The Incubus System Chapter 1239. Internal Territory
The Incubus System Chapter 1239. Internal Territory
It was like the world collectively skipped that lesson in Demonology 101 and instead thought, “Yeah, let’s plug the rage blade into our national defense grid and see what happens.” Genius. Absolute genius.
I rubbed my temples hard enough to start a fire. The headache? Oh, it was blooming. Slowly. Beautifully. Like a cursed flower opening petal by petal just to ruin my day.
“Okay…” I muttered aloud, still mentally chewing on Clea’s info drop. ‘Is there anyone higher than senators? Like—is that even a thing? Because I already brainwashed all of them. Literally.’
There was a mental sigh through the telepathic channel.
‘This decision didn’t come from them,’ Clea said, voice clipped like she was already done with the conversation five minutes ago. ‘This is an internal military operation. Republic Aeros jurisdiction. Not international.’
I paused. Clicked my tongue. ‘Right. Internal territory.’
She continued like a tired professor explaining politics to a drunk squirrel. ‘The senators… You know them. They’re all representatives from different countries. But this? This falls completely under Aeros’ chain of command. Local territory, local rules. Your little brainwashing trick doesn’t apply here.’
“Awesome,” I muttered, already feeling the weight of bureaucracy pressing down like a divine punishment. ‘So… what, we just let them keep a weapon that screams and occasionally drips blood onto anything holy?’
‘I tried,’ Clea snapped. ‘I submitted a formal request. Told them it was a Demon Hunter responsibility, not military. But they refused. Their excuse? HQ is a mess. Which is… fair, honestly.’
I stared blankly at a half-crushed vending machine near the crater.
“Right,” I muttered. “Of course that’s the consequence.”
Because heaven forbid I don’t get karmically punished for leaving a cursed soulblade unattended in the middle of a metropolitan battle zone.
‘I’ll send you the locations, she added. I don’t have exact coordinates, but I’ll patch through the known facilities where it could be.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, letting the connection fizzle out.
The second her voice cut, I felt Rave settle on my shoulder. His little talon claws dug in with familiar weight. Probably trying to comfort me. Or drain my soul slowly. Same difference.
“Let me guess…” he croaked with faux innocence, “this isn’t a good news moment?”
“Nope,” I said flatly. “The military took it.”
“Oh dear,” he said with exaggerated dramatics. “Guess it’s time to take a lesson.”
“I’m more in the mood to give them a lesson,” I growled.
Red barked once in agreement, tail wagging like a fuzzy yes-man.
I took a deep breath, already visualizing the lecture-slash-possible-break-in we were about to plan. “Also… yeah, I need to take a lesson on never forgetting a demonic weapon lying around in the middle of the city.”
Shadow smirked as he slinked past a patch of ruined grass. “You’re learning.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Learning that sleep is a myth and my luck is cursed.”
And that’s when I noticed.
“…Wait. Where’s Buni?”
I looked around.
No squeaky hops. No ridiculously adorable murder bun with an attitude problem. No sarcastic commentary about how my life choices were spiraling again.
“Buni?” I called, turning in place.
But something else hit me too.
The gazes.
I blinked, realizing all at once the weird atmosphere around me wasn’t just lingering post-battle energy—it was people. Staring. Whispering.
The pity. The discomfort. The subtle, but very real expressions of “oh god, don’t make eye contact.”
I caught one guy with a coffee cup half-raised, frozen mid-sip. A teenage girl holding her phone like she was ready to record a mental breakdown in progress. A jogger slowing down just to veer off path entirely.
I could hear them talking. Quiet murmurs like I didn’t have ears.
“…poor guy, must’ve lost someone.”
“He’s so young…”
“Don’t look at his eyes. You’ll attract spirits.”
Someone even whispered, “Should we call someone?”
And yeah. I couldn’t really blame them.
I was still in pajamas, with a long black coat flaring dramatically behind me like I was cosplaying sadness itself. My hair? Sticking up like I’d been electrocuted by regret. My face? The kind of pale and puffy that screamed “just woke up in the middle of an emotional crisis.”
Oh—and I’d been holding full-on conversations with a corgi, a cat, and a raven.
Aloud.
In public.
No earbuds. No phone.
Yeah.
I looked like I escaped from a facility. The spicy kind.
I opened my mouth, part of me wanting to explain. Wanting to wave a little flag that said “I’m not crazy.”
But I stopped myself.
Because crazy people also say that.
“Forget it,” I muttered under my breath.
Rave squinted into the distance from my shoulder. “Uhh. You might wanna look over there.”
I followed his line of sight.
And sure enough—ten meters away, right by the cracked edge of the park, there he was.
Buni.
Flopped over on his back like a plush toy, being petted by a tiny child and a middle-aged woman like he was a wandering studio mascot. His little paws were curled. Eyes half-lidded. Utterly smug. A little traitor in fur.
The kid giggled every time Buni wiggled his nose.
The mom gave him the kind of smile reserved for therapy animals and cartoon characters who teach friendship lessons.
Buni looked delighted.
I, however?
Mortified.
I started walking toward them, trying to project normalcy. Which was a bold move, considering I looked like a warlock who fell asleep during a summoning ritual and woke up late for coffee.
People were watching. Whispering louder now.
One guy muttered, “Is he gonna yell at the bunny?”
The moment I stepped onto the path near them, the mom noticed me approaching.
She immediately stiffened, yanked her child close with one arm, and looked at me like I was a pajama-wearing threat to society. Eyes wide. Mouth slightly parted. Her free hand hovering protectively near her purse like she thought I’d summon demons from her wallet.
“Uh,” I said, raising a hand awkwardly. “That’s… that’s my pet.”
Dead silence.
The kid blinked. Buni blinked.