Strongest Incubus System

The following morning dawned gray over Arven, with low clouds covering the rooftops and a thin mist clinging to the cobblestone streets. At Morgana’s mansion, however, no one paid any attention to the weather. The great main hall had been transformed into an improvised center of analysis, strategy, and sheer organized chaos. Tables once used for elegant dinners were now covered with ledgers, stained maps, coded letters, broken wooden crates, and piles of documents retrieved from the underground complex.

Damon was at the center of it all, slumped in a sturdy chair as if nothing from the previous night had required any effort. A mug of something dark rested beside his elbow, untouched for half an hour. His eyes scanned the papers with an expression of utter disgust.

”I hate documents,” he declared for the third time that morning.

”And documents hate you back,” Elizabeth replied without even raising her head.

She occupied the largest table in the room, surrounded by columns of records organized into categories that only she seemed to fully understand. Her sleeves were rolled up, her fingers were stained with ink, and she had the dangerous glint of someone intellectually engaged. To Elizabeth, this wasn’t criminal chaos. It was a delightful puzzle.

Ester stood beside her, comparing shipping lists with city route maps. A set of notes already filled two entire pages in front of her. Her concentration was so intense that Cherry had thrown a grape at her five minutes earlier just to test if she would blink.

She didn’t blink.

Cherry, for her part, lay crosswise on a nearby sofa, a pile of confiscated chains and jewelry beside her. She examined a stolen ring with the care of a curious child.

”If this is worth a lot of money,” she commented, ”I vote we sell everything and take a vacation.”

”Your vote doesn’t count,” said Morgana.

The owner of the mansion remained seated in an armchair near the window, impeccable as always, though clearly not getting enough sleep. She held a cup of tea and watched the operation intently, intervening only when someone said something particularly stupid.

”So my vote counts twice,” Cherry retorted.

”It counts negatively.”

”Rude.”

Ingrivid entered carrying another box of materials collected from the underground hideout. He placed it on the central table with a dry thud.

”More books, sealed vials, and three false compartments at the back of the wagon.”

Elizabeth finally looked up.

”You found false compartments and you’re only telling me now?”

”You seemed too happy. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

”Fair enough.”

Damon pulled out one of the books and opened it at random. He frowned immediately.

”Is this accounting or a curse?”

Esther held out her hand without looking at him. ”Give it to me.”

He handed it over.

She read two lines.

”Accounting.”

”Worse.”

Cherry let out a short laugh.

The atmosphere, despite the fatigue, carried a strange energy of recent victory. They had taken down a massive operation, captured important figures, and brought enough evidence to shake many powerful people. Even so, no one there was naive enough to confuse a battle won with a war over.

Morgana was the first to verbalize this.

”The more we find,” she said calmly, ”the clearer it becomes that it was just an arm.”

Elizabeth nodded immediately. ”Without a doubt. Too much structure to be independent. There were external payments, protected suppliers, and indirect political use.”

Damon rested his chin on his hand.

”Translation.”

She pointed at him with her pen.

”Someone big is funding this.”

”Better.”

”Why better?”

”Because I hate hunting rats. I prefer finding those who feed them.”

Cherry raised a finger. ”Excellent phrase. Write it down.”

Ester had already separated several papers into distinct groups. ”We have records of bribes paid in specific neighborhoods, abbreviated names, and shipments numbered by color codes. There are also repeated symbols in three different letters.”

She slid the documents across the table to Morgana.

The young noblewoman examined them for a few seconds.

”These seals aren’t commercial,” she said. ”They’re adapted from old coats of arms.”

Elizabeth immediately approached.

”Which ones?”

Morgana touched one with her fingernail.

”Valcor. Verden. A fragment of Halbrecht.” She paused briefly. ”Decadent, bankrupt, or politically faded noble houses.”

Cherry sat on the sofa.

”So we have poor aristocrats selling poison?”

”Poor aristocrats always sell something,” Morgana replied.

Damon smiled slightly.

”Also a great phrase.”

Ingrivid pulled back a cloth on the table, revealing small, dark blue glass vials, all sealed.

”Found in the laboratory.”

Aria, who had just emerged from the kitchen with trays of food, stopped when she saw them.

