The Incubus System Chapter 1271. Mature in Battle and Bed

The Incubus System Chapter 1271. Mature in Battle and Bed

She laughed again, soft and amused. “I always forget that. You’re so mature in battle and bed, and then you say shit like ‘I wanna check on my mom’ and I’m like—oh. Right. The baby demon.”

I deadpanned. “Hey, I’m not a baby.”

“And yet you still blush when I kiss your neck.”

I smirked. “That’s a design flaw.”

She leaned in again and kissed me—not deep, not hungry. Just… warm.

When she pulled back, I stood up, brushing off my shirt. “Anyway. I gotta go. Capital’s waiting.”

Syntyche didn’t pout. She just nodded. “I’ll send my list later. And maybe a few naughty thoughts with it.”

“I already paid you,” I joked.

“Pfft. I charge extra for aftercare.”

I grinned, walking to the center of the room. “I’m opening a portal.”

She crossed her legs. “Don’t let them see your angel wings~”

“I know,” I said, raising my hand.

The air around me shimmered.

[You have opened a portal.]

A ripple of shadow and light twisted open in front of me.

Syntyche watched me go, her voice following me as I stepped through.

“Hey, Damian?”

I turned back slightly.

“Make sure you come back in one piece. I’ve got plans for that stamina.”

I gave her a lopsided grin. “Save your energy.”

Then the portal swallowed me whole.

And just like that…

I was gone.

Headed home.

To the capital.

[You have entered: Demon Capital ]

The temperature dropped a few degrees the moment I stepped out of the portal.

Not physically—no. This place wasn’t cold. If anything, it was oppressively warm, with that thick scent of brimstone and expensive perfume that seemed to saturate the air of the Demon World’s capital.

But the atmosphere? Yeah. It had that cold.

I stood in the throne room. Not just any throne room.

The throne room. The big one. The capital hall that sat at the peak of the twin towers, lined with obsidian pillars veined in molten gold. Blood-red carpets. Ceiling high enough to make me feel small.

And the throne?

Empty.

Of course.

Lord Damon wasn’t the type to sit around and wait on his ass. Even if he was the de facto ruler of the demon world now, he still carried himself like a CEO during a hostile takeover—sharp, precise, always moving.

I sighed, brushing my sleeves.

Still wearing the same black tailored suit I left with. The tie was loosened. The shirt unbuttoned just enough to hint at collarbone and temptation. It smelled faintly of wine and Syntyche’s perfume. Damn it. He’s gonna notice that, isn’t he?

I left the room and was about to teleport up—straight to the rooftop—but then I stopped. My steps paused near the wide arched window carved into the far wall.

It overlooked the city.

And it hit me.

The view. The damage. The aftermath.

From up here, the whole of the demon capital stretched like a hellish panorama. But…

Some of it was scarred.

Chunks of the upper district were still darkened, bruised, cracked. Like a god had grabbed the city and pressed too hard in one place. Which, well—Beel’s impact kind of was that.

I swallowed. My gaze roamed lower.

Demons were already working. Of course they were. Rebuilding with raw magic and cursed stone, shaping support beams with claws and spells instead of cranes. I saw one guy snap his fingers and grow a new wall like it was a mushroom. Another used his blood to fuel a demonic rune that spread across a bridge.

Efficient. Ruthless. Almost elegant.

They didn’t wait for pity. They just fixed it. Like it was Tuesday.

I stood there longer than I meant to. Silent. Still. Watching the city patch itself together from the ruins we left behind.

And then—

“You’re here.”

I didn’t jump.

I just turned slowly.

And yeah. There he was.

Lord Damon.

Standing beside me like he’d been waiting all along.

He was in a full black suit—immaculate, not a wrinkle in sight. Shirt collar crisp. Tie perfectly symmetrical. His hair was pulled back, not a strand out of place, and his eyes? Burning red, sharp enough to dissect an ego on sight.

We looked like father and son CEOs about to announce a merger. Or mafia bosses deciding who gets to die tonight. Honestly, both worked.

“…Hey,” I said, voice low.

He didn’t respond at first. Just stood beside me and looked out the same window. His gaze tracked the damage. Measured it.

Then his nose wrinkled.

“You reek of sex.”

I deadpanned. “Can we not talk about that now?”

“You brought it into my throne room,” he said coolly. “It’s practically assault.”

I groaned. “It was a long day.”

“Clearly.”

He turned his head slightly, eyes sliding toward me like judgment incarnate. “So. What do you want?”

I exhaled, rubbed the back of my neck. “I came to talk.”

“About?”

“The seats. The territories. The lords.”

His expression didn’t shift, but his aura did. Barely a twitch—but I could feel it. Pride, wrapped in cold lightning and glass. Always ready to cut.

He folded his arms. “Talk.”

So I did.

“Azrael and Syntyche came by. We talked about how to deal with the vacant seats.” I started pacing a bit, fingers brushing my temple. “Beel and Zatan problem, specifically.”

“No heirs,” Lord Damon said flatly.

“Right,” I nodded. “No bloodlines to inherit. So… the traditional method’s out.”

“Which makes it complicated.” His tone never changed. But I could tell he was following. Calculating.

I stopped pacing. “So we brainstormed. Threw around some ideas. And I think… we got something workable.”

His brow rose. Barely. “Go on.”

“Tournament,” I said simply. “Public. Open only to qualified candidates from within the territory. No high lords. No foreign power plays. Just internal elite contenders. Last one standing gets the chair.”

Lord Damon stared at me.

I braced for it.

“…Violent,” he said.

“It’s the demon world,” I shot back. “If we try something too clean, it’ll feel fake. This lets them prove their worth the demon way.”

“Hm.” He didn’t disagree. That alone was terrifying.