Asmodeus System: Stealing My Bully's Mother

​A thin mist blanketed Zenithar Academy’s main courtyard in the early hours of the morning.

A dark silver royal carriage crossed the main gates, piercing through the fog.

The carriage was drawn by only two pitch-black steeds, guided by a single coachman wearing a simple cloak.

However, the engraving on the carriage door—the crest of Crossed Swords and the Sun Crown—was more than enough to make any instructor or knight hurriedly bow their heads.

It was the absolute crest of the Valois Royal Family.

The carriage halted without a single creak. The door opened, and Caelum von Valois stepped down.

The young man’s appearance was the perfect antithesis of his older brother, Prince Edward. Caelum wore absolutely no flashy, gold-ornamented military uniform. He merely draped his broad-shouldered physique in a sharply tailored, long gray coat. His silver-gold hair was slicked back flawlessly.

Yet, the most striking feature of the Young Prince was his pair of blue eyes.

If Edward’s blue eyes always glinted with loud ambition and cheap arrogance, Caelum’s blue eyes were as calm and empty as the surface of a frozen lake.

Students crossing the courtyard began to whisper in panic. Several high-ranking noble children instantly recognized his stature.

Prince Caelum. The palace’s phantom figure who practically never appeared at state events, rumored to prefer locking himself inside the royal archives. His presence today—right after his brother’s humiliating incident—ignited thousands of wild speculations.

Caelum ignored all the stares. He strolled casually down the academy’s main corridor, elegantly tucking both hands into his coat pockets.

He didn’t bother asking anyone for directions. He simply walked, and observed.

The pungent scent of magical antiseptics mingled with the healing potion vapors radiating from crystal cauldrons.

Inside the Zenithar nobles’ exclusive VVIP medical ward, Prince Edward von Valois lay weak and helpless on a bed. His body was swathed in thick white bandages from the base of his neck down to his waist.

Click.

The door opened without a knock. Caelum stepped inside.

Edward turned his head stiffly. His sunken eyes radiated a mixture of relief and wounded pride.

”Caelum...” he called out in a pathetically hoarse voice. ”You... did Father send you to punish this damn academy?”

Caelum didn’t answer right away. He walked casually toward the side of the bed, lowering his gaze. Caelum’s fingers, clad in black leather gloves, reached out slowly, touching the edge of the bandages on his brother’s chest with extreme gentleness.

It only took two seconds for Caelum to calculate the residual energy still clinging to the wounds.

”Fascinating,” Caelum murmured softly. His voice was as flat as pure ice.

Edward was instantly offended. ”Fascinating?! Hah! I was nearly beaten to death by an F-Caste rat, and you call this fascinating?!” he snapped, which unfortunately was immediately followed by a humiliating fit of bloody coughs.

”You were not nearly beaten to death, Brother,” Caelum corrected in an emotionless tone. He pulled his hand back and dusted an invisible speck off his glove.

”This Ethan Valen’s power is extraordinary. If he wanted to, he could have obliterated your heart right along with your ribs. But... he deliberately let you live.”

Edward fell silent, his face flushing deep red as he choked back anger and humiliation.

”Why?” Caelum continued, staring at his older brother with cold, dissecting blue eyes. ”Because he wanted to send a message. He wanted all the faction leaders to see that you are far too weak, even to be worth killing.”

Caelum leaned in slightly. ”In our world, letting an enemy live in public disgrace... is far more humiliating than a swift death.”

Edward’s hands clenched, trembling against the sheets. The veins in his neck bulged fiercely. ”Shut your mouth! Did you come all this way just to lecture me, Caelum?!”

Caelum turned around, turning his back on his brother’s pathetic bed. He adjusted the collar of his gray coat with perfect calm.

”Vengeance is an emotion. And emotions... always cloud accurate judgment,” Caelum replied flatly. He began to walk toward the door. ”I do not care about your wounded pride, Brother. I came to this academy for only one thing.”

