Demonic Dragon: Harem System Chapter 657: Go back home and send your owner to come person

Chapter 657: Go back ho and send your owner to co personally.

The tattooed man didn’t hesitate. The gleam in his eyes hardened, a pent-up fury that exploded like a snapping rope. With a sudden movent, as if tearing his own courage from his chest, he tried to free himself—or perhaps he intended to kill Strax before the dragon could complete his provocation.

Strax felt the warrior’s hand, now headless beneath, grip his wrist. For an instant, it was rely the pressure of a human claw; for another, a test—a raw, clumsy, instinctive effort. The man pushed with his shoulders, the strength concentrated in his entire body, and in a savage impulse, he lifted Strax as if he were nothing more than a worthless burden.

The man’s body exploded into motion: a powerful twist, his legs throwing the tiger’s tallic mass, and a sudden stride threw Strax into the air. There was technique there, more than he had let on—this was not just a brute, he was a field soldier who knew how to harness mass and leverage.

Strax was thrown. It cut through the air like a golden shadow, an elegant arc traced against the night sky. People scread; tigers widened their eyes; weapons clanged to the ground. The impact with the wall of a half-burned building echoed in splinters—wood cracking, stone collapsing—and Strax rolled across the ground, a figure falling amidst dust and dim light.

But when the dust lifted and the shards stopped dancing, he was standing.

Nothing dramatic: no staggering, no labored breathing. His feet touched the ground with the calm of soone stepping onto a familiar bridge. His black kimono no longer trembled, his black hair with reddish tips molded to his face as if nothing had happened. A short smile curved his lips—more curious than hurt; more amused than surprised.

Those watching swallowed hard. The tattooed warrior, who had been waiting for the outco, felt his blood run cold. He had been pushed enough to show his own strength; And Strax, who had landed on his feet, smiled as if receiving a complint.

“Huh,” Strax murmured, his voice low and almost musical. “That was rude.”

He wiped his fists on his clothes, unhurriedly. The movent was so calm it felt like an insult. Then he took a step forward. The entire square was watching them—tigers, warriors, civilians peering through cracks, the mother with the axe—and for a mont, everything narrowed to two points: the tattooed people with the spear, and the golden man who hadn’t moved out of arrogance.

The warrior caught his breath and lunged again, but Strax no longer showed surprise. His golden eyes narrowed, and with a fluid gesture, he disard the attack: a feint, a hip movent, and the spear grazed his clothes as he moved. Then, like picking up a leaf, Strax grabbed the shaft with both hands and, with a lever, twisted his opponent’s entire body. The tattooed man roared, and the spear snapped like a dry twig.

Screams began to rise in the square—not of panic, exactly, but of recognition of what it ant to face Strax: it was useless to oppose without so retaliation. The muscular man fell to his knees, his tattoos trembling, fury turning to conscious pain. His n hesitated; many retreated, others were better off losing their courage than their blood.

Strax looked at the man with curious indulgence. “I’ll teach you sothing simple,” he said, his voice a thread. “Do not bow to anyone who is not worthy. And when you bow to a throne, make sure the throne pays well.”

A soldier nearby, still ard, tried to advance. It was enough for Strax to raise a hand. The silent order broke like thunder, and for an instant, a subcutaneous wave of energy coursed through the space: the banners trembled, sparks leaped from the remaining embers, and a sense of absolute control pinned the bodies in place. Strax’s raised hand did not need to reach upward; the re presence of his will was enough.

The leader, panting, stared with wide eyes. He had been humiliated, defeated, and worse: he had proven there was sothing in the city that couldn’t be bought with orders. His face hardened. Setting the right price would no longer solve the problem. The alternative was retreat—and departure.

But the leader’s physical defeat hadn’t erased the entire problem: n were still dead, the beasts were crowded together, and the throne’s supply routes still throbbed in the air like a persistent threat. Strax knew a push wouldn’t be enough. He needed an organized retreat and a ssage.

He allowed the first tension to subside and slowly looked around. Kaelen, the blacksmith, stood nearby—his hands dirty but alert; the woman with the axe clutched her daughter, her brows furrowed. Hadrian and a few other civilians appeared, faces demanding answers. Strax let a look of amusent and promise slip from the corners of his lips.

“Hey…” he said, his voice carrying through the space like a current of hot air. “How about telling your monarch… to co here and bow before I personally decimate the entire existence of your… little clan? Well, never mind, you’re a bunch of shit. Co all at once. I’ll kill every one of you who sets foot here again trying to impose anything.”

The square shook with the power of the statent. The leader took a deep, cowed breath. He backed away, muttered sothing that might have been an apology, and then signaled to his n. The tigers, hesitant, followed their masters. It was a tense retreat, full of dragging and looks promising revenge, but it was withdrawn. The mass roared and dissolved into the shadows of the road they had co.

The woman with the axe watched, finally careless, a hint of respect appearing at the corner of her mouth.

“Ah… I’m tired, I wanted a drink. Is there a bar open?” Strax smiled, slowly turning to the mother. “How about buying a drink? I’m interested in knowing more about… Your ex-husband? Well, that’s a little strange to say. Actually, I’m more interested in your story than your husband’s, but since we’re here, how about you tell ? You owe one for your head.” Strax smiled after speaking so quickly.