Asmodeus System: Stealing My Bully's Mother

The moment froze alongside the bone-chilling gust of the winter wind.

"Young Master... you’re finally home."

Yuna’s hoarse voice shattered the suffocating silence that had gripped the front yard. The eighteen-year-old girl hurriedly wiped her tears with the back of her hand, which was flushed red from the freezing cold. Her sleeves were carelessly rolled up.

Ignoring the wooden basket and dirty rags scattered across the snow, Yuna jogged toward the iron gate. Her trembling hands yanked at the rusted latch.

Screeeech!

The deafening wail of the old iron pierced the air, paving the way for the long-lost heir.

"F-forgive me, Young Master," Yuna stammered, bowing deeply. She choked back a sob. "We honestly had no idea you were returning today. I-I didn’t prepare any sort of welcome..."

Yuna wiped away the last of her tears and lifted her gaze. Her eyes fell upon the thick-cloaked figure standing just a step behind Ethan.

"Y-Young Master... she is..." Yuna’s voice wavered, barely a whisper.

Ethan turned his head slightly, not breaking his stride as he stepped through the gate. "Miya. She’s the Healer treating Elara."

Yuna’s light brown eyes widened in shock. "An Elf..."

Standing behind Ethan, Miya hurriedly bowed, looking completely awkward. "I-I’m Miya. Please forgive my sudden intrusion."

Yuna stared at the Elf girl for a few seconds before returning a respectful bow, though her face remained bewildered. "That’s not it, My Lady. I apologize... I was just caught off guard."

Ethan Valen remained silent. His dark brown eyes calmly swept across the yard as he held Elara’s fragile body tightly against his chest.

The estate was far from habitable. Dirty snow blanketed overgrown weeds. The cobblestone path was slick with a thick crust of ice. In the corner, a rusted zinc bucket lay haphazardly near a pile of chopped firewood beneath a dilapidated awning. Those logs were the only sign that life still existed here.

Miya stepped inside right behind Ethan. The petite Healer pulled her cloak tighter, hugging her leather medical bag close, and adjusted the blanket draped over her arm. Her light purple eyes cast a sympathetic look at Yuna before returning to Ethan’s broad back.

"There’s no need for a welcome," Ethan finally replied.

His voice was as cold as the air around them, yet devoid of the cruelty he typically displayed back at Zenithar. The young man kept walking toward the main door, its wood faded and eaten by time.

The moment he pushed open the heavy oak door... the scent of the past instantly ambushed him.

The smell of dry ancient wood, leftover hearth ash, stale candle wax, and thick dust blended into one. The atmosphere was incredibly dim, as if the sun itself was too lazy to peek through the window cracks.

Yuna rushed inside, taking the lead. Her hands still trembled as she lit a few candles with magical matches. The yellowish glow slowly banished the shadows, revealing old furniture draped in white cloth. She then pushed a window open just a crack, letting the stuffy air escape.

Ethan ignored the living room. His strides took him straight down the short left corridor, coming to a halt in front of a wooden door with peeling paint.

Elara’s room.

Pushing it open, the room felt like a time capsule. An old wooden bed with faded gray sheets reeking of camphor. Yellowing white curtains. An empty ceramic vase on the nightstand, and a worn-out rag doll with loose stitches resting near the pillow.

With the extreme care of handling the world’s most fragile porcelain, Ethan laid Elara down.

Miya hurried forward. She set her medical bag down, then pulled the blankets up to the blind girl’s neck. Two of the Elf’s tiny fingers pressed against Elara’s wrist, checking her pulse.

Beneath the heavy blankets, Elara stirred softly. Her pale lips curved into a faint smile.

"Hmm... this smell... home..." she murmured peacefully, before her breathing leveled out into a steady rhythm.

At the doorway, Yuna stood frozen. Seeing her Young Master return safely, and her sickly Little Miss resting comfortably in her own bed... Yuna looked down. She bit her lower lip hard, fighting desperately to hold back her sobs so as not to shatter the room’s tranquility.

The minor commotion in the yard had apparently drawn out the other residents.

As Ethan stepped out, two figures hurriedly emerged from the end of the hallway leading to the kitchen.

Up front was Berta. A middle-aged woman wearing a dull apron torn at the edges, her greying brown hair tied up in a messy bun. Behind her was Asrof—a scrawny old man who still maintained a rigid military posture, carrying a basket of firewood. Back in the day, Asrof was the loyal aide to the late Baron Valen.

"Heavens... Young Master Ethan?!" Berta gasped violently.

Her vegetable basket nearly slipped from her grasp. She covered her mouth with both of her calloused hands, her eyes wide with pure disbelief.

"Keep your voice down, Berta. You’ll startle the Young Master," Asrof scolded in a low, raspy tone. He tried to maintain his composure, but the pooling tears in his eyes utterly betrayed him.

