Demonic Dragon: Harem System-Chapter 802: Cheap Labor

The silence that followed the question was heavy.

Not the respectful kind of silence—it was the silence of those who never had an answer for it. The children exchanged uneasy glances. Some needed to clench their fists. Others pulled their elbows close to their bodies, as if trying to occupy less space in the world.

The oldest swallowed hard.

"We..." he began, but his voice failed. I cleared my throat and tried again. "We can’t afford it."

Daniela held their gaze, unhurried.

"I know," she replied. "That wasn’t a rhetorical question. It was a statement of fact."

She uncrossed her legs and climbed up from the table, walking slowly ahead of them. Each step was calculated so as not to rise up as a threat... and yet, it was impossible to ignore her presence.

"How many of you are there really?" she said. "Not here. Not all of you."

There was hesitation.

Cassandra tilted her head, smiling slightly.

"That’s the part where lying makes everything worse," she commented, almost cheerfully. "I count people very well."

A nervous murmur ran through the group.

A short-haired girl, maybe nine years old, carefully dictated her hand, as if she were in a class she never had.

"We... we’re more," she said, in a low voice. "There are the little ones who can’t run. And two who are sick."

Daniela gave birth.

"How many?" she repeated, now more softly.

"Fifty-two," the girl replied. "Counting everyone."

Cassandra whistled again, this time without humor.

"You were stealing for an entire neighborhood."

"No!" the oldest hurried to say. "Not to sell. Just... to keep. To exchange when needed. We’ll divide it."

Daniela took a deep breath, running a hand over her face.

"And how much do you think you stole, in total?" "I said.

The group hushed up.

"We don’t know," someone said. "A lot."

"Quite a bit," added another.

"Enough to attract attention," Cassandra concluded dryly.

Daniela nodded.

"Right. Then let’s define a few things."

She turned, walked to one of the piles of torn sacks. She picked up a piece of grain in her hand and let it slowly trickle between her fingers.

"If this were just immediate hunger, I’d close my eyes. The city does this all the time. But what you’ve set up here is a system. A scheme. And schemes have consequences."

The children tensed.

"That being said..." Daniela let the grains fall to the ground and wiped her hands. "I’m not interested in protection."

Confused glances broke.

"I’m interested in correction."

Cassandra raised an eyebrow, surprised, but didn’t argue.

"You stole public food," Daniela continued. "That creates a deficit. Deficits need to be compensated for. Somehow."

She walked until she was right in front of the group.

"I could call guards. I could send you to institutions that pretend to care. I could make it disappear in paperwork."

She paused briefly.

"I won’t."

The oldest frowned.

"Then...?"

"Then you’ll work," she replied simply.

The shock was immediate.

"Work?" someone repeated.

"How?" asked another.

"For whom?"

Daniela said lightly.

"For the city. For the warehouse. For yourselves."

She lingered over the piles.

"You know logistics better than half the adults who pass through here. You know how to divide, hide, transport, count. That has value."

Cassandra crossed her arms, observing the responses.

"Besides," Daniela added, "you’ve already proven you can follow rules... when they make sense."

The group murmured, confused but attentive.

"Here’s the deal," Daniela said, raising her hand to silence any interruptions. "I forgive the theft. All of it."

A collective sigh swept through the warehouse.

"But," she continued, "from today onward, you officially work for this warehouse. Organizing, cleaning, counting, carrying. In shifts. With guaranteed food. Water. Basic shelter."

She looked directly at the oldest.

"No tunnels. No hiding places. No looting."

"And if..." he hesitated, "what if we say no?"

Cassandrau’s deception. A dangerous, short smile.

"Then you become a problem again," she said. "Problems are usually solved by people less patient than us."

Daniela gave her a warning look, then turned to the children.

"You have to choose," she said. "You always will. But choices come with consequences. Working here means limited protection. It means visibility. It means that if anyone messes with you, they’ll be thinking about me."

Several people’s eyes widened.

"And with her," Cassandra added, tilting her head.

That seemed to weigh more heavily.

"We..." a girl who had spoken before taking off the sleeve of her shirt. "Can we come today?"

Daniela didn’t answer immediately.

She walked to a shelf, picked up an intact box, and opened it. Inside, dry bread, sturdy fruits, some legumes.

She placed the box on the floor, in the center.

"Yes," she said. "But slowly. Sitting down. Sharing. Like people who no longer need to rush."

For a moment, no one moved.

Then one of them began to cry.

Not loudly. Not hysterically. A restrained, exhausted cry, as if the body had finally been allowed to fail.

Others followed suit.

Daniela watched silently, her face firm, but her shoulders slightly tense.

Cassandra leaned toward her and murmured,

"You saw that fifty-two children just participated, right?"

Daniela closed her eyes for a second.

"No," she replied. "I just prevented them from dying or turning into monsters."

She opened her eyes again.

"Life is important."

The children began to move cautiously, sending them in small groups, sharing the food with an almost automatic organization.

Cassandra commented on the scene, then let out a low sigh.

