As the door closed with a muffled click and Aria disappeared down the hallway—probably still catching her breath from what she'd just seen—Damon let out a low laugh.
Not in derision.
But in satisfaction.
'Her resistance won't last long...' he thought, as he walked toward the bed where Aria had left her new clothes.
It was a simple outfit: light dark trousers, a white linen shirt, and a sort of fitted vest that resembled a servant's or butler's outfit, but with an elegant cut. It wasn't anything fancy, but it was clean. New. And comfortable.
He dressed calmly, like someone preparing for the stage. And, in a way… he was.
Water still dripped lightly from his hair as he approached an oval mirror mounted on the side wall of the room.
When he stopped in front of the glass, his eyes fixed.
It was the first time he had seen his new face clearly.
He fell silent.
The reflection cast an image that blended the exotic with the ethereal. His hair, still damp, fell in uneven, messy strands, its almost white-blonde hue—like dried straw bathed in moonlight. His eyes… yes, they were hypnotically arresting. A pinkish-violet hue, almost pure pink, with a glow that made them seem enchanted, otherworldly. It wasn't something humans usually possessed. It was something born of magic, of another essence.
And then, the horns.
Two. Black as onyx, arching gently back from his temples. The tips, curiously, were purple. A faint glow seemed to pulse there, like a mystical heartbeat.
And of course… the detail that made him frown slightly: his tail.
Black, thin, and agile, ending in a heart-shaped point. It moved on its own, as if it had a will of its own. Damon tried to hold him once. He curled his fingers playfully around it. He sighed.
"It's official… I'm actually an Incubus now."
The chain marks were still on his neck and wrists—thin, reddish lines, like fresh scars. But even they couldn't erase the fact that… he was beautiful. In a dangerous way. A beauty born of a combination of forced fragility and a magnetism that defied common sense.
It was the kind of beauty that made even time-hardened warriors—like Aria—look away… and then peek.
"Well… time to see what I'm working with."
Damon snapped his fingers.
A faint light flickered before his eyes, and a floating window opened. Familiar, yet still strange.
[Character Status]
[Name: Damon (No Last Name)]
[Age: 19]
[Cultivation: None]
[Race: Incubus]
[Talent: None]
[Level: 1]
[HP: 100/100]
[STR: 6]
[AGL: 8]
[VIT: 10]
[STM: 7]
[INT: 9]
[DEF: 5]
[Blank Points: 10]
[Ability: Touch of Asmodeus]
Damon stared at the screen for a long moment. He'd read enough stories in his past life to know this was… pathetic. Compared to heroes from other reincarnations, these numbers bordered on the ridiculous.
"Talent: None"… seriously? Who spells that out in all caps? And where's the 'Accidentally Unlock Ultimate Power' button? he thought bitterly.
But there was no time for regrets.
He needed to be smart. Precise. Strategic.
The initial impulse would be to put all his points into STR—Strength—and crush anyone in his path. But he wasn't a warrior. He was an Incubus. A being of temptation, manipulation… and lethal charm.
Brute force wasn't his weapon. Intelligence, control, and endurance were.
He thought for a few moments… and began distributing.
+2 INT
+3 STM
+2 AGL
+1 VIT
+2 DEF
[New Stats:]
[STR: 6]
[AGL: 10]
[VIT: 11]
[STM: 10]
[INT: 11]
[DEF: 7]
The interface flickered slightly as it confirmed the Distribution.
[Distribution complete. Stats updated.]
Damon nodded. This would make him more resilient, agile enough to escape trouble and smart enough to survive it. It wasn't the glorious path of a flaming sword hero, but it was the path of a survivor… and a demon.
"Incubus… doesn't win by fighting. He wins by winning hearts." He closed the status window and looked at the mirror again.
"First, I need to understand how stats affect my body. Being physically weaker is good for eluding those who try to fight me. If it's just invisible and doesn't directly affect my body, leveling up STR is a good way to go," Damon thought as he stretched.
"Anyway… I don't want to deal with these things, much less fight people." I just want to live a good life, and apparently being strong is necessary… That sentence from Elizabeth was quite clear… This world belongs to the strongest…"
The door creaked softly as it opened, revealing Aria, her face less flushed than before, but still maintaining a certain stiffness in her walk and gaze. She paused for a moment when she saw Damon dressed, neat, almost… presentable.
She looked him up and down, the appraising gaze typical of someone accustomed to judging by appearance—not out of vanity, but out of security.
"You look... decent," she said finally, as if the word had been wrenched from her. She sighed immediately afterward. "Lady Elizabeth asked you to attend dinner. Now."
Damon simply nodded. Calmly. The role of obedient prisoner was still his best armor.
