The Incubus System Chapter 1273. Are You Good?
The Incubus System Chapter 1273. Are You Good?
I didn’t sit. I didn’t move closer.
But I let my voice drop just slightly.
“Then what about you, Dad?” I asked.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
But something shifted.
A crack in the air. A twitch behind the mask.
I called him Dad.
He hated when I used that word casually. Not because he didn’t want it—but because it meant letting his guard down. He liked "Lord Damon." Liked the weight. The respect. The fear. But Dad?
That was personal.
That was soft.
That was dangerous.
I watched the way his jaw moved—just a tiny tic. Like a man chewing on the idea of vulnerability and finding it distasteful.
I pushed a little. “Are you… good?”
He took another sip. Deliberate this time. Hiding in the motion. Avoiding eye contact.
That was the second red flag.
I stepped up onto the dais and sat on the edge, elbows on my knees. My tone stayed casual.
“You usually say something smug like ‘I’m always good’ or ‘I don’t get tired, I cause it.’”
He exhaled through his nose. “Cute.”
“You didn’t say it.”
“I was thinking it.”
“That’s not the same.”
He finally turned to look at me. And yeah, up close?
There it was.
The strain.
Not exhaustion. Not weakness. Just… wear. Beneath the perfect suit. Beneath the perfect posture. The weight of ruling, of fighting.
And he was still standing.
But I knew him.
I knew when his pride was acting as a crutch.
He set the glass down on the small slab beside the throne and said nothing for a long moment.
And then, softly—like it was a confession dragged from deep inside his pride-stuffed chest—
“I’m fine,” he said.
Liar.
“You’re not.”
“I’m functioning.”
“That’s not the same either.”
He tilted his head at me, lips curling just slightly. “Did you suddenly become a therapist while I wasn’t looking?”
I snorted. “Nah. I’m just someone who knows what it looks like when you hide damage behind polished shoes.”
There it was again. That flicker. His right hand curled slightly on the throne’s arm, knuckles tight.
“Did Syntyche put you up to this?” he asked. “Or was this part of your little bonding arc with Azrael?”
“No one put me up to anything,” I said honestly. “But it doesn’t take a genius to realize the fight with Beel drained more than mana.”
He didn’t answer.
I leaned back slightly. “You think hiding it makes you stronger. That letting people see you bleed will make them question you.”
He raised a brow. “Wouldn’t it?”
“No,” I said firmly. “It’d make them realize you’re still standing despite it. That’s power.”
Another silence.
This one deeper.
He leaned forward, resting an elbow on his knee, fingers laced beneath his chin like he was evaluating me again—like he was trying to determine if I was the reckless brat who nearly died in the Abyss, all because I was desperate to get stronger.
“You’re not wrong,” he finally admitted. “But perception matters more than truth in this city. Especially now.”
I nodded. “Which is why I’m not asking you to collapse in front of a crowd. Just… be honest with me. Here. In this room.”
He studied me.
And then he said something that shocked me.
“I was hurt.”
The words fell like bricks.
I blinked. “Wait. You—”
“Beel’s attack pierced near my core. The glutton bastard was stronger than I thought.” He leaned back again. “I regenerated most of it by now. But my core was splintered. For a moment, I was… compromised.”
That word.
From him?
Was insane.
“I kept it hidden,” he continued. “From the generals. From the Lords. From the capital guard. You’re the first to hear it.”
I exhaled slowly. “Thank you. For trusting me with that.”
He shrugged. “You earned it.”
That felt… bigger than it sounded.
I lowered my gaze to the floor, where tiny flecks of blood—his blood—still stained one of the stones near the dais. Faint. But there. The remnants of his battle. His sacrifice.
“You know,” I said, voice quieter now, “you don’t have to do it alone.”
His red eyes slid toward me.
“You’ve got people now,” I added. “Not just soldiers. Not just subordinates. But allies. Family.”
That word made his expression flicker again.
Family.
The one thing he’d always been hesitant to claim.
“You got Lilieth… hell, even Azrael’s playing nice these days. Syntyche’s invested. The capital has structure again. You don’t need to shoulder every damn burden just to prove you’re still the strongest.”
I hesitated for a beat.
Then I added quietly, “And you got me.”
That made his gaze flick toward me again—sharp, unreadable, but definitely listening.
“I’m your son,” I said, more firmly now. “You might still look at me like I’m just a stupid teenager with too much mouth and not enough sense, but I’m trying.”
I exhaled. “I’m trying to be useful. Not just in fights. Not just for the system. But here. For this. For you.”
He didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
He just sat there.
Still as stone.
Unreadable.
But his aura shifted again.
Not flaring.
Not prideful.
Just… quiet.
Like something in the walls had exhaled too.
And for a moment, he wasn’t Lord Damon—the demon everyone feared, the strategist who built half this world on charisma and threat.
He was just a father.
One who didn’t know how to say the right words.
So he said none.
But the weight of silence?
It felt like acceptance.
And then—
“…I know.”
A small pause.
Then he added, “But strength is all I’ve ever had. When I was young—before I earned my title—being strong was the only thing that kept me from being crushed.”
I nodded slowly. “And now being vulnerable might be the only thing that keeps you from losing your allies.”
He didn’t answer.
But he didn’t need to.
Because the silence between us now?
It wasn’t cold.
It was warm.
Real.