Ethan merely gave a brief nod. An acknowledgment that was more than enough to completely shatter the two loyal servants’ emotional defenses.

Yuna, having regained her composure, stepped forward. She gestured toward the Elf girl standing behind Ethan. "Aunt Berta, Uncle Asrof... let me introduce you, this is Lady Miya. She is a Healer."

Berta and Asrof were stunned. Seeing a pureblood Elf with blonde hair and light purple eyes in their home was indeed shocking, but overwhelming gratitude quickly swallowed that surprise whole.

"Oh, the gods bless you, Lady Healer." Berta bowed deeply, her tears finally spilling over. "Thank you... thank you for bringing our Little Miss home. We truly owe you our lives."

Asrof set his basket down and joined her in a respectful bow. Stiff, but incredibly sincere.

Miya jerked backward. Her pale face instantly flushed bright red. She wasn’t used to receiving genuine respect from humans.

"A-ah, no... please don’t do that," Miya stammered, returning an awkward bow. Her pointed ears twitched nervously. "I-I was just doing my job."

Despite the awkwardness, Miya felt an alien warmth slipping into her chest. In this gloomy old house, for the very first time, she felt... accepted.

Once the emotional atmosphere settled, Berta clapped her hands together, shifting back into her housekeeper mode.

"You all must have had an incredibly long journey," Berta said with a maternal gaze. "Lady Miya, the bathhouse in the back is still functional. We just fired up the hot water pipes. Please, go freshen up first while I prepare a warm meal."

Miya swallowed hard. The offer was incredibly tempting after days without a proper bath. However, her light purple eyes darted hesitantly toward Ethan, silently pleading for permission.

Ethan met her gaze with a flat expression. "Go. I’ll join you in a bit."

Just two short sentences. Yet, their impact was absolutely lethal to a certain someone in the room.

Yuna felt as if her heart was being crushed. She bowed her head deeply, hurriedly keeping herself busy wiping a dusty table in the corner so no one would see her face turn deathly pale.

Miya nodded obediently, then followed Berta to the back.

The bathhouse was extremely simple. Its river-stone walls radiated a freezing chill. However, the large wooden tub in the center of the room billowed with warm steam. A small candle resting on the stone ledge provided dim lighting, reflecting off the foggy, weathered mirror.

Miya locked the wooden door. With hands trembling slightly from exhaustion, she stripped off her dirty cloak and undergarments. Her pale skin—adorned with the blood-red rose of the Lust Brand on her left thigh—was momentarily exposed to the cold air before she submerged herself in the warm water.

A dozen minutes passed. Miya leaned her head against the edge of the tub and closed her eyes, letting the steam loosen her tense muscles.

Click.

The sound of the lock turning from the outside was nearly drowned out by the dripping water.

Miya’s eyes shot wide open. The wooden door swung open. Ethan stepped inside, shutting it soundlessly behind him.

"M-Master!" Miya gasped.

She hurriedly crossed her arms over her chest, sinking deeper into the water. Her heart hammered like crazy.

Ethan’s boots made absolutely no sound against the wet floor. He stopped beside the tub, staring down at Miya with a dominant, absolute dark brown gaze. A stark contrast to the gentle older brother figure from just moments ago.

"You look nervous, Miya," Ethan whispered. His deep baritone echoed against the narrow stone walls.

He knelt down. His large, warm hand reached out, gently touching Miya’s wet shoulder. An electric shock instantly surged through the Healer’s Mana Circuits. The touch trailed downward, effortlessly brushing aside Miya’s tiny hands as she tried to cover herself.

"Don’t hide," Ethan commanded in a low rumble. "In this house, just like in the academy... you belong to me."

Miya swallowed hard. A wave of heat scorched her left thigh. The Lust Brand reacted wildly, responding to its master’s Sin Mana.

"B-but there are people outside, Master," Miya whispered breathlessly. Her ears flushed crimson. "They... they might hear us."

"Let them."

Ethan’s hand slipped to the back of Miya’s neck, pulling her face closer. Their lips met in a demanding, deep, and completely dominating kiss.

Miya’s defenses crumbled entirely. Her back arched. Both hands that had been resisting moments ago now subconsciously gripped the sleeves of Ethan’s black shirt in sheer desperation. She let out a soft whimper between kisses—a chaotic blend of shame, the terror of being caught, and absolute submission.

Meanwhile... right behind that thin wooden door.

Yuna stood completely frozen. The stack of clean clothes in her hands suddenly felt incredibly heavy.

Her footsteps halted. Her ears caught the sounds that were currently shattering her heart from the inside out: the rough splashing of water, hoarse, lust-filled whispers, and the muffled gasps of a woman being utterly conquered.

