Strongest Incubus System

Morgana slowly brought her hand to her face, her fingers pressing against her forehead as if trying to contain the growing weight of everything she had just heard, and then let out a long, tired sigh, one that carries not only physical exhaustion but also the weariness of someone who realizes that the situation is much deeper and more dangerous than she would like to admit. Her eyes closed for a brief moment, and when she spoke, her voice came out lower, almost a murmur laden with contained frustration.

”...are things always this difficult?”

Damon observed the scene with an almost contrasting calm, leaning against the wall as if that kind of complication were just another variable in a game he already knew all too well, and then let out a slight nasal laugh, not of mockery, but of recognition.

”Sometimes they can be,” he replied, in a light tone, but honest enough not to soften the reality too much.

Morgana opened her eyes again, still holding her hand to her face for a second longer before letting it fall to her side, her posture slowly straightening as she regained the control that had wavered for a moment, and then she let out another sigh, this time firmer, more conscious.

”It’s going to be complicated,” she said, now without hesitation, like someone who had already accepted the difficulty of the path ahead.

Damon nodded slightly, crossing his arms as he scanned the hallway around him out of pure habit before turning his attention back to her.

”Yes,” he agreed bluntly. ”And we’re going to need help.”

That simple statement made Morgana look away for a brief moment, not out of doubt, but out of calculation, as if she were mentally revisiting a list of names, faces, and relationships that had been left behind over the past few years. When she spoke again, there was something different in her tone—less reactive, more strategic.

”Before that... I need to recover my name.”

Damon didn’t interrupt, only observed, giving her space to develop her reasoning.

”When I decided to become a knight... I cut ties,” Morgana continued, her voice now firmer, but carrying a slight trace of pragmatic regret. ”I distanced myself from most of Arven’s noble families. I ignored invitations, stopped attending meetings, abandoned alliances that... at the time, I considered irrelevant.” She paused briefly, letting out a small sigh through her nose. ”It was a choice. But now... it’s a weakness.”

Damon tilted his head slightly, analyzing each word carefully.

”You traded influence for independence,” he commented.

”Exactly,” she replied, without hesitation. ”And now I need to regain that influence. Because, if I want to overthrow my stepmother...” her eyes hardened slightly, ”...I can’t do it with just force or evidence. I need political support. I need that, when everything comes to light, there are enough people ready to believe in me... and act.”

The silence that followed was brief, but significant.

Damon then gave a small, restrained smile, like someone who recognizes the magnitude of the challenge but also sees value in it.

”So we have two fronts,” he said, uncrossing his arms and stepping away from the wall. ”Proving what she’s doing... and ensuring that, when that happens, you have enough weight to not be dismissed as a desperate accusation.”

Morgana nodded.

”Exactly.”

He took a few slow steps down the hallway, thinking quietly.

”You’ll need to rekindle old relationships... and maybe create new ones. People who still respect your name, even after you’ve distanced yourself.” He paused, glancing sideways at her. ”And maybe some who don’t like your stepmother as much as they pretend to.”

A slight, almost imperceptible smile appeared on Morgana’s lips.

”In the nobility? There’s always someone like that.”

Damon chuckled softly. ”Great. That makes it easier.”

She then crossed her arms, now completely composed again, her posture regaining its former firmness, but with a new kind of focus behind her gaze.

”I can start with some smaller families. Less targeted, less compromised by my father... and more open to listening.”

”And less dangerous if something goes wrong,” Damon added.

”Yes.”

He nodded, clearly approving of the line of thought.

”Meanwhile, I can continue investigating. That room... those documents... they’re not enough yet, but they’re a start. And if she’s using that orb for communication, there’s a chance to track patterns, times... maybe even identify who she’s talking to.”

Morgana narrowed her eyes slightly, intrigued.

”You think you can do it?”

Damon shrugged, with a slightly nonchalant air.

”I don’t promise fast. But I promise efficient.”

She let out a small sigh, but this time it wasn’t of frustration—it was of strategic acceptance.

”So that’s it,” she said. ”I rebuild my political base... and you deepen the investigation.”

”And together...” Damon began.

”...we destroy her,” Morgana finished, without hesitation, her voice low but laden with a coldness that left no room for doubt.

For a brief moment, the silence between them became dense, not from uncertainty, but from the absolute clarity of the path they were choosing to follow. There was no more room for retreat, nor for hesitation. This was no longer just a family or political matter—it was a silent war that would begin in the shadows, but would inevitably explode into the light of day.

Damon then tilted his head slightly, a slight smile returning to his lips.

”You know... this is going to be hard work.”

Morgana rolled her eyes slightly, but a small smile also appeared, almost involuntarily.

”I already noticed.”

He took a step towards the corridor that led back to the hall.

”Then I think we’d better get started.”

She nodded, uncrossing her arms and adjusting her posture slightly, as if putting on the social mask she needed to wear in front of others again.

”Yes... let’s go.”