”That’s far from the table where we’re going to eat.”

”I agree,” said Ester. ”We still don’t know concentration.”

Cherry was already reaching out to take one.

Five voices spoke at once.

”No.”

She slowly withdrew her hand.

”You take all the magic out of life.”

Aria distributed plates without asking permission, imposing order by her mere presence.

”Eat now. Think later.”

”I’m thinking while I eat,” said Elizabeth.

”Then chew academically.”

Damon took a piece of bread without protest. Everyone noticed.

Cherry pointed dramatically.

”He’s domesticated.”

”I’ll rip his spine out.”

”And yet he ate when told.”

Morgana hid a smile behind her cup.

While the makeshift meal was underway, Elizabeth opened one of the smaller boxes and pulled out letters sealed with black wax. Her eyes gleamed.

”Now that’s more like it.”

She carefully broke the seal.

She read it silently.

Then she read it again.

The entire room noticed the change in her face.

Damon put down his bread.

”What?”

Elizabeth slowly raised her eyes.

”Payments authorized by intermediaries connected to the city council.”

A heavy silence fell.

Morgana put down her cup.

”Are you sure?”

”Absolutely.” She tapped her fingers on the partial signature. ”They use bad pseudonyms, overly bureaucratic language, and recycled stamps. Arrogant people always think they’re smart.”

Ester approached quickly. ”Names?”

”Not direct names. But departments, schedules, and preferred routes.” She took a deep breath. ”This touches important people.”

Cherry grinned predatorily.

”Excellent. I hate politicians.”

”You hate almost all of them,” Ingrivid commented.

”Because I make an effort to get to know people.”

Damon stood up from his chair and began to walk slowly between the tables, thinking. When Damon was quiet and walked in circles, the others had learned not to interrupt.

After a few seconds, he spoke.

”If this gets to the board, the top already knows we lost the deposit.”

”Lost,” Cherry corrected.

”Lost,” he repeated nonchalantly. ”They’ll soon cover their tracks.”

Elizabeth nodded. ”Yes. Accounts closed, witnesses disappear, opportune fires, stolen files.”

Morgana crossed her legs.

”Then we don’t have time.”

”No,” Damon replied. ”We have today.”

Ester closed a map.

”We need to prioritize targets.”

Ingrivid had already begun automatically separating weapons.

Aria sighed deeply.

”You just got back.”

Cherry opened her arms.

”And we’re going out again. What an efficient group.”

Morgana watched Damon for a longer moment.

”You’re still injured.”

He shrugged.

”I’m functioning.”

”That doesn’t answer.”

”It answers enough.”

She narrowed her eyes, but didn’t insist. She knew when arguing would be pointless for now.

Elizabeth spread three documents on the table.

”We have options. First: pressure the prisoner and extract names before they realize the extent of the fall. Second: attack the offices used for money laundering. Third: expose some of this publicly and cause political panic.”

Cherry raised her hand.

”Fourth: all at once.”

”You’re exhausting,” said Ester.

”Visionary.”

Damon pointed to the letters. ”Who receives these payments?”

”A front trading firm,” Elizabeth replied. ”Up in the highlands.”

”Ingrivid?”

”I can scout the location in an hour.”

”Morgana?”

She understood immediately. ”I can find out who legally protects the firm.”

”Ester?”

”I can map out secondary exit routes and entrances.”

”Cherry?”

She smiled.

”Finally.”

”You stay here.”

”What?”

”Guarding the prisoner.”

Cherry stood up indignantly.

”This is institutional humiliation.”

”It’s punishment for suggesting ideas.”

Aria handed her another slice of bread.

”And you’re going to eat.”

Cherry sat down defeated.

”Everyone oppresses me.”

Morgana watched Damon distribute tasks with brutal nonchalance. There was something almost irritating about the ease with which he assumed command without seeming to try.

She spoke lightly.

”And you?”

Damon picked up the coat leaning against the chair.

”I’ll go talk to our awake guest.”

At the opposite end of the mansion, in a reinforced room transformed into a temporary cell, Seraphine Valcor remained tied to a chair that was far too elegant for the purpose. A bruise marked the side of her forehead where Cherry had struck her. Still, her posture retained remnants of offensive dignity.

