Asmodeus System: Stealing My Bully's Mother

​Pale afternoon light seeped through the gaps in the VIP Room’s thick curtains.

On the long sofa, Kaelia von Ashford slowly opened her eyelids. She blinked, adjusting to the light. Her brain processed her surroundings. She was on the sofa.

The fireplace was dead. The porcelain teacup on the table had gone cold.

Kaelia sat up. Her red-and-gold uniform was a wrinkled mess, a thick blanket covering half her body.

She looked around. Deserted.

"My Master...?" Kaelia called out softly.

Only an echo replied. No Ethan. No Madam Isolde. No Northern Dog, nor the petite healer. The room had been completely abandoned.

Realizing she had been left without a single line of a message, Kaelia bit her lower lip hard. The annoyance of a child left behind crept up, but alongside it, a strange cavity of loneliness gaped in her chest.

"Tch. You bastard Master..." Kaelia cursed softly, squeezing the edge of the blanket.

The girl buried her face into the sofa pillow. Her sense of smell immediately caught the lingering signature scent of Ethan—a mixture of pine, cold metal, and the intoxicating Sin Mana pheromones.

The moment that scent was inhaled, Kaelia’s breathing suddenly turned heavy.

On her lower abdomen, the fire-rose Lust Brand pulsed in response to her master’s trace. A demanding, scorching heat spread throughout her nervous system. Kaelia’s mind was dragged back to the memories of brutal intimacy.

With trembling fingers, Kaelia slipped her own hand beneath her uniform, caressing her lower abdomen right over the tattoo.

The Council President now closed her eyes alone in the empty room. She held back an escaping moan as her fingers moved lower, imagining the possessive touch of Ethan’s hands roving over her. The magical sensation of the curse amplified her touch, making her back arch softly on the sofa.

However, when that one-sided climax subsided and her breathing returned to normal... Kaelia actually felt incredibly empty.

Release without the presence of her Master felt hollow. The curse in her body didn’t merely demand physical satisfaction, but also existential validation from the Demon Lord.

"My Master is wicked..." Kaelia whimpered, staring at the ceiling with teary eyes. "Why didn’t you wake me up...?"

After piecing back the remnants of her pride, Kaelia got up. She walked to the bathroom. Half an hour later, the Fire Queen emerged with a neat ponytail and a wrinkle-free uniform. Her face was scrunched in annoyance, ready to terrorize her council members as an outlet.

Hundreds of miles north of Zenithar’s grandeur...

A black carriage darted through the snowy roads.

Inside the cabin, the atmosphere was incredibly warm, a stark contrast to the outside.

Valera Voss had completely invaded one of the long benches. The knight slept stretched out, her Zweihander leaning between her legs, ready to be drawn at any moment.

On the opposite bench, three people sat side-by-side.

Isolde von Rosenberg sat upright on the right side, gazing out the window. The icy blue eyes behind her gold-rimmed glasses looked dim, laden with burdens.

On the left side, Miya Evarett sat stiffly. Her pointed ears occasionally twitched anxiously, catching the rustle of fabric. Her hands tightly hugged her beloved leather satchel in her lap.

Right between the two women, Ethan Valen sat leaning back calmly. His eyes stared straight ahead, enjoying the silent dynamics of his pawns.

That silence lasted quite a while, until Miya—unable to bear the suffocating atmosphere—gathered the courage to speak.

"Madam Isolde..." Miya called out softly, glancing past Ethan’s shoulder.

Isolde turned her head slowly. Her lips forced a faint smile that failed to conceal her sorrow. "Yes, Miss Miya?"

"Your son... Kurt," Miya said hesitantly. "What is he really like?"

Isolde’s gaze drifted back to the window. The Archmage didn’t respond by describing Kurt’s behavior, but instead pointed the blade of blame at her own neck.

"He is a very stubborn boy," Isolde answered with a soft, hoarse voice. "Ambitious, strong, and always wanting to prove himself. But... he grew up without the proper attention from his mother."

Miya listened with full sympathy. Her healer’s instinct could sense the gaping emotional wound.

"I am not a good mother, Miya," the confession slipped out, shattering Duchess Isolde’s mask. "Since he was little, I drowned myself in political intrigues and academy bureaucracy. My husband managed the territory, I was busy managing power."

Isolde bowed her head. "Kurt was molded like a family project, not nurtured as a child. I hardly ever praised him when he did something to be proud of. I... I only appeared before him when he caused trouble that tarnished the family name. Throughout his entire life, I almost never told him that I loved him."

Miya’s purple eyes immediately welled up with tears.

"But... you are risking everything to save him now, Madam," Miya comforted sincerely. "That is proof that you care about him very much."

Isolde smiled bitterly, heart-wrenching. "It’s too late to realize it when your child’s body is already lying cold."

