Reincarnated With the Seduction System

The commotion outside the castle gates did not go unnoticed for long. As the last of the guards fell, the echoes of their final cries reverberated ominously through the castle walls, drawing the attention of everyone stationed within.

Panic spread like wildfire, and the remaining guards inside scrambled to react, desperation painted on their faces.

"Sound the alarm!" one of the guards shouted, his voice cracking as he pointed wildly at the devastation beyond the gate. "Get reinforcements! The captain and his men—they’re all dead!"

Another guard, eyes wide with terror, shouted over the growing cacophony, "What kind of monsters are we dealing with?!"

The news of the massacre at the gate spread through the ranks like a disease. A young messenger, barely out of his teenage years, turned and bolted down the dimly lit corridors, his feet pounding against the cobblestone floors as he raced to deliver the grim news to the Baron himself.

Meanwhile, outside, Adrian stood before the imposing castle gates, his crimson eyes narrowed as he took in the reinforced iron barriers, enchanted with runes and magic seals.

“Such an obstacle won’t hold for long,” he mused, a hint of amusement curling his lips. His gaze shifted to the remaining guards stationed within the courtyard, who looked on with a mix of fear and disbelief.

With a calm breath, Adrian clenched his fist, and a powerful aura erupted from him. The ground beneath his feet cracked under the immense pressure that swirled around his body.

His red eyes shifted into a fierce golden hue, his presence distorting the air with a palpable force.

“Dragon’s Might,” he intoned softly, his voice carrying a weight that reverberated through the bones of those who dared to stand against him.

Draconic power flared through his veins, his muscles bulging and glowing with an otherworldly light. The very air crackled with energy as if reality itself struggled to contain his power.

In one swift motion, Adrian raised his fist high above his head, then brought it crashing down toward the gate.

A devastating wave of energy, imbued with his draconic strength, exploded forward. The impact shattered the iron barriers and the enchanted wood alike, tearing through them as if they were no more than fragile glass.

A thunderous boom echoed across the courtyard as the gate erupted in a cascade of twisted metal and splinters. The debris scattered in all directions, the force sending guards who stood too close crashing into walls or collapsing lifelessly onto the ground.

Smoke and dust filled the air, obscuring the view for a heartbeat. When it cleared, the once-formidable gate lay in ruins—reduced to little more than rubble.

Adrian stepped through the wreckage, his gaze cold and unyielding as he surveyed the chaos he had wrought.

Celes was right beside him, her bow still at the ready. She glanced at the bodies strewn about and the remains of the gate with a hint of satisfaction glinting in her eyes.

“Clear the way,” Adrian commanded, his gaze never wavering from the path ahead.

“Yes, Master Adrian,” Celes replied, nocking another arrow onto her bowstring. She moved like a shadow, her keen senses already picking up on the approaching reinforcements.

As more guards poured into the courtyard, the bell continued to toll—a grim reminder of the oncoming storm.

Shouts of anger and confusion filled the air, and the clash of steel rang out as the reinforcements engaged Adrian and Celes.

“Get them! Surround them!” one of the guards ordered, trying to rally his comrades.

Adrian’s lips curled into a cold smile. “Draconic Cloak.”

His form shimmered, and then he disappeared completely, blending seamlessly into the surroundings.

The guards faltered, their eyes darting around in confusion. Before they could react, Adrian reappeared among them, his dagger flashing with lethal precision.

“Dragon’s Fang Strike!”

Blood sprayed in a crimson arc as he cut through the guards with merciless efficiency. Every strike was swift, deadly, and deliberate.

The guards never stood a chance, their screams of pain and terror filling the courtyard as Adrian moved through them with the grace and savagery of a predator.

Celes, meanwhile, positioned herself at an elevated spot. Her arrows flew one after another, each one guided with pinpoint accuracy to strike down the guards attempting to flank Adrian.

Any who tried to approach from the blind spots found themselves with an arrow piercing through their throats or hearts.

“Hold the line!” a voice roared, but it was drowned out by the cries of dying men.

Within moments, the reinforcements lay in broken heaps, their weapons clattering to the ground as their lifeless bodies crumpled in defeat. Adrian and Celes stood amidst the carnage, barely winded.

Back in the heart of the castle, Baron Alistair Mortimer stood before a grand mirror, adjusting his regal attire.

He exuded an aura of confidence and authority, his eyes sharp and calculating. But his moment of calm was shattered when the door to his chamber burst open.

“Milord!” the young messenger gasped, his face pale with fear. “There’s been an attack at the gate! The captain and the guards—they’re all—”

“Dead?” Mortimer finished, his voice icy. He turned to face the messenger, his expression darkening. “How many are we dealing with?”

“T-Two, milord. Only two people… They’re cutting through our men like they’re nothing!”

Mortimer’s eyes blazed with fury, his fists clenching so hard his knuckles turned white.

Just a week ago, his castle had been thrown into chaos by some insolent rat—a brazen intruder who dared to free his prisoners and wreak havoc upon his carefully laid plans.

The damage he had caused set Mortimer’s ambitions back by months. His dungeons were in shambles, critical supplies stolen, and worst of all, his envoy had been murdered.

If not for his agreements with the powerful Viscount—agreements that promised him wealth and power—he would have found himself scrambling to maintain his grip on his territory.

And now, when he was finally getting things under control, this?

The veins in Mortimer’s neck bulged, his face twisting with fury. He slammed his fist onto the desk beside him, the wood splintering under the force of his blow.

“Who the hell is behind this?” he snarled, more to himself than to the trembling messenger.

“Milord?” the messenger squeaked, taking a fearful step back.

Mortimer’s gaze snapped to him, and the boy froze in place, terror etched across his features. But the baron simply waved him away, reigning in his temper with visible effort.

“Gather the commanders. I’ll handle this myself,” Mortimer ordered coldly.

“Y-Yes, milord!” the messenger stammered, scrambling out of the room.

Mortimer took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling as he tried to suppress the storm of rage within him. Whoever dared to challenge him in his own domain would pay dearly. He’d make sure of it.

He turned and strode purposefully down the hall, his heavy footsteps echoing ominously. The commotion outside grew louder as he approached the courtyard, his generals and commanders falling in line behind him.

By the time he reached the scene of the battle, a sizeable force of soldiers had already gathered.

But they were hesitant, fear evident in their eyes as they looked at the two figures standing amidst the corpses of their comrades.

Adrian stood at the center, his presence commanding and unyielding. Celes was by his side, her bow still raised as she scanned the remaining guards.

The two of them exuded an air of confidence, as if the odds were entirely in their favor.

“What’s going on here?” one of the commanders barked, his voice tense. He glanced at Mortimer, seeking direction.

The Baron stepped forward, his gaze locked onto Adrian. As he looked at the face of the intruder, recognition flashed through his eyes.