Demonic Dragon: Harem System-Chapter 777: Demonic problems

The forest seemed different when they entered it together.

It wasn't just the light—filtered through the tall treetops, creating golden streaks that cut through the green twilight—nor the vivid silence, filled with insects, leaves, and the distant song of some creature Frieren recognized but couldn't name. It was the feeling.

Something pulsed there.

Not aggressive. Not yet. But alert.

Strax walked ahead, his senses alert, his posture too relaxed for someone who knew something demonic lurked among those trees. Frieren followed closely behind, her steps light, almost floating above the leaf-covered ground.

She was… distant.

Not physically—she kept pace with him precisely—but inwardly. Her gaze sometimes wandered among the trunks, as if she were seeing something beyond the immediate present. Or perhaps something very ancient.

Strax noticed.

He always noticed.

He slowed his pace until he was beside her.

"You're far away," he commented, without accusation.

Frieren blinked slowly, as if waking from a reverie.

"Hm?" she murmured. "Perhaps."

They walked a few meters in silence.

The wind rustled through the leaves, making them whisper against each other. Frieren closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath.

"You're thinking about the thing in the forest," Strax said, more stating than asking.

"Also," she replied. "But not only that."

He glanced at her sideways.

She seemed… tense. Not afraid. Frieren didn't feel fear like humans did. It was something else. An ancient, deep unease that didn't come from external threats.

Strax hesitated for only a second.

Then he reached out his hand.

And took hers.

His fingers closed around hers with a firm, warm, real grip.

Frieren stopped walking immediately.

Her whole body stiffened.

"S-Strax," she began, her voice louder than she intended.

He stopped too, turning to face her.

"What?" he asked, genuinely confused.

She instinctively pulled her hand away, but he didn't squeeze harder—just maintained contact, attentive to her reaction.

"You don't have to do this," she said, looking away. "It's not… necessary."

Strax frowned.

"Necessary?" he repeated. "I'm not doing it because it's necessary."

She looked back at him, surprised. "Then why?"

He tilted his head, as if the question were strange.

"Because I like you," he answered simply. "Why couldn't I hold your hand?"

The silence fell between them like something physical.

Frieren felt her face heat up.

It was… ridiculous. She had lived for centuries. She had seen empires rise and fall. She had known kings, heroes, monsters, and minor gods. She had held hands in farewells infinitely more painful than this.

And yet…

Her heart gave a small, uncomfortable leap.

"You say that as if it were the simplest thing in the world," she murmured.

"Because it is," Strax replied.

They started walking again.

Still holding hands.

Frieren kept her gaze fixed ahead, her shoulders slightly stiff. His touch wasn't invasive, nor possessive. It was simply… present. Constant. A silent reminder that she wasn't alone in that forest—nor in that unease.

She tried to ignore it.

She failed.

Each step seemed too conscious. Each second too long. The simple fact that someone touched her hand without fear of the time it carried was… disconcerting.

After a few minutes, Strax realized.

The tension in her fingers. The way her breathing became slightly irregular.

He sighed.

And let go of her hand.

"Sorry," he said, simply, sincerely. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Frieren stopped again.

She looked at his empty hand.

Then at her own.

Confusion crossed her face—rare, genuine.

"What?" she asked.

Strax shrugged.

"You got tense. I thought I'd overreacted."

She opened her mouth to reply.

She closed it.

And then, before he could take another step, she reached out her hand back.

And took his.

Strax's eyes widened slightly.

"Frieren…?"

She squeezed his fingers lightly, as if testing something fragile.

"N-no, it's not that…" he stammered, looking away again. "It's not that I don't want to."

Her heart was beating far too fast for her liking.

"Then what?" he asked carefully.

She took a deep breath.

"It's just that… well…" she made a vague gesture with her free hand. "I'm still a much older woman. Very old indeed."

Strax blinked.

Once.

Twice.

And then he laughed.

An open, warm laugh that echoed softly among the trees.

"Is that it?" he asked, still laughing. "You're thinking about it?"

Frieren frowned, clearly offended—and even more flushed.

"Of course I am!" she retorted. "For you, that might not be a problem, but—"

He stopped walking.

She almost bumped into him.

Strax let go of her hand for a second… only to bring his other hand to her head.

And he stroked her hair tenderly.

"You're silly," he said, smiling.

Frieren froze.

"S-Strax," she protested, but her voice was too weak to convince.

"Do you really think I'm counting years?" he continued. "That I look at you and see numbers?"

She opened her mouth.

She found no answer.

"I see someone carrying centuries alone," he said, now more serious, his hand still resting on her head. "And who, even so, keeps walking."

He slowly removed his hand. "If that bothers you… that's fine. We'll go at your pace."

Frieren stared at him.

There was something different in her gaze now.

Not fear.

Not shame.

Something more delicate.