When Damon entered, she smiled slightly.

”I hope they have better coffee than the tea here.”

He closed the door behind him.

”I hope you like pain.”

She sighed theatrically.

”What a predictable man.”

Damon pulled up another chair and sat down opposite her.

”Perhaps.”

He leaned slightly forward.

”But predictable results also matter.”

Outside, in the main hall, the others continued sifting through documents, cross-referencing names, and preparing for the next attack. The previous night’s victory was over.

Now the dangerous part began.

Discovering who was really behind it all.

Outside, in the main hall, the others continued sifting through documents, cross-referencing names, and preparing for the next attack. The previous night’s victory was over.

Now the dangerous part began.

Discovering who was really behind it all.

”Cherry?”

She immediately raised her face, already smiling like someone about to receive a glorious and violently unnecessary mission.

”Finally.”

Damon didn’t even blink.

”You stay here.”

The smile died instantly.

”What?”

”Guarding the prisoner.”

Cherry jumped up from the sofa in indignant relief, pointing at herself as if she had been personally insulted by the very fabric of the universe.

”This is institutional humiliation.”

”It’s punishment for suggesting ideas.”

”My ideas were excellent.”

”They were noisy.”

Aria appeared beside her at the exact moment, as if anticipating the complaint, and placed a thick slice of bread in her hand.

”And you’re going to eat it.”

Cherry stared at the bread with genuine resentment, then glared at Damon with even more resentment, and finally sat dramatically back down on the sofa.

”Everyone oppresses me in this house.”

”Rightfully so,” Ester murmured without lifting her eyes from the papers.

Morgana watched the scene in silence, leaning back in her armchair near the window. Her gaze followed Damon as he distributed orders, tasks, and priorities with that irritating naturalness of someone who seemed never to doubt himself. There was no posing in his movements, no attempt to appear as a leader. He simply took center stage, and everything else orbited around him.

She spoke in a light, almost casual tone.

”And you?”

Damon picked up the coat that lay on the back of a chair and put it on slowly.

”I’m going to talk to our awake guest.”

Cherry raised a finger.

”If she cries, I want to watch.”

”Denied.”

”If she tries to kill you?”

”Also denied.”

”You take all the joy out of the job.”

Without answering, Damon crossed the hall and followed the west corridor of the mansion. His footsteps echoed briefly on the polished stone floor until they disappeared behind a reinforced door, once used as a storage room and now converted into an improvised cell.

Inside the room, the lighting was simple: a single lamp on a side table and the grey morning light streaming in through a narrow, tall window. There was little furniture besides the central chair, firmly fixed to the floor, and in it sat Seraphine Valcor.

Even with her wrists and ankles bound, she still looked insultingly composed. A bruise darkened the side of her forehead where Cherry had hit her, and a strand of her dark hair had escaped the impeccable hairstyle of the previous night. Still, her posture retained vestiges of that offensive elegance that certain people wear like armor.

When Damon entered, she slowly raised her face and smiled only with a corner of her mouth.

”I hope they have better coffee than the tea here.”

He closed the door behind him with a dry click.

”I hope you like pain.”

Seraphine let out a theatrically disappointed sigh.

”What a predictable man.”

Damon pulled up another chair, turned it around, and sat down opposite her, resting his arms on the back. His eyes remained fixed on her, cold and attentive.

”Perhaps.”

He leaned forward slightly.

”But predictable results are still results.”

She held his gaze for a few seconds, assessing him with the same clinical calculation as the previous night. Then she relaxed her shoulders slightly, as if they were beginning a social conversation and not an interrogation.

”If you came to threaten me, save your time. I’ve heard better.”

”If I wanted to threaten you, you would know.”

”Arrogant.”

”I need to.”

She smiled again, this time less.

”You really believe intimidation solves everything.”

”No.” Damon tilted his head. ”It just solves a lot of things.”

On the other side of the mansion, the great hall remained in constant activity. Elizabeth had completely taken over the main table, surrounded by columns of records, open letters, and sheets scribbled on in a furious rhythm. Esther compared numbers and dates with a detailed map of Arven, marking routes with red ink. Ingrivid dismantled a small safe retrieved from the underground hideout, while Aria rearranged the mess whenever someone left something in the wrong place.

