Demonic Dragon: Harem System

The sun was still rising, painting the sky with golden and orange hues, while the rhythmic sound of breathing and the soft impact of palms against the ground echoed through the garden of the imposing mansion. Strax was there, shirtless, sweaty, his muscles tense, completely immersed in his training. The number of push-ups was nearing ten thousand. The ground around him was marked with the sweat of his determination, but he didn't seem tired—only undisturbed, focused on his unwavering discipline.

The garden, in turn, remained silent, except for the distant chirping of birds and the continuous sound of his body moving, in perfect sync with the effort. The scent of freshly awakened flowers from the night lingered in the air, but Strax was oblivious to it all. He was in his own world, where strength and control were the absolute masters.

Then, light footsteps broke the silence, and without even needing to look, Strax knew who it was.

Beatrice.

She approached with her natural elegance, her wavy hair tied in a loose ponytail, a simple yet refined dress, with slits that betrayed her affinity for freedom and style. She sat on one of the stone benches under the shade of a cherry tree, watching Strax as if admiring a living painting of physical perfection in motion.

She slowly crossed her legs, resting her chin on one hand while observing him with a small smile on her lips.

"Almost ten thousand..." she commented, with a tone that blended admiration and provocation. "Is that really necessary?"

Strax didn't stop but responded between one push-up and the next, his breathing firm and measured.

"It's always necessary. Until something happens... I train."

"You seem to be waiting," Beatrice said, leaning slightly forward, her eyes fixed on the muscles of his back that contracted and expanded with each movement. "What exactly are you waiting for?"

Strax paused at push-up number 9,991, holding the position as if the world were on pause.

"The Emperor's move," he replied, finally returning to an upright position and sitting back on his heels. His body was covered in sweat, but his eyes were sharper than ever. "Until then, our best weapon is time. And I refuse to waste mine."

Beatrice watched him in silence for a few seconds, absorbing each word, each expression on his face. There was something fascinating about seeing him so focused, so determined. He wasn't like the other men, and she knew that very well. He was her husband, but more than that, he was someone she didn't mind fighting alongside, someone who challenged her in ways she never imagined.

"You know..." she began, with a nearly enigmatic smile, her eyes glowing as if he were an irresistible riddle. "You're like a blade being forged every day. And the more time passes, the deadlier you become."

Strax stood up completely, his muscles contracting as he stretched his arms, his expression unchanged, but his presence was immense. He wiped his face, clearing the sweat that was dripping down, and looked at Beatrice with that raw intensity that made anyone's blood race.

"And do you know what a blade does when it's sharp enough?" he asked, with a smile that was a promise of destruction.

Beatrice smiled back, her eyes sparkling with desire and respect.

"Cuts everything in front?"

"Kills kings," he answered, bluntly, without hesitation.

A soft wind blew, swaying the cherry tree branches and scattering petals across the garden. One landed on Strax's shoulder, but he didn't move. His eyes remained fixed on Beatrice, as if the world around them was irrelevant, just a backdrop for the silent dance between the two.

Beatrice leaned back against the bench, relaxing a bit, but her gaze remained intensely fixed on him, as if she couldn't tire of admiring the man who was now also her husband.

"So... are you going to keep training?" she asked, her voice soft but full of genuine curiosity.

"Yes," Strax answered firmly. "Until the world moves... or until I force it to move."

She chuckled lightly, her laugh musical and soft, but still carrying an energy that made her heart beat faster.

"Then I guess I'll watch. Watching a storm form like this... it's not something that happens every day."

Strax returned to the push-up position and resumed counting. 9,992... 9,993... 15,321...

The constant sound of his push-ups was interrupted for a moment when a new presence was felt. Strax, still lying with his hands on the ground, heard the soft footsteps and, almost without needing to look, knew it was Monica.

She approached with the same natural elegance she always had, her dark hair flowing in soft waves, wearing a long silk robe that seemed to float with every movement. She stopped at a respectful distance, but her eyes were fixed on Strax, with an expression that mixed concern and curiosity.

"Strax," she said, her voice sweet but firm, as always. "Someone wants to see you."

