Strongest Incubus System

Damon descended to the training area, his body still bearing the marks of the previous night, not only from the excess of wine, but also from the physical and emotional intensity that seemed to have accompanied him since arriving at the property. The air down there was cooler, slightly humid, and contrasted with the stifling heat of the room where he had recently woken up, bringing a subtle sense of clarity that helped to dispel the weight of the hangover. Still, his head throbbed uncomfortably, and his muscles, though strong, were slightly stiff, as if demanding movement to return to their natural state.

Without wasting time, he positioned himself in the center of the mat and began with push-ups, going down and up in a steady, controlled rhythm, like someone who had been doing it for so long that he didn’t need to think about the movement. Each repetition was accompanied by a firm, deep breath, trying to realign body and mind, as if he were internally reorganizing everything after a sequence of events that, despite being pleasurable, had been exhausting. The silence of the room was broken only by the light sound of her hands pressing the floor and the rhythm of her breathing, creating an almost meditative atmosphere.

He had already lost count of how many repetitions he had done when he heard the sound of the door slowly opening behind him, followed by firm, controlled footsteps that he would recognize anywhere. He didn’t stop immediately, only turning his head slightly enough to confirm what he already knew even before looking directly at her.

Ingrivid.

She entered the room with her usual posture, erect, disciplined, carrying two wooden swords in her hands as if it were the most natural thing in the world, which, considering who she was, it probably was. Her gaze quickly swept across the room before fixing on Damon, who continued his push-ups as if her presence were nothing out of the ordinary.

”I see you decided to start without me,” she commented, her voice calm but full of clear intention.

Damon let out a small sigh as he finished the current repetition and then slowly stood up, resting his hands on his thighs for a brief moment before straightening up completely. He ran a hand through his still slightly messy hair, brushing a few strands away from his face before finally looking at her with a smile that mixed amusement and slight teasing.

”Funny,” he said, grabbing a nearby towel and wiping his face. ”Because last time you didn’t seem so interested in training.”

Ingrivid wasn’t offended, as expected. She simply walked to the center of the room with firm steps and extended one of the wooden swords toward him.

”Last time, I was following orders,” she replied naturally. ”Now I’m making a decision.”

Damon raised a slight eyebrow as he accepted the sword, twirling it in his hand familiarly, testing its weight, its balance, as if rekindling a muscle memory that had never truly left him.

”That sounds dangerous coming from you,” he commented, still with that discreet smile.

She stopped a few steps away, assuming a fighting stance almost instantly, her feet firmly on the ground, her body relaxed, but ready to react to any movement.

”Consider it a way to better assess the current situation,” she said, her eyes fixed on him. ”If we’re going to face what’s coming, I need to understand exactly who I’m dealing with.”

Damon let out a light nasal laugh, twirling his sword once more before positioning it at his side.

”So this is a test?” he asked.

”If you want to call it that.”

He tilted his head slightly, analyzing her for a brief moment, as if deciding something internally.

”You chose a terrible time,” he said, stretching his shoulders and neck nonchalantly. ”My head is still trying to kill me.”

”Then it will be a good challenge,” she replied without hesitation.

That elicited a more genuine laugh from him.

”Fair enough.”

For a moment, silence returned to the room, but now there was tension in it. Not uncomfortable, but electric. Anticipation. They both knew exactly what was about to happen, and neither seemed willing to back down.

Damon then assumed his posture, more relaxed than hers, almost nonchalant, but there was something behind that casual appearance—something sharp, alert, dangerous.

”Let’s see if you’ve improved since last time,” he said.

Ingrivid didn’t respond with words.

She advanced.

The first movement was quick, direct, without hesitation. The wooden blade cut through the air toward his shoulder, but Damon was already moving before the blow even completed its arc, deflecting with a side step and raising his own sword to redirect the impact. The dry sound of wood against wood echoed through the room, marking the true beginning of the confrontation.

Unlike the previous time, there was no restraint.

Ingrivid pressed with precision, her attacks were calculated, efficient, each blow testing a different defense, seeking an opening she knew wouldn’t come easily. Damon, on the other hand, seemed... light. Even with his body still carrying the effects of the hangover, his movements were fluid, almost instinctive, as if he were reacting more than thinking.

”You’re faster,” he commented as he blocked a downward blow and took a half-step back.

”And you’re less focused,” she retorted immediately, turning her body and attacking from the side.