Aria turned, and he followed her, leaving the room and crossing the long corridors of the mansion again. This time, the silence between them wasn't heavy, just... comfortable. As if they both accepted each other's presence, for now.
The dining room appeared with the pomp of a noble castle. A dark wooden table, polished to reflect the light from the chandelier above, stretched for over thirty feet. Porcelain, silver cutlery, and crystal glasses gleamed in the soft lighting.
In the center of the table, Elizabeth was already seated. She wore a deep burgundy dress that contrasted with her pale skin and silver hair. In one hand, a wineglass danced between her fingers with lazy grace. Her gaze lifted as Damon entered.
"Good evening, Damon. Sit here." She nodded to the chair to her left.
He approached, pulled out the chair, and sat down with composure.
"I've already asked the butler to bring you an Elixir to restore your voice," she said, as if offering a glass of water. "I don't like talking to people who can't talk back."
Aria stood for a moment, picking up one of the most ornate dishes on the table—slices of grilled meat, caramelized vegetables, dark rice seasoned with herbs. The appearance was worthy of a royal banquet.
She placed the plate in front of Damon. "Eat," she said with a dry, almost instinctive gesture.
Damon studied the dish for a moment. The scent was intense. Magical condiments, perhaps. Everything seemed sophisticated. But he felt... something strange.
Still, he picked up the cutlery.
He took the first spoonful.
And immediately tasted hell.
His body doubled over reflexively, his eyes wide. He tried to swallow, but his stomach gave a revolting spasm. He had no choice.
He vomited.
His head lowered, his hand covering his mouth, as a dry thud echoed across the marble floor. It was as if he'd tried to eat... enchanted garbage. Rotten. Twisted. Something inside him screamed that this wasn't food. At least, not to him.
An awkward silence fell over the room.
Elizabeth watched him, motionless, her glass still halfway to her lips.
Then, as if remembering something trivial, she let out an "Ah..." and set the glass down on the table with a small clink.
"That's right. Incubus don't feed on ordinary food."
Aria frowned. "No...?"
Elizabeth looked at her, a sarcastic smile on her face. "They feed on life energy. Emotions. Desire. Lust, if you want to be exact." She turned to Damon, her eyes shining with amusement. "That's why we were so curious to see what would happen. But I confess... I was hoping you could handle a little more than a spoonful."
Damon wiped his mouth with the linen napkin, still dizzy, but now understanding better: he literally could no longer live like a normal human.
His body rejected physical nourishment.
He was now a creature of instincts... and different needs.
Elizabeth leaned back, crossing her legs.
"Don't worry. We'll find a suitable solution for your diet... eventually." She toyed with the rim of her glass. "After all, you'll need energy. And soon." She said, looking at Aria as she slowly swirled the glass in her hand, as if the wine in it were more interesting than any drama about to unfold before her.
But her eyes were fixed firmly on Aria. "How about you… take care of his problem?"
The sentence hung in the air like a drop of poison in a still lake.
Aria blinked.
"W-what?" Her voice cracked, as if it had been forced out. "What… what exactly do you mean by that?"
Elizabeth didn't answer right away. She took a small sip of her wine, as if savoring every moment of a good performance.
Then she leaned her elbow on the arm of her chair, her chin resting against her fingertips. A smile played on her lips, mischievous and light.
"You always said you'd do anything for me, didn't you, dear?" Her voice was soft, almost maternal, but with that timbre of absolute control. "That you'd obey me without question. That you were loyal beyond doubt."
Aria paled a little. Her throat moved in a nearly audible gulp.
"I-I said... I said I'd listen to anything you wanted, yes..." she murmured, her eyes now dancing between Elizabeth and Damon—as if searching for an escape route that didn't exist in that closed room.
Elizabeth leaned in slightly, her eyes narrowing like a cat about to play with a mouse.
"So listen to this, Aria: our new guest needs energy. He can't eat. He can't drink. The only thing sustaining him now is what runs through his soul... and you, my loyal knight, have it in spades."
Aria froze.
Literally. Her body went rigid. Her fingers stiffened, and her lips parted in a pent-up breath.
Damon, who had been watching silently, slowly lowered his napkin and placed it on the table. There was a strange glint in his eyes—not of malice, but of understanding. Of instinct. Of hunger disguised by good manners.
Elizabeth, satisfied with the impact, simply leaned back in her chair, as if the matter were settled.
And then, Aria finally spoke.
Or rather, whispered, as if trying to convince herself that it made sense.
"O-okay…"
She didn't look at Elizabeth. She could only stare at Damon. That almost angelic face, marked by demonic features. His eyes shone as if illuminated by their own light. Intense. Almost hypnotic.
She swallowed again.
"O-okay..." she repeated, stuttering. "If... if it's an order."
Elizabeth smiled.
"Good."