Caelum paused his steps at the threshold. ”I came purely out of curiosity.”

He walked out of the room without looking back, leaving the Heir to the Throne glaring at the ceiling in seething rage.

The Star Meditation Room at the peak of the Main Tower felt as silent and hollow as usual. Daylight pierced through the glass observatory dome, reflecting beautifully off the ancient mana crystals randomly embedded in the obsidian floor.

Caelum stood in the center of the room, staring straight at the figure sitting cross-legged on the rug.

Sage Cornelius, in his dull gray robes with his oak staff across his lap, did not open his blind, milky-white left eye. Yet, a faint smile carved itself onto the Headmaster’s wrinkled face.

”It is a great honor to welcome you back to my quarters, Prince Caelum,” Cornelius greeted him. His voice was hoarse, yet felt as warm as welcoming an old friend. ”Your last visit here was when you were merely twelve years old. I still remember clearly, you could sit quietly reading a book for three solid hours. Extremely different from your brother, who couldn’t stand sitting still with a book for even thirty minutes.”

”My brother has always believed the dogma that physical action holds more value than thought,” Caelum replied with a polite but incredibly sharp tone. ”And because of that foolish philosophy, he is now lying and whimpering in the medical ward.”

Cornelius chuckled. A dry, crisp laugh. ”Then, what line of thought brings you here?”

Caelum took one step forward. ”I have read the incident report from the Main Hall. There is one issue that bothers me very, very much. And that is you, Sage Cornelius.”

Tap. The oak staff in Cornelius’s lap stopped tapping.

”Why did you deliberately let an F-Caste student walk away scot-free after he crushed the Crown Prince and shattered an heirloom sword in public?” Caelum launched his verbal assault. His tone remained as calm as still water, yet it pierced like an ice arrow.

”The law of Trial by Combat is absolute, Prince—”

”Please, do not use that traditional nonsense with me, Old Man,” Caelum cut in efficiently. His calm blue eyes stared straight into the Sage’s blind ones. ”You never cared about tradition in the first place. You are using the Valen boy as your pawn, aren’t you?”

The smile on Cornelius’s wrinkled face slowly faded into the air. The Sage let out a long sigh, looking weary.

”I prefer to call it... merely providing direction to an unsheathed sword,” Cornelius admitted vaguely. A dirty truth wrapped in an elegant metaphor.

”An unsheathed sword will cut anyone who touches it. Including its own master,” Caelum pressed mercilessly.

”I know. Which is why... I am merely providing the scabbard, not holding the hilt.”

Caelum fell silent for three seconds, processing the ambiguous phrase with blistering speed. His brain arrived at a conclusion.

He understood Cornelius’s position now. The Sage actually had no control over Ethan whatsoever. They purely had a mutually beneficial agreement.

This fact made Ethan Valen infinitely more dangerous than a mere ’hired pawn’.

”I want to meet him,” Caelum decided absolutely.

”For what purpose, Young Prince?”

”That is my own business, you do not need to know,” Caelum answered casually as he turned toward the door, slipping his hands back into the pockets of his gray coat.

Once the prince’s silhouette vanished behind the door, Cornelius slowly opened his blind eye. The Sage murmured softly to the silence of the Star Room.

”Hah...” Cornelius chuckled tiredly. ”This Valois boy... his brain is clearly far more troublesome.”

That afternoon. Inside the VIP Room of the Main Tower.

Ethan Valen sat leaning comfortably against the black leather sofa. On his lap rested an ancient grimoire he had borrowed from the academy library.

Knock. Knock.

Isolde von Rosenberg stepped inside. Her appearance was flawless and impenetrable as usual. A navy-blue silk gown covering her neck, sharp gold-rimmed glasses, and platinum blonde hair pinned up neatly.

However, there was a slight, restrained tension on the Vice Principal’s face.

