Demonic Dragon: Harem System Chapter 761: An agreement

Chapter 761: An agreent

Strax resud walking for a few steps, but then stopped abruptly.

It wasn’t abrupt—it was deliberate, like soone who reaches an internal conclusion and decides to accept it.

He turned to Xenovia and Kryssia.

“Go back,” he said simply.

Xenovia raised an eyebrow. “Go back… how far?”

“To the rendezvous point,” Strax replied. “Tell Monica, Kali, and Agnes not to worry too much about it.” A brief pause. “Too much doesn’t an ignore. Just don’t turn it into panic.”

Kryssia narrowed her eyes. “And you?”

Strax looked through the trees, toward the clearing that was no longer visible, but whose presence still seed… to echo.

“I’ll stay.”

The silence that followed was short, but heavy.

Xenovia crossed her arms. “Stay… for what, exactly?”

Strax answered without looking away: “To prevent this from turning into sothing else while no one is paying attention.”

Kryssia took a deep breath. “You’re talking about the nest.”

“What it represents,” Strax corrected. “The nest is just the interface.”

Xenovia gave a half-smile that wasn’t amused. “What are you going to do? Watch it for days?”

“No.” He finally looked at them. “I’m going to talk.”

Kryssia blinked once. “With whom?”

Strax made a vague gesture with his hand, pointing up and down at the sa ti, as if the answer were layered.

“With the disgusting thing that thinks it can continue to exist without context.”

Xenovia let out a low sigh. “Sure. Talk.”

She stared at him for a mont, assessing whether this was recklessness, arrogance, or sothing much worse—and then shook her head.

“You always do this,” she murmured.

“It works more often than it should,” he replied.

Kryssia adjusted her posture, already accepting the decision. “Do you want us to call for backup?”

“Yes.” Strax nodded. “Have Frieren co here.”

Xenovia frowned imdiately. “Frieren?”

“Her.”

“This doesn’t seem—”

“—optional,” Strax finished calmly. “I’ll need soone who recognizes old patterns without trying to dominate them, seal them, or reflexively explode them.”

Kryssia tilted her head. “So you really intend to interact with this.”

“I intend to establish boundaries,” he replied. “Before another generation tries to fill them with blood.”

Xenovia was silent for a few seconds, then nodded slowly. “All right.”

She turned to Kryssia. “Let’s go.”

Kryssia gave Strax one last look. “Don’t do anything… stupid.”

He smiled slightly. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

The two walked away along the trail, their steps soon swallowed by the resud rhythm of the forest.

Strax remained still for another mont.

Then he turned back toward the clearing.

The air there seed… attentive. “Alright,” he murmured to no one—and to sothing. “Let’s establish so rules.”

Strax returned alone.

The forest didn’t try to stop him.

The roots didn’t move, the branches didn’t close, and the air didn’t beco heavy again. It was as if the place accepted—reluctantly, but consciously—that that specific presence still needed to finish sothing.

He descended through the opening under the ancient tree with the sa tranquility as before. The outside light faded into the distance, replaced by the weak, uneven glow of fallen torches, so still smoldering, others reduced to useless embers.

The cave was silent.

Not the tense silence of an interrupted ritual, but a post-death silence. Heavy. Saturated. The kind of stillness that only exists when sothing important has been ripped from the wrong place.

Bodies were still scattered across the floor.

So cultists had died quickly. Others… not so much. The blood was already beginning to darken, mixing with the earth, forming irregular stains that clung to Strax’s boots as he walked. He didn’t avoid them. He never did.

In the center of the ancient circle, the core remained.

Dark. Opaque. Pulsating.

Not forcefully.

Insistently.

THUMP.

THUMP.

THUMP.

Strax stopped a few paces away and crossed his arms, observing as one might assess a faulty part of an ancient chanism.

“Still awake,” he murmured. “Good. I’d hate to co back here for nothing.”

The core pulsed slightly faster.

It wasn’t aggression.

It was recognition.

Strax tilted his head, curious.

“Let’s get straight to the point,” he said, his voice echoing low through the empty cavern. “Do you have so kind of evil plan I need to know about?”

Silence for a brief mont.

Then the core pulsed.

Once.

Then again.

Irregular. Disorganized. Almost… defensive.

Strax let out a short, genuine laugh that broke the tension like a crack in glass.

“Ah. I understand.”

He took a few more steps forward and crouched down, bringing himself to the core’s level, resting one elbow on his knee.

“You don’t have any plan, do you?”

The core responded with a series of confused pulses, almost stumbling over its own rhythm.

Strax shook his head, amused.

“Of course not.” He smiled. “You’re just a child.”

The pulse slowed.

Not out of submission.

Out of sothing closer to… frustration.

“Don’t be offended,” he continued, in an almost gentle tone. “A child in the structural sense. You’re still learning to exist. To react. To differentiate stimulus from intention.”

He reached out, not touching the core, but getting close enough to feel the minimal vibration in the air.

“Pain you understand. Hunger you understand. Attention… you’re beginning to understand now.”

The core pulsed once, long, heavy.

“Yes.” Strax nodded. “Attention.”

He remained silent for a few seconds, listening to the irregular rhythm, letting the thing adjust to his presence.

“Now,” he said finally, “that group. Did they have a plan?”

The core responded almost imdiately.

A strong pulse.

Then another.

Firr. More decisive.

Strax frowned slightly.

“So they did.”

He stood slowly and began to walk around the erased circle, his eyes analyzing the symbols scratched on the ground, now distorted, incomplete.

“Let guess,” he murmured. “Summoning.”

The core pulsed.

“Of course.”

