My Wives are Beautiful Demons - Chapter 588
588: Tournament Preparations 588: Tournament Preparations Vergil observed the scene before him with that same calm air he wore when something amused him more than worried him.
The training ground still reeked of fresh blood and burnt iron, the ground cracked and stained scarlet-a fresh reminder of the duel between Ada and Ingrid.
In the center, Ingrid tried in vain to reattach her own arm.
The limb hung grotesquely, its regeneration failing completely.
Frustration was etched on her face-not pain, but pure embarrassment.
Vergil arched an eyebrow, his voice thick with irony.
“So…
Ada defeated you that easily?” Katharina, standing a little further back, gave a soft laugh, covering her mouth with her hand.
“Yes,” she replied, amused.
“Even with the disadvantage, I must admit…
Ada was a surprise.” Ada, sitting on one of the broken pillars, calmly wiped the blood from the blade of her katana.
Her expression was cold, her gaze impassive-as if the fight had been nothing more than a practice run.
Without raising her head, she spoke in a calm yet intent tone: “I’m not going to miss this chance.” Vergil let out a short laugh.
“Of course you won’t,” he replied, then shifted his gaze to Ingrid.
“And you…” He took a step forward.
His gaze met hers-steady, penetrating.
“You were just an empty promise, is that it?” he asked with a wry smile.
“Amon talked so much about you… he said you were one of the good ones.
But honestly?” He shrugged.
“I haven’t seen anything wrong with you yet.” Ingrid’s gaze darkened.
If she could, she would have stabbed him right there.
“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” Vergil said, raising his hands in mock surrender.
“It’s not my fault.
Amon put you on a pedestal.” Ingrid took a deep breath, her jaw clenching.
“I fought without knowing her power,” she said through gritted teeth.
“She observed me twice before facing me.
It was a disadvantage.” The tone was bitter, but true.
Vergil watched her for a few seconds, silent.
Then, in a simple movement, he approached.
The sound of his boots on the cracked floor made Ada look up curiously.
“Tsk…” he murmured.
“Pathetic seeing you trying to glue your arm back together like that.” Without further ado, he raised his hand.
The veins beneath Ingrid’s skin reacted instantly.
Her blood heeded Vergil’s call, flowing like a living river.
The dismembered arm rose on its own, the arteries reconnecting in a crimson glow that pulsed like liquid fire.
Vergil placed his fingers over the junction and whispered, “It uses energy to regenerate the skin.” Ingrid closed her eyes, channeling power.
Gradually, the flesh rebuilt itself, the skin sealing the wound as if the cut had never existed.
When she finished, she opened her eyes again-still furious, but now whole.
Vergil took a satisfied step back and crossed his arms.
“There you go.
Back to the game.” Ingrid growled softly, testing the movement of her arm.
“Don’t think I owe you anything.” Vergil smiled, the smile of someone who had been expecting this exact answer.
“I never expect gratitude.” He turned, starting to walk away.
“Only results.” Behind him, Ada finished cleaning the blade and said dismissively, “I hope it lasts longer than two minutes next time.” “Okay…” he began, running a hand through his hair, still stained with small drops of dried blood.
“That concludes the training part.
Now, let’s get to what really matters.” The three of them watched him in silence.
Ada, impassive; Katharina, curious; Ingrid, still holding back her anger tightly enough to grit her teeth.
Vergil took a few steps to the center of the arena, the heavy echo of his boots marking the silence.
He looked around, assessing the space, the wreckage, and the metallic smell that still lingered in the air.
“Any update on the tournament?” he asked bluntly, his voice low but firm.
“I want to know if there’s anything new.
Any changes, any movement between the kingdoms.” Katharina was the first to respond.
“Nothing concrete so far.” She crossed her arms, her expression thoughtful.
“It seems nothing has changed, since Amon or anyone else has come here to find out what will happen.” Ada wiped the tip of her katana with a white handkerchief, her gaze never leaving the blade.
“And rightly so,” she commented.
“It’s not often that mortals, demons, and deities face off on the same stage.
They must be quite busy right now.” “Hm…” Vergil muttered thoughtfully.
“And the envoys?” Paimon must be preparing the records,” Katharina replied.
“The main team needs confirmation.” Vergil looked up, the air around him pulsing with an almost imperceptible energy.
“I see…” he murmured.
“So nothing has changed.” He was silent for a few moments, his gaze lost on the horizon.
The distant crackling of the flames echoed like a whisper.
Finally, he turned to Ada.
“Well…” he said with a slight smile.
“Since we have no further updates, and apparently the rest of you aren’t up to par yet, I think it’s decided.” Ada looked up, finally lifting her blade and resting it on her shoulder.
“Decided?” Vergil crossed his arms.
