Demon Lord: Erotic Adventure in Another World-Chapter 482: A moment of warmth in the cold north.

The monster collapsed into the snow with a hiss, steam rising from the ragged crater where its body had struck. No blood. No bones. Just slick, bubbling sludge that melted into the frost, vanishing like breath in winter air.

Asmodeus stood over it, chest rising and falling, the sigil on his chest now faint, burnt-out and dull, like a brand that had exhausted its fire.

He didn't move.

His fist remained clenched at his side, not from anger but restraint.

He could still feel the illusion's texture. The softness of skin that wasn't real. The weight of their voices. Their warmth.

A mockery of his harem. Of the bonds he had bled for.

Footsteps approached behind him—slow, uneven.

Asmodea's lips became swollen, one cheek flushed with a swelling bruise. She moved like a vine torn at the roots—limping, wobbling, bleeding petals with every step.

"You hit me," she said, voice low.

"I know," he replied.

She didn't slap him, rage or cry. Instead, she pressed her hand flat against his chest, over the still-warm sigil.

Her touch trembled.

"Do it again," she said. "And I'll make you pay."

He didn't smile. "Fair."

She leaned her forehead against his shoulder. "But spanking is still okay..." Her eyes narrowed with a wink, as his hands gripped Asmodea's body, lifting her off the ground, squeezing her soft, fleshy behind. "Mmm... you can't, look at my bruises... kiss them better."

Behind her, Lumina dragged herself up from the snow, with damaged legs and her human form's silk dress torn at the chest, her eyes half-lidded but focused.

"I… wove a perfect barrier," she muttered. "And he still broke through it like nothing."

"That wasn't him," Levia said, limping forward now, using her shield as a crutch. "Not fully."

"He held back," Vinea added quietly, nursing a shoulder that had clearly dislocated. "If he didn't… we'd be dead."

They gathered slowly around him.

No one asked what the creature was.

But everyone felt it wasn't normal.

Not just a summoning. Not a spell.

Something deeper.

Asmodeus looked toward the north, toward the Demon Queen's fortress, still far in the blizzard's veil.

"She didn't send that," he said.

Vinea frowned. "Then what was it?"

"She dreamed it," he said. "Someone else… gave it shape. That monster wasn't awake, just like me..."

He knew because of the dream. He saw a cute figure, and that figure is how he broke from the illusion, a small succubus, almost as if Sariel was a young girl, but the colour and shape of her tail were Riel's...

Riel saved him.

***

'I didn't mean for that to happen...' Riel thought while sitting at the edge of the massive four-poster bed the demon queen used. During the morning, for an hour, the succubus Riel would gain control of her body once again.

At first, it was a few seconds, then over time, she increased it by fortifying her mental defence and illusion magic.

The magic she used gave the demon queen a pleasant dream... usually with Asmodeus, she would take the shape of each woman, and act out the dates and sweet moments with him as if they were her own.

'A twisted creature, why does she seek romance so much?'

Riel became angry about the sigil and turned her dream into a nightmare, and sadly, she ended up almost causing trouble to Asmodeus.

'But, her anger and rage... it's becoming strange recently, she no longer dreams of killing him but... holding his child? That wasn't something I created, strange... why did she choose Sariel as the for that weird dream.'

'Hmm? Oh... she's awakening.'

"Asmodues!!!"

Riel gasped.

Her back arched off her bed, sheets twisted around her legs, soaked in sweat.

Her lips parted, breath rapid. Her heart pounded as if it had been galloping for hours. She sat up, hands clutching her thighs, fingers trembling. Her skin was hot. Flushed.

"What… what just happened…?"

The crystal ball beside her flickered dimly, showing nothing. Her thighs were slick with a clammy sensation, and her chest ached. And on her skin, above her breast, the sigil glowed faintly red.

But Riel didn't cast any magic, not tonight.

Not tonight.

The last thing she did was watch him and his women before bed, a feeling of envy growing in her chest, because they didn't engage in carnal pleasure, so she became irritated and slept.

She looked around the room, and the demon queen found nothing.

No one there.

The room was empty.

The torches flickered.

The Demon Queen stood from the bed, bare feet slipping over the freezing stone. Her breath fogged the air, but she didn't feel the cold—instead, curiosity grew in her chest.

In the mirror across from her bed, her reflection wasn't mirroring her.

A faceless monster, the twisted fiend that invaded her dream and took Asmodeus away from her, killing him with a ruthless illusion that turned him against her.

"Eh...?" she gasped, a confused expression of horror and loss. "Why did I dream about that?"

Riel clutched her head, breathing harder.

"No… I didn't summon anything—! I didn't attack him, this time it wasn't me..."

Inside the demon queen's mind, Riel watched in silence, though this scene should have made her happy and satisfied that the demon queen was becoming more humane.

The appearance of these emotions made her unsettled.

'Why does it feel like something is wrong?'