In her hands, Isolde carried a luxurious parchment envelope.

”Forgive me for disturbing your rest, My Master,” Isolde reported, bowing slowly and gracefully. ”A palace courier owl has just delivered this letter. The seal bears VVIP authorization, addressed directly to your name.”

Ethan shifted his gaze from the window. He took the letter. Stamped onto the envelope was a blue wax seal bearing the crest of Crossed Swords and the Sun Crown.

Ethan broke the wax seal and pulled out a slip of paper that smelled of expensive parchment.

The letter was handwritten.

To Ethan Valen,

I have heard many things about you. Unfortunately, the majority of that information comes from sources that are... unreliable.

I prefer to hear it directly. Not for some ridiculous confrontation, much less a childish act of revenge. Just an ordinary dialogue.

I will wait for you tomorrow afternoon, just as the sun begins to set. At the Lake Pavilion. Just the two of us.

I have a feeling you are not the type of person who likes to refuse an interesting invitation.

—Caelum von Valois.

Ethan’s eyes scanned the rows of sentences. Slowly, an incredibly wide and cold demonic smirk blossomed on the young man’s face.

”Fascinating,” Ethan murmured, casually tossing the letter onto the mahogany table. ”It turns out the Valois Kingdom still harbors someone who knows how to use his brain.”

Isolde briefly glanced at the contents of the letter from her position.

”The Lake Pavilion is located exactly outside the academy’s protective barrier, My Master. It is legally a gray zone,” Isolde reported with a cautious tone. ”If you step foot there, the Academy’s protection will not fully apply. Will you... accept this invitation?”

”Of course,” Ethan answered without a second of hesitation. He stood up from his sofa. ”It is precisely because he isn’t foolishly screaming and challenging me to a duel that I will go meet him.”

Ethan strolled casually toward the giant stained-glass window. In the distance, he could see the glimmer of Lake Zenithar, its surface already half-frozen due to the plummeting winter temperatures.

”Isolde,” Ethan called out.

”I am here, My Master.”

”Gather information on Caelum von Valois. What are his habits, his elemental affinity. I want everything on my desk tomorrow morning, before I leave for the lake,” Ethan ordered, still standing with his back to the woman.

”As you will it, My Master.” Isolde bowed, preparing to back out of the room.

However... Ethan suddenly turned around and stepped closer to Isolde.

He stopped at an incredibly, unnervingly close distance, breaking all boundaries and invading the Duchess’s personal space head-on. So close, that Isolde could feel the cold radiating from the young man’s skin, mingled with the seductive aura of Sin Mana.

Ethan’s right hand reached out slowly. His long fingers touched Isolde’s wrist through the silk fabric of her gown, grasping it incredibly lightly.

The touch was not rough in the slightest. There was no pain or coercion.

Yet, the dominance flowing from that feather-light grip... made Isolde’s breath catch instantly in her throat.

Ethan didn’t say a single word. He merely stared sharply, straight into the Archmage’s icy blue eyes for five full seconds.

Ethan then slowly released his grip.

”Go,” Ethan whispered very softly. ”Gather that information.”

”Y-yes, My Master,” Isolde answered with a faintly trembling voice.

She bowed deeply, trying hard to hide the red flush of arousal that suddenly spread, burning her cheeks. The Duchess then immediately exited the room with steps much lighter and more hurried than usual.

In the silence of the room, now empty once more, Ethan turned his head, staring at the reddish twilight sky outside the window.

”Fufufu... This little Prince possesses a calmness vastly different from his older brother, My Master,” the voice of the Asmodeus System echoed in his head.

The woman’s husky tone now sounded far more elegant, clear, and majestic after absorbing the fragment of her soul from the Horned Crown last night. ”Don’t you feel a little... challenged?”

Ethan’s smirk widened wildly. His brown eyes blazed savagely with a dense crimson hue.

”It is precisely because of that... that I will go,” whispered the Demon Lord.