The Incubus System Chapter 1278. I’m Being Honest
The Incubus System Chapter 1278. I’m Being Honest
When I reappeared, it was inside the throne room.
Lord Damon sat on the throne.
Alive.
Sharp.
Definitely better.
I didn’t say anything at first. Just stood near the side entrance and watched him.
He was surrounded by subordinates—three of them, all in tailored field uniforms marked with the black-and-gold insignia of central command.
Two of them carried high-end infernal tablets, the screens glowing with deep red light and flickering sigil overlays that adjusted in real time.
Status reports, mana flow analytics, casualty assessments, and threat response maps blinked and pulsed like they were alive.
One of the younger ones—barely older than me, probably—wore reinforced engineering gloves laced with spell-threaded wiring, and his fingers were still stained with ash and grease.
“…Reconstruction is proceeding on schedule, my Lord,” said the tallest one, his voice brisk, eyes never leaving his tablet. “The East Quadrant is still without full mana lines, but we’ve rerouted core flow through the auxiliary ley conduit running under Sector Fourteen.”
Damon didn’t even look up from the runic map etched into the armrest of the throne. “How stable is the reroute?”
The engineer spoke up next, shifting his weight like he’d been up for forty-eight hours straight. “Borderline. The conduit wasn’t built to handle sustained redline output. We’ve got eight suppression towers holding the strain, but if we get another mana surge like last week…”
“Preempt it,” Damon said sharply. “Install limiters at the junction points. If they overload, cut the outer shell and bleed the excess into the wild zones.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“And the displacement wards?” Damon asked, finally turning his gaze toward the woman with the second tablet.
She nodded, scrolling quickly. “Stabilized. Minimal panic reports now. We had three flare-ups in the lower wards, all contained. Public sentiment is holding at sixty-seven percent.”
Damon leaned back slightly. “Push it to seventy-five. By the end of the day.”
She blinked. “How, sir?”
“I want broadcasts of victory footage running on every sanctioned channel. Citywide. Sync it with restoration progress and tactical highlight reels from the Beel engagement. Make them feel like survivors. Not victims.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“And the civilian councils?”
“Scheduled to meet in two hours. They’ve requested a security presence due to the increase in outsider complaints.”
“Fine,” Damon said. “Send the Black Legion. Quiet armor. Full masks. No speaking unless provoked.”
The room went still for a second. Everyone nodded.
Orders absorbed. Processed.
He didn’t even glance at me. But I didn’t interrupt. Just watched.
Because yeah, he looked different.
No slouch in his posture. No tremor in his hand. No flicker of unstable aura leaking around the edges.
His core had stabilized—my healing had worked. He looked like he could level a building just by blinking too hard.
The subordinates finished their reports, bowed, and turned to leave. When they passed me, each one gave a sharp nod of deference—some muttering “My Lord,” others simply keeping their gaze down. Respect, maybe. Or fear.
Probably both.
When the room cleared and the massive doors shut with a heavy boom behind them, silence returned.
Damon didn’t look up right away.
Then, without ceremony—
“What now?” he said, voice dry. “You want to make me look weak again? Go away.”
I smirked faintly. “Uh… no. Believe it or not, I’m actually here to ask for something this time.”
He finally turned his head, golden eyes narrowing like twin searchlights.
“Dangerous.”
“Probably,” I said, stepping forward, letting my boots echo just a little more than necessary. “I want to take Redemption.”
His brow twitched.
“You want to go back to that mountain?” he asked flatly.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
He stared at me like I just suggested we nuke the sky for better weather.
“In your current condition?” he asked. “After draining your core healing me?”
“That’s why I’m discussing it with you first,” I said. “I’m not going behind your back. I need to know if it’s safe enough to try.”
He snorted. “If it were safe, someone else would’ve retrieved that damned sword centuries ago.”
I didn’t flinch. “But it’s calling me now.”
Damon went quiet.
I kept my voice steady. “You said it yourself. After Zatan and Beel died, something’s shifting. Territory claims are in flux. And you know as well as I do—if I wait too long, someone else will go looking.”
He leaned back, fingers steepled under his chin.
“I thought you buried that name,” he said after a pause. “Erebus. The sword. That legacy. I thought you let it rot.”
“I did,” I admitted. “Or at least I tried.”
“And now?”
“Now it’s calling.” A pause. “And I know… that name is still in your head too.”
His gaze narrowed further. “So what? You want to walk back into that place for nostalgia?”
“For completion,” I said. “Because if it remembers me, and I don’t answer… then what does that say about who I am now?”
A beat of silence.
Then another.
Finally, he rose.
Damon stepped down from the throne like gravity didn’t apply to him. His cloak moved with no breeze, a slow, ominous ripple of power. He approached slowly, the full weight of his aura pressing down on the marble like a storm building pressure.
When he reached me, he stopped just short of arm’s length.
“You’re not ready,” he said.
“I never am,” I answered.
“Don’t get smart.”
“I’m being honest.”
He studied me for a long moment. Like he was trying to see through skin and bone to whatever core I had left. Trying to decide if what he saw was still a boy… or something more dangerous.
Eventually, he said, “It’ll kill you.”
“Maybe.”
That earned a sharp exhale. Something between a laugh and a growl.
“You’re a pain,” he muttered.
I shrugged. “It runs in the family.”
Another silence. Yeah, he looked like want to smack me and hug me at the same time.
Then—
“I’ll open the path for you,” he said finally. “The mountain itself remains sealed. No one’s stepped inside except me and the guardian.”