Amidst the emotional fragility stripping away Isolde’s defenses, Ethan’s predatory instincts immediately kicked in. The Demon Lord never missed an opening.

Soundlessly, Ethan’s left hand slid down. His palm landed smoothly on Isolde’s thigh.

Isolde gasped softly. Yet Ethan didn’t stop. His hand slipped beneath the slit of the silk gown, directly touching the woman’s bare skin. His touch was incredibly light, yet full of calculation, toying with her nerves.

Facing this assault while her emotions were unstable, Isolde’s body stiffened rigidly, then trembled faintly. The Vice Principal desperately turned her face toward the window. She bit her lower lip with all her might, holding back the overwhelming sensation exploding from the Lust Brand on her back.

Isolde’s breathing turned ragged. Her eyes were now wet not just from sorrow, but from a forced arousal destroying her sanity. She nearly let out an involuntary moan.

At the very last second, Ethan leaned his body over and clamped his hand over the woman’s mouth, stifling the humiliating sound so it wouldn’t echo through the cabin.

On the other side, Miya finally realized what was happening next to her.

The Elf girl’s eyes widened to their absolute limits. Her cheeks flushed as red as ripe peaches upon seeing Ethan’s hand slipping beneath the gown of the crying, sorrowful adult woman.

"M-My Master... w-what are you doing..." Miya squeaked, hardly believing the depravity Ethan was committing in such a cramped space.

Ethan turned his head to Miya, carving a faint, lethal smirk.

"Shh," Ethan whispered softly. "You just need to sit quietly and watch, Miya."

Right at that suffocating moment of tension, the body on the opposite bench stirred.

"Hah... I’m hungry," Valera Voss grumbled. The knight opened one eye and rose from her slumber.

Valera stretched her shoulder muscles. Her eyes briefly caught the absurd sight—Ethan gagging Isolde’s mouth as she was tortured by arousal, while Miya was practically on the verge of fainting from sheer embarrassment.

Valera raised an eyebrow. Instead of being shocked, a broad grin was etched onto the executioner’s face.

"Just carry on with your business," Valera said without a care. "Don’t mind me. I just need some food."

With absolute casualness, Valera reached across, opened Miya’s leather satchel, grabbed a piece of dry wheat bread, and chewed it ravenously.

Valera’s hyper-pragmatic presence successfully ruined the intimate atmosphere.

Ethan scoffed softly. He withdrew his hand from beneath Isolde’s gown and released his gag. Isolde instantly slumped against the seat, gasping greedily for air, desperately trying to normalize her heartbeat.

However, Ethan’s domination wasn’t over.

After releasing Isolde, the young man reached for Miya’s petite fingers, which were wringing her white robe. He clasped them gently.

"Your hands are trembling, Miya," Ethan whispered, staring intently into those purple eyes.

Miya nearly cried from a mix of terror and nervousness. The warm sensation from Ethan’s palm paralyzed her. The petite girl was far too submissive to her Lust Brand to even pull her hand away from her master.

Ethan had just proven without a single word that he held absolute control over all the women in this cabin.

Isolde, whose breathing was beginning to steady, hurriedly smoothed the folds of her gown. "F-forgive me... My Master," Isolde whispered, turning her flushed face away.

"There is no need to apologize," Ethan replied as cold as ice, staring straight ahead again as if nothing had happened.

The journey across the north continued for three days and three nights.

The snow fell even thicker. The black carriage darted endlessly past frozen pine forests, crossed canyon bridges, and bypassed remote guard posts.

Until finally, on the fourth day as the gray twilight descended, the carriage wheels slowed.

Beyond the blizzard, a colossal bluish-black stone wall towered, challenging the sky. In the middle of it, a pair of iron gates were shut tight. Majestically carved into its surface was the noble crest of the Ice Rose—the symbol of the northern territory’s power.

The main entrance to Granderer.

The carriage came to a halt. Isolde opened the door and stepped down. Her dark cloak billowed in the storm, not diminishing her majesty in the slightest.

Two guard knights in blue uniforms initially stood on alert with spears. However, upon recognizing the platinum-haired woman, their faces froze. Weapons were lowered, and they bowed deeply.

"M-Madam Isolde!!" exclaimed one of the guards, his voice trembling in the wind. "Forgive us! We received absolutely no letter regarding your arrival today!"

"No need for chatter," Isolde cut in, her voice as cold as a glacier. The Duchess had returned. "Open the gates. Right now."

Without daring to argue, the two guards turned the mechanical levers. Heavy iron chains creaked loudly. The gates slowly opened.

The coachman snapped the reins once more. The black carriage rolled forward slowly, piercing the gates and entering the territory.

Inside the dim cabin, Ethan Valen remained sitting calmly. His brown eyes gazed at the landscape of Granderer sprawling proudly beyond the window glass.

A new stage awaited.

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