Demonic Dragon: Harem System

Mercedes did not ask what Strax meant.

She understood.

The creature that had crossed the ice had not appeared on its own. The desert was too far away. The seal was still not open enough. The projection had reached the North because something had guided the way, something had given direction, echo, or enough name for the shadow to find a crack. And if there was one thing Mercedes hated more than an external threat, it was discovering that someone inside her own kingdom might have allowed that approach.

The little girl was still holding Strax’s fingers.

She trembled less now, but she was not calm. Her blue eyes were red from crying, and the way she remained pressed against Mercedes made it clear that any louder noise could make her shrink back again. Strax noticed that and did not try to take her from the Monarch of Ice’s arms. He only kept his hand there, offering a fixed point, a living anchor that did not depend on magic, seal, or ancient crown.

Frieren approached slowly, carrying three talismans held between her fingers.

"I need to check for a mark."

Mercedes looked at her.

"Will it hurt?"

"No. But she may feel cold or sleepy."

"She will not sleep," Strax said.

Frieren nodded.

"Then I will be quick."

The little girl looked at Strax, still frightened.

"Can I close my eyes?"

Strax was silent for a fraction too short for anyone else to notice. He wanted to say yes. Wanted to say she could rest, that everything was all right, that the nightmare was over. But he could not lie.

"You can blink," he said. "But do not sleep yet."

She nodded, biting her lip.

Frieren touched one talisman to her forehead, another over her heart, and another to her wrist. The green symbols lit up for an instant, then turned blue under the influence of Mercedes’s mana. A thin line of light ran across the little girl’s skin, not as an invasion, but as a careful search. When it reached her chest, where the blue glow had been pulled by the shadow, the talisman cracked.

Mercedes went rigid.

Strax narrowed his eyes.

Frieren did not seem surprised. That was worse.

"There is a hook."

Mercedes spoke low.

"Explain."

"It is not a complete mark. It is a thread caught on the outer layer of her name. Like a fishhook that did not penetrate deeply, but scratched enough to know where to pull."

Strax carefully released the little girl’s hand and stood.

The snow around his feet evaporated.

"Where did it come from?"

Frieren looked toward the castle.

"Nearby."

The entire field changed.

Northern guards tightened their grip on their weapons. Samira stopped cleaning the greatsword. Daniela immediately raised her face. Cassandra, who had been checking on the wounded soldiers, went still. Mercedes said nothing, but the ice beneath her feet grew into an irregular flower, far too sharp to be natural.

"From inside the castle?" Mercedes asked.

Frieren looked toward the eastern tower, the same one from which the window had exploded.

"Yes."

For a few seconds, no one breathed properly.

Then Mercedes handed the little girl to one of her personal guards, a tall woman with gray hair and bluish armor, but kept one hand on her head until she was certain Frieren’s barrier was active.

"Take her to the heart chamber."

Strax looked at Mercedes.

"Heart chamber?"

"The most protected place in the castle. No natural shadows, no windows, no mirrors, and surrounded by ancient ice."

Frieren nodded.

"Good."

Mercedes crouched before the little girl.

"You are going with Ingrid. I will come right after."

The little girl grabbed the fabric of her sleeve.

"Are you going away?"

"No. I am going to clean the filth that entered our house."

Strax looked at her.

The phrase was simple, but it carried something he knew well. The same cold line that separated the mother from the Monarch. The same boundary where affection stopped being a word and became a sentence.

The little girl looked at him.

"Father?"

Strax crouched again, placing himself at her height.

"I am here."

"Do not let him know."

Strax’s hand slowly closed.

"I will not let him."

Ingrid took the little girl inside with four guards and two ice mages. Frieren cast another barrier over the group, and Ouroboros, even pale, fastened an invisible thread around the protection to prevent any immediate tracking attempt.

When the inner door closed, Mercedes turned to Strax.

"What do you want to do?"

"Track the hook."

"Will you destroy my castle?"

"Depends on who placed it."

"Acceptable answer."

Frieren was already walking toward the eastern tower.

"The residue is fresh. Whoever opened the way was not just preparing something old. They were watching at the moment of the attack."

Daniela grimaced.

"So they may still be here."

"Yes."

Samira smiled.

