Demonic Dragon: Harem System - Chapter 436

Chapter 436: The Queen Has Died
The white marble floor of the square, stained with blood and dust, reflected Strax’s heavy footsteps as he crossed the large square towards the Royal Palace.

The elves, once proud and arrogant, were beginning to wake up from the collective unconsciousness caused by the battle between Strax and the Spirit King… The Aura emanating was so strong that only cultivators above the King Stage could withstand it.

The sound of short breaths and muffled coughs filled the air.

Then the silence broke again…

On his lap lay the lifeless body of the Elf Queen… the woman who had sacrificed herself so that the forests would not die without the spirit world… and who was now nothing more than an elegant, empty carcass.

The murmuring began like a whisper:

“It’s her…”

“He killed her…”

“Finally…”

“Monster…”

“Murderer…”

Strax walked unhurriedly, his eyes fixed straight ahead, as if each step were a sentence of justice. The black, flaming aura that surrounded him pulsed like an angry heart.

Then an elf, perhaps a decadent nobleman, raised his voice.”You have no right to touch her body, DEMON!”

Strax stopped.

He raised his head.

His eyes shone in a silver-abyssal tone.

And with a single flick of his finger, that elf was crushed by an invisible force – as if the air itself had compressed him into a statue of cracked flesh and bone.

Another tried to run.

Another shouted a spell.

Another drew his sword.

They all died.

Without Strax moving more than a glance, a vibration in the air, a small, cruel, definitive gesture.

Each one who dared to disrespect the moment, each one who carried gratuitous hatred, each one who offended… died.

“I’m not here to argue.” Strax’s voice cut through the air like muffled thunder, heavy, full of a contained rage that made the very light in the hall waver.

“I’m here to hand over your queen’s body… to her daughter.”

The silence that followed was absolute. Not a respectful silence – but an oppressed, suffocating silence, as if an invisible hand were squeezing the throat of every elf present.

Strax lifted the Elf Queen’s body higher, revealing the now serene face of the woman who had ruled for centuries… and had died alone.

“You hated her. I know that.” Her voice grew. “But I also know that none of you even understand why. You’re too proud to listen to anyone who doesn’t confirm the very lies you tell each other.”

He took a few more steps forward.

“The truth? The truth is that your race has rotted. You’ve locked yourselves inside your own arrogance for so long that you’ve become incapable of seeing the truth even when it bleeds in front of you.”

His gaze burned.

“Frieren… gave his life. His very life force. To keep this kingdom standing. To feed the defenses, the barriers, the mana that sustains these walls, this city, these people, the entire forest… even when you abandoned it.”

Strax’s anger oozed from every word.

“She died… trying to save you, you ungrateful worms. And now… you curse her? Spit on her name? Denigrate her image without knowing what she did for you?”

An elf stepped forward, inflated by blind bravery and suicidal stupidity.

“SHE WAS A MONSTER! DON’T FALL-”

PLOFT!

His head exploded before he could finish his sentence. A wave of blood and brains splattered across the marble floor. The body fell to its knees, then toppled over like an empty sack.

Strax didn’t even stop walking.

“I warned you. I’ll kill anyone who dares to open their mouth.”

He stepped over the corpse without looking down.

“Frieren was, without a shadow of a doubt, the only one among you who really cared about this kingdom. For these people. For you. Have the decency to shut up.”

But the corridor ahead… darkened.

Elves began to gather in ranks. Some wearing black cloaks with ancient insignia. Others with arcane tattoos burning on their arms. Ceremonial blades. Magic condensing on their fingers.

“Liberation Faction.”

Strax stopped.

A living wall of armed and confident elves was forming in front of him. There were at least fifty of them. Their eyes were full of contempt, their smiles sharp.

One of them – a leader, perhaps – stepped forward.

“You will not desecrate this hall with that corpse.”

“She betrayed our race, sold out our sovereignty. You… will not leave here alive.”

Strax took a deep breath. For a moment, he almost looked tired.

Then… he smiled.

A cold smile. No compassion. No pity.

“Ah… so you’re the worms that are left.”

Strax stared at them.

Silver eyes, deep and abyssal, that seemed to reflect not light… but extinction itself.

The Liberation Faction group stood firm, some even smiling confidently. Arrogance was a hard habit to cure – even in the face of death.

But then… Strax took a step.

The marble stone beneath his feet cracked at the mere touch.

And when he looked up… the world stopped.

For an instant, the air froze, as if reality itself were hesitating in the face of a monster’s fury.

“You… won’t understand until the end.”

Strax’s voice came out low.

Too low.

So low that it echoed within the bones of every elf present.

He raised his hand.

A snap of the fingers.

And all hell broke loose.

Heads exploded in succession.

Like macabre fireworks.

Blood gushed out in arcs.

Bodies fell like rag dolls.

The elves tried to react – casting spells, raising shields, running – but there was no time.

Every move was predicted. Every intention nullified.

Only the sound of flesh being torn. Skulls shattering. Silence settling in.

Strax didn’t even blink.

One by one, the bodies of the Faction fell, without glory, without a fight, without a chance.

Until only the leader remained.

He tried to swallow his fear as the blood of his comrades splashed onto his face.

He trembled. But he couldn’t run. He couldn’t move.

Strax approached – without haste.