He narrowly dodged this time, which brought a smile to his face.

”Maybe,” he admitted.

The pace increased.

The blows began to come in sequence, faster, more intense, the sound of swords echoing repeatedly as the two moved through the space, alternating between attack and defense, testing limits, adjusting strategies in real time. The tatami absorbed the impact of the steps, but the energy of the fight filled the environment in an almost palpable way.

Damon began to chuckle softly at one point, not out of disdain, but out of pure satisfaction.

”Now that’s more like it,” he murmured.

Ingrivid didn’t respond, but her eyes narrowed slightly, realizing that he was beginning to take this more seriously.

And then—

He changed.

The next move wasn’t just a simple defense or counter-attack. It was a sequence. Quick. Precise. He dodged a blow, turned his body, repositioned his feet, and attacked at an angle she hadn’t expected. Ingrivid managed to block instinctively, but the impact made her take a step back, something that hadn’t happened until then.

Silence for a second.

Heavier breathing.

Fixed gazes.

”Better,” she said, almost as an approval.

Damon just smiled.

”I told you you picked a bad time,” he replied.

But this time, there was no more lightness in his voice.

Now there was intention.

And the training... had transformed into something more.

...

[Duke’s Mansion.]

Morgana’s stepmother stood motionless before the enormous second-floor window, her fingers resting lightly on the marble windowsill as her eyes slowly scanned the city of Arven below, as if each street, each rooftop, and each tower were pieces on a chessboard that already belonged to her—even if not yet officially. The morning light entered the room softly, reflecting off the golden details of the curtains and the ornate walls, but none of that seemed to truly capture her attention. All that existed for her at that moment was the city.

Arven seemed tranquil from above.

Organized.

Submissive.

Ignorant.

She let out a small sigh, but it wasn’t a sigh of weariness—it was one of impatience.

”They haven’t noticed yet,” she murmured, almost to herself, though she knew perfectly well she wasn’t alone in the room.

Behind her, the air trembled slightly, as if something invisible had moved, and then the dark surface of the orb resting on the table began to emit a faint, almost pulsating glow, as if responding to her presence. The woman turned slowly, her dress sliding softly across the floor as she approached the object, her gaze cold and perfectly controlled.

”But that will change,” she continued, her voice now firmer, more calculated. ”The rumors have begun to spread faster than I expected. That idiot of a duke is starting to seem... unstable.”

The surface of the orb distorted slightly, like water touched by an invisible droplet, and a voice answered from the other side, low, distorted, impossible to clearly identify, but imbued with a calmness that contrasted with the growing tension of the situation.

”This wasn’t in the initial calculations,” the voice said. ”You said the control was absolute.”

She frowned slightly, but not for long. Her face quickly returned to its usual cold and elegant expression. ”It’s absolute,” she replied, walking slowly around the table as she spoke. ”But control doesn’t mean perfection. He’s still human. Small flaws are inevitable... especially when there’s social pressure involved.”

She paused again before the orb, tilting her head slightly, as if analyzing her own reflection in the dark surface.

”But that doesn’t change the plan,” she added in a lower tone. ”The city already depends on him. The nobility already depends on him. And he depends on me.”

There was a brief pause.

”And the daughter?” asked the voice from the other side.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

”Morgana is still less of a problem than she should be,” she replied, crossing her arms slowly. ”She’s strong. Stubborn. And... inconveniently difficult to predict. But that can be solved too.”

She approached the window again, looking once more at Arven, as if observing territory about to be claimed.

”First, I consolidate control here,” she said, with an almost quiet coolness. ”Then, the duchy. And when the duchy is under my influence, the rest will follow naturally. Mirath won’t resist when she realizes there’s no alternative.”

The voice on the other end was silent for a few seconds before replying again.

”You’re too confident.”

A small smile appeared on her lips.

”No,” she said calmly. ”I’m more than prepared.”

She ran her hand lightly across the windowpane, her fingers leaving an almost invisible trail on the surface.

”They still think this is just politics,” she murmured. ”That it’s just ambition. That it’s just a dispute between noble families.”

Her smile deepened slightly.

”But this was never just politics.”

The orb’s glow pulsed again, weaker this time, as if the connection was about to end.

”Then don’t fail,” the voice said for the last time.

She didn’t answer immediately.

She just kept looking at Arven, at the streets that still moved normally, at the people who still believed they were safe.

”I never fail,” she murmured finally, almost as a promise.