Demonic Dragon: Harem System

"Wow, you guys look like villains."

Frieren's voice was light—as if floating above the tumult—and yet it caused several of those men, accustomed to challenging the living, to take a step back. It wasn't contempt; it was recognition. Frieren had seen it so many times: the moment when the comedy of a ragtag band met its end in the face of a coherent force.

Rogue let the blade rest on the board, his smile receding into what could only be called cold professionalism. "Villains are best when they have a name that scares. Do you have a name?"

The brute with the axe, the one who had spoken first, cleared his throat. "Silver Talons. We… we are the Talons."

"Good." Rogue walked slowly across the room—each step a warning. Daniela and Cassandra circled like controlled shadows, observing postures, assessing members. Bellatrix stood a little behind, eyes on the corners, visibly enjoying the darkness and the potential for chaos; Frieren stood by the door, watchful, her hands clasped as if the whole thing were an experiment.

Rogue stopped right in front of the axeman. She stood so close he could smell her scent—wine, leather, and a promise of danger. "The Silver Claws. Very poetic for a bunch of drunks. Tell me: are you paid to defend someone or to slit the throats of anyone who passes by?"

"Both…" he stammered. "We… we do what we're paid."

"Then we will redirect your talents," Rogue said, leaving the blade pointed at the ground. "You will work for me. Under my command. You will receive orders and pay—real pay, not promises of ale. You will have a new name and a discipline that will pay well."

Rumors spread. Men exchanged glances. Living by orders was dishonorable to some; surviving on coin and purpose seemed like a will to others.

Daniela, whose patience was solid, then spoke: "If you refuse, you will witness how quickly leadership changes and how the market rewards obedience. We will not be soft on traitors."

A heavy silence. The brute with the axe, who must now understand that he had put something greater at stake than his own bravado, swallowed hard. "What... what name do you want to give it?"

Rogue smiled, finally allowing something playful to return. "We will call it 'The Order of Blades'—a solid, straightforward name. Mercenaries for hire, not thieves. Structure, hierarchy, salary. Those who accept, sign. Those who refuse, are left as a showpiece for the city rats."

Cassandra snapped her fingers, and four of the men—the least confident, the most adept at counting coins—came forward. Daniela pulled the leader forward once more, as if removing the last shred of resistance. "It will be a simple oath. Protect, obey, kill when ordered. Sell your blade to the highest contract the Order accepts. Any betrayal will be repaid with death. No discussion."

The axeman's eyes—once full of bravado—vacillated between defiance and pragmatism. He thought. Phallic coins were worth more than taverns; underpayment didn't sustain a band. And there was something else in the air: respect. A dragon or a she-wolf nearby could change even the most hardened of bandits.

"We sign," he murmured, as if the very spitting word could keep him alive.

Rogue raised his hand theatrically. "Then it is decided. Two conditions: discipline and display. The Order of the Blades does not hide—we sell presence. Where there is contention, we arrive first. Where there is fear, we will be the answer. Where there is gold, we will lay our hands. But be warned: the price of failure is your life."

Frieren approached and, in a few words, outlined what he would interpret as the code of the new guild—short, crisp, pragmatic. "There is no honor beyond the contract. The first payment will be divided among those who accept today. You will equip those worthy. We will train some of you and discard the rest. No one flees without paying first."

The signature was symbolic—a small cut on the palm, the blood mixed with an ink seal brought by Rogue, a simple symbol: a dagger centered over a halo. Bellatrix smiled as she asked some to mark the tattoo as proof of loyalty. Some trembled. Others seemed utterly relieved to have a purpose.

Within an hour, the Silver Claws was no longer what it had been. The tables were rearranged; a torn flag became a cleaning rag, and, little by little, men with different eyes appeared—men who now examined contracts, not mugs. A pair of untrained young men received rudimentary instruction in posture and defense. Daniela organized ranks and gave brief orders: patrol, watch schedule, loot control. Cassandra conferred with the smartest, planning small schemes to raise funds without attracting the attention of the major guilds. Bellatrix tended to morale, which, Rogue noted with pleasure, included drinking less and training more.

Frieren, however, remained the critical mind. She drew up a mental map of the neighborhood: escape routes, observation points, neighboring guilds that might move against them, and the exchange houses where fortune tellers and nobles passed by. "Athenion is an organism. You can't just open a wound without the rest feeling it. We must be cunning: military reach, but diplomatic shadow."

Rogue smiled at her. "Ah, my dear mage, always with your icy brain. Perfect. You will help stitch together the reputation. I'll do the blood; you do the strategy."

Day turned to night, and the small, makeshift headquarters in the Talons began to feel like something lasting. An eve of new orders. Dimly, from what could be heard on the street, the small neighboring guilds whispered—rumors that spread like wildfire. A few minor mercenaries sent messages, interested in transfers; a pair of bandits sought alliances. The street patrollers saw that something had changed: now there was a banner, a voice, and—better yet—contracts.

Rogue gathered everyone in the main hall. The room buzzed with productive nervousness. "Listen," he said, his voice clear and sharp. "The Order of Blades will not be a troupe of hired killers—we will be a machine that profits from order and fear. Athenion needs professionals who follow orders. The city wants predictability and bloodshed only when the price is right. We will exact it. We will select."

Daniela added: "The first step will be to grow without provoking the big boys. They underestimate us; we will use that. We will make local contracts, end petty rivalries in exchange for gold and loyalty. Then, when we are strong, we will show our teeth."

Cassandra chimed in with a hint of venom: "And when the big boys come to face us, let them come with everything. Because we will be ready. They thought they ruled by shouting. We will rule effectively."

Rogue—Rogue—let out a laugh that sounded more like promise than joy. "Good. Now, some practical orders: each man receives a simple uniform, which will be paid for with the first half of the contract profits. One detachment will be responsible for transporting the acquired goods; another will be responsible for hiring cheap spies. Frieren, you will handle the magical pacts—small seals to ensure loyalty, nothing too conspicuous."

Frieren nodded, indifferent to the spectacle. "Small rituals of obligation and hidden contracts. Enough to coerce, without bringing official witches upon us."

Rogue then turned to Scarlet's daughters. "You will stay with me. Daniela, you will be my second—responsible for discipline and training. Cassandra, you manage recruitment and... 'persuasion.' Bellatrix, responsibility for supplies and morale. Make me proud."

The three accepted with varying nuances—pride, sarcasm, and childish disdain—but all with firm determination.

Outside, the city breathed a new air. Small groups of onlookers watched. This was the birth of something. A handful of men had traded beer for contracts; a wide-open door became a base; a new symbol hung for the first time on the scratched wood of the sign.

Late in the evening, Rogue climbed to the small bar of the former barkeeper—now hers—and looked up at the moon that covered Athenion. There was weariness, but also excitement. The city was wounded and ready to exchange pain for another kind of power.

"Send the first messengers to the trade routes," she ordered. "Offer protection for a decent fee. Show results. And above all, don't talk about Strax. We act alone. We need to be feared, not worshipped."

Daniela approached her, lowering her voice. "What if the big guys come tomorrow?"

Rogue smiled, sharp as a blade. "So, friend, tomorrow will be a great day to show that 'The Order of the Blades' begins with small feasts and ends with big hunts. And Strax? He'll enjoy the show."

Frieren, in the corner, murmured, "Be careful with the glitter. Power tends to attract bigger snakes."

"Good," Rogue said, raising her makeshift chalice as if in a toast. "Bring it on. Bring gold and men. We have room for both."