Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 693

Chapter 693: Revenge Packages

Soo-Jin.

My blade.

My weapon.

My most loyal soldier.

My guilt, given a passport and combat training.

Also—somehow—the person I felt worst about, which was impressive considering my current inventory of emotional entanglements and ethically questionable life choices could qualify as a minor war crime.

A few months ago, when I first met her in Miami, she’d been barely functional. A survivor in the strictest sense of the word—alive, breathing, and profoundly hollow.

The trafficking network had taken her apart piece by piece until there was nothing left but reflexes and the thousand-yard stare of someone who’d learned that feeling things was optional but dangerous.

She’d been a shell. A ghost with a pulse. Someone who kept moving because stopping meant remembering—and remembering meant shattering.

Now?

Now she was something else.

Outwardly, she played normal. College prep. Studying. Smiling at the right times. Passing as just another girl getting ready to become a college student with manageable stress and unremarkable dreams.

Underneath, she was a supernatural weapon wearing human skin.

She called it being my blade.

"My blade," she’d said once, with that unnervingly calm focus of someone who’d already decided that weakness was more terrifying than death. "Since I can’t compete with your other women sexually, I’ll be useful another way. I’ll be your weapon. Your shield. Whatever you need."

Which managed to be both the most loyal and the most devastating sentence anyone can ever offered you.

A vow of devotion that tasted like ash and sounded like a bridge setting itself on fire.

I told her she was wrong. That she didn’t need to earn her place. That survival alone was already a victory. That she didn’t need to turn herself into something sharp just to justify continuing to exist.

She listened politely.

Then she ignored me completely.

She said she needed purpose. Something solid. Something that transformed pain into momentum instead of letting it rot inside her. Because just surviving wasn’t enough—not when the alternative was becoming powerful enough that no one ever touched her without permission again.

And really, who was I to argue?

I was a teenage demigod with a women hero complex, a god complex, and a deeply suspicious habit of turning "rescuing women" into a lifestyle brand. My moral high ground was, at best, rented.

So I trained her.

Carefully at first. Self-defense. Movement. Control. Then hand-to-hand combat. Then weapons. The curriculum evolved naturally from how not to die to how to end someone decisively and make the paperwork boring.

She was terrifyingly good.

Years of abuse had sharpened her instincts. She read people the way predators read weather—tiny shifts in balance, micro-tensions, the exact moment intent hardened into action.

She didn’t hesitate.

She didn’t panic.

All she’d ever lacked were tools. And permission.

I gave her both.

Enhancement pills. System-bought upgrades. Potions that burned going down and rewrote her biology on the way through. Equipment that nudged her past human limits into a category better described as competitive nightmare fuel.

I min-maxed her like a deranged RPG player. Tuned stats. Optimized output. Built her like my primary damage dealer—fast, lethal, impossible to ignore—while I hovered somewhere in the background pretending this was all perfectly healthy and not at all a manifestation of my unresolved guilt.

She didn’t just survive anymore.

She cut.

And every time she did, part of me wondered whether I’d saved her... or just taught my conscience how to fight back.

I’d spent over 150,000 system points on Soo-Jin in three weeks.

Just poured them in. No hesitation. Like a gambler who’d finally found a slot machine that didn’t lie—every pull paid out, every upgrade compounded. I didn’t train her so much as spec her, turning trauma into throughput, pain into output.

I made her otherworldly.

Not aspirational. Not heroic.

Beautiful and terrible.

The system had opinions about that. Restrictions. Locks. "Personal growth milestones." Apparently my body wouldn’t evolve until I finished a gym mission from weeks ago. Because nothing says divine power fantasy like being soft-locked behind leg day.

She wasn’t bound by earning power. She just took it.

She wasn’t protecting the mansion. She was protecting my people. Earning her place the only way she believed mattered—by becoming indispensable. By being the violence I couldn’t deploy without detonating my entire life.

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