Demonic Dragon: Harem System

Strax looked around at the debris, the smell of burnt magic, the blood—physical and ethereal—spattered across the stone floor. The heavy energy in the room was beginning to dissipate, but the tension still lingered, like the taste of iron on his tongue.

He let out a long sigh, ran his hand through his unkempt beard, and spoke in a deep, tired voice: "All right. I need to get out of here. See what's left... and what could be salvaged after the dragon invasion."

Beatrice turned to him with a slightly surprised expression. "Already? And you're going to leave me here with this... thing writhing on the floor?"

Strax smiled and kissed her forehead. "You've survived a lot. I think you can handle Zanith playing the victim for ten minutes. Besides... it's good for you to stay and see what those two are going to do."

Zanith moaned softly, still squeezed against the rubble. "I'm not playing. I am a victim now..."

Samira rolled her eyes and kicked a rock with her foot, which rolled until it hit the side of the sword-woman. Plonk. "Be quiet, start training for your new life."

Strax moved away a little, going to a part of the hall where the wall was still partially standing. He opened a small makeshift passage through the ruins, staring at the darkened corridor that led to the outer wing.

"Tiamat, Ouroboros, don't be so hard on her, she's just a weapon. But... Any sign that this bitch is trying to do something malicious, you can beat her mercilessly."

Tiamat nodded, without taking her eyes off Zanith, while spectral snakes still writhed around the prisoner. "Consider it done."

Ouroboros, now calmer but still with a grim expression, crossed her arms.

"If she blinks wrong, I'll rip her other eye out too. Just to be safe."

Zanith swallowed hard again. "You two are like... the most toxic relationship I've ever tried to sabotage. Congratulations."

Frieren mentally noted another imaginary line and muttered, "Soul weapon reaction to consecutive trauma: attempt at defensive humor. Notable."

Strax had already reached the door, but turned for a moment, looking at the women around the sword, and then at Zanith, still half-buried in rubble.

"When I return, I want two things: this hall cleaned... and that sword silent."

Zanith raised her hand slowly, not daring to take her eyes off the three goddesses and the elf around her.

"Can I at least turn it into a dagger until then? Swords are too emotionally heavy..."

Strax just pointed to the door, without looking, as he said:

"Silence." And he left...

Strax climbed the last steps of the narrow passage and broke through the surface of the ruined castle. The sunlight welcomed him like a sudden warm embrace, bathing his sweaty, soot-marked skin. He closed his eyes for a second, just to feel the light breeze and the smell of ashes mixed with the freshness of living grass — a contradiction that Vorah carried well, even after the attack.

He stretched, his shoulders cracking with the movement, and let out a heavy but relieved sigh. The sky, even stained by distant columns of smoke, was still blue. And that... was something.

Then he heard the familiar sound: the rhythmic, powerful beating of wings. He looked up. High above, flying over the shattered walls, a scarlet figure cut through the winds with fierce grace—a winged serpent with scales shining like living embers, alert golden eyes, and unmistakable majesty.

Scarlet.

The dragon circled above Vorah, and for a moment, Strax could have sworn she was dancing with the sky. He smiled. One of those rare, sincere smiles that pulled at the battle scars around his eyes and made him look, for a moment, less weary.

Scarlet saw him.

Immediately, her body began to change. Her wings folded, her scales dissolving into particles of red light, and the sound of the winds gave way to the sudden silence of magic completed.

She landed softly a few feet away from him, her bare feet touching the ground lightly. Her red hair, loose and wavy, flew in the wind, and her eyes—the same warm color as flames—met his.

"We were just starting to look for you, you disappeared out of nowhere," she said with a tired half-smile.

Strax raised an eyebrow. "I see... the library must hide one's presence."

She laughed, approaching him, and hugged him tightly before he could finish his teasing remark. The hug was not long or sweet — it was firm, real, from someone who had survived and found someone she didn't want to lose.

"Don't disappear like that, idiot," she said, slowly letting go of him. "The South Wing has been devastated, but we managed to save almost everyone on that side. Diana put all the wizards to work, and the troops from the Vorah Academy are taking care of the wounded. The east tower... well, now it's just a pile of poetic rubble."

Strax nodded. He looked around for a moment, assessing the scene of destruction and resistance. A group of soldiers passed in the distance, carrying supplies. A child ran after a small light elemental, smiling. One of the mages on the defense line sewed runes in the air to raise a magical containment barrier.

"And you?" asked Scarlet, with a slight tilt of her head. "Down there seemed... intense."

Strax let out a hoarse, tired laugh.

"Let's just say I got another soul sword... this one is... a little perverted. She's taken a few lessons in humility. Tiamat and Ouroboros are... 'teaching her manners.' Beatrice is having fun with it. Samira just wants to get out of there, and Frieren will probably write a report on the trauma of artifacts with personalities," he joked.

Scarlet let out a short whistle, amused.

"And you?"

"I'm fine. For now. Just tired." Strax looked up at the sky once more, and his expression hardened. "The problem is that we have a lot to rebuild. And if the dragons come back..."

"They won't." Scarlet's voice was firm, like hot steel cooled at just the right moment. She crossed her arms, her red eyes still fixed on the horizon. "Not after what they saw. You were scary, Strax."

He smiled, that crooked half-smile that carried fatigue, history, and a touch of disbelief. "Good to know my charisma still works on dragons."

But before he could finish his thought, the sound cut through the air—hooves. Fast. Rigid. Urgent.

"Huh?" He turned his head, and his body immediately went on alert.

At the top of the hill to the north, a mare as black as night tore across the field at full speed. The creature was pure muscle and shadow, and atop it, a familiar figure: armor worn by haste, hair tousled by the wind, eyes burning with urgency. Mercedes.

"Apocalypse?" Strax narrowed his eyes. "Mercedes?"

The mare stopped abruptly in front of him, her hind legs slipping slightly on the loose earth. Dust rose around them like a chaotic halo. Mercedes nearly fell from the saddle as she dismounted. She was panting, sweating, her face pale—too pale.

"Yennefer..." she said between breaths, her voice failing. "She... was attacked."