Cherry, officially assigned to guard the prisoner, sat outside the door with an apple and a martyred expression.

”I want to register that I’ve been demoted.”

”Nobody asked,” said Elizabeth.

”I’m registering it anyway.”

Morgana remained near the window, watching the mist over the gardens, though her real attention was focused on the closed door in the hallway. There was something dangerous about leaving Damon alone with a woman like Seraphine.

Perhaps for Seraphine.

Perhaps for everyone.

Inside the room, Damon drummed two fingers on the back of the chair.

”Let’s try to keep it simple. Who’s funding the operation?”

Seraphine crossed her legs with the difficulty allowed by the restraints.

”People with money.”

”Who’s legally protecting her?”

”People with titles.”

”Who decides the routes?”

”Competent people.”

He remained silent for a moment.

”You think you’re charming.”

”I am charming.”

”That won’t help.”

She tilted her head slightly.

”It depends on the kind of help you need.”

Damon let out a short breath through his nose, something between laughter and disdain.

”Interesting.”

”Thank you.”

”That wasn’t a compliment.”

”Straightforward men are so repetitive.”

In a brusque movement, he stood up. The chair scraped the floor violently enough to make her stiffen instinctively, though her smile barely changed. Damon approached until he stopped a step away.

”Listen carefully,” he said softly. ”Out there, my friends are finding names, routes, payments, and symbols. I’ll already know a lot. What I’m offering now is the chance for you to choose how you enter this story.”

Seraphine raised her chin. ”As a cooperative victim?”

”As someone useful.”

”And if I refuse?”

He leaned down until he was at her eye level.

”Then Cherry takes over.”

For the first time, there was a real hesitation.

Slight.

But clear.

Seraphine frowned.

”That woman is insane.”

”Yes.”

”She hit me smiling.”

”Yes, also.”

”You keep her around on purpose?”

”Several purposes.”

She closed her eyes for a second, as if reconsidering all the life decisions that had brought her there.

In the main hall, Cherry sneezed.

”Someone talked about me.”

Aria passed by her carrying a tray.

”It was common sense.”

Cherry bit into the apple, offended.

Inside the makeshift cell, Damon sat down calmly again.

”Last chance for elegance.”

Seraphine took a deep breath, regaining some of her composure.

”If I speak, people die.”

”If you don’t speak, maybe it will start with you.”

”Do you always talk like this?”

”When I’m being kind.”

She studied his face for long seconds, searching for bluff, exaggeration, or hesitation. She found nothing that comforted her.

Then she spoke, finally without irony.

”There are intermediaries on the city council.”

Damon didn’t react outwardly.

”How many?”

”Three confirmed. Maybe five.”

”Names.”

”I don’t know all the real names. They use representatives.”

”The ones you know.”

She listed two minor surnames, both linked to business offices in the upscale area. Damon memorized every syllable without interruption.

”Who’s above them?”

Seraphine hesitated again.

”I didn’t see the face.”

”Lies.”

”I saw hands, voices behind screens, written orders. People too powerful to show themselves.”

”Noble house?”

”Perhaps more than one.”

Damon leaned back in his chair.

This matched the documents.

Fragments of old families, corrupt advisors, protected routes, and enough money to sustain it all in silence.

A network.

Not a gang.

Outside, Elizabeth held up a sheet of paper and spoke loudly:

”I found cross-deposits under false names!”

Ester answered without looking.

”I found three addresses linked to the same amounts!”

Cherry knocked on the door.

”I found boredom!”

Morgana closed her eyes for a moment.

The entire mansion seemed to function at three different speeds at the same time.

Inside the room, Damon stood up again.

”Good start.”

Seraphine let out a short, tired laugh.

”I hate it when monsters give compliments.”

”I hate it when criminals dramatize.”

He walked to the door, opened it, and spoke into the hallway:

”Cherry.”

She appeared in the same second.

”YES?”

”Bring Elizabeth.”

Cherry’s eyes widened.

”So she broke?”

”Partially.”

Cherry pointed at Seraphine with fierce glee.

”I knew fear worked.”

Seraphine closed her eyes in pure irritation.

”I hate you all.”

”Long line,” Cherry replied.