"...Damn."

"What?" Daniela asked.

"Nothing," Cassandra replied. "I just realized that this worked without me having to break anyone."

She grimaced. "That’s disconcerting."

Daniela allowed herself a small, tired smile.

"You get used to it. Or not."

She looked at the group, now chewing silently, attentive to their every gesture.

"Tomorrow," she said loudly, "we start early."

Some nodded.

Others just got there faster.

But nobody ran.

...

Strax sat with an almost offensive tranquility.

The chair was too simple for someone like him, made of old wood and salvaged iron, but he settled in as if on a throne. His hands rested open on his thighs, his long fingers relaxed, as if there was nothing to fear in that immense, dimly lit shed.

Before him, an improvised army.

Men, women, teenagers hardened too early. Patched clothes, torn coats, mismatched boots. Tired faces. Some dirty with soot. Others marked by scars that didn’t come from glorious battles, but from unsuccessful escapes and nights without choice.

All thieves.

All the thieves in the city.

The silence there wasn’t as heavy as in Daniela’s warehouse. It was a tense, electric silence, like the moment before a lightning strike.

Strax watched them one by one.

He liked this moment.

He liked seeing the fear mixed with curiosity. He liked feeling the expectation growing, the doubt gnawing away. They knew they hadn’t been gathered there by chance. They knew this wasn’t an ordinary warning.

Strax clapped his hands.

The sound echoed through the warehouse like the dry crack of breaking bone.

Some shuddered.

"Let’s save time," he said, his voice too calm. "I hate long speeches. They give people the false impression that they have a choice."

He leaned forward slightly.

"You were brought here because you’re good at what you do. Fast. Invisible. Disposable."

Some faces hardened. Others bristled.

"That last part wasn’t an insult," Strax continued. "It was a diagnosis. The city never intended to protect you. Only to use you until you broke."

He leaned back again.

"I, on the other hand, believe in efficiency."

Silence.

Strax raised his right hand.

"So here is the only real choice you will have today."

He smiled.

A small smile. Controlled. Without any humor.

"Whoever doesn’t want to follow my orders will die."

The sentence fell like a body to the ground.

Some took an instinctive step back. Others clenched their teeth. There was a nervous murmur, quickly contained when Strax raised a single finger.

"No drama," he said. "It won’t be immediate. It won’t be cruel. But it will be definitive."

He let his finger lower.

"On the other hand," he continued, "those who follow me..."

The smile returned, a little wider now.

"You will be very well rewarded."

Strax stood up.

Now, he truly occupied the space.

"With constant food. Real gold. Protection. Territory. Authority. You will stop running from the guard and become the reason they run."

Some eyes gleamed.

Others looked suspicious.

"Once the city’s power is completely seized," he added, walking slowly ahead of the group, "you will no longer be thieves."

He stopped.

"You will be officers."

The impact of the word was immediate.

Officers.

One of the men at the front, tall and thin, cautiously raised his hand.

Strax stopped and looked directly at him.

"Yes?"

"You spoke of seizing the city’s power," the man said. "How?"

Some held their breath.

Strax smiled again.

This time, satisfied.

"Good question."

He turned his back for a moment, taking a few steps, as if reflecting. Then he turned again, opening his arms.

"I’ve already taken it."

Immediate confusion.

"What?" someone murmured.

"Impossible," said another.

"The council—"

"The council is politically dead," Strax interrupted. "Some literally, too."

He tilted his head.

"The vaults are under my control. The supply routes too. The guilds fight amongst themselves because I ensured they did. The guard responds to contradictory orders because I wrote half of them."

He took a step forward.

"The city is already mine."

Absolute silence.

"There’s only one thing missing," he continued, his voice lower now. "The symbol."

He raised his gaze.

"The monarch of the White Flames."

A shiver ran through the group.

Someone swallowed hard.

"As long as he lives, the city pretends it still has a choice," Strax said. "As long as he breathes, the illusion of order still exists."

He clenched his fist.

"Illusions need to be broken."

The same man raised his hand again, hesitantly.

"And... then?"

Strax tilted his head.

"Then you will have a place in the world."

He walked to a makeshift table to the side and slapped his hand on an open map of the city.

"You know every tunnel, every rooftop, every forgotten route. I don’t need well-trained soldiers. I need people who know where the world rots."

He looked back at them.

"And you know."

A young man on the side stepped forward.

"What if we refuse now?" Strax watched him for a long second.

"Then you die now," he replied simply.

No anger.

No raising of his voice.

Just the truth.

The young man froze.

Strax sighed, as if this were tiring.

"I don’t want unnecessary bodies. I want functional loyalty. So think carefully."

He opened his arms again.

"Follow me, and the city will be rewritten with your names on the margins."

Pause.

"Refuse, and you will be forgotten before dawn."

Silence stretched.

One by one, they began to kneel.

Not all at once.

But enough.

Strax watched, satisfied.

"Good," he said, sitting down again. "Now that this is settled..."

He smiled.

"Let’s talk work."