My Overpowered Demon System

After letting them settle, Abaddon continued.

"As a reward, I have deposited ten thousand credits into each of your accounts."

He paused for a moment.

"Credits are the official currency of the universe, used for exchange between races."

As he said those words, a pouch appeared in the space in front of each of them.

Each one hovered as if gravity did not apply to it.

"There is also a million wrath coins in there."

The students grabbed their pouches, eyes lingering on them with barely concealed shock.

Although they knew nothing about the currency systems of the demon race or the universe at large, a million still sounded like a great deal.

"That is all. You can leave," Abaddon said with a casual wave.

The students stared at him with unhidden surprise.

He had just dismissed them. They could not help but feel he was holding something back.

But there was nothing they could do about it.

Relative to the others, Azrael was unbothered. He was already used to this from Abaddon.

They gathered themselves and walked out.

Abaddon’s eyes stayed on the door for a while before he turned to Erebus.

"It is not your fault," Erebus said. "You were only rooting for your son."

Abaddon shook his head.

"If I had let you handle Prometheus when you said you wanted to, maybe Azrael would not have been condemned to this."

Erebus said nothing further.

As much as he wanted to pull Abaddon away from the blame, there was little he could do in this case.

What followed was an eerie silence.

Outside Abaddon’s office, Nyx stared at Azrael for a moment before she spoke.

"How did you become this strong?" She asked with furrowed brows, leaning slightly closer as if to get a better look at him.

Azrael paused, a wry smile forming on his lips as he tried to ease the awkwardness.

"Stop that, you are making him uncomfortable," Malaric said, pulling Nyx back.

"Who is uncomfortable?" Azrael asked with a chuckle.

It was only awkward, not enough to unsettle him.

Malaric shot him a tired look before glancing away.

Valdren looked back at Azrael.

Azrael caught the glance and smiled.

Valdren bowed quickly when he realized he had been caught, then turned forward just as fast.

’Still as shy as ever,’ Azrael mused. ’I wonder how he would ever get a girlfriend this way.’

Sirris and Zuriel walked past without sparing him another glance.

Azrael did not bother with them either, turning to find Zephyr had somehow appeared beside him.

Just then, a slight sting spread across his chest.

’This thing,’ he sighed.

A patch of ice formed over his chest a moment later, easing the pain just enough that it was not constant.

"How bad is it?" Zephyr asked, looking at the spot.

Azrael shook his head.

"Manageable. I can handle it."

Zephyr nodded.

He placed his hand behind his head as both of them walked through the long corridor.

"How about we travel out of the estate to explore?" Zephyr asked suddenly, turning to Azrael.

Azrael nodded almost immediately.

He had been considering the same thing since the vacation was announced.

"Let’s leave tomorrow and come back in three days," Zephyr said.

"Alright. Let me go and pack then."

Both of them parted ways.

’System,’ Azrael called with a thought.

[Yes.]

’The death flames on me.’

This was the reason he had not panicked even after learning of the brand. He had the system, which could source almost anything.

For a moment, the system did not reply.

[The cure costs more than an Infernal grade potion,] it said eventually.

Azrael sighed.

He should have known from the moment the system failed to advertise a cure the instant the diagnosis was given.

’And Raksha has already ascended.’

Another thought surfaced but he pushed it aside quickly.

It was a flame that burned the soul itself. There was no way cutting away the branded area would do anything.

Lost in thought, he did not notice when he reached his door.

"Welcome back, Lord Azrael," Clara said with a curtsy.

Azrael nodded, opening the door with a soft click.

The gentle scent of perfume met him as he stepped inside.

The room was elegantly arranged, as though someone had dressed it up carefully.

Azrael furrowed his brows and looked back at Clara.

"Happy birthday, my Lord," Clara said with another curtsy.

Azrael’s brows rose at those words.

He had forgotten entirely that it was his birthday.

"Thank you," he said with a smile.

She had only added some perfume and a few extra touches to the room, but it was still something.

Azrael sat on the bed and let his mind wander, thinking about how to suppress the pain passively without always relying on ice.

[I am not sure, but I think you should ask Eriksen.]

Azrael pushed himself up, eyes lighting up.

Eriksen was the right person for something like this.

He was someone who had rewritten the rules of essence through his own invention. If anyone could find a workaround, it was him.

Azrael reached into his spatial ring and pulled out the talisman Eriksen had given him two years ago.

"I just hope he is around."

He poured his essence into the talisman.

In a flicker of blinding light, he vanished.

For what felt like a long stretch of nothing, he seemed to float through an imaginary endless space.

’Did that man trick me?’ Azrael wondered as he looked around.

His confusion cleared as the haze lifted.

What opened before him was a castle the size of a small state.

It was larger than the Malvorin clan’s main castle.

Subtle golden lights glowed from each window, casting their warmth into the surrounding air.

Lush grass stretched in every direction, interrupted only by a single path running straight to the castle’s entrance.

And everywhere, a gentle fragrance of flowers.

Captivated by the sight, Azrael did not notice the shadow standing behind him, its maw wide open, as if to swallow him whole.