Demonic Dragon: Harem System-Chapter 758: Let’s fix some problems.

Capítulo 758: Let’s fix some problems.

Strax led the group as soon as they crossed the edge of the stone road and stepped onto the forest floor. The contrast was immediate. The light, which had previously spread freely across the open field, now filtered into narrow beams between dense canopies, creating long, irregular shadows that moved slowly with the swaying of the leaves.

He walked with calm steps, almost too relaxed for someone leading a potentially dangerous incursion. His dark cloak lightly brushed the ground, and his eyes scanned the surroundings with trained attention, capturing details that most would ignore: the way the birds avoided certain branches, the strange silence in some stretches, the very faint metallic smell in the air.

Behind him, Kryssia and Xenovia kept enough distance to react, but close enough that no detail escaped them. The two had exchanged the competitive atmosphere of the courtyard for an almost ritualistic concentration. Their hands rested near their swords, their senses alert, their bodies attuned to the rhythm of the forest.

Strax stopped after a few minutes and closed his eyes.

The world seemed to hold its breath.

An invisible wave expanded from him—not aggressive, not dominant, but profound. Pure mana, controlled with surgical precision, spread across the ground, the roots, the ancient trunks. He read the forest like an open book: lines of natural energy, small vital flows, hidden creatures, insects, medium-sized animals.

Nothing reacted violently.

Nothing fled in panic.

Nothing answered.

He opened his eyes and frowned slightly.

“Strange…” he murmured.

Xenovia tilted her head. “Nothing?”

“Nothing unexpected,” he replied. “The mana here is… too clean. Too stable.”

Xenovia met her brother’s gaze. “Ancient forests are rarely stable. There’s always noise. Lesser spirits, echoes, remnants of ancient spells.”

Strax nodded slowly. “Exactly.”

He took a few more steps forward, brushing aside a low branch with his forearm, and stopped again. This time, he crouched down, touching the ground with two fingers.

The earth was cold.

Not icy. Just too cold for that season.

He let out a short, almost resigned sigh.

“I wish I were wrong,” he said. “But if there’s no visible distortion on the surface, then the spring isn’t trying to spread.”

Xenovia narrowed her eyes. “Which means it’s… contained?”

“Or buried,” Kryssia finished.

Strax stood up and looked at the denser forest ahead, where the trees grew closer together, the trunks thicker, the roots more exposed, as if something had forced the soil to shift over time.

“We’d better go deeper,” he said, letting out another sigh. “If we just stay on the edge, we’ll keep thinking there’s no problem at all.” Xenovia smiled slightly. “Finally something interesting.”

Kryssia didn’t answer, but her steps grew lighter, almost silent, as they moved forward.

As they went deeper, the forest changed character. The air became heavier, not oppressively, but dense, as if each breath needed to pass through something invisible. The sound also changed—it didn’t disappear completely, but it seemed muffled, as if the world were enveloped in thick fabric.

Strax noticed first.

He raised his hand, signaling for them to stop.

“The sound,” he said softly. “It’s late.”

Xenovia frowned and tapped her boot lightly on the ground.

The impact sounded… wrong. The echo was too weak, too short.

Kryssia closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating.

“It’s not forced silence,” she said. “It’s absorption. The ambient mana is swallowing vibrations.” Strax nodded. “Like a sponge.”

They continued.

The terrain began to rise slightly, forming an uneven slope. Tree roots created natural traps, and the undergrowth grew thicker, demanding care with each step. In some places, the trunks of ancient trees were marked by deep furrows, as if something had repeatedly leaned against them… something heavy.

Xenovia ran her fingers along one of these marks.

“Claws,” she concluded. “Or something similar.”

“Ancient,” added Kryssia, noting the slight oxidation on the edges of the wounded wood. “But reused.”

Strax stopped again.

This time, the mana sweep was different.

Deeper.

More focused.

He didn’t expand in all directions, but directed the flow downwards, through layers of earth, stone, and roots. The effort made the surrounding air vibrate slightly, leaves trembling without any wind.

Then he felt it.

Not as an attack.

Not as a conscious presence observing.

But as… a weight.

A constant, immobile pressure, like a buried heart that kept beating, even after everything around it had changed.

Strax opened his eyes slowly.

“There’s something here,” he said. “And it’s not trying to hide.”

Xenovia took a step closer. “Then why didn’t we sense it before?”

“Because it’s not active,” he replied. “Not now.”

Kryssia frowned. “Something sealed?”

“Or dormant,” said Strax. “And being fed.”

They exchanged a quick glance.

The forest around them seemed to tilt slightly, as if listening.

A branch snapped to the left.

They all turned at the same time.

Nothing appeared.

But the sound took too long to dissipate.

Strax took a deep breath.

“We’re entering ancient territory,” he said. “Not the kind that reacts to direct threats. The kind that waits.”

Xenovia rested her sword on her shoulder. “Waiting has never been my strong suit.”

He smiled slightly, humorlessly. “Neither is mine.”

They advanced a few more meters until they reached an irregular, almost circular clearing. The soil there was different—darker, compacted, as if it had been trodden countless times over the ages. In the center, a natural depression formed something resembling a colossal nest, made of intertwined roots, moss-covered stones, and fragments of ancient bones, too large to belong to common animals.

