Asmodeus System: Stealing My Bully's Mother

​"We can’t possibly carry both of them past the Stadtier border post," Kaelia murmured, breaking the silence. However, a second later, a flash of realization crossed her eyes. "Wait. Madam Isolde’s black carriage."

​Valera raised an eyebrow. "What about it?"

​"That carriage is specifically designed for the dark dealings of the academy’s top brass," Kaelia explained with a faint smirk. "There is a secret compartment beneath the passenger seats. It’s spacious, warm, and... sealed with soundproof and aura-blocking magic."

​Valera scoffed softly. A rare, subtle smile was carved onto her lips. A soundless acknowledgment of the Fire Queen’s intellect. Their dynamic remained cold and full of rivalry, but tonight, they had proven themselves to be a lethal team.

​"Let me call that old geezer’s coachman over here," Valera said, stepping toward the stairs. "Make sure those rats don’t try anything."

​After Valera left, the room was once again choked by silence.

​Rolf, who had been trembling this whole time, tried to seize the moment. The gaunt youth squirmed, staring at Kaelia with a repulsive, pleading gaze.

​"L-Lady Ashford... please..." Rolf wailed shakily. "We are both nobles! My father is a Count! Please let me go, I can pay you—"

​Kaelia merely raised her index finger.

​A spark of Crimson Sin Fire ignited exactly one inch from Rolf’s nose, radiating a corrupt heat.

​"Speak one more word, Haiteler," Kaelia whispered as cold as ice, "and I will burn your tongue to ashes."

​Rolf instantly clamped his mouth shut. He swallowed hard.

​Before long, the creak of carriage wheels tore through the blizzard outside the safe house.

​Valera returned inside. Wasting no time, they dragged Rolf and The Serpent out. The waiting old coachman immediately opened the secret compartment at the bottom.

​Rolf was rebound in an agonizingly bent position, then shoved inside. The still-unconscious Serpent was carelessly tossed on top of him. The compartment door was locked tight, sealing away their existence.

​Kaelia and Valera climbed into the warm main cabin. The coachman whipped the horses, and the black carriage darted off, piercing through the storm.

​The journey back felt much quieter. Kaelia leaned her back against the seat, pulling her hood up. The exhaustion from casting spells all night finally caught up to her. She closed her eyes, falling asleep from absolute fatigue.

​Across from her, Valera didn’t sleep at all. The dark-skinned knight sat upright. Her hand rested ready on her sword hilt, her eyes piercing the dark night with the vigilance of a tireless guard.

​Time crept by slowly. A tinge of grayish-blue light, signaling the break of dawn, began to bloom. The walls of Stadtier had long vanished, replaced by the ivory towers of Zenithar Academy piercing the morning fog.

​At the snow-covered side gate of the academy, Isolde von Rosenberg stood waiting.

​The Vice Principal looked both elegant and intimidating. Wrapped in a thick dark fur coat, her icy blue eyes stared straight at the black carriage that had just pulled over.

​Kaelia stepped down first, followed by Valera.

​Isolde greeted Kaelia with a flat nod, but tension was clearly drawn across her jawline. "What is the result, Lady Ashford?"

​"We brought the culprits back alive, Madam," Kaelia reported concisely.

​The coachman opened the secret compartment. Valera yanked The Serpent—who was beginning to groan back to consciousness—and dropped him onto the snowy ground. Kaelia hauled Rolf out, who instantly fell to his knees, trembling violently.

​Isolde glared at the two prisoners with a gaze as cold as a northern glacier. "Bring them to the North Tower. Now."

​They walked down the academy’s side corridors. A few students out for a morning run crossed paths with the strange group. Upon seeing who was approaching, the students immediately scrambled to press themselves against the walls.

​Horrified whispers buzzed.

​"Good gods... that’s the Rosenberg family’s Northern Dog..."

​"Who is she dragging? If the Northern Dog is involved, this must be some shady Rosenberg business..."

​Valera scoffed softly, completely uncaring about her terrifying reputation. She continued dragging The Serpent’s body up the stairs toward the Demon Lord’s lair.

​Arriving in front of the VIP Room, Kaelia knocked on the wooden door three times.

​The door opened slowly. Miya Evarett stood there in her white nightgown. The Elf girl’s purple eyes widened, her petite body stiffening at the sight of two battered men being dragged inside.

​Kaelia stepped inside first. Valera followed, tossing The Serpent’s body onto the carpet. Isolde was the last, shoving Rolf’s back until the youth stumbled into the center of the room, before shutting the door tightly.

​At the far end of the room, Ethan Valen sat leaning casually against his luxurious leather sofa.

​The young man held a porcelain teacup wafting thin steam. His shirt was left unbuttoned at the top two clasps, showing off the Horned Crown tattoo peeking from his left chest. His eyes stared at the two miserable creatures on the carpet.