“You’re coming with me to the tournament.” A brief silence filled the room.
Ingrid’s eyes widened, Katharina merely arched an eyebrow.
Ada tilted her head, her gaze serious.
“Me?” “Yes,” Vergil replied without hesitation.
“You’re the only one who demonstrated any real ability to adapt in combat.
And more than that…” he gave a slight smile.
“You don’t hesitate.” “You didn’t even see the fight,” Ingrid said.
“She’s my wife, she’s completely capable.” Ada wiped the blood from the blade one last time and sheathed it.
“Well, at least I’ll get to spend more time with you.” Ada sheathed her katana with a sharp click, the metallic sound echoing across the still-bloodstained arena.
She walked toward Vergil with firm steps-the same kind of step she used in combat: calculated, precise, confident.
When she reached him, without saying a word, she slipped her arm through his, intertwining it naturally, as if the gesture were already habit.
The contrast was curious-her touch, warm and firm, against Vergil’s cold, distant demeanor.
“Hm,” he murmured, arching an eyebrow, the corner of his lips curling into a half-smile.
“So this is how you celebrate a victory?” “No,” Ada replied, without changing her tone.
“This is how I ensure you don’t change your mind.” Vergil let out a short, low laugh that sounded more like a whisper of irony.
“Do you really think anyone can change my mind?” “I can,” she replied simply, her gaze as cold as steel.
For a moment, the two of them stood like that-the hell around them seemed to bow to their mutual presence, teetering between respect and tension.
Katharina, in the background, just sighed.
“You two are impossible,” she muttered, shaking her head.
Vergil ignored the comment and looked at the horizon-the crimson sky wavered in spirals of energy, the air thick as living smoke.
His expression changed, becoming more serious.
“Okay,” he said finally, tugging lightly on her arm, but Ada didn’t let go.
“I’m going to Amon.
I need to know if there’s anything new about the tournament.” Ada glanced at him sideways, suspicious.
“Going alone?” “You intend to come with me, is that it?” he replied, not looking directly at her.
“Of course, I don’t want any more trouble,” he said, with a hint of sarcasm.
… Elsewhere… The white marble hall glowed with an almost painful light-every surface reflected the golden glow of the divine twilight that bathed Olympus.
Columns adorned with ancient runes supported the vaulted ceiling, and beneath it, the distant sound of currents of celestial energy vibrated like a subdued chorus.
In the center of that colossal temple, Athena sat on her jade and gold throne, her helmet resting on the armrest and her spear resting casually on her shoulder.
The goddess did not appear at peace.
Her cold, analytical gaze moved slowly between the two figures kneeling before her-the Herald of Ares, shrouded in a red aura of restrained fury, and the Herald of Poseidon, whose presence exuded the deep, merciless calm of the sea.
Both awaited the decision.
The air within was heavy, saturated with divine power and anticipation.
“Two representatives…” Athena murmured, her tone calm but sharp.
“Two names among so many, and yet, neither of you completely convinces me.” The Herald of Ares lifted his head.
His eyes were like burning coals, and his body bore scars that seemed never to heal.
“With all due respect, my lady,” he said, his deep voice reverberating like suppressed thunder.
“If the tournament is to prove power, there is no better choice than me.
Ares personally trained me for war.” “Yes,” Athena replied without hesitation.
“And that is precisely why I hesitate.” He frowned, confused.
“…How?” The goddess inclined her head slightly, the gleam of ancient wisdom crossing her golden eyes.
“You are raw power, force without purpose,” she explained.
“And Olympus doesn’t just need violence.
It needs results, control.” The silence that followed was tense.
Then Athena turned her gaze to the other figure.
The Herald of Poseidon was a tall woman with long, dark blue hair reminiscent of the ocean beneath the moon.
Her slender body and calm gaze contrasted with the devastating presence she emanated-like a storm about to arise.
“And you, Nereid,” Athena said, her tone now more measured.
“Poseidon speaks highly of your skills.
And, unlike your companion here, you rarely leave a trail when you win.” Nereid inclined her head slightly.
“Water doesn’t need to scream to kill, my lady,” she replied softly.
“It only needs to fill the space the enemy leaves open.” Athena gave a small smile.
“An answer worthy of the Sea.” The Herald of Ares growled softly.
“Her words mean nothing without blood to back them up.” Before Athena could respond, the ground shook slightly-the distant sound of an explosion echoed across the golden mountains surrounding Olympus.
The horizon’s brightness shifted for an instant, and the runes on the ceiling shimmered.
The goddess frowned.
“The conference of the gods is affecting the lesser domains… again,” she muttered, almost to herself.
“These idiots are causing trouble between realms again… the Administrator will not be happy.”