Their footsteps echoed softly down the hallway as they began to return toward the main hall, the distant sounds of the party gradually growing louder as they approached, blending back into the atmosphere as if nothing had happened, as if that brief moment of silent conspiracy had never existed. Morgana walked beside Damon, her posture now composed, her gaze firm and calculating, but now there was something different in the way her eyes moved—no longer reacting to the environment, but anticipating it, like someone already beginning to rearrange the chessboard in her mind.

”If we’re going to do this right...” she began, her voice low enough not to cross the space between them, ”...I need to carefully choose who to bring back to my side.” She looked away for a moment, clearly pulling up old memories, names and faces she hadn’t seen in years, but which now returned with an unsettling clarity. ”The nobility of Arven isn’t unified, despite what they like to pretend. There are divisions... conflicting interests... fragile alliances that only exist as long as they’re convenient.”

Damon kept pace beside her, listening attentively without interrupting, for he knew that this kind of information was more valuable than any document he had found in the duchess’s room.

”The Valtheris family, for example,” Morgana continued, tilting her head slightly as if organizing her thoughts as she spoke. ”They are old allies of my father... or were. They’ve always been extremely traditional, very focused on honor, reputation, those things that most people pretend to value.” A slight trace of irony passed through her voice, but quickly disappeared. ”If they perceive something wrong with the current leadership, they won’t ignore it. But they also won’t act without solid evidence.”

Damon nodded slightly.

”So they’re useful... but they require a strong foundation.”

”Exactly,” she replied without hesitation. ”They don’t act on suspicion. They need something concrete... or someone they trust enough to believe before even seeing.”

He glanced briefly at her.

”Someone like you... if you regain that confidence.”

Morgana didn’t answer immediately, but the slight hardening of her expression was answer enough.

”As for the Rhenvar family...” she continued after a few seconds, ”...they’re the opposite. Ambitious. Pragmatic. They don’t care about honor, tradition, or appearances. Only about advantage.” She let out a small sigh through her nose. ”If they think my stepmother is about to fall... they’ll abandon her side without a second thought.”

Damon gave a slight smile.

”I like those. They’re predictable.”

”Yes,” Morgana agreed, but her tone indicated caution. ”But they’re also dangerous. They’re not loyal. If they realize I don’t have enough control of the situation, they might very well try to take advantage... or even replace me in the process.”

”Then they come in later,” Damon concluded.

”Exactly. They’re useful... but not at the beginning.”

They rounded a bend in the corridor, now closer to the flow of servants and guests circulating in the transitional areas between the hall and the rest of the mansion, but still far enough away to maintain the conversation without immediate risk.

”The Dorsain family,” Morgana continued, now in a more thoughtful tone, ”...perhaps the best initial option.” She crossed her arms slightly as she walked, as if weighing each word. ”They are discreet. They don’t engage in open disputes, but they have considerable influence behind the scenes. Trade, routes, supplies... they control more than they let on.”

Damon tilted his head slightly.

”And what is your relationship with them?”

”Good,” she replied. ”Or... was.” She paused briefly. ”The heir... always had respect for me. Perhaps even more than that.”

Damon arched an eyebrow slightly, the corner of his lips curving almost provocatively.

”Interesting.”

Morgana glanced sideways at him.

”Don’t start.”

He let out a small, low laugh.

”I’m just assessing available resources.”

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t press the issue.

”Anyway, they’re trustworthy enough for a first contact. They won’t act impulsively, but they also won’t ignore clear signals.”

”So they’re the entry point,” Damon summarized.

”Yes.”

The sounds of the party were now clearly audible, voices, music, and laughter filling the space ahead, as the two slowed slightly, adjusting their postures again to re-enter the social environment without raising suspicion.

”There’s also the Elvaris family,” Morgana added, as if remembering another important piece. ”Smaller, but very connected. They don’t have great individual power, but they know everything that’s going on. Information... is their currency.”

Damon smiled slightly.

”Those are useful.”

”Very,” she confirmed. ”But they’re hard to win over. They need encouragement... or something in return.”

”Everyone needs it,” he commented casually.

Morgana didn’t disagree.

”And, of course...” she continued, now with a slightly heavier tone, ”...there are those who are already completely under her influence.”

Damon looked at her more closely.

”How many?”

”I don’t know for sure,” Morgana replied honestly. ”But more than they should be.” Her eyes hardened slightly. ”And some of them... are dangerous enough to react aggressively if they realize something is happening.”

”So we have to act before they do,” Damon concluded.

”Yes.”

They finally reached the entrance to the hall, where the light, sound, and movement enveloped them again as if nothing had changed, as if they weren’t carrying the weight of a conspiracy that could bring down the entire structure of that place.

Morgana paused for a brief moment before entering completely, slightly adjusting her dress, posture, and expression, reconstructing her social mask with almost flawless perfection.

”First step,” she said, without looking directly at Damon. ”Dorsain.”

He nodded slightly.

”And I’ll keep watching.”

She then glanced at him quickly, briefly but meaningfully.

”And don’t get recognized.”

Damon smiled slightly.

”I never am.”