​"We brought the culprits to you, My Master," Kaelia reported, bowing her head.

​Rolf, sprawled on the carpet, slowly lifted his face. He saw a pair of black leather dress shoes in front of him.

​"Rolf Haiteler," Ethan called out softly. His baritone didn’t rise, yet it was saturated with a condescending tone that trampled upon all pride.

​Hearing his name spoken by the man whose head he had once stepped on in the dorm hallway, Rolf’s entire body trembled insanely. His teeth chattered.

​Ethan sipped his tea slowly, then shifted his gaze to Kaelia and Valera. "The two of you have worked very hard all night. Rest. I grant you permission to sleep now."

​"Thank you, My Master," Kaelia said. The Fire Queen immediately dropped her noble etiquette. She lay down on the long sofa on the left side of the room, closed her eyes, and fell asleep in a matter of seconds.

​On the other side, Valera simply walked to the fireplace, laid her armored body onto the carpet like a guard wolf, and began to snore softly.

​Miya, anxious and unsure of what to do, stepped hesitantly and sat on a small chair near the tea table, nervously wringing the hem of her robe.

​Now, only Ethan, Isolde, and the two prisoners awaiting execution remained.

​Isolde von Rosenberg stepped forward. The woman in the navy-blue gown glared at The Serpent and Rolf with the absolute fury she had kept buried all night. The emotion of a desperate mother seeing her son lying on death’s door finally exploded.

​The temperature in the VIP Room plummeted drastically in the blink of an eye. Rolf’s breath instantly turned into white steam. A thin layer of ice crept out from beneath Isolde’s heels, freezing the plush carpet around her.

​"You..." Isolde hissed. Her voice vibrated with the deadly echo of magic. "You dared to touch my son."

​Isolde raised one hand. Icy blue light swirled ferociously in her palm, condensing to form ice spears the size of a grown man’s arm hovering in the air, aiming straight for the hearts of the two men.

​Seeing the angel of death already spreading her wings, Rolf screamed hysterically. Meanwhile, The Serpent, despite trying to feign calmness, couldn’t hide the cold sweat pouring down his temples.

​Just as Isolde was about to swing her hand to end their lives—

​Ethan raised his left index finger. He touched the Horned Crown tattoo on his own chest.

​Without a single incantation, a dense and brutal flow of Sin Mana shot through the invisible resonance. Slamming directly into the black rose root Lust Brand etched across Isolde’s entire back.

​"Ah...!"

​Isolde jolted backward. An incredibly humiliating little gasp escaped her red lips.

​The woman’s body instantly went limp like a puppet whose strings had been cut. The hovering ice spears shattered into harmless dust. The room’s temperature returned to normal immediately.

​Before Isolde’s body could hit the floor, Ethan had already stood up from the sofa. With one smooth motion, the young man caught Isolde, letting the Archmage lean limply and helplessly against his chest.

​Ethan’s right hand caressed Isolde’s slender neck with an intoxicating rhythm.

​"Calm down, Isolde," Ethan whispered. His voice was gentle yet radiated absolute dominance, as if taming a hissing pet cat. "Death is far too quick and easy for them."

​Isolde could only lean submissively. Her breath came in heavy gasps, fighting off the cursed wave of arousal that had just paralyzed her nervous system.

​On the carpet, Rolf Haiteler froze. His eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

​The youth couldn’t comprehend the absurd spectacle that had just occurred right in front of his face. His tiny brain struggled to process this insane reality.

​Rolf looked around the room, his body trembling.

​On the long sofa, Kaelia von Ashford—the Student Council President, the heir to the Southern Faction feared by the entire academy—slept soundly with a peaceful face like a maid exhausted after a hard day’s work.

​In front of the fireplace, Valera Voss—the Northern Dog, the Rosenberg Family’s cold-blooded killing machine—slept on the carpet like a guard dog waiting for its master.

​In the corner of the room, a female Elf sat curled up obediently, staring at the man with pure submission.

​And the one that shattered his sanity the most... Isolde von Rosenberg. The Vice Principal. The wife of Duke Alaric feared by the entire academy... was now leaning limply, panting softly against the chest of a lowly F-Caste student, letting her neck be caressed like a submissive concubine.

​Every woman in this room. People with social statuses and power that were impossible to touch... all of them belonged to Ethan Valen. Nothing more than mere servants to the King.

​Rolf’s mind spun wildly. His ego was crushed to pieces.

​In the past, he had laughed along when Kurt stepped on this young man’s head in the hallway. In the past, he thought Ethan was just lowly noble trash with no future. And now, he knelt helplessly beneath the feet of the young man holding the leashes of the monsters of this academy.

​Amidst the despair darkening his vision, a final question echoed desperately inside Rolf Haiteler’s head.

​By the gods... Who in the world is this Ethan Valen?

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