Creating A Succubus Army In A Fantasy World!

The moment Creed’s boots touched the floor of the third level, he immediately dropped low and spun on his heel, his sharp eyes scanning the new surroundings like a hawk ready to pounce.

The hallways had gotten even bigger as compared to before.

They had expanded massively, each corridor now easily wide enough to fit three horse-drawn carriages side by side.

The walls loomed high overhead, made of polished black stone that reflected faint images like a mirror, giving the whole place a dreamlike, eerie feeling.

Creed’s eyes narrowed. Wider halls meant even bigger monsters, tougher fights, and probably a whole lot more traps. Great.

He glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting Emerald to be slinking in behind him with that beautiful scowl of hers, but... nothing.

Just empty space. Creed clicked his tongue and shook his head slightly. He wasn’t surprised, honestly.

After all, Emerald had probably decided it was smarter to stay back on the second floor, farming more points now that their contract was over.

Considering she hadn’t been able to collect that many while traveling with him and the girls, it made sense. She likely wanted to catch up before daring to climb higher.

As for Creed, he was doing just fine on the points side—no, better than fine.

Thanks to Emerald’s guidance through traps, secret hallways, and strong monsters, he had managed to gather a nice hoard of points.

After the massive deduction of 500 points just to open the gate to this third floor, he still had 3,779 points remaining!

Creed smirked slightly. Not bad at all. And it wasn’t just points he had collected either.

In his possession, tucked safely in his spatial storage, were two incredibly important keys: one floor control key and one dominion key.

Only two more dominion keys and he would have everything he needed to challenge the throne once he reached the apex floor!

The thought of that throne made his heart thud heavily in his chest, but so did the terrifying point cost just to keep climbing.

Creed’s smile slowly faded into a deadpan expression.

"50 points to reach the second floor," he muttered under his breath. "500 points for the third... are they seriously going to ask for 5,000 for the fourth floor?"

The absurdity of it almost made him want to sigh on the spot. It was like they were slowly trying to bleed the candidates dry of points, forcing them to either kill everything in sight or get stuck forever on the lower floors.

Creed gritted his teeth. He had no plans of getting stuck. If they wanted a farm-fest, he’d give them a massacre.

Wasting no time, Creed snapped his fingers lightly.

With two flashes of brilliant light, Lilith and Tierra materialized at his side, stretching their arms high above their heads like lazy cats.

Lilith’s purple hair shimmered under the strange lighting, and Tierra’s silver twin daggers gleamed dangerously.

"Man, I had a great nap," Lilith yawned, cracking her knuckles with loud pops.

"Mmhmm, me too," Tierra murmured, adjusting her boots with a small grin. They both looked fresh and ready to tear into whatever unlucky creature crossed their path.

Creed crossed his arms and gave them a small smirk.

"Good. Because we’re going to spread out again. This floor is bigger, probably nastier, and points are our lifeline now. Farm like crazy. Stay alert for anything suspicious."

They both snapped into seriousness instantly.

"Understood!" they chorused, and in the next breath, they blurred into different directions down the branching hallways, vanishing from view with speeds so fast they left small gusts of wind behind them.

Creed turned on his heel, picking another passage at random, his hand already resting near the shaft of his spear.

The black floors clicked under his boots as he moved cautiously forward, his sharp senses peeled wide open for even the tiniest movement.

It didn’t take long before he spotted something. And oh boy, it was not something he could ignore.

Standing proudly in the middle of the hallway like it owned the place was a 10-meter tall bull.

Its thick, armored hide looked like cracked obsidian, and its red eyes bulged with a fury so intense it practically sizzled the air.

Muscles rippled across its monstrous frame like ropes of iron, and its sheer size made the massive arena knights from earlier look like small puppies.

Creed raised an eyebrow.

The bull, as if understanding it was being stared at, lifted its head proudly, snorted a massive puff of black smoke, and then... gave Creed a look.

An honest-to-god condescending look. Like Creed was a speck of dust on its perfect floor.

The corner of Creed’s mouth twitched. ’You’ve got to be kidding me,’ he thought.

Then the bull charged.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

The ground shuddered under its thundering hooves, cracks webbing out from where its massive feet pounded the stone.

It lowered its head, aiming its shining black horns at Creed’s chest with deadly precision. Its speed was insane for something its size, like a runaway mountain with no brakes!

Creed’s face hardened, his instincts roaring to life. He didn’t retreat, he didn’t dodge, he scoffed.

Producing his sleek black and gold spear from his storage with a flick of his wrist, Creed crouched low, muscles coiling like a spring.

If the bull thought he would just roll over and die because of a bit of size and speed, then it was about to learn a very painful lesson about underestimating him.

With a roar of his own, Creed lunged forward!

Boom!

The moment Creed lunged forward, the entire world seemed to freeze for a split second.

Then—BOOM! The sound of his spear smashing into the bull’s charging head erupted like a cannon blast, throwing out a violent shockwave that shredded the dust and gravel around them.