Yuna’s hands gripped the clothes so tightly her knuckles turned stark white.

She wasn’t angry. She didn’t have the right to be angry. She was just a lowly servant, while the man in there was her master. A suffocating bitterness clogged her throat.

Tears silently streamed down her cheeks once again. Yuna placed the clean clothes on an old chair right next to the door. She turned around, walking back down the dark hallway with a silently crushed heart.

The night deepened by the time they gathered in the dining room, illuminated solely by two leftover candles.

The wooden table felt far too large. Upon it sat nothing but bowls of thin potato soup and a few slices of rock-hard wheat bread.

"P-please forgive our inadequacy, Young Master," Berta said, riddled with guilt. "The winter has been incredibly harsh this year, the fields yielded absolutely nothing. We didn’t have time to go to the market to prepare for your arrival."

Ethan, now dressed in casual clothes, sat at the head of the table. He picked up his wooden spoon, staring at the meager soup without a single trace of disgust.

"It’s fine. We make do with what we have," Ethan replied shortly.

That simple sentence was enough to make Berta and Asrof heave a massive sigh of relief.

Yuna approached, pouring hot tea with hands that still trembled slightly. Her light brown eyes were a bit puffy, and she desperately avoided making eye contact with anyone.

Across the table, Miya watched the servant girl in silence. As a fellow woman, Miya could clearly sense the thick aura of jealousy and sorrow. Thousands of questions regarding Ethan and Yuna swirled in her mind, but she chose to look down and eat her soup.

Dinner passed in an awkward silence, accompanied only by the clinking of wooden spoons and the howling wind outside the window.

After the meal, Asrof escorted Ethan to the right wing of the house.

"We haven’t touched this room since you left, Young Master. It’s exactly as the late Baron left it," Asrof reported respectfully as he pushed open the heavy oak double doors.

The study was dark and stuffy. The scent of decaying paper and dried ink immediately stung the nose. Towering bookshelves were crammed with dusty literature. In the center, a massive mahogany desk stood firm, cluttered with yellowing reports and dried-out quill pens.

"You’re dismissed, Asrof," Ethan ordered without looking back.

"Yes, My Lord."

The door clicked shut. Ethan was left entirely alone in the dark, accompanied only by the moonlight spilling through the window.

He walked around the large desk and dropped himself into his father’s tall leather chair. Sitting there didn’t give him any warm nostalgia, but rather a freezing emptiness.

Silence reigned over the room.

"Tch. A truly pathetic throne for a ruler."

The raspy, heavy voice shattered the silence. It didn’t just echo in Ethan’s head, but seemingly manifested in the darkest corners of the room. The Asmodeus System.

Ethan leaned his head back, staring at the cracked ceiling. "How exactly does one become a true Demon King?" he asked seriously, almost like a mutter.

Asmodeus chuckled. The laugh vibrated through the air. "An excellent question. Have you finally realized your limits, hm? This world is vastly wider, older, and far more terrifying than the comprehension of a human’s tiny brain. Out of all the existing races... humans are the weakest. The most fleeting."

Those words reminded Ethan of his fight against the Serpent Bane in the forest. The monster’s tail swipe had wounded him. For the very first time, Ethan realized there was a wall of power he simply couldn’t bypass using mere manipulation.

"My true power does not come from training muscles or reading dusty grimoires," Asmodeus whispered, his tone shifting into a sweet, lethal temptation. "That power stems from Sin. From rotting desires, lust that burns away sanity, and the subjugation of strong souls. The more you dominate, the faster Lust Points will flood into this system’s Shop."

Ethan’s dark brown eyes narrowed.

"Purchase power born from Sin, Ethan. Buy relics from the Abyss. Trade the lustful moans of your noble whores for absolute power that would force even dragons to their knees. That is the path of the King."

Sitting upon his father’s leather chair, a thin smile carved its way onto Ethan’s face. His path was now crystal clear. He didn’t just have to manipulate. He had to dominate.

However, before his grand plans could fully hatch, a shrill scream sliced through the night.

"MONSTERS!! HELP! MONSTERS ARE COMING!!"

The hysterical screams coming from the village were blood-curdling. The study door was pounded aggressively before bursting open.

Asrof stood there. The old man was panting heavily, his face completely drained of color.

"Y-Young Master!" Asrof reported, entirely losing his military composure. "Demons... a horde of demons from the forest breached the village! They destroyed two houses and dragged the villagers out to the fields!"

Ethan stood up.

His dark brown eyes shifted instantly. There was no panic or shock. Only the cold, lethal gaze of a freshly awakened predator.

In Ethan’s mind, Asmodeus laughed cruelly. "Fufufu... it seems you won’t have to go looking for the first test of your Kingly capacity. They came knocking right on your front door."

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