Strongest Incubus System-Chapter 199: Morgana has arrived!

The scene began in the side training field of Wykes Manor, where the hard-packed earth floor was already marked by dozens of furrows and impact marks. The cold wind passed between the banners, making the fabric crackle softly, while two figures moved in the center of the open space.

Damon and Lily.

Both held spears.

Damon maintained a solid posture, feet apart, knees slightly bent, his body aligned as Esther had taught him countless times. His movements were restrained, calculated, each advance accompanied by a ready retreat, each strike thought out to maintain control of distance.

Lily, on the other hand, seemed... different.

She moved with too much lightness for someone who, weeks ago, barely knew how to hold a weapon. Her body flowed with the spear, as if the weapon’s shaft were merely a natural extension of her arms. Her steps didn’t follow a rigid pattern—they were almost intuitive, adaptive, changing as Damon reacted.

The spears clashed.

Metal against metal.

The sound echoed dryly.

Damon swung the shaft, trying to force Lily’s weapon down, but she twisted the hilt with surprising precision and slid to the side, using his own momentum to escape. The tip of her spear passed dangerously close to Damon’s shoulder, triggering a quick step back.

"You’re getting faster," he commented, without taking his eyes off her.

Lily smiled, focused, without replying. She advanced again, a direct attack, simple... but with perfect timing. Damon blocked, felt the vibration rise through his arms, and responded with a straight counterattack.

She dodged by inches.

On the edge.

On the sidelines, Esther watched silently, arms crossed, her face impassive as always. Her eyes, however, followed every micro-adjustment, every tiny mistake, every unexpected success.

After another intense exchange, Damon took two steps back and raised his hand.

"Pause," she said, taking a deep breath.

Lily lowered her spear immediately, obediently, though still breathless. Her face was slightly flushed, her eyes shining with excitement and focus.

It was then that Esther spoke.

"She’s truly brilliant." The silence that followed was almost palpable.

Damon turned his head slowly, as if he’d heard something wrong.

"...You just called someone brilliant?" he asked, incredulous.

Esther shrugged calmly, as if she’d just commented on the weather. "Yes."

Damon blinked. "The cold Esther? The same Esther who calls any mistake ’pathetic’ and any success ’minimally acceptable’?"

"Exactly that one," she replied, without changing her tone.

Lily’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, and she looked from one to the other, clearly unsure how to react.

Esther continued:

"It’s your fault for taking so long to learn." She tilted her head toward Damon. "She, for example, is already at your level in a week."

The words hit Damon like a direct punch to the stomach. "...What?"

"Maybe a spear isn’t for you," Esther finished, with her usual clinical coldness. "Not everyone is born to master certain weapons."

Damon was silent for a few seconds, processing it. Then he let out a short, incredulous laugh. "You’re cruel, you know that?"

"I’m honest," Esther corrected. "Cruelty would be lying to preserve your ego."

Lily, who had been quiet until then, frowned and took a step forward.

"Hey." She pointed the spear slightly at the ground, as if that gave weight to her words. "He’s better than me."

Damon turned to her immediately.

"Lily—"

"Seriously," she interrupted, with unexpected firmness. "You have a foundation I don’t. Control, combat reading, real experience. I just learn fast."

She glanced sideways at Esther, her eyes sharp.

"You just don’t want to congratulate him."

The air grew... tense.

For a moment, Damon thought Esther would simply ignore it. Or mock it. Or, at the very least, make some cutting comment that would end the matter.

But Esther remained silent.

Long seconds.

She looked away for a moment, staring at the empty field ahead, before replying:

"Jealousy is an unproductive emotion."

"So that’s what it is?" Lily teased, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Esther said dryly. "It’s frustration."

Damon felt something strange in his chest.

"Frustration... with me?"

Esther finally looked at him again.

"You have talent." The statement came directly, without embellishment. "But you insist on underestimating yourself. On seeking external validation. On comparing your progress to that of others instead of to what you were yesterday."

She took a step forward.

"Lily learns quickly because she’s not afraid to make mistakes. You learn well, but you hesitate. You question too much. That delays you."

Damon gripped the spear tighter.

"And you think that makes me worse?"

"No," Esther replied. "It makes you... different."

Lily relaxed slightly, lowering her weapon completely.

"See?" she said, looking at Damon with a soft smile. "She just doesn’t know how to compliment without sounding like she’s attacking you."

Esther shot Lily a cold look.

"Don’t confuse frankness with affection."

"I’ve confused worse things," Lily replied, shrugging.

Damon sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"You two together are going to finish me off."