"You're strange," she murmured.

"I've been told that before," he replied.

She took a deep breath.

Then, more firmly this time, she intertwined her fingers with his again. "Just… don't laugh about it," she said softly. "For me, it's not something simple."

His smile softened.

"I'm not laughing at you," he replied. "I'm laughing because you worry too much about things that don't diminish who you are."

They continued walking.

Hand in hand.

The silence between them was now different.

Less tense.

More… comfortable.

They walked through the forest for some time longer, the path gradually narrowing as the trees grew older and denser. The canopies closed above them like intertwined fingers, allowing only fragments of light to pass through. The air there was colder. Heavier.

And the pulse… clearer.

Frieren slowed her pace without realizing it. Strax felt it through her hand even before noticing the atmosphere had completely changed.

"We're close," he said.

She nodded silently.

The ground began to shift beneath their feet. Leaves gave way to jagged stones covered in ancient moss. Tree roots emerged like thick veins protruding from the earth, too contorted to be natural.

The forest was being pushed outward.

"This isn't just demonic presence," Frieren murmured, her eyes alert. "It's… distortion."

Strax tilted his head, feeling it too. Not like magic, but like pressure. As if something were wrong with the rhythm of the world.

"It's like a heart beating out of sync," he said.

She looked at him, surprised.

"Exactly."

They continued until the forest simply… ended.

There was no clearing in the natural sense. The trees ceased abruptly, as if they had been cut by an invisible blade. Ahead of them, the rock rose bare and dark, forming the entrance to a wide, jagged cave, like an open mouth on the hillside.

The air coming from inside was too cold.

And heavy.

Frieren felt a shiver run down her spine.

"Here," she said.

Strax released her hand only to flex his fingers, feeling the energy of the place react to his presence. Not with direct hostility, but with something close to anxiety.

"Whatever it is…" he began, "it's not stable."

They entered.

The light of the forest faded quickly. Frieren conjured a soft glow, enough to illuminate the path without assaulting the space. The cave walls were covered in fissures that pulsed slightly, as if something breathed within the stone.

The sound was almost imperceptible.

A low thrum. Irregular.

Strax stopped suddenly.

"Did you hear that?"

Frieren closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating.

"I heard it," she replied. — But I can't… identify it.

They advanced a few more meters.

The cave widened as they descended, opening into a gigantic natural hall. In the center, enveloped by petrified roots and black crystals embedded in the ground, was the core.

It wasn't exactly a sphere.

It looked like something trying to be one.

Demonic energy condensed around it in unstable layers, spinning erratically, as if opposing forces were pulling in different directions. Cracks of dark light opened and closed on the core's surface, releasing waves of chaotic mana that made the air vibrate.

Frieren stopped abruptly.

Strax sensed it.

The core… wasn't just active.

It was failing.

"This is wrong" he said, in a low voice.

Frieren nodded slowly, his face as serious as it rarely was.

"Very wrong."

They approached cautiously. Each step seemed to provoke a reaction. The thrum increased, accelerated, then slowed again, like a heart on the verge of a heart attack.

Strax narrowed his eyes.

"It's collapsing."

Frieren turned to him immediately.

"Are you sure?"

"I am," he replied. "It's not unstable from excess energy. It's… as if it's being forced to exist."

She looked back at the core.

"Forced…" she repeated. "That doesn't make sense. Demonic cores form naturally when there's a sufficient concentration of corrupted mana."

"Not this one," said Strax. "This one is being sustained."

The core pulsed more strongly at that instant, releasing a wave that made the ground tremble slightly.

Frieren planted her feet firmly, her eyes gleaming with magic as she analyzed the surrounding layers.

"I don't recognize this structure," she admitted. "The signature is demonic, yes… but there's something mixed in."

"What?" he asked.

She hesitated.

"I don't know."

This, coming from Frieren, was unusual.

"I only know that…" she placed her hand on her chest, feeling the vibration, "this thing is too strange. It doesn't want to stabilize. It doesn't want to dissipate. It's as if it's… waiting."

Strax frowned.

"Waiting for what?"

Before she could answer, the sound changed.

It was no longer just the thrum.

There was something… like an echo.

Voices, perhaps. Not words. Intentions.

Strax instinctively brought his hand to his temple.

"Something's talking," he said. "Or trying to."

Frieren's eyes widened slightly.

"I feel it too," she murmured. "But it's not known demonic language."

The core reacted to their attention.

The fissures widened, the dark energy expanding like living smoke. For a second, Frieren had the distinct feeling of being watched—not as prey, but as a variable.

"Strax…" she said softly. "This isn't just demonic residue."

"I know."

He took another step forward, ignoring the increasing pressure in the air. The containment bracelets vibrated slightly, reacting to the external energy.

"Whatever it is," he continued, "it's trying to use this core as an anchor."