A massive crater cracked the ground beneath their feet, spreading out like a spider web, and Creed had to plant his heels firmly into the earth to not get flung back.

His eyes gleamed with sharpness as he measured the bull’s strength with a cold, calculating mind.

Stage 3 Silver level? Creed’s thoughts clicked like clockwork. No... it’s weaker in skill but the sheer defense and physique... it’s definitely on par with a real Stage 3 brute!

If a normal candidate got hit by it, they’d get turned into a red pancake.

But even so, it wasn’t enough. At his current level, his own combat power was already firmly at peak stage 3 of the silver level. fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com

With the help of his summons, they could match a stage 4 completely and defeat it after a tough battle. But that wouldn’t be needed here.

He wanted to test something.

Creed’s spear began to hum a low, dangerous sound like a dragon breathing before it spits fire.

Energy spiraled around the weapon, weaving a deadly dance between three powers: his Path of Killing, the ethereal Path of Freedom, and his sturdy Spear Domain.

He wanted to fuse all three together completely!

They wrapped around each other in perfect synchronization, like three streams becoming a raging river.

Swoosh!

In the next breath, Creed’s entire body blurred forward with terrifying speed, and his spear turned into a red flash that ripped through the bull’s thick, armored hide like a hot knife through butter.

Bang!

The beast let out a short, stunned grunt before its entire body shuddered and split apart, torn from the nose straight through to its massive, muscled rump.

With a last twitch, the bull collapsed in two steaming halves, dark blood splattering the cracked ground.

Creed exhaled slowly and twirled his spear back into a casual grip, wiping a little dust off his shoulder like it was just another Wednesday.

Then, his sharp gaze caught the glint of something on the ground; a small, shiny red and black coin resting where the bull’s heart once was.

He bent down and picked it up without any special ceremony.

Ding!

His badge vibrated lightly as the coin was absorbed, the number floating above it flashing: +15 Points.

Creed sighed heavily. Fifteen points. For that much effort.

At this rate, he’d have to kill a hundred of those steroid-injected bulls just to make real progress.

"Man," he muttered under his breath, sheathing his spear with a practiced twirl, "I’m seriously starting to think the people who made this trial hate fun. Or maybe they just hate the word easy."

Then began the grind.

Two. Whole. Grueling. Hours.

Creed hunted every monster that dared step in his path: oversized wolves with silver pelts, centipedes the size of trucks, floating disembodied hands that tried to strangle him from behind.

Those were creepy as hell, by the way.

His spear danced in brilliant arcs, his footwork crisp and uncatchable as he took them all down without fail.

Lilith and Tierra occasionally messaged him with their own successes—mainly, the sounds of battles ending in huge explosions of energy in the distance—but still... no keys.

’No gate. No Flame of Merit. Seriously?’ Creed thought bitterly after slicing through yet another giant bat. ’Not even a sniff of a hint?’

He wiped a bit of monster goop off his clothe and started having ridiculous thoughts to distract himself from the unfairness.

’Maybe I’m cursed,’ he joked inwardly. ’Maybe my bad luck is so potent it spread like a plague to Lilith and Tierra. Wouldn’t even be surprised if my descendants 300 years from now start having terrible dice rolls in board games!’

The thought made him snort despite himself.

But then...

Waaaah!

A sharp, almost childlike wail cut through the corridors, echoing faintly from around a bend. Creed immediately stopped moving.

His instincts, sharpened through countless life-and-death battles, kicked in.

His body relaxed and tensed at the same time; loose enough to dodge, tight enough to strike, and he pressed himself against the wall, inching slowly toward the source of the noise.

He peeked carefully around the corner. What he saw made his frown deepen.

About a dozen meters away, in a corridor lit by flickering torches, five figures were in the middle of a brutal beatdown.

Four boys, all cocky and laughing cruelly, circled around a lone, slender figure on the ground; a boy with messy red hair and daggers clutched stubbornly in his bleeding hands.

They kicked him, stomped him, jeered at him.

"Your big brother ain’t here to save you, runt!" one of them sneered as he slammed a heavy boot into the redhead’s ribs.

"When he shows up," the red-haired boy snarled back between bloodied lips, "you’re all dead! He’s gonna wipe the floor with you losers!"

The threat only made them laugh harder.

Creed’s sharp eyes picked up more details: the boy’s scrappy movements, his stubborn refusal to drop his daggers even when he could barely stand, the wiry strength hidden beneath the bruises.

Recognition struck him like a bolt of lightning.

Wait... that’s Trent!

Creed’s brows lifted from the shock.

Trent! The crazy dagger-wielding troublemaker he’d tangled with once before! Of all the people to bump into here, it had to be that duo!

Creed would have absolutely ignored him if it had been Kent, but seeing as it was the nicer of the duo, he had a rethink.

His fingers tightened around his spear, and a dangerous glint entered his dark blue eyes.

...Guess it’s time to crash this party.