Asmodeus System: Stealing My Bully's Mother

​Dark clouds swallowed the moon’s glow until nothing remained. Outside the protective boundary of Zenithar Academy, the Eastern Woods stretched wild and untouched by law.

​The snow fell heavily. Towering pine trees stood densely packed like silent giants in the darkness.

​Amidst the lush pines, eight black-cloaked figures moved tactically. Their footsteps were virtually soundless—a testament to their long experience as Underworld assassins.

​The elite team was led by two lower-tier Gold Knights. The leader, a scar-faced man, held a small mana-stone torch as a guide.

​"She’s late," the leader growled, exhaling cold steam. His hand rested on the hilt of a poisoned blade. "If that dog of Duke Alaric’s is playing us—"

​"Calm down, Captain. Our contact will show," his second-in-command interrupted, his eyes scanning the surroundings warily.

​Snap.

​The sound of a snapping twig halted their steps. All eight assassins drew their weapons halfway in unison.

​From behind the shadow of a giant pine, a figure stepped through the curtain of snow.

​Valera Voss stood tall. Her exotic skin stood out in stark contrast against the white snow. Her short brown hair fluttered in the night wind. Her golden-yellow eyes glowed like a panther targeting its prey.

​The female knight wore a sleeveless black leather armor. A giant Zweihander greatsword was sheathed across her back. On her left neck, a golden spiraling rose tattoo peeked from behind her armor’s collar.

​"You’re slow, Underworld Rats," Valera greeted them. Her husky voice shattered the silence, as cold as the ice shrouding the forest.

​The leader slightly lowered his guard. "Valera Voss, the Northern Bloodhound. We’ve already received half the payment from Duke Alaric. Where’s the target?"

​Valera smirked faintly—a smile hiding dense killing intent. She pointed into the depths of the forest with her chin.

​"Follow me."

​She turned, walking through the snowy brush. The eight assassins exchanged brief glances, then followed the Gold Knight’s lead.

​Valera led them deeper into the heart of the forest. Far away from the main road, far away from the academy, far away from any potential witnesses.

​Half an hour passed. The snow now reached their calves. The silence of the night grew increasingly suffocating.

​The Underworld leader furrowed his brow. His instincts screamed that something was wrong.

​"Halt," he ordered, stopping the line. He glared suspiciously at Valera’s back. "Our target is just an academy student. Why would that kid be out this far? Where is he, Voss?"

​Valera’s steps ceased. She didn’t turn around immediately, only glancing sideways. The torchlight illuminated half her face.

​"The target?" Valera smirked ferociously. "We’ve arrived. This place is perfect for your grave."

​The leader’s eyes widened. "Traitor—!"

​SWISH!

​Valera spun around in a lightning-fast turn that defied logic. She unsheathed the Zweihander from her back and executed a horizontal arc.

​The giant blade sliced through the air. The neck of the foremost Silver Knight was severed before the man could even draw his sword.

​His head was launched, eyes wide in disbelief. Fresh blood spurted fiercely, staining the snow a deep crimson. Panicked screams erupted.

​"I’m not your comrade," Valera growled, her eyes glinting savagely. "I’m a bloodhound looking for dinner!"

​The slaughter began.

​Two Silver Knights from the right attempted to flank her. Valera stomped her foot, lunging forward with a burst of Gold Knight speed. She ducked beneath a swipe of a poisoned dagger, pivoted her torso, and unleashed a horizontal cleave.

​CRASH!

​The giant blade bisected her two enemies at the waist. Blood and internal organs spilled onto the snow, pluming hot steam.

​"Flank her! Kill this bitch!" the leader roared in panic.

​The five remaining assassins formed a semicircle. Poisoned swords and daggers were drawn. Six combat auras flared to life, illuminating the forest with a lethal glow.

​Seeing the formation, Valera actually let out a raucous laugh. "Don’t die too fast, bastards!"

​She leaped into the center of the siege. To an ordinary person, it was suicide. To the executioner, it was a dance floor.

​The Zweihander rotated with precision. Every swing carried death.

​Thud! The fourth Silver Knight fell, his collarbone split down to his heart.

​Slash! The fifth Silver Knight collapsed with his stomach torn open.

​The sixth assassin tried a blind spot, thrusting a dagger at Valera’s back. As if possessing eyes behind her head, Valera ducked sharply. She reversed the sword’s hilt, driving the tip of the Zweihander into the man’s lower jaw, piercing through to his crown.

​In less than three minutes, those six elite Silver Knights were turned into lifeless piles of meat.

​Only the leader and his second-in-command remained. Two lower-tier Gold Knights who were now trembling pale, their breathing ragged.

​"You’re crazy!" the leader shrieked in horror. "You betrayed Duke Alaric! He will hunt you down!"

​"I never served him," Valera shot back coldly, flicking blood off her sword. "I only rented out my fangs. And now... these fangs have found their true master."

​Valera lunged. The two-on-one duel was fierce. Blades clashed, creating a shower of sparks that illuminated the snowy pines.

​However, the gap in their strength was far too wide.

​The second-in-command created a fatal opening while parrying. Valera twisted her sword roughly, swatting away the enemy’s weapon, then slammed the pommel of her Zweihander into the man’s temple.

​CRACK!

​His skull shattered. Before the limp body could hit the ground, the sword blade struck his neck from the side, severing the main artery.

​Only the leader remained.

​The man fell to his knees amidst the reddened snow. His breathing was desperate and ragged. Blood flowed from cuts on his arms and chest. He stared at the female knight walking toward him with absolute terror.