He paused for a second, the rhythm of his push-ups ceasing. His eyes slowly lifted to meet Monica's, the muscles of his neck and shoulders still tense. The inevitable question came from his lips with the same intensity as always.

"Who?"

Monica hesitated for a moment, her expression softening before answering.

"Diana," she said, in a tone that Strax didn't immediately recognize. But something in her voice made a spark of alertness light up in his mind.

Without another word, Strax quickly rose, his body's muscles swelling with the movement, revealing all his strength. His body, covered in sweat, glistened under the soft light of dawn. Beatrice and Monica watched him, feeling the heat of his powerful presence. The scent of sweat mixed with the earth of the garden filled the air, but what truly drew attention was the visible strength and almost unbeatable aura he emanated.

He grabbed a towel from a nearby table and passed it around his neck, absorbing the sweat. The white fabric contrasted with the bronzed, muscular tone of his skin, making his overwhelming presence even more evident.

Beatrice, who was watching him with a discreet smile, blushed slightly, her gaze involuntarily lingering on his body. Monica, on the other hand, didn't seem affected in the same way, but her eyes softened as she saw how Strax moved with such naturalness, as if the strength of his body was a natural extension of who he was.

"What does Diana want?" Strax asked, his tone now more serious, as if the name of the woman in question carried a weight he couldn't ignore.

Monica tilted her head, looking at him with eyes full of depth, indicating she knew more than she was willing to say. "I don't know, but I think she has something important to tell you... And it seems she won't leave until you listen to her."

Strax nodded, and without further hesitation, he wiped the towel over his face, clearing the sweat from his forehead. His eyes were now focused, his mind already far from any distraction of the moment. He knew this meeting could change something, and whatever it was, he was more than ready.

"Then," Strax said, his voice deep and assertive, "Let's see her. I won't wait much longer."

As he entered the living room, Strax maintained his imposing posture. His muscular body, still sweaty from his intense training, glistened under the soft light that filtered through the windows. Every movement of his seemed to carry the weight of a presence that dominated the room. He was shirtless, the scent of his sweat mingling with the fresh morning air, and his powerful aura seemed to fill the space.

Diana was sitting on a dark velvet sofa, her posture rigid, but her eyes quickly turned toward him. She was an older woman, with a refined appearance and an elegance that spoke of her maturity, but also of power. She wore a simple, yet tasteful dress that accentuated her figure. However, upon seeing Strax enter, her eyes immediately shifted away, and she tried, unsuccessfully, to hide the slight flush that appeared on her face.

Strax's gaze swept across the room until it landed on her, noticing the discomfort she tried to conceal. He wasn't foolish; he knew his presence, particularly in such an... exotic form, with his robust body and visibly tensed muscles, had an effect on people. And in Diana's case, this effect seemed to go beyond simple discomfort. He could see the internal struggle in her eyes, the way she tried to avoid looking directly at him, as if her own attraction to him was something she couldn't control.

He stopped in front of her, crossing his arms, still without a word, but his gaze was firm, almost challenging. Diana, on the other hand, couldn't maintain eye contact with him for more than a few seconds. She quickly lowered her eyes, her face slightly flushed, a mix of embarrassment and repressed desire. What he felt, or perceived, wasn't clear, but there was something in her that Strax knew she couldn't deny.

"Diana," Strax said, his deep voice echoing in the room with an unsettling calm. "You said you had something to tell me?"

She tried to maintain her composure, but the way her hands trembled in her lap revealed her discomfort. Diana took a deep breath and, for the first time, raised her eyes to meet his, but they were clouded with a mix of confusion and something else. Something she couldn't easily admit. She bit her lower lip, clearly struggling against the attraction she couldn't control.

"Yes... I... I need your help," she said, her voice quieter now, almost as if it were a confession.

Strax kept his gaze fixed on her, absolute calm on his face. He didn't move, didn't react, but the tension between them grew, the sense that something could break at any moment.

"Speak," he said, his tone firm but with a hint of curiosity. He was used to seeing people become disconcerted in his presence, but with Diana, there was something different, something he hadn't seen with the other women.

Diana swallowed hard, clearly struggling to focus on what she really wanted to say, but she knew she couldn't keep avoiding it.

"Go to the western border... there's an imperial convoy... we think they'll try to take the city," she spoke.