Chapter 19: Lilith
Malrik remained motionless, the silence in the room stretching until it felt brittle. His eyes were fixed on Lilith, tracing the silhouette of a being that defied the laws of his new reality. A High Demon. A former princess of the Underworld. An entity that had once commanded the reverence of a Saint, now reduced to a kneeler in his shadow.
The absurdity of the moment didn’t escape him. It felt like a fever dream.
"...Stand."
Lilith obeyed instantly. Her movement was fluid, lacking the mechanical stiffness of a summoned spirit; she rose with the predatory grace , smoothing the obsidian folds of her dress with a calmness that made Malrik’s skin crawl.
"So," Malrik said, folding his arms. He needed to establish boundaries, or at least the illusion of them. "What can you do?"
Lilith tilted her head, a playful glint dancing in her violet eyes. She let out a soft, melodic laugh—the sound of silk rubbing against a whetstone. "Most of my strength remains sealed, unfortunately. "For the time being, I can only use a small portion of my original abilities."."
She didn’t sound bothered. She sounded entertained.
She raised a single, slender finger. ""I specialize in mental attacks."."
A second finger joined the first. "Mind manipulation."
And a third. "And illusion magic."
Her smile was delicate, almost shy, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "Their potency is... a shadow of what they once were. But for a fledgling Soul Binder like yourself, they should be quite sufficient."
Malrik analyzed her words, his mind stripping away the veneer of her tone. Mental attacks. Illusions. They lacked the visceral impact of a sword or a spell of devastation, but they were far more insidious. If she had climbed to the rank of Saint with those tools, she wasn’t a warrior—she was an architect of madness. Every one of those powers was undoubtedly terrifying.
"...Interesting," he murmured.
Lilith’s smile widened, sharp and knowing. She took a step forward. Then another. The distance between them evaporated so subtly that Malrik didn’t realize she was in his personal space until he could smell the faint, ozonic scent of the void clinging to her skin.
She looked up at him, her gaze intense, uncomfortably bright. "You know, Master... you are much more handsome than I expected."
Her laughter was a mischievous chime in the stagnant air. "Perhaps eternity at your side won’t be quite as tedious as I anticipated."
Malrik stood his ground, though his instincts were screaming at him to recoil. Everything about her was dissonant. She wore the mask of a servant, but she carried the confidence of a queen. She spoke of him as a master while observing him as a predator would observe a curious insect.
Before he could craft a reply, a cold, gnawing sensation spread through his core.
*My Mana.*
The summoning gate had been a glutton, scouring his reserves to the bottom. Even now, the *Soul Contract* was a living leech, pulling at the frayed threads of his mana to keep her tethered to the physical plane. If she stayed, he would be drained into a coma.
He looked at her, his expression unreadable. "It seems your manifestation is too costly. You’ll have to return for now."
Lilith blinked, her expression flickering. "Return?"
"My core isn’t a bottomless well. I’ll summon you when I need you."
For the first time, the vibrant, dangerous smile on her face faltered. She lowered her eyes, a shadow of genuine melancholy crossing her features. "That is... unfortunate."
The mask snapped back into place a heartbeat later. She bowed, a movement of perfect, classical elegance. "I shall patiently await your next call, Master."
She dissolved into a swirl of emerald sparks. The particles drifted toward him, sinking into his pores like embers settling into ash. When the last spark faded, the room felt hollow, the sudden silence ringing in his ears.
Malrik slumped, rubbing his temples as the adrenaline began to bleed out of him. "Every single person I’ve met since arriving here is insane," he muttered to the empty air. "A lunatic family. A maid who treats me like a porcelain doll. And now? A cheerful demon princess."
He shook his head. Normality was a luxury he clearly couldn’t afford.
A moment later, a sharp, rhythmic knock sounded at his door.
"Young Master?" Eliza’s voice was laced with that familiar, stifling concern. "May I come in?"
"Enter."
She stepped inside, her eyes immediately darting to his drenched clothes and the exhaustion etched into his features. She opened her mouth to fuss, but Malrik cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Prepare a bath now. And while I’m washing have diner brought here."
Eliza immediately bowed.
"As you wish."
♢ ♢ ♢
The cold water was a scalding mercy against his skin, washing away the grime of his own thoughts. Malrik leaned his head against the cold marble wall and squeezed his eyes shut.
His life had become a chaotic blur of absurdities. A reincarnation into a world he didn’t understand, a family of walking landmines, a System that felt more like a tormentor than a helper, and now—a demon princess who flirted with him like she was bored at a gala.
He cracked one eye open, staring at the ceiling, and let out a dry, hollow laugh.
"Seriously? Everyone I meet in this godforsaken place belongs in an asylum."
His gaze drifted to the mirror on the opposite wall. The reflection was almost insulting. Broad shoulders, lean muscle, a frame that looked like it had been carved for nothing but Fighting. He looked like a masterpiece—a lethal, high-value asset in a world that treated lives like currency.
He caught himself smirking. "Well, at least the genetic lottery didn’t stiff me. If I’m going to be cannon fodder, I might as well look good doing it."
He stretched his arms, feeling the coiled strength in his chest. "Handsome, healthy, and filthy rich. Honestly? If it weren’t for the impending threat of a gruesome, bloody death, I’d say I’ve got it made."
♢ ♢ ♢
When he stepped out of the bath, his fresh clothes were laid out with surgical precision. Eliza was standing by the door, quiet as a shadow. Beyond her, a breakfast spread was arranged that looked like a king’s ransom.
The aroma hit him, and his stomach rumbled. Despite the madness, his appetite remained offensively robust. He sat down and tore into the meal. Even after days of this, he couldn’t deny the privilege—every dish was perfect, the seasoning was absolute art, and every ingredient was clearly worth more than a peasant’s house.
Being a Duke’s son has its perks, he thought, scraping the last of the sauce off the plate. At least the final meal before a monster tears me apart will be a gourmet experience.
Eliza stepped forward, her movements practiced and eerily silent as she cleared the plates. She dipped into a bow that was lower than necessary.
"Will there be anything else, Young Master?"
Malrik pushed his chair back. "No. I’m going to sleep. Wake me up before the sun even thinks about rising. I’ve got training to do."
"As you wish."
♢ ♢ ♢
The next morning, the knocking came with the precision of a guillotine blade.
"Young Master. It is time."
Malrik opened his eyes before the knock had even finished echoing. He washed up and strapped on the black combat armor his brother had left behind. It didn’t pinch, it didn’t weigh him down—it felt like a second skin designed for one purpose.
He checked his storage ring, sliding the spear into his hand. Its weight was familiar, an extension of his own reach.
As he walked toward the training grounds, the exhaustion that had been gnawing at his bones for days finally dissipated, replaced by a cold, sharp-edged anticipation. He wasn’t just a boy in an estate anymore; he was a hunter stepping into the wood.
A thin, jagged smile spread across his face.
"Finally. Let’s see what these monsters are made of."
He walked a little further, the silence of the estate feeling heavy, almost expectant.
Then, he let out a low, humorless chuckle.
"Yeah... I guess I’m just becoming another one of the lunatics, aren’t I?"
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