Riel was alone again.

***

Back in the cave, Asmodeus sat on a stone, his women gathered around him, wounded and silent.

The fire crackled.

The sigil on his chest had faded… but its echo still throbbed under his skin.

He spoke aloud—not to his women, but to the wind:

"If you're dreaming of me, Demon Queen… then you'd better learn to control your fantasies."

His voice was steady.

But his hand closed into a fist once more.

Time passed as Asmodeus quietly thought to himself about how he had failed and what he could do to make it up to the women who loved him.

He rose.

The silence within the cave was heavy, like a swamp. None of the women moved until he did. When he walked toward Vinea, she straightened her back on instinct—but couldn't hide the wince as her dislocated shoulder tensed.

He crouched in front of her.

"Let me see."

She didn't respond with words, only nodded.

He placed one hand gently at the curve of her shoulder, the other on her collarbone.

A pulse of blood-red light shimmered between his fingers—then a sharp crack as he popped it back into place with surgical ease.

Vinea inhaled through clenched teeth, but her gaze didn't waver.

"You were the first to move," he said, standing. "You were ready to kill me."

"I was ready to stop you," she corrected.

"Good, I trust you with my life Vinea, never forget you are my pride." His hand stroked her smooth skin, entangling her brown hair as he hugged her gently, kissing her head. "Forgive me."

She didn't respond but enjoyed his embrace, quietly closing her eyes.

"Ah..." she gasped when he pulled away, and turned towards another.

Asmodea, like a spoilt cat, leaned against his body, having already scolded him. She instead focused on her comfort. "It feels so nice, because you are so warm."

His hands slipped through her crimson hair while the fire crackled. Soon, they would have to move on and face the harsh blizzards of the north.

Asmodeus shifted from Asmodea's warmth, moving past her with the grace of a predator tamed only by affection. His footsteps were soft against the cave floor, yet each one carried the finality of command.

Lumina had already returned to the silken barrier she'd reinforced in silence. Her spider legs folded beneath her, her upper body leaning against the wall. She didn't look up when he approached, but her head tilted slightly, sensing his presence.

"Your leg," he said.

"I'll mend it," she replied, but the strain in her voice betrayed her.

"No," he said. "I will."

She turned to him slowly. Even with bruises on her ivory skin and blood crusting her silk, she was still beautiful—eerie and devoted, like a goddess from some ancient, forgotten story.

Asmodeus crouched in front of her, one hand sliding down her damaged leg with careful pressure. Her body twitched once, then relaxed. She watched him work, her breath barely audible.

"You didn't hesitate," he murmured, his voice low. "You moved when I fell."

"I always will," Lumina whispered, lowering her head. "Even if you cut me down again."

His thumb brushed the torn line where carapace met skin. The crack was thin. Already sealing. Even so, he pressed his palm against it and whispered a spell in demonic tongue.

The wound closed, and Lumina released a breath like silk unravelling.

Asmodeus leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "You'll need your legs when we get to her gates."

"They're yours," she said softly.

He stood, turning toward the last of his women.

Levia sat by the fire, her shield set down at her side, her spear resting across her lap. Unlike the others, she didn't reach for him or watch him approach. She lowered her head, her silver hair spilling over her face like a curtain of guilt.

"You really hurt me." Asmodeus joked, the feeling of her shield slamming his jaw still vivid.

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

"I'm not."

She looked up then, slowly.

"That shield," he said, tapping it with the back of his hand. "Keep it polished. You're going to carry it into our final battle."

A faint smile flickered on her lips.

Asmodeus reached down and grasped her chin. He tilted her face to meet his gaze fully.

"I trusted you girls to bring me back," he said. "And you did."

Her eyes shimmered, and for a moment, she looked ready to cry—but she simply nodded. Then, quietly, she removed her gauntlet and reached for Asmodeus and grabbing his hand, resting it against her cheek.

"Thank you, My Lord."

He didn't let go of her for a long time.

The fire was the only sound in the cave now.

Outside, the storm howled, but it was weaker than before. Like the winds, they knew better than to trespass too boldly again.

Asmodeus sat near the centre, his women gathered around him, not draped over him this time, but close. Comfortable. Intimate.

No one spoke.

No one needed to.

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Each breath matched his rhythm.

Each flick of the firelight reflected off the sigil on his chest, now nothing more than a pale mark.

He leaned back, staring up at the cavern's ceiling.

His hand rested over the faded brand, feeling the way it no longer throbbed. But he remembered what it had done, what it might still do.

He remembered the succubus girl in the dream—the one that looked like Sariel, but wasn't.

The girl who saved him.

That had been Riel. Not the Queen. Which meant that the woman he was searching for, grieving over, was still alive—she existed there, in some form.

And that meant something.

Tomorrow, he would decide what.

But tonight... he closed his eyes, letting the warmth of his women settle around him.

And the snow kept falling.