Demonic Dragon: Harem System

"Come on." He opened his arms, as if offering his own chest. "Show this world how disgusting you are."

The first blow came quickly: the nearest drunk lunged forward with a clumsy punch. Strax leaned slightly to the side, and the fist passed through the air. Before the man could recover, Strax simply raised his knee. The impact was sharp, hitting the man's stomach with enough force to double him over and spit out the last of the drink he still had.

The second came right behind, brandishing a broken bottle. Strax didn't dodge—he simply caught the man's arm in a single motion and twisted it. The crack of bone echoed through the street, followed by a sharp scream. The bottle fell to the ground, shattering.

The last two hesitated, but shame drove them on. They advanced together, one with a piece of wood, the other with raised fists.

Strax smiled.

The wooden one attacked first, aiming for his head. Strax raised his arm and grabbed the piece as if it were nothing. A quick yank, and the drunkard lost his balance. Strax spun him around with his own weight and slammed him into the nearby wall. The wood cracked, and the man fell, groaning.

The last one tried to hit him in the face. The fist came close—but Strax let it come. The punch connected with his cheek, and the impact made his head turn slightly to the side. The drunkard smiled in victory for a second.

Until Strax turned to face him. Slowly. His golden eyes gleamed like miniature suns. And then he laughed.

"Weak."

Before the man could retreat, Strax reached out and grabbed him by the throat. He lifted him off the ground with ease, as if he were nothing more than an insolent child. The drunkard struggled, his feet kicking the air, but nothing changed the dragon's grip.

"I hate men like you." Strax's voice was low, gravelly, each word filled with revulsion. "Cowards who hide behind the weakness of others."

He then threw him to the ground. The impact echoed through the street, and the man remained there, groaning and coughing.

Silence returned. Only the sounds of the four on the ground, some unconscious, others moaning in pain.

Strax took a deep breath and straightened his posture, as if nothing had happened. His golden gaze roamed the sprawled bodies, and then he murmured:

"Pathetic."

The street still smelled of smoke and blood when the groans of the drunks became nothing more than a distant background. Strax walked unhurriedly, his hands in his pockets, when he heard light footsteps behind him.

He didn't turn around immediately. But soon a soft, trembling voice called out:

"Sir...!"

Strax stopped. The young woman who had fled had returned. She ran toward him, her simple clothes still wrinkled and her hair disheveled from the commotion. As soon as she reached him, she bowed deeply, nearly hitting her forehead against the floor.

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" she repeated, her voice cracking, as if each word was insignificant compared to her gratitude.

Strax sighed softly, looking down at her, and only then spoke:

"Everything's okay now."

She raised her teary eyes to him, hesitant. Strax tilted his head slightly, studying her carefully.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his tone calm but firm.

The young woman opened her mouth to say no, but as she raised her arm, trying to regain her composure, her sleeve slipped, revealing deep red marks where the drunk had squeezed hard. The contrast between her delicate skin and those violent bruises made Strax narrow his eyes.

The young woman blushed, trying to hide it. "I-I'm fine, it's just... nothing serious."

Strax said nothing. He simply stepped forward and extended his hand. His large fingers gently wrapped around her arm, and the warmth radiating from his golden skin traveled over the marks. A faint light shone beneath his palm—quiet, yet intense enough to erase the pain.

The young woman blinked in surprise, watching the marks fade before her eyes. When Strax withdrew his hand, her skin was clean, with no sign of her previous suffering.

She remained silent, her lips parted, uncomprehending.

Strax simply smiled faintly, a rare, almost fatherly smile. He lifted his other hand and gently fluffed her hair, gently ruffling it.

"It's all right now." His voice was firm, but held an unexpected tenderness. "Things like this won't happen again."

The girl felt her chest tighten, not with pain, but with relief. A tear ran down her face, but she smiled, bowing again in respect.

"Thank you, sir... truly..."

Strax didn't answer immediately. He just looked at the drunks lying on the ground, then at the young woman, and then turned his gaze to the street that opened up ahead.

"Go home," he said finally. "And stay away from pigs like those."

The air shifted. It was subtle at first, as if the entire town had held its breath. Strax felt the ground vibrate beneath his feet—a deep, rhythmic tremor, like heavy footsteps approaching.

The girl stopped talking, her eyes widening. She turned slowly, her lips trembling as she formed the words:

"She... came back..."

Strax raised an eyebrow. "Who came back?"

The young woman bit her lip, and despite the fear flickering in her eyes, a shy smile appeared.

"My mommy."

Strax frowned. Before he could ask more, the answer came on its own.

Across the ruined street, a silhouette emerged from the dust and smoke. The body was erect, the shoulders broad, and the posture of someone carrying the weight of the world without bending. The figure approached slowly, each step echoing like thunder.

When it finally emerged from the shadows, Strax saw it clearly.

It was a woman.

In the firm muscles of her arms, a bear had collapsed—not a cub, but a full-grown animal, dragged along as if it were nothing more than a sack of straw. In her other hand, she held a gigantic axe, the blade still stained with fresh blood that dripped onto the ground with each movement.

Her face was partially covered by shaggy strands of dark hair, her skin marred by old scars. But her eyes... her eyes were alive, fierce, burning with the savage intensity of someone who had conquered death more times than was fair to count.

She stopped before them, the bear dropped to the ground with a dull thud. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the crackle of flames that still devoured part of the destroyed city.

The girl ran to her, gripping the woman's waist tightly.

"Mommy!"

The woman placed her free hand on her daughter's head, her eyes still fixed on Strax. There was challenge in her gaze, but not hatred—just the calm of a beast assessing another.

Strax, for his part, didn't flinch. He stood there, motionless, watching her intently. His mouth curved in a half-smile.

"So... this is your mother." His deep voice echoed through the street. "Interesting."

The woman didn't answer immediately. She simply swung the axe once, resting it on her shoulder, the weight of the metal seeming to bother her.

Strax felt a different spark in the air. It wasn't an ordinary aura—it was pure instinct, something raw, almost animal. The flame burned in a way distinct from that of a disciplined cultivator.

He narrowed his golden eyes curiously.

"You... aren't just anyone."

Finally, the woman spoke. Her voice was harsh, like stone scraping against stone.

"Who are you, stranger?"

Strax stepped forward, his arms still relaxed at his sides.

"Just someone who can't stand disgusting pigs." His eyes gleamed, still fixed on her. "And you? A hunter? A warrior?"

The woman didn't smile, but her lips trembled in a near-disdain.

"I'm just a mother." She glanced at her daughter clinging to her, then looked back up at Strax. "And I don't like strangers around her."