Demonic Dragon: Harem System
Chapter 520 - 520: Why are you here?

Strax placed his hand on Samira's, still resting on the aged map. His fingers, covered in scars and battle dust, contrasted with her skin—tense, vibrating under his touch, like a string about to snap.

"Not so fast."

Strax's voice was not a sudden halt. It was an ancient wall, full of cracks, but still standing. Firm. And laden not only with reason—but with the silent pain of one who has buried plans, allies, and regrets.

Samira slowly turned her face. The look she gave him was sharp, like steel fresh from the forge. There was fire, there was pride. But behind that... exhaustion.

"What do you want me to wait for? For him to come to me again? To send another message burned into flesh?"

Strax kept his tone steady, but his eyes narrowed—not in judgment, but in remembrance.

"I want you to think."

He withdrew his hand from hers carefully, as if pushing away something that still throbbed.

"Stella showed up after ten years. Alone. Disheveled. So different that even her eyes weren't the same. Asking to see you. That doesn't sound like Blazer. It sounds like... something off-kilter. Something untethered."

"Manipulation?" Samira spat the word like poison.

"Maybe. Or maybe it's not him. Maybe it's her."

Samira took a step back, as if the idea was pushing her away. The silence that followed was thick, filled with memories that no one dared to name.

"She wouldn't do that. The Stella I knew... never."

Strax nodded slowly. "And maybe she's not that person anymore. Just like you're not the girl who burned letters so she wouldn't remember."

She pressed her arms against her body, as if trying to keep something inside. The crimson necklace pulsed more slowly now, with an almost melancholic rhythm, like the heart of someone who, tired of fighting, still insists on standing.

"So what do you suggest?" The question came out low, but laden with tension.

"Wait for her to wake up for real." Strax spoke slowly, choosing his words as if treading on a minefield. "Look into her eyes without anger. Ask her what she wants—not for you, but for her. Because if Stella came here... after so long... it's because something pushed her too hard to ignore."

"Do you think I'm the bait?"

"No." He took a deep breath. "I think you may be the key. Or, perhaps... the last thing she still recognizes as real in a world she no longer understands."

Samira stood motionless for a long moment. Her eyes, once hard, softened just enough to let the pain show.

Finally, she exhaled — a broken sigh, like someone who has been carrying a heavy burden since childhood.

"One more day."

Strax gave a half-smile, not lighthearted, but honest. "One more day."

Strax left the room in silence, his steady footsteps echoing across the worn stone floor. He didn't look back—not out of disrespect, but because he knew well the kind of weariness that sets in after decisions that have not yet been made but already weigh heavily as guilt.

He crossed silent corridors, where old tapestries whispered stories that no one else dared to tell. The air there was colder, smelling of wet earth and old wood. The world was quieting down inside, even as the next storm was brewing outside.

At the back of the mansion, the morning light filtered lazily through the cracks in the stone barn. There, among bales of hay and the rhythmic sound of hooves dragging dust, Mercedes brushed the mare as if trying to calm her own heart.

Apocalypse—a mare as black as an eclipse and almost the size of a threat—remained motionless, her eyes alert, her muscles relaxed under the young woman's care. Each movement of the brush was meticulous, almost reverent. It was as if the beast and the girl shared a sadness that needed no words.

Strax stopped at the entrance. For a moment, he just watched.

Mercedes did not turn her face, but spoke in a sweet whisper, without interrupting her movements.

"She's restless. She knows something is coming."

Strax approached slowly, his boots sinking into the straw. When he got close, he reached out and gently took the brush from Mercedes' fingers.

"Go rest," he said, his voice lower than before. "I'll take care of this."

Mercedes looked up at him. There were deep circles under her young eyes, but also determination—the kind that comes when fear has no place left.

"Are you sure?"

Strax ran his hand over Apocalypse's neck, who snorted softly, recognizing him.

"I am."

Mercedes hesitated for a moment, as if she wanted to say something else—something that perhaps burned in her throat—but in the end she just nodded. She ran her hand through the mare's mane one last time, then walked away silently, her footsteps light among the hay.

