Demonic Dragon: Harem System-Chapter 507: Sleeping Beauties

Chapter 507: Sleeping Beauties

The light of dawn filtered through the thick curtains of the room, painting the room with a soft, golden glow. The air was warm, smelling of healing herbs and sweet incense smoke. In the center of the large bed, two figures lay beneath crumpled sheets—motionless, except for the slight rise and fall of their chests, a sign that life still pulsed there.

Xenovia was the first to stir. A frown crossed her forehead as the throbbing pain behind her eyes intensified with the slightest movement. She let out a hoarse groan and brought her hand to her head.

“Ugh… what… happened?” she muttered.

Beside her, Kryssia grumbled and turned over, pressing her face against the pillow before slowly opening her eyes. She blinked several times, as if the very act of seeing hurt.

“I feel like I’ve been run over by a herd of griffins…” she muttered, her voice hoarse. “Or by a dragon.”

The two lay there for a few seconds, breathing heavily, as if the simple act of being awake was already a challenge.

Xenovia tried to sit up, but quickly recoiled with a grimace. “My head…” she said, pressing her temples. “And my shoulders… they’re on fire.”

Kryssia gave a slight bitter laugh as she stroked her two little horns that were bothering her a little. “At least we’re alive. I remember… fire. Dragons. That roar…” She paused. “Then everything went white.”

The sound of the door opening softly broke the silence.

Monica entered with a basket of cloths and a steaming bowl in her hands. Seeing the two sitting, or almost sitting, she raised an eyebrow and smiled.

“The sleeping princesses have finally awakened,” she said, with the mocking tone of someone who had been waiting for this for days.

“Monica…” Xenovia murmured, blinking. “Where… are we?”

“Still in Vorah. Recovery ward of the lower citadel.” Monica placed the bowl on the small table next to the bed and approached them. “You slept for almost nine whole days. I thought I was going to have to hit you to wake you up.”

Kryssia groaned. “Maybe I still need a few slaps. Nothing seems real. And my head is killing me.”

“It’s real,” Monica said, pulling up a chair and sitting down beside the bed. “The city is still standing. By some miracle. Or by stubbornness.”

“And the dragons?” Xenovia asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

“They were defeated. Or rather, they were exterminated. We’re still not sure why they attacked us. Only that they caused enormous damage. But at least… you two survived. That’s worth more than anything right now.”

Kryssia turned slowly, leaning on her elbow. “Strax? Beatrice? Cristine? The others?”

“They’re fine. Strax went to Eldoria, it seems demons attacked there. The others went to help rescue and protect the city. They should finish everything today.” Monica lightly touched Xenovia’s forehead, as she did when they were children. “You were exhausted. Even though you held out for a while. You used too much magic for too long. You almost fried your mana veins. Even at the Emperor Stage, you are still mortal.”

“Great…” Xenovia muttered, squinting her eyes as if to ward off the pain. “We’re all broken. And I can’t even remember anything… not even how I’m still alive.”

“Fortunately, your core was protected by Nyx,” Monica replied, the smile disappearing from her face. Her voice was now grave, thoughtful. “But I must admit… if it weren’t for her, you would probably never be able to channel mana again.”

Silence returned for a moment, thick as fog. The crackling of a torch in the hallway next door seemed distant, muffled by the revelations.

Kryssia let out a long, weary sigh, lying down again and staring at the ceiling.

“My body aches as if it had been crushed by a mountain…” she murmured. “At least we have time to rest?”

“I believe so,” said Monica, crossing her legs and leaning on her knee. “Strax left with Cristine. And, well… chaos usually travels with him. With luck, he should be a few days away from returning.”

“And what do we do until then?” Kryssia asked, without taking her eyes off the shadows on the ceiling.

“Resting would be ideal,” Monica replied firmly. “As I said, your cores have been severely affected. They were almost completely depleted. You slept for nine days, and even so, you are not fully recovered.”

She leaned forward slightly, and her eyes—ancient eyes, with the subtle glow of draconic creatures—shone as she stared at each of them.

“Xenovia, you’re at about 45% of your mana capacity. Kryssia, 76%. It’s still unstable. Enough for self-defense, perhaps, but far from a safe condition for direct confrontation.”

The two warriors looked at each other, silent. The reality of their fragility fell like a dense shadow over the bed.

“It would be prudent for you to cultivate until you reach your full potential,” Monica continued, her tone a mixture of kindness and command. “You have faced a force that we do not fully understand. And you will still need everything you have… and more.”

Xenovia ran her hand over her face, her fingers trembling slightly. “I don’t like feeling weak.”

“You’re not weak,” Monica replied softly. “You’re alive. And that, considering what you’ve faced, is already a miracle.”

Kryssia closed her eyes for a moment, absorbing those words as if they were balm. “Then… we cultivate. For a few days. At least until Strax brings more bad news.”

Monica smiled, but there was something hard in her gaze. “Believe me… bad news doesn’t need help to find you. So enjoy this time. Heal your bodies. Strengthen your cores. Next time… there may be no respite.”

Xenovia nodded slowly, staring at the ceiling with heavy eyes.

“All right…” she whispered. “But next time, I want to be the one to throw the dragon from the sky.”

Monica laughed, a light, warm sound amid the tension. “We’ll see. But first, catch your breath… sleeping princesses.” She said smiling.

As soon as she finished.

Monica descended the stairs with slow steps, her fingers sliding lazily over the dark wooden banister. The mansion was silent, except for the soft echo of her footsteps and the distant sound of wind sneaking through the poorly closed windows. When she reached the lobby, the front door suddenly opened with a familiar creak, revealing two figures drenched in sand and exhaustion.

Rogue entered first, his leather cape slapping against his legs with each step. Samira followed close behind, her face covered by a red scarf partially lowered, revealing her worried expression.

“Monica,” Rogue said bluntly. “Is Xenovia awake yet?”

“Yes, a few minutes ago,” she replied, surprised by the urgency in their eyes. “They’re in the second-floor bedroom. Still recovering.”

Samira let out a sigh of relief and nodded quickly. “Great.”

Without wasting any time, they both started up the stairs, but Monica raised a hand, stopping them on the third step.

“Wait,” she said, her voice firm. “What happened? You two look like you’ve been through a war.”

Samira stopped, looked at Rogue for a moment, and then replied with a heavy sigh. The tension was visible even in her stiff shoulders.

“It looks like her brothers are killing each other in the desert.”

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