Strongest Incubus System

Aria knelt on the floor of Damon’s room, carefully arranging the robe he’d left draped over the chair. The morning sun timidly streamed through the window, casting pale rays that illuminated the dust particles dancing in the silent air. She pulled back the blanket, adjusted the pillows, and ran her hands over the wooden table, tidying up the few things there—a mug, a worn book, some hastily folded clothes.

As she worked, her thoughts began to wander, straying away from the room and losing track of the past few weeks.

Everything that had happened seemed like a whirlwind of emotions and doubts. Elizabeth’s change, so abrupt and cold, still disconcerted her. That woman who had previously seemed distant and calculating now displayed an even more ruthless side, capable of manipulating and using anyone necessary to achieve her goals. And Aria couldn’t understand where she herself fit into this machine—if she was just a disposable cog or if there was something more.

Her fingers paused on a piece of cloth, and she clutched the fabric between her hands, trying to bring order to the turmoil within her. She thought of Damon—that young man who, despite everything, aroused a strange feeling in her, a mixture of curiosity, fear, and a strange tenderness she didn’t want to acknowledge.

Then her mind returned to recent moments, to the ”shameful things”—as she had thought of them—she had had to do to ensure Damon ate.

That naked dependence, that vulnerability of his that, until recently, she had never imagined she would know...

Aria took a deep breath and tried to push the memory away. But it was impossible to ignore the question that arose more strongly than she would have liked:

”What will he eat if... I’m the only one needed for it?”

She stood still for a moment, her heart clenching, trying to grasp the weight of that doubt. It wasn’t just a practical question; it was something much deeper. If Damon depended on her like this, if she was the only one who could ensure he fed, then what did that mean for them? For her? For what might come next?

A slight shiver ran down her skin, and Aria lowered her head, feeling a mixture of fear and something that felt like a hidden desire, a desire she didn’t dare name.

She didn’t know if it was love, or something similar. Maybe it was just the need to feel useful, to be indispensable in a world where, until then, she had learned to be invisible.

The silence in the room felt heavy now, as if every shadow on the walls was an unanswered question.

Aria stood slowly, walking to the window and looking out at the courtyard where the sun was beginning to warm the cold ground. She thought of Damon, at that moment perhaps still asleep or resting in the stable, far away, alone with his thoughts and his demons.

”Does he think of me like that?” she wondered.

But there was no answer. Only silence, only the faint morning light enveloping everything in its cold embrace.

She closed her eyes and murmured to herself, ”I need to understand what this all means... for me.”

Well... if she knew what was really happening... Maybe, just maybe... She wouldn’t have any thoughts like this...

[This happened a few minutes ago while Aria was thinking about Damon.]

Damon held the leather pouch tightly in his hand, feeling the weight of the coins jingling softly against the worn leather. The sound was a concrete reminder of what he had just accomplished—and, at the same time, a bitter confirmation of where he was. He looked up and met Ester’s eyes, who watched him with that same expression as always: cold, calculating, and implacable.

She crossed her arms and spoke firmly, leaving no room for questioning: ”Go feed at some brothel nearby. Come back at dawn so we can leave.”

Damon blinked, half surprised, half irritated. The order sounded so direct, so devoid of any kindness, that for a moment he considered retort. But there was something in the way Ester spoke that commanded enough respect—or perhaps fear—to silence him.

He clutched his bag to his body, looking at her again, searching for some sign of softness, but found only the same hardness that had accompanied him since they had left the frozen road behind.

”A brothel?” he asked, his tone mingling irony with disbelief.

Ester didn’t smile, didn’t lose her composure. She simply replied sharply: ”I don’t think I need to explain that this is an order from Lady Elizabeth, but if that’s the case, you, Incubus, go eat whores and return at dawn when you’ve fed.”

The silence that fell between them was heavy, charged with a strange, almost palpable tension.

[Present Time]

Damon stood in front of the brothel, surveying the weathered facade. The dark wooden walls were covered in dried vines, and the red paint was already fading, but the lanterns hanging in the windows cast a warm, inviting glow, almost in contrast to the chill that froze the air around them.

A sign hung with the name ”Phoenix Corner” carved in gold letters, some of them failing, as if time and life in this place had consumed the hope of rising from the ashes.

The city’s murmur seemed distant there, muffled by the low sound of female laughter, conversation, and the occasional clink of glasses that escaped through the half-open door.

Damon swallowed, feeling a strange mixture of discomfort and curiosity tighten in his chest. The weight of the bag containing the coins seemed to grow, as if it were an impossible burden to carry.

”This is my first time entering a brothel... both in this life and in my last...”

Damon pushed open the creaking door of the brothel and was immediately enveloped in a warm, fragrant atmosphere. The sweet scent of incense mingled with the aroma of fresh flowers and a hint of wine. The dim light was softly illuminated by paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling, casting dancing shadows across the varnished wooden walls.

Before him, ten women emerged almost simultaneously. They wore delicate kimonos, fine fabrics that clung elegantly to their bodies, patterned with cherry blossoms, golden carp, and traditional motifs. Their hair was tied in elaborate updos, adorned with small jade and pearl ornaments.

Damon blinked, trying to process what he saw.

”Welcome to Phoenix Song, sir,” one of the women said, her voice soft and melodic, almost like a song. She approached with a smile that seemed rehearsed yet gentle. ”I’m Hana, and these are my companions.”

The other women bowed gracefully, their eyes shining in the flickering light of the lanterns.

Damon cleared his throat, unable to say a word immediately. He simply watched, feeling surprised and, at the same time, a little out of place.

Before he could retreat, one of the courtesans, in a sky-blue kimono, gently took his hand and led him to a low table in the center of the room. The others followed like an enchanted procession.

He sat, still clutching the coin purse on his lap, as the women began pouring glasses of amber-colored liquor, distributing small portions into delicate porcelain cups.

”Allow us to take care of you,” Hana said, placing the glass before him with an almost maternal smile.

’Please, system... don’t say... anything...’

[Legendary Mission!]

’... Will I be able to handle it?...’