He paused, thoughtful.

“And not a simple summoning. Nothing like ‘bring us power’ or ‘bless our harvests.'” Strax took a deep breath. “Sothing bigger. Sothing that doesn’t fit in a human body.”

The core pulsed again.

This ti… in agreent.

Strax closed his eyes for a mont.

“So they wanted to use you as a vessel.”

The pulse intensified.

Not frantic.

Right.

“An improvised receptacle,” he continued, opening his eyes. “An energetic mold. A mass adaptable enough to be occupied by sothing that shouldn’t cross this plane… but hungry enough to accept it.”

He let out a slow sigh.

“Presumptuous to the end.”

The core pulsed, almost like an angry echo.

“No, no,” Strax corrected. “I’m not talking about you. You did exactly what you knew how to do. React. Grow. Respond to stimuli.” A half-smile appeared. “They just thought they could control the process.”

He approached again and knelt, this ti closer.

“Tell ,” he spoke softly, “do you know what they wanted to bring?”

The answer ca hesitantly.

A pulse.

Then another.

Out of sync.

“Not exactly,” Strax concluded. “But large. Ancient. Familiar… sohow.”

The core vibrated slightly.

“Yes,” he said. “Familiar to you.”

He remained silent for a longer mont, piecing together invisible fragnts.

“That explains the nest up there,” he murmured. “The structural echo. The prepared territory. They weren’t creating sothing from scratch. They were trying to reactivate an abandoned function.”

The core pulsed, slower now.

Cautious.

“They probably believed that if they gave you enough form, the entity would find its way on its own.” Strax laughed humorlessly. “Humans love taphysical shortcuts.”

He leaned back slightly on his heel, looking around at the bodies.

“The problem,” he continued, “is that whatever was associated with that nest doesn’t cross planes like a polite visitor. It needs specific conditions. Alignnt. Preparation. An invitation that can’t be forced.”

The core pulsed.

“You’re not that invitation,” Strax said. “You’re just… the broken doorbell.”

The vibration subsided.

Almost lancholic.

“Don’t be like that,” he added. “It’s better than being used as a disposable shell.”

He stood up again and crossed his arms, staring at the core from above.

“So let’s establish sothing important,” he said firmly. “You’re not going to grow anymore. You’re not going to learn new tricks. You’re not going to try to summon anyone.”

The core pulsed hesitantly.

“Not because I ordered you to,” Strax continued. “But because if you try, I’ll co back. And next ti, there won’t even be that left.”

The rhythm stabilized.

Acceptance.

Strax relaxed slightly.

“Good.” He nodded. “We understand each other.”

He turned around, then stopped and looked over his shoulder.

“Oh. One more thing.”

The core pulsed attentively.

“That entity they wanted to bring…” Strax smiled slightly. “If you’re still around, curious… tell them I send my regards.”

The core didn’t respond imdiately.

When it did, it was with a long pulse. Deep. Dense.

Strax chuckled softly. “I figured.”

The pulse took a while to dissipate.

When the rhythm returned, it was different.

More spaced out. Less erratic. As if sothing had stopped reacting reflexively and started, for the first ti, to listen.

Strax noticed imdiately.

He didn’t smile.

“Right,” he said softly. “So you learn fast.”

The core responded with a single short pulse. Contained.

Strax took two steps forward and, this ti, sat on the floor unceremoniously, crossing his legs before the extinguished circle. The posture was neither defiant nor submissive. It was… administrative.

“Rule number one,” he began. “You don’t call anyone. Don’t even try. Don’t dream too big. If sothing bigger than you hears your echo, I will consider that a direct violation.”

The pulse remained steady.

“Rule number two.” He rested his elbow on his knee. “You don’t grow. You don’t spread out.” It doesn’t create conceptual, symbolic, or physical appendages. The current size is the final size.

A minimal vibration crossed the air.

“This isn’t negotiation,” Strax added. “It’s preventative containnt.”

Silence.

Then, a long pulse. Heavy. Not of protest.

Of uneasy understanding.

“Rule number three,” he continued. “You don’t respond to external attempts at activation. If soone cos here to sing, bleed, draw symbols, or promise things… you ignore them. Even if it hurts. Especially if it hurts.”

The pulse faltered for a mont.

Strax tilted his head slightly.

“I know,” he said. “Attention is still tempting. It will continue to be. But that passes. Hunger too.”

The core pulsed again, more firmly.

“Good.”

He took a deep breath and looked around the cave, at the bodies, the marks on the floor, the remains of a poorly formulated plan.

“In exchange” he said, turning his gaze to the center — you continue to exist. Without being dismantled. Without being sealed in layers you don’t understand. Without becoming fuel for soone with too large a vocabulary and too small a responsibility.

The vibration in the air beca almost imperceptible.

Unenthusiastic acceptance.

But real.

Strax stood up slowly.

“This is the best deal you’ll get” he said. “Trust . I’ve seen the others.”

He took a few steps back, testing. The core didn’t react. Didn’t advance. Didn’t try to fill the space.

“Great” he murmured. “Erging self-control. That’s rare.”

The silence that followed was no longer the silence of the afterlife.

It was… vigilant.

Strax turned, walking to the cave wall where a thick root protruded from the rock like an ancient scar. He touched it, feeling the forest above. Present. Attentive. But, for now, satisfied.

“They’ll be back,” he said without looking at the core. “Not today. Not tomorrow. But they always co back. Curious. Ambitious. Uninford.”

He removed his hand from the root.

“When that happens, you stay quiet. I’ll take care of the rest. Deal? Then maybe I’ll even help you get stronger and grow.”