Strax stopped at the edge of the clearing.

His gaze deepened.

“So that’s it…”

Xenovia took a deep breath. “A nest.”

“Or an anchor point,” Kryssia corrected. “Something was kept here. Fed. Protected.”

Strax felt the pressure increase slightly, as if the forest had realized it had been understood.

He took a step forward.

“Whatever it is,” he said calmly, “you know we’re not here by chance.”

Beneath the colossal root of the ancient tree, where the trunk opened in twisted folds like fingers buried in the earth, there was an almost invisible fissure. It wasn’t a natural entrance—it was a wound in the ground, forced open, excavated with haste and fear.

Down there, the forest didn’t breathe.

The subterranean cave stretched like a stone womb, wide enough to hold dozens of people, but low enough to impose a constant feeling of oppression. The walls were uneven, covered in thick roots that pierced the rock like fossilized veins. Moisture trickled in silent rivulets, dripping onto the dark earth mixed with something thicker.

Blood.

In the center of the cave, a ritual circle had been drawn directly on the ground. Not with paint. Not with chalk.

With life.

Ancient, crooked symbols formed spirals and marks that belonged to no known living language. Some lines still glowed faintly, pulsing a deep red, as if freshly nourished.

Around the circle, six hooded figures knelt in reverent silence.

None of them spoke.

It wasn’t necessary.

Before them, animal carcasses were arranged almost carefully—deer, wolves, boars, even creatures that shouldn’t exist in that forest. Some had their chests ripped open. Others were decapitated. In all, the blood had been partially drained, channeled through makeshift furrows in the ground that led directly to the center of the circle.

There… was the anomaly.

It had no defined form.

It was a mass suspended a few centimeters from the ground, as if gravity had forgotten to touch it. It wasn’t solid, but it wasn’t ethereal either. It looked like a cluster of dense shadows, mixed with threads of viscous energy that writhed slowly.

And it pulsed.

Not like ordinary magic.

It pulsed like a heart.

Each beat was slow, deep, accompanied by an almost imperceptible vibration that made the roots in the walls tremble. With each pulse, the blood on the floor moved—it didn’t drip, but was drawn in, absorbed, evaporating upon touching that thing.

One of the cultists stood up.

He was taller than the others, his cloak stained dark red. He held a curved dagger, the black blade reflecting the flickering light of the torches attached to the walls.

Without hesitation, he pulled forward the still-warm body of a wolf.

The creature wasn’t completely dead.

A final spasm ran through its paws as the blade descended.

Blood gushed.

The instant it touched the circle, the anomaly reacted.

The pulse quickened.

THUMP.

THUMP.

THUMP.

A muffled, deep sound echoed through the cave, as if something enormous were awakening beneath them. The shadows of the mass expanded for a second, stretching in impossible directions, before recoiling again.

The torches flickered.

One of the cultists began to tremble.

“It’s…it’s working…” he murmured, his voice faltering.

The leader raised his hand, demanding silence.

He knelt before the pulsating thing, so close that the energy distorted the air around his face.

“Accept it,” he whispered. “Flesh of the forest. Blood of the cycle. Life returned to what was forgotten.”

In response, the anomaly emitted a stronger pulse.

This time, it didn’t just absorb the blood.

It pulled something else in.

One of the nearby bodies—a deer dead for hours—began to deform. The flesh sank like soft clay, the bones cracked, being rearranged under an invisible force. The body was slowly dragged to the center, being undone, disintegrated, converted into raw energy.

The cultists were breathing fast now.

Fear.

Ecstasy.

“It’s hungry…” said another. “We need more.”

The leader nodded slowly.

“It always needs more.”

He gestured, and two of the hooded figures pulled out something that was partially hidden in the shadows of the cave.

It wasn’t an animal.

It was a human body.

Or what remained of one.

Traces of broken armor still hung from the torso. One arm was missing. The face was unrecognizable, but the frozen expression was one of pure terror.

“An intruder,” said the leader, almost with satisfaction. “The forest itself has already begun to exact its price.”

They threw the body into the circle.

The moment the human blood touched the ritualistic ground, something changed.

The pulse stopped.

For an eternal second, the cave was in absolute silence.

Then—

THUUUMP.

The impact was so strong that everyone fell to their knees. The walls vibrated, dust and fragments of stone fell from the ceiling. The roots contracted like living muscles.

The anomaly grew.

Not much. But enough.

Something within her began to take shape—a suggestion of structure, of a core. As if a consciousness were slowly organizing itself from the chaos.

A sound escaped her.

It wasn’t a voice.

It was a damp, deep noise, almost a satisfied sigh.

The cultists lowered their heads in absolute reverence.

“He’s waking up…” one of them whispered, tears streaming down his face. “The Heart of the Depths…”

The leader closed his eyes.

“Not yet,” he corrected. “But he can already hear us.”

The mass pulsed again, slower now, heavier.

And, high above, on the surface of the forest, a cold wind swept through the trees.

As if something very old had just opened its eyes.