​"M-Monster..." he whimpered.

​"You haven’t seen the real monster yet," Valera whispered mercilessly.

​SLASH!

​A final upward slash. The scar-faced man’s head flew off and landed near the root of a pine tree.

​Silence reclaimed the Eastern Woods once more.

​Valera stood amidst the eight corpses. Her leather armor was drenched in thick liquid. Her hair clung to her forehead. The metallic stench of blood wafted strongly.

​Her eyes flicked to her left shoulder. There was a tiny scratch. The only wound tonight.

​She smirked with satisfaction. Eight elite assassins. Dead without a trace. Without witnesses.

​The knight bent down, cleaned her sword with snow, and sheathed it back. Without looking back at her masterpiece of slaughter, she dashed back toward the academy.

​An hour later. The North Tower’s VIP Room.

​The fireplace flickered dimly, dispelling the freezing cold from outside. Ethan Valen sat leaning against his black sofa. His brown hair was tousled, his shirt open by two buttons. His eyes were calmly reading a document.

​Clatter.

​The stained-glass window rattled softly.

​Valera vaulted in, landing on the carpet. She immediately dropped to one knee. Blood dripped from her fingertips, hair, and seeped from her armor. The iron stench instantly filled the room.

​"Reporting, My Master," her voice was hoarse. Her eyes lowered obediently. "Eight targets dead. None escaped."

​Ethan looked at his executioner, scanning the blood-drenched, muscular body.

​"Are you injured?" he asked calmly.

​"Just a single scratch on the shoulder, My Master. Meaningless."

​Ethan stood up. His slow steps approached Valera. He stopped in front of the knight, then reached out his hand. His fingers touched Valera’s chin, tilting her face up slowly.

​The enemy blood dampening Valera’s cheek now transferred onto Ethan’s fingertips.

​"You passed," Ethan whispered. His tone was rich with appreciation.

​Valera shivered violently in anticipation. Her golden eyes radiated a wild euphoria. She knew exactly what the Demon Lord had promised tonight.

​Ethan released his touch. He walked toward the giant stained-glass window that was still slightly ajar.

​The window faced the academy’s main courtyard. Twenty meters below, directly above the night patrol route of the disciplinary knights.

​"Come here, Bloodhound," Ethan called out without turning around.

​Valera stood up. Stepping forward obediently, standing with her back to Ethan, facing outward. The pale moonlight illuminated her body drenched in deep red.

​"I will give you the reward I promised," Ethan whispered, his lips nearly touching Valera’s ear. "But you must stay quiet. Down there..." Ethan gestured with his chin, "...there’s a patrol on duty. Make a single sound, and they will look up and see the hero of the North drenched in blood."

​Right below them, two guard knights passed by carrying bright torches. Their distance was extremely close.

​Valera swallowed hard. Her heart pounded insanely. Danger and desire fused into one.

​Without taking his gaze off the window, Ethan’s right hand pressed against his own left chest—right over the Horned Crown tattoo.

​WHOOSH!

​Not physical force. Ethan sent an extraordinarily pure, thick, and dominant Sin Mana straight into Valera’s circuit.

​"Nnggh...!"

​Valera bit her lower lip hard until the blood from her own cut tasted salty. A sensation tearing at her sanity slammed into her brain. The muscles in her neck and back tensed as hard as steel.

​On her left neck, the spiraling rose tattoo flared a blinding gold, piercing through the layers of blood. The tattoo spread wildly, pulsing aggressively in rhythm with the absolute pressure Ethan channeled from behind.

​Valera’s fingers clawed into the wooden window frame, leaving deep gouges. Her legs trembled violently, but she forced herself to stay upright. Accepting that brutal appreciation without a single scream.

​Below, the two patrol knights paused briefly.

​"The air tonight is freezing," one of the knights grumbled while yawning, oblivious to the scorching show twenty meters above him. Both chuckled softly, then continued walking and vanished around the corner.

​Once the threat had passed, Valera let out a ravenous exhale she had been holding. Her body trembled insanely—a mixture of slaughter exhaustion, the slam of the Lust Brand, and pure adrenaline.

​Ethan severed the flow of energy.

​Instantly, Valera collapsed to her knees on the room floor. Her breath came in heavy gasps. Sweat drenched her forehead, mixing with the blood that was beginning to dry. But on her exotic face, a fiercely satisfied smirk bloomed. She had passed her Master’s test.

​"Stand up," Ethan ordered.

​Valera forced her limp muscles to rise. She looked at her reflection in the glass. Drenched, bloody, and utterly feral.

​Ethan reached out, grabbing Valera’s jaw from the side. Not to harm her, but to assert ownership.

​"You are very useful to me, Valera Voss," Ethan whispered sharply. "Remember that well."

​"I-I am... always ready to be of use to you, My Master," Valera answered hoarsely, trembling with reverence.

​Ethan released his grip. "Clean yourself up. Erase tonight’s tracks. Tomorrow morning, report to Alaric and play your final role before that bear-pig takes his leave."

​"As you command."

​Before jumping out, Valera turned her head. "My Master... will there be more blood for me to strike down after this?"

​Ethan smirked faintly, promising a doomsday. "There will be more blood than your sword could ever imagine, Valera."

​Valera’s smirk widened further. The Bloodhound leaped into the embrace of the night, leaving bloodstains on the carpet.

​The room fell silent again.

​Ethan stared out the window. Heavy snow fell, covering tonight’s sins. Once Alaric is fooled tomorrow, there will be no one watching the North. The journey to the remote village in search of the Priestess... begins soon.