"That’s the point of the training," Esther said.

Lily laughed.

"I thought the point was for him to survive."

"One thing doesn’t exclude the other."

Damon watched the two for a moment.

A cold and ruthless general.

A succubus who learned as if she were born for it.

And he... well, he was in the middle of it all, trying to keep up, trying not to break, trying to grow fast enough not to fall behind.

He swung his lance one last time and straightened his stance.

"Alright," he said. "No long pause. Let’s go again." Lily smiled, excited.

Esther crossed her arms again, her eyes alert. "Show that lance isn’t ’for you’," she said. "Or prove me right."

The sound of hurried footsteps broke the rhythm of the training.

Damon was still in position, lance extended, when a knight appeared from the side arc of the field, running without any concern for composure. His light armor clinked with each stride, and his sweaty face betrayed real urgency.

"Lord Damon!" he called, almost breathless. "A carriage has just arrived at the outer gate."

Damon didn’t lower his weapon immediately.

"And?"

The knight swallowed hard.

"There’s a young lady inside. She demands to speak with you. She said that..." — he hesitated — "...she wouldn’t leave without seeing you."

A heavy silence fell.

Damon finally lowered his spear.

He didn’t need to ask anything more.

He turned his face slowly toward Esther.

She was already staring at him.

They exchanged a single look — short, precise, full of understanding.

"It’s her," Damon said softly.

Esther nodded.

"The Duke Arven’s little daughter."

Lily blinked, confused, alternating her gaze between the two.

"The... Duke’s little daughter?" she repeated. "Wait. Duke Arven? That Arven?"

Damon exhaled slowly, as if preparing for something inevitable.

"Yes."

Lily frowned.

"And why would a duke’s daughter be coming after you?"

He didn’t answer immediately.

He carefully sheathed his lance in its holder, almost ritualistically, as if that small gesture gave him time to gather his thoughts. When he turned back, his expression was serious, closed off in a way Lily hadn’t seen before.

"Because some things don’t stay behind just because you decide to leave," he said.

Esther stepped forward.

"Where’s the carriage?"

"At the main gate," the knight replied. "The guards are awaiting orders."

"Don’t make her wait too long," Esther said. "It’ll only make things worse."

Damon made a brief grimace.

"As if there were a version of this that wasn’t bad."

He looked at Lily.

She still seemed to be processing everything.

"I have to go," he said, more gently now. "Stay here."

"I..." Lily hesitated. "Is this dangerous?"

Damon thought for a second.

"Politically?" he replied. "Always."

She pressed her lips together.

"Then be careful."

He nodded and began to walk away.

"Damon," Lily called.

He stopped and looked over his shoulder.

"Are you coming back?"

The question wasn’t strategic. Nor curious.

It was simple.

Honest.

Damon held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary.

"Yes," he replied. "I’ll be back."

She relaxed a little, though confusion was still etched on her face.

Damon headed towards the field exit.

Esther walked beside him, their steps synchronized.

"You know she didn’t just come to talk," Esther said bluntly.

"I know."

"Arven doesn’t send his daughter without a clear intention." She glanced sideways at him. "He’s testing limits. Or trying to pull you back by what’s left of our emotional ties."

Damon let out a humorless laugh.

"He’s always liked using people as chains."

"And Morgana..." Esther continued, "...is a particularly well-chosen chain."

Damon clenched his fist.

"She’s not like him."

"No," Esther agreed. "But she’s still his daughter."

They reached the inner courtyard, where the distant sound of carriage wheels could already be heard beyond the walls.

Damon stopped.

"If this gets out of control..."

"I know," Esther interrupted. "I’ll be around."

He looked at her.

"Thank you."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Don’t confuse this with emotional concern," she said. "It’s risk management."

"Of course," Damon replied. "As always."

They parted ways there.

Damon walked alone along the stone path that led to the main gate of the mansion.

With each step, old memories tried to surface—Arven’s wide corridors, rigorous training, assessing gazes... and Morgana.

Always Morgana.

When he finally reached the gate, the guards had already moved a few meters away, respecting the implicit tension.

The carriage was too elegant to go unnoticed. Dark wood, discreet coats of arms, well-groomed horses. Everything screamed contained power.

The door opened.

And she descended.

Morgana.

For a moment, Damon didn’t move.

Until he saw her drawing her sword. "Hey—" Damon said, raising his hand.

"I’m going to kill you, you coward." Morgana said as she began to emanate aura from the sword.

"H-hey!" Damon said.

[Alert! Danger!] the system appeared after a long time.