He looked into his eyes. And he spoke, softly, almost gently:

“You should have kept quiet.”

And then… with a blow, the leader’s head crumbled like dust in the wind.

Silence.

Not the tense silence of before.

Absolute silence. Of a graveyard. The end.

The square, the hall, the corridors – all the elves there… fell silent.

None dared to move.

None dared to breathe loudly.

None dared think of reacting.

Strax looked around.

Charred bodies. Dismembered. Bloodied.

The once-white ground was now a dark red lake, with pieces of bone and armor slowly sinking like offerings to oblivion.

He took a deep breath… and then started walking again.

Carefully carrying the queen’s body.

The sound of the carnage was still echoing off the stone walls and the freshly torn memories of the survivors, when a new sound came over them – the faint creak of old wood.

High above, a balcony of the Royal Palace opened with a muffled pop, revealing the firm figure of Lyana, the captain of the Royal Knights.

She emerged clad in a worn, dark blue cloak, with the royal symbol still glowing discreetly on her left shoulder. Her hair in a high ponytail fluttered in the heavy post-battle breeze. A woman of war… a warrior of honor.

But at that moment, she wasn’t a captain.

She was a daughter of the Kingdom. And a witness to its ruin.

Lyana’s eyes met Strax’s.

The ground beneath him was a sea of blood and bodies, but he walked with steady, careful steps, carrying the Queen’s body as if it were crystal. Not as a trophy. But as a promise fulfilled.

Shock crossed the captain’s face. Her lips parted. She recognized the ceremonial dress, the ancient necklace, the now pale skin of the woman she had sworn to protect with her life.

Queen Frieren was dead.

Lyana put her hand to her mouth. A tremor ran through her shoulders. The tears came silently – not of weakness, but of deep loss. Of helplessness.

She said nothing.

She didn’t scream.

She didn’t run.

She just turned around. And disappeared back into the palace.

…

A few minutes later, the inner gates opened with a creak full of regret.

And through them, guided by the captain’s hands, came Evelyn.

So small under the weight of the crown, but with her mother’s eyes.

Eyes that knew.

They knew before they even saw.

She walked as if in a dream – or a very quiet nightmare. Her white dress dragged on the ground, stained with dust and blood that wasn’t hers.

When she saw Strax, Evelyn stopped.

He stopped too.

The silence between them was thick, sacred. The world seemed to hold its breath.

Strax knelt on one knee and offered the queen’s body reverently.

As if returning a fragment of the world to his heart.

Evelyn fell to her knees. Her trembling fingers touched her mother’s cold face.

She didn’t cry. Not there. The tears would come later. When the world was no longer watching.

Lyana knelt beside her, bowing her head – the soldier before her fallen queen.

Strax rose slowly, his eyes still fixed on the few living elves around him – now in silence, now in respect, now in fear.

He stared at each face, each lost look, each soul bereft of words.

Then his voice broke through the air like a blade sheathed in grief:

“I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t a request for forgiveness.

It wasn’t an apology.

It was an acknowledgement of something inevitable… and deeply painful.

Strax turned to Evelyn.

He knew her well enough to know – that scene, that weight, that farewell… it was too much for her.

The young princess held her mother’s body tightly, as if she could prevent the end. As if love were enough to keep her soul there for another second.

Her voice came out in a broken whisper, dragged down by the pain that even she couldn’t name:

“What were… her last words?”

Strax lowered his eyes.

It took him a second. He took a deep breath. The memory still burned in him, like red-hot iron in the flesh.

“Protect my daughter.” That’s all he said.

Simple.

Definitive.

Evelyn broke down.

The crying came like a silent storm.

No screams. No hysteria.

Just tears.

So many tears that it felt like the world was crying with her.

Lyana hugged her from behind, tightly, without saying a word – like a wall holding the remaining pieces of the princess.

The two remained kneeling there for a few seconds, wrapped in tears, the weight of grief and the overwhelming presence of death. The silence was profound, touched only by Evelyn’s muffled sobs and Lyana’s shaky breathing.

Then an unexpected sound cut through the air.

A dry snap.

Strax slapped one hand against the other, knocking away dust or perhaps… ending the moment.

Then he let out a small laugh.

Low.

Off-key.

Almost… excited.

“So… now… I guess it’s time to revive her, right?”

He said with the same naturalness as someone who announces that he’s going to prepare dinner.

They both stared at him, as if their tears had frozen on their faces.

“What?” Evelyn muttered, not believing what she was hearing.

Strax raised an eyebrow, as if it were obvious.

“I mean… I can’t turn her into a dragon, of course. Only my wives get that privilege.” He smiled, proud of himself, as if he were talking about hothouse flowers or rare jewels. “But… a demon? That’s much more feasible.”

The silence between them became different – more icy. More tense.

“Of course she’ll end up being bound to me,” he continued, casually, like someone explaining the terms of a contract.

“Soul binding, partial obedience, that whole thing… But, you see…”

He leaned in a little, still holding the queen’s body with an almost caressing delicacy. “Better that than being dead, isn’t it?”

Strax’s smile widened, filled with a somewhat… misplaced joy.

‘A woman capable of giving her energy for over a thousand years to supply a kingdom… She’s passed the emperor stage, so… of course, she’ll lose power by becoming a demon in the meantime… HAHAHA!’