Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation

Chapter 943 – Arcane Manuscript

Half an hour later.

Lux had managed exactly two things.

One, he drank coffee.

Two, he reopened the status window twice because the number still pleased him even if it wasn’t enough.

Honestly, productive.

Then the mansion’s front wards shifted.

Not aggressively.

Just a polite pulse through the air, the sort of subtle warning Lux had configured for ”someone entered the estate but probably isn’t trying to murder me.” Very useful category. Slightly sad that it needed to exist, but Lux had long ago accepted that his lifestyle required layers.

A few seconds later, Fenrir entered the living room.

He held a rectangular wooden box in both hands, treated with more care than Lux had ever seen him give most nobles.

”Sir,” Fenrir said, lowering his head slightly. ”An elf delivered this and said it was meant for you.”

Lux looked up from his coffee. ”Ely’s assistant?”

Fenrir nodded. ”Yes, sir. He left immediately after confirming the delivery.”

”Smart elf.”

Sira, lounging sideways on the sofa with one leg over the armrest like civilization was optional, lifted her head.

”That’s the book?”

”Probably.”

Lux took the box.

The moment his fingers touched the wood, something cold slid up his skin.

Not literal cold.

Worse.

Memory cold.

The kind of sensation old objects carried when they had survived too much history and learned to resent being disturbed.

Lux paused.

Fenrir noticed.

Sira noticed faster. ”Problem?” she asked.

Lux studied the box.

It looked simple at first glance. Dark wood. No gold. No jewels. No ridiculous noble carving. Just old grain, blackened edges, and a seal pressed into the top, so faded that the symbol was nearly invisible. But under the mortal craftsmanship, there was something else. A faint pressure. Not demonic. Not divine. Not dragon.

Older.

Not stronger, necessarily.

Just older in that deeply inconvenient way ancient things had, like time itself had sat on it and refused to get up.

Lux’s thumb hovered over the seal.

Then withdrew.

”No problem,” he said.

Sira sat up immediately. ”That sounded like a problem.”

”It sounded like caution.”

”You’re Lux. Your caution sounds like a problem wearing perfume.”

Fenrir wisely said nothing.

Lux smiled faintly. ”Thank you, Fenrir.”

Fenrir bowed and stepped back. ”Shall I remain nearby, sir?”

”Within call range.”

”Yes, sir.”

Fenrir left.

Sira swung her legs down and leaned forward, eyes bright with curiosity.

Lux placed the box on the table between them.

For a second, neither moved.

Then Sira clicked her tongue.

”Well?”

Lux looked at her.

She gestured impatiently at the box.

”Open it.”

”I am admiring the suspense and respecting ancient literature.”

”You’re afraid to touch it.”

Lux stared at her.

Sira smiled. ”Am I wrong?”

Lux looked back at the box. ”No.”

Sira blinked. ”Oh.”

That made her serious.

Lux Vaelthorn was many things. Arrogant, clever, greedy, charming, annoying, dangerously attractive, overworked, emotionally avoidant, and far too attached to coffee. But afraid? Not often. And when he admitted even a small version of it, the object deserved attention.

Lux lifted one hand.

A faint dark-gold glow formed around his fingers.

[Telekinesis]

The box creaked.

Slowly.

Very slowly.

The seal broke without being touched, snapping with a dry little crack that sounded far too loud in the room.

The lid opened.

Inside lay the book.

At least, Lux assumed it was a book.

It looked more like something that had been dug out from under a dead forest after a thousand-year storm and then politely wrapped for delivery.

The cover was not leather.

Lux was very sure it was not leather.

He refused to ask what it was.

The material was dark green-black, almost scaled in texture, but too thin and dry to be dragon hide. Veins of silver thread ran across it in branching patterns, not decorative, more like old roots trapped under skin. The corners were reinforced with dull metal that had lost every hint of shine. No title sat on the front. Only a circle, broken in seven places, with a tree-like mark growing through its center.

The pages were uneven, thick, and yellowed beyond normal age. Some edges looked burned. Some looked bitten. Some looked like they had decayed and then decided not to, out of spite.

Lux stared.

Sira stared.

The system chimed softly.

[Unknown Artifact Detected]

[Classification: Historical Record / Arcane Manuscript]

[Language: Unknown]

[Warning: Residual Memory Pressure Detected]

Lux’s eyes narrowed. ”Residual memory pressure.”

Sira leaned closer, then immediately leaned back. ”I don’t like that.”

Lux used Telekinesis again.

The book opened.

The first page lifted with a dry whisper.

Both of them looked down.

Silence.

The page was filled with script.

Not common elvish.

Not high elvish.

Not infernal.

Not celestial.

Not draconic.

The symbols twisted into themselves, some shaped like branches, some like eyes, some like crescent blades. The ink had faded into a reddish brown that made Lux deeply hope it was not blood.

A faint smell rose from the book.

Dust.

Rain.

Old leaves.

And something sharp beneath it.

Like grief preserved in ink.

Sira squinted.

Lux squinted.

For a while, both of them tried to read it.

Keyword.

Tried.

Lux’s brain attacked the text from every possible angle. Linguistic structure. Repeating symbols. Root logic. Magic pattern. Historical cross-reference. Infernal cipher comparison. Contract syntax. Numbered arrangement. Hidden grid.

Nothing.

The book stared back.

Smugly.

Lux slowly leaned back. ”I hate this.”

Sira nodded. ”Same.”

”I have translated six dead demonic trade dialects.”

”This is older than your ego.”

”My ego is well-maintained.”

”This still wins.”

Lux looked offended, but only because she was probably right. He pointed at one symbol. ”That looks like a financial marker.”

Sira tilted her head. ”That looks like a dead tree screaming.”

Lux rubbed his chin. ”Do you know anything about this?”

Sira leaned closer again, then shook her head. ”No.”

”Nothing?”

”Lux, those words are older than us.”

He looked at her.

She smiled dryly. ”We’re less than two hundred years old. For ancient races, we’re basically toddlers with titles.”