Strax watched her leave before turning back to the animal. Apocalypse turned his head slowly, his amber eyes as ancient as those of an oracle.

"You feel it too, don't you?" he murmured, running the brush over the creature's flank. "The cracks. The smoke before the flame."

Apocalypse did not answer, but the way he remained motionless said enough. The whole world seemed to hold its breath. And even the animals knew: the silence that was coming now... was just the interval between the first drops and the thunder.

Strax continued brushing, with firm, steady movements.

...

Night fell thickly over the mansion, like a cloak sewn from shadows and secrets. Outside, the wind whispered through the branches of the ancient trees, dragging dry leaves across the stone porch. Inside, the silence was deep—the kind of silence that seems to listen back.

Everyone was asleep. Or at least, they pretended well enough.

Stella opened her eyes slowly, as if waking from a dream she didn't want to leave — or perhaps she was just returning from a nightmare that never ended. Her eyes scanned the room silently. The lights were low, flickering in the dim glow of candles that resisted burning out.

She sat up, leaning on her elbows. Each movement was careful, almost ceremonial, as if she feared setting off invisible alarms. She looked around, scanning the room with trained eyes: no one in sight. No standing figures, no restrained breathing nearby.

She let out a sigh—not of relief, but of resignation.

She muttered to herself, as if she needed to hear the truth out loud:

"Even if it's against the rules... it's better to be here."

A cold breeze swept through the room at that moment. And with it, a voice came from the darkness—calm, deep, and unhurried:

"So you disobeyed the Duke... and came on your own. Why?"

Stella froze. Her eyes moved slowly to the half-open window behind her. The curtains danced in the wind, revealing a figure partially hidden in the shadow of the outer eaves.

Strax.

Sitting on the window frame as if he owned the night, his expression unchanged, his amber eyes shining with a dangerous calm.

Stella remained motionless for a second. Then she turned completely, her feet touching the floor with the lightness of a cat. She didn't seem scared—just exhausted from having to keep up appearances.

"Do you always show up like this?" she said, with an arched eyebrow.

"Only when the guests who scare my wives decide to talk to themselves."

Stella stared at him for a long moment, assessing him, as if deciding whether to attack or give in. In the end, she sighed again and lowered her eyes.

"I came because... I needed to see if she was okay. But no one's going to believe me anyway, so fuck it."

"Samira?"

She nodded slowly. "After everything... the stories, the silences, the years. I didn't know who I really was anymore, so I started to reevaluate my life. When I realized it, I was already out there, looking for her."

Strax finally entered, swinging one leg through the window with the agility of someone who knows all the blind spots in the house. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

"And now that you've seen her?"

Stella looked at her hands, as if there were an answer in them that she couldn't yet read.

"Now... I don't know if I can go back."

Strax watched her for a long moment. Then he spoke, without judgment:

"Then maybe it's time to decide who you want to fight for. Him... or her."

Stella bit her lip, conflict dancing behind her golden eyes.

Strax let out a slight sigh, not of exhaustion, but of acceptance. He stretched out right there, his long, calloused body creaking like an old war machine allowing itself a second of rest. His raised arms revealed the marks that time, combat, and difficult choices had carved into his skin. When he relaxed again, his tone was almost casual—almost.

"Well," he said, his voice low but unceremonious, "either way, she's going to kill him soon."

Stella slowly raised her eyes, her face hardening like stone in the sun. The silence that followed was shattered.

"Did she say that?"

"Not in those words. But with her body, with the way she says his name. With the contained rage that no longer fits in her chest. I've seen this kind of stillness before. It's the silence of someone who's just waiting for the right moment to slit the right throat."

Stella stood up completely, her bare feet on the cold stone floor. Her simple nightgown, stained with dust and sweat, floated lightly in the breeze. Her silhouette, though slender, carried the weight of a decade of absence and guilt.

"She won't succeed."

Strax raised an eyebrow, curious.

"Why do you think so?"

"Because he has already surpassed the Emperor stage."