage’. Legend says she possesses a power capable of curing afflictions that even high-tier magic cannot touch."

​Ethan’s eyes narrowed. A hidden Priestess. The perfect target to examine his sister, Elara.

​Kaelia closed her journal. Her fingers squeezed the leather cover. Curiosity tickled her chest.

​"My Master..." Kaelia asked with extreme caution. "May I know... who exactly is ill?"

​The wind howled.

​Instead of answering, Ethan pulled his right hand out of his pocket. He pressed his palm against his own left chest—right over his heart, exactly where the Horned Crown tattoo rested.

​A single, precise surge of Sin Mana instantly stung Kaelia’s Lust Brand.

​THUMP!

​"Ahhk—!"

​The black rose tattoo on Kaelia’s lower stomach instantly flared a blinding red. A jolt of arousal and magical pressure slammed into the Fire Queen’s womb in a fraction of a second.

​Kaelia gasped violently. Her back arched. Her knees turned to jelly instantly, forcing her to grip the stone balcony railing with white knuckles just to keep from collapsing. Her breathing turned into heavy, ragged gasps as she hunted for oxygen.

​Ethan turned his head slowly, looking at the violently trembling Kaelia. He pulled his hand away from his chest, severing the resonance flow.

​"You have executed your task flawlessly today, Kaelia," Ethan whispered, his voice as cold as the snowy wind. "Now... forget your question."

​A non-violent gesture, yet it locked in her absolute obedience. Kaelia bit her lower lip, enduring the residual tremors in her legs. Her curiosity was still there, but she knew her boundaries.

​The girl gave a brief bow with wobbly steps, then took her leave without daring to pry any further.

​That night, inside Ethan’s VIP Room.

​The fireplace burned, warming the soundproof room. Isolde von Rosenberg stood in the middle of the room, a few meters away from the sofa where Ethan sat.

​The Vice Principal’s appearance tonight was a mess. Her platinum blonde hair hung down in disarray. She wore a navy-blue silk gown. Her icy blue eyes behind her gold-rimmed glasses looked dim and swollen. The Archmage’s unyielding posture had completely eroded.

​Isolde remained silent for a few seconds. Her fingers squeezed the sleeves of her gown.

​Then, without a single word, the most powerful woman in the academy dropped to the floor. Both her knees hit the carpet. Her last line of defense shattered. Tears dampened her cheeks.

​"My Master..." Isolde’s voice trembled violently. Her sobs broke loose. "I beg for your mercy..."

​She bowed her body until her forehead touched the carpet. The lowest possible prostration from a Duchess.

​"Please... allow me to bring Kurt home to our estate," she pleaded hoarsely. "His... his fingers started twitching today. The healer said his consciousness might return soon."

​Ethan stared at the woman beneath him in silence.

​Kurt von Rosenberg. The youth who had stepped on his head and been beaten into a coma last month, right after Ethan whispered that his mother now belonged to him.

​"And I beg you..." Isolde’s tears dripped onto the carpet. "...please do not kill him when he wakes. I swear I will handle him myself. I will lock him away, ensuring he will never speak, never become a threat to you."

​Behind the cold bureaucratic mask, she was merely a desperate mother trying to save her son’s life.

​Ethan stood up. He walked toward Isolde.

​Instead of grabbing her by the hair or punishing her, Ethan reached out his hand. He stroked Isolde’s platinum blonde hair incredibly softly. A touch devoid of lust, representing only an acknowledgment.

​"You are a very good mother, Isolde," Ethan said calmly.

​Isolde held her breath.

​"I grant your request," Ethan continued. "Bring your son home. Withdraw all Rosenberg medical facilities from the academy."

​Ethan smirked faintly. "I want the Rosenberg Residence completely emptied of academy affairs. Let your husband busy himself with the boy’s return. You will handle all the bureaucracy tomorrow."

​Isolde’s icy blue eyes widened. Her tears subsided instantly, replaced by an overwhelming relief. She looked up, grabbed Ethan’s right hand that was stroking her hair, and kissed the back of it, brimming with a gratitude and loyalty that now rooted deep into the core of her soul.

​"Thank you... thank you, My Master," she whispered.

​Isolde stood up, bowed deeply, then exited with steps that felt infinitely lighter.

​Not even an hour had passed before the silence was shattered by the rattling of glass.

​Thud.

​Valera Voss vaulted in through the window, landing soundlessly onto the carpet. The dark-skinned knight wore her sleeveless black armor. Her Zweihander greatsword was sheathed fiercely across her back.

​On her left neck, the spiraling rose tattoo—which now crept down to her collarbone as a result of their subjugation ritual—glowed with an aggressive golden hue.

​Valera immediately dropped to one knee.

​"My contacts with the Underworld have provided a rallying point, My Master," Valera reported, a bloodthirsty smirk spreading across her face. "In the eastern woods near the border, tomorrow night. That group of mercenary rats doesn’t suspect a thing. They still think I work for Duke Alaric."

​"How many are there?" Ethan asked casually, leaning his hip against the mahogany desk.

​"Eight. Six Silver Knights, two lower-tier Gold Knights," Valera looked up, her eyes glinting savagely. "More than enough for a warm-up, My Master."

​"No one is allowed to escape. There must be no living witnesses to tell the tale of what happens in those woods," Ethan commanded absolutely.

​"I will not disappoint you."

​"And once your task is complete..." Ethan leaned in, dropping his voice into a demonic whisper. "...you return here. I will give you something far more valuable than a mere bloodbath."

​Valera’s muscular body shivered violently in anticipation. The tattoo on her neck glowed brightly. "I am... incredibly eager, My Master."

​"Go and rest. Tomorrow, you hunt."

​Valera bowed, then leaped out the window, swallowed by the shadows of the night.

​The VIP room fell silent once more.

​Ethan walked over to the desk. From his pocket, he pulled out the small parchment map from Kaelia’s research earlier. He unrolled it under the lamplight.

​His fingers traced the lines of the map, stopping at a tiny point furthest to the north, far away from the Capital. The place where the Priestess was hiding.

​"Are you truly going to the north alone?" The voice of the Asmodeus System broke the silence of Ethan’s thoughts. Her tone sounded far more elegant after absorbing the Horned Crown.

​For now, yes, Ethan replied internally.

​"Are you not afraid?"

​Afraid of what? A priestess girl who doesn’t even dare to show her face to the world? Ethan retorted with an arrogant smirk.

​The System chuckled, though her tone of caution couldn’t be concealed. "That is precisely the point, My Master. In my old world... the most lethal existences were never the ones shouting on the battlefield. But rather, those who wished to remain unknown."

​Ethan didn’t answer. He walked to the window, staring out at the snow that continued to paint the academy in a cold white.

​Tomorrow night, the snow at the eastern border would be dyed with the blood of assassins. And the day after tomorrow, he would begin his journey.

​A hiding healer Priestess would soon receive the arrival of the Demon Lord.