Seven Sins System Chapter 628. No Second Round

Seven Sins System Chapter 628. No Second Round

I rolled my shoulder once, conjured a portal with a single twist of my wrist. The air tore open with a flicker of dark purple light.

I glanced back once. She still lay sprawled on the bed like a half-melted painting, one arm flopped over her head, sweat still clinging to her skin. Her eyes fluttered open.

“Tell Asmo goodbye for me,” I said, stepping closer to the edge of the portal. “And tell him I’ll bring him another angel globe decoration later. The one with the wings that light up.”

“Wait—wait, what? You’re leaving? Just like that?”

Morgana’s voice was weak, breathless, still rasping from the scream I had carved out of her with nothing but pressure and control.

“Yup,” I said without turning around. “Business.”

“What about me?” she shot back, voice rising, indignant but still cracked at the edges. “I want—”

She tried to push herself up. Her legs wobbled, her arms shook. She got maybe half a foot off the bed and then collapsed back into the sheets like gravity remembered she existed.

I turned my head, smirking. “Yup. That’s what I thought. You’re not going anywhere for a while. No second round. Sorry, sweetheart.”

She pouted. Real, genuine pout. “You’re an asshole.”

“I’m your favorite asshole.”

And with that, I stepped into the portal.

The world twisted—fire, shadow, pressure—then reformed around me in cold obsidian and red flame. I landed in the middle of the Demon King’s throne room. My father’s domain.

“I got it,” I announced. Voice loud, echoing across the empty, towering chamber.

Nothing.

The throne stood empty—dark stone, horned backrest, molten veins pulsing faintly along the cracks.

Of course. I exhaled. “Office, then.”

I teleported.

One blink, and I was standing in the middle of his office.

And yeah.

It was not what I expected.

I thought I’d find him in one of his moods—mocking, smug, swirling a glass of hellwine while wearing that ridiculous beach shirt and flip flops.

But no.

He was seated at his massive desk, fully dressed in royal black and crimson. His eyes locked on a sleek, silver demonic laptop, fingers typing.

Serious.

Focused.

Sharp.

Two of his secretaries—succubi twins, dressed in form-fitting crimson office attire—stood beside him, one flipping pages, the other quietly organizing soul-bond contracts.

The atmosphere felt like a war room wrapped in hellish bureaucracy.

And him?

He didn’t even look up at first. Just kept typing like he was deep into something ancient and dangerous.

But the moment his senses registered me, he stopped. Looked up. Flicked his gaze over.

“You came,” he said, voice low. Calm.

“Yeah,” I said. Same tone. No jokes. No posturing.

We stared at each other for a beat. No power games. Just king to heir.

Then his gaze slid downward. He raised a brow.

“And you’re naked.”

I blinked. Looked down.

“…Shit.”

Yup.

Totally naked.

I’d forgotten to re-conjure my clothes after Morgana wrecked my damn brain.

I snapped my fingers. Shadows swirled around me, folding into the familiar shape of my dark suit—tailored, layered, regal. Still slightly rumpled from the way I moved.

“Let’s ignore that,” I said. “Long story.”

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “And you reek of sex.”

I deadpanned. “I almost had sex. With Morgana.”

He paused. Squinted at me like that made it worse. “Almost?”

I shrugged, walking toward the desk. “You know I don’t want to touch her unless she’s completely mine. That hasn’t changed.”

He exhaled slowly, like he’d just read something disappointing in a prophecy. “But you still let it get that far?”

“She had a hint,” I said, my voice shifting into something sharper. “A real one. About the scent.”

His face didn’t move. But I saw it. The flicker in his eyes.

He waved his hand without another word.

The two succubi stopped organizing papers. Looked between us. One bit her lip. The other bowed slightly, blush rising to her cheeks as they looked at me. Yeah, I just gave them a free nice scene.

“Leave,” he said, still calm. Still composed. “Now.”

They didn’t argue. Just gathered their folders and disappeared.

Now it was just us.

Silence fell. Heavy. Thick. Charged.

He stood. Slowly. Like every inch of him was carved from judgment and restraint. His presence filled the room in a way it hadn’t in centuries. The real him.

The Demon King.

The original threat.

“Tell me what happened.”

His voice wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be. It cut through the silence like a guillotine—sharp, final, leaving no room for delay or excuses.

I straightened.

“I went to speak with Asmodeus,” I started. My voice came out steady, serious, without the usual sarcasm I wore like a second skin. “Not to accuse him—at first. Just to see if he knew anything about the scent. The one I caught in that cave.”

My father nodded once, arms folded, gaze unreadable. Still in full Demon King mode. No jokes. No lazy lounging. Just cold focus.

“He didn’t fake the confusion,” I went on. “When I described the scent—divine and demonic layered together—he looked genuinely thrown. Said he’d never encountered anything like it.”

“You believe him?”

“I didn’t. Not immediately.”

I started pacing, hands behind my back, voice tightening as the pieces clicked back together in my head.

“But then we found something. A painting. His Dad’s. Thought it was just another indulgent scene, you know how he is—curved angels, golden skies, light realm fantasies. But this one was different.”

My father’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“It was a landscape,” I continued. “Horizon line stretching forever, cliffs made of pearlstone, air glowing with divine motes. It was too vivid. Too… real. Not like the others.”

I paused, then added, “And there was a figure. Standing at the edge of the cliff.”

His eyes met mine—dark, narrowed.

“It was him,” I said quietly. “Asmo’s Dad. In the painting. He was standing there, staring out at the light. Back turned to the viewer, one hand behind his back. The other hand clutched something— I wasn’t sure what it was. And the expression…” I shook my head slowly. “Even from behind, you could feel it. The longing. Like he wasn’t just remembering the place—he missed it. Craved it.”