"Finally."

Mercedes looked at the nearby guards.

"Seal the castle. No one enters, no one leaves, no one locks themselves alone, no one uses communication magic without my direct authorization."

A Northern captain knelt.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"If anyone resists, freeze them."

Strax began walking.

Mercedes went beside him.

Samira, Cassandra, and Daniela came behind. Frieren followed the mana traces with a runic lens before her eyes, while Ouroboros walked slowly, her hand touching the wall, as if she were reading vibrations trapped in the ice.

The inside of the castle was cold, silent, and vast. Corridors of bluish stone, thick carpets, pillars covered in ancient symbols, and tall windows sealed by crystals. Even so, now it seemed contaminated. Not visibly. But the presence of sand in the little girl’s room had turned every shadow into a suspect. Every dark corner seemed too deep.

Frieren stopped before a side staircase.

"Here."

Mercedes frowned.

"This wing leads to the old matriarch’s archives."

Strax looked at her.

"Archives connected to the little girl’s original mother?"

"Yes."

The answer was enough.

They climbed.

On the second flight of stairs, the temperature changed. It did not grow warm. It became dry. It was a subtle sensation, but impossible to ignore inside that castle. The ice on the walls lost its shine. The snow caught in the windows began to drip down in fine grains, as if it wanted to become sand before touching the floor.

Samira turned the greatsword.

"We have contact."

The shadows of the blue torches trembled against the direction of the light.

Cassandra raised her hand.

"Stop."

Everyone stopped.

In the corridor above, a voice was murmuring.

It was not loud. It was not clear. But it repeated ancient syllables with a sickly cadence, like someone trying to remember an erased song. With every word, small grains of sand appeared between the stones of the floor and crawled toward the shadows.

Frieren became serious.

"He is returning names."

Strax climbed the last step.

In the archive hall, they found the man.

He was a Northern scribe, at least by his clothes. He knelt in the center of the room, surrounded by ancient scrolls, pieces of yellow glass, and a bowl full of dark sand. His fingers were bleeding, but he continued writing symbols on the floor with his own blood, mixing them with the dust. Around him, thin shadows climbed the shelves like roots.

The man’s face was dry, cracked, and smiling.

His eyes were human.

But deep within them was a golden glow.

Mercedes recognized him.

"Havel."

The scribe slowly raised his head.

"Your Majesty."

His voice was his and not his. There was something behind it, repeating every word with a delay.

"You were responsible for cataloging the matriarch’s archives."

"I was responsible for remembering."

Mercedes went still.

Strax took one step forward.

Havel looked at him and smiled wider.

"White and black dragon."

Samira growled.

"I hate when they know things."

Havel lowered his eyes to the symbols.

"She was hidden beneath ice. The living crown. So small. So blue. So full of ancient cold."

Strax’s aura filled the corridor.

Frieren spoke quickly:

"Do not let him finish sentences about her."

Strax vanished.

It was not teleportation.

It was pure speed.

In one instant, he was at the entrance. In the next, his hand held Havel’s face against the floor, crushing the symbols before the next word could leave. The bowl of sand exploded in a dark cloud, but Mercedes raised a wall of ice around it, trapping every grain in the air.

Havel laughed even with his face against the stone.

"You cannot stop remembrance."

Strax squeezed.

"I can stop you."

The shadows on the shelves attacked.

Samira entered first, swinging the greatsword in a wide arc that did not cut wood, but the very penumbra between the shelves. Daniela leapt over a table and drove two short blades into a shadow trying to crawl out of an open book. Cassandra opened both hands and formed a mana grid over the windows, preventing the dark reflections from fleeing through the glass.

Mercedes walked to the center of the room.

Her ice spread silently and absolutely.

It was not explosive like Strax’s. It was not wild. It was authority. Every inch of the floor, walls, and shelves received a thin layer of blue ice, isolating the sand from the shadows, trapping every contaminated particle in small transparent prisons.

Havel tried to speak again.

Strax slammed his head against the floor once.

"No."

Frieren ran to the scattered scrolls, dodging a shadow that Daniela cut at the last second.

"He copied fragments of ancient names. Not the complete name. Fragments. Enough to draw attention."

Ouroboros stopped behind Havel.

"There are threads in him."

"How many?" Strax asked.

"Many."

"From the king?"

"Not only."

Havel began to tremble.

The smile vanished.

For one second, his eyes returned to normal.

"Your Majesty..." he whispered. "I heard voices in the archives. They said the old matriarch stole a crown. They said that if I returned the names, the North would be free of the cold forever."

Mercedes became cold in a way that made even Samira look at her.

"Who said that?"

Havel cried dry blood.

"I do not remember."

Frieren crouched near him and touched a talisman to the back of his neck.

"Part of his memory was eaten."

Daniela muttered a low curse.

"So he was used."

"Yes," Frieren said. "But he kept writing after realizing."

Havel smiled again, and the golden glow returned.

"Because remembering is sweet."

The shadow behind him opened an eye.

Strax tore Havel from the floor and threw him against the frozen wall with enough force to crack the stone behind the ice. The scribe’s body fell, but the shadow remained trapped where he had been, trying to form a mouth on the floor.

"Name," the mouth whispered.

Mercedes raised her hand.

A spear of blue ice pierced the shadow.

It screamed inside everyone’s mind.

Samira staggered one step, then smiled with clenched teeth.

"That hurt. Do it again."

"Do not encourage it," Cassandra said.

The shadow tried to split into seven lines.

Frieren shouted:

"Seven focuses! Do not let it complete the circle!"

Daniela was already moving. She cut the first line before it touched the shelf. Samira crushed the second with a foot wrapped in mana. Cassandra pinned the third and fourth with luminous needles. Mercedes froze the fifth in the air. Strax caught the last two with his bare hands, White Fire in one, Black Ice in the other, and pulled the lines as if tearing roots from inside the stone.

The room trembled.

From the other side of the bond, something pulled back.

Strax planted his feet on the floor.

The ice in the room cracked.

Mercedes placed herself beside him, resting a hand on the dragon’s wrist.

"Together."

The Monarch’s Ice and Strax’s Black Ice met.

For an instant, the two colds did not mix. One was sovereign, disciplined, ancient by dominion. The other was abyss, hunger, frozen darkness. But both wanted the same thing.

To close.

The shadow lines stopped.

Frieren threw three runic chains over the central point.

"Now!"

Strax and Mercedes pulled.

The shadow came with them.

Not as matter, but as memory torn from a hole. For a fraction of a second, everyone saw images: seven cities beneath a glass sky, crowds marching in circles, crowns of ice buried in towers, a man seated on a faceless throne, asking them to say his name until the tongue of the world bled.

Then Strax burned it all.

White Fire ran through the torn lines, crossed the shadow, and reached the fragment of connection before the entity in the desert could reclaim it. The scream that came this time was not from the shadow. It came from far away. Very far away. Deep enough to make the mountain tremble.

Havel collapsed, unconscious.

The sand in the hall turned to pale glass.

The shadows returned to normal.

For a few seconds, no one spoke.

Frieren was the first to break the silence.

"We got a trace."

Strax looked at her.

"To who opened it?"

Frieren pointed to the scrolls burned only around the edges.

"To who taught Havel."

Mercedes walked to the fallen scribe and looked at him without mercy, but also without any hurry to kill him.

"Is he alive?"

"For now," Frieren said.

"Good."

Strax looked at her.

Mercedes smiled.

It was a small smile.

Icy.

"He will wake. And he will tell us everything that still remains inside his head."

Ouroboros, still pale, touched one of the yellow glasses on the floor.

"We do not need to wait for everything."

Strax turned to her.

"What did you see?"

Ouroboros closed her fingers around the fragment.

"A thread going west."

Daniela frowned.

"West? But the desert is southeast."

"The one who opened it is not in the desert," Ouroboros said.

Samira rested the greatsword on her shoulder.

"Then where?"

Ouroboros raised her eyes to Strax.

"In the Heavenly Capital."

The room went still.

Mercedes let out a short laugh, without any humor.

"Of course."

Strax looked at the pale glass scattered across the floor and then toward the horizon he could not see from there.

The Heavenly Emperor might not want trouble.

But someone in the capital did.

Strax took a deep breath.

This time, when he smiled, there was no hurry.

Only decision.

"Then we will visit the Capital."