Creating A Succubus Army In A Fantasy World!

Creed turned around with a raised brow.

There he was.

Standing right at the spot where he was sitting before was the old monk again—pure white robes fluttering in the breeze like he was modeling for an ancient laundry detergent commercial.

A single, absurdly long strand of beard dangled from his chin like some mystical fishing line, and his eyes? Oh boy.

The dark circles under them had grown even deeper since the last time Creed had seen him. At this point, they looked less like shadows and more like two tiny voids trying to eat the rest of his face!

Creed couldn’t help himself.

He smirked. "Old man, are you sure you’re not moonlighting as a panda? Or have those dark circles upgraded into dimensional rifts of their own?"

The monk didn’t even flinch. He put his hands behind his back, tilted his head like a bird observing a curious worm, and smiled the exact same creepy smile from before.

"You little brat. Fame’s already gotten to your head, huh? Maybe I should drag you to the back of my mountain and give you a whooping you’ll never forget."

Creed chuckled, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead. "You’re welcome to try, old timer. Just don’t pull your back again."

The monk gasped in feigned offense and placed a hand over his heart like Creed had insulted his ancestors.

"You dare speak to your elder like this after I gifted you something so divine? So miraculous? Kids these days... no gratitude."

But as the banter faded, Creed’s smile softened. He took a step forward, bowed slightly—not dramatically, just enough to show sincerity—and said,

"Seriously, though. Thank you. The gloves... they were incredible. They helped me stabilize my will and actually comprehend two paths."

The monk blinked once. Then twice. "Two?" he echoed, squinting at Creed like he had just told him he grew wings and flew to the moon.

Creed nodded, the memory of blood, insight, and screaming winds flashing through his mind. "Path of the Mountain. Path of Freedom."

The monk whistled and rubbed his temples. "Hah... those gloves weren’t supposed to do that. I gave them to you thinking maybe they’d help you comprehend one Path if the stars aligned and you ate enough meat."

Creed shrugged. "Guess I’m greedier than the stars."

"You’re something, alright," the monk muttered, then his face lit up with that same strange glint he had the last time they met.

The one that said: I know something you don’t, and it’s hilarious. "You really are a freak. In a good way."

Creed’s grin faded just a bit, not out of offense, but because his mind was now swimming in more serious thoughts.

The man before him wasn’t just some quirky wanderer. That was an act. The truth peeked through in moments like this, moments where something ancient settled behind those sleepy eyes.

Creed had questions, too many to count. But one stuck with him the hardest. He straightened his back and asked, "During our first meeting... you called me a child of the mountains. What did you mean by that?"

The monk blinked once, slowly, before the mischievous glint returned. "Wanna play a game?"

The shift in Creed was instant. Gone was the joking tone. His hands dropped loosely to his sides, one leg sliding back a step as his body tilted into a casual but alert stance.

He didn’t fully trust this man. He was grateful, yes, but gratitude didn’t mean blindness.

This world didn’t hand out blessings without a price, and Creed was someone who paid attention to the hidden receipt behind every good deed.

"What kind of game are we talking?" he asked, voice low and even. "Because I don’t like to play blind."

The monk burst into laughter, slapping his thigh like Creed had just told the world’s funniest joke. "Ahhh! You really remind me of her!"

Creed’s ears perked up. His instincts sharpened. Her?

His thoughts instantly kicked into overdrive. Who the hell was her? The way the old man said it wasn’t just some offhand comment.

There was a kind of softness in his tone, a careful fondness that didn’t match his usual sarcasm and sly smiles. And that was a problem.

Because people like this old monk didn’t casually say things. Everything meant something. Everything was deliberate.

And if this man was bringing up a mysterious "her" in a way that clearly tied to Creed, then that meant one thing.

’He knows someone from my past. Or someone related to me!’

Creed didn’t panic, though. No. His expression stayed calm, even a little curious. But inside? Inside, he was piecing together possibilities like a detective solving a puzzle with one eye closed and a dagger to his neck.

Who did the monk know? Was it a relative? A mentor? Someone who walked the same Path of the Mountain as him?

But Creed knew better than to ask directly. Questions like "Who’s her?" or "Do you know my family?" were too blunt. Too obvious.

They forced the other person to either lie or shut down.

And if this monk was anything like the mysterious powerhouses in stories, then he’d avoid giving straight answers unless you asked the right kind of question.

The kind of question that wasn’t really a question at all, but a trap made of words and meaning.

So Creed smiled. Just a little. Enough to seem calm, even as his brain moved like a blade dancing on the edge of curiosity and strategy.

"Then let me ask you something," he said slowly. "Something small."

The monk cocked his head. "Oh?"

Creed crossed his arms, leaned his weight to one side, and delivered the line smoothly:

"Did you give me the gloves... or return them?"

The monk’s expression didn’t change for a full second. Not the twitch of a lip or a wrinkle of his brow.

But in that second, the stillness said more than an earthquake. His fingers curled slightly behind his back, and his gaze sharpened—not hostile, but focused, like a master being surprised by a student who moved ahead of schedule.

"Well now," the monk said slowly, smile softening into something... older. "That’s quite the question."

Creed took another step forward. "Because if you simply gave them to me, then maybe you’re just some random old man who found something useful and tossed it my way.

"But if you returned them... that means you might’ve known about me for longer than I’ve known myself. It means those gloves were mine once. Or supposed to be mine. Maybe through blood. Maybe by destiny. But either way, you’re not just helping a stranger."

The monk chuckled. "You know what I like about you? You don’t charge in swinging until you’ve checked the angles.

"That question... ha! It was mild on the surface, but if someone doesn’t think twice, they’ll miss the knife hidden in the wrapping paper."

Creed shrugged. "You said ’play a game,’ so I figured I’d start with my opening move."

A silence settled between them for a moment, not awkward, but weighted. Then, the monk walked forward and stood just beside Creed, not looking at him.

"Tell me, Creed. What do you know about this world?"

Creed blinked. "Oh no," he groaned, his mind racing in the wrong direction.

’Don’t tell me this is that part of the story! The part where the mentor suddenly drops the bomb that everything I thought I understood is actually a teaspoon of truth in an ocean of cosmic lies!’

’And now I’m supposed to open some divine path to freedom through suffering and ridiculous training arcs. I just got some fame, man. I wanted a nap, not enlightenment!’

The monk snorted, sensing Creed’s withdrawal. "You’re always dramatic."

Creed threw up his hands. freewёbnoνel.com

"Look, I’ve read enough manga in my life to know this setup. You hit me with a ’what do you know about the world?’ and next thing I know, I’m being chased by some soul-eating crown prince of the Void Realm because I accidentally activated a forbidden bloodline by sneezing near an ancient tomb!"

"Sounds about right."

"You’re not helping!"

They both laughed, and the monk’s next words came quietly but clearly.

"The world is deeper than you think, Creed. Let me ask you something in return. Where do you think the dimensional bracelets came from?"

"..."

The monk stared at him blankly. "...What are you thinking about?"

Creed rubbed his temples. "I just wanted to vibe. Maybe find a few enemies to beat up, flirt with some girls, polish my spear techniques. But no.

"Now I have to find out the bracelets are actually cosmic shackles from some intergalactic force, and earth is probably the training ground for this force and we are all live stock to them?"

The monk burst into another round of laughter, wheezing this time. "You... hahaha, you really are something else!"

Creed grumbled, crossing his arms. "If you say I’m the key to the multiverse or some nonsense like that, I’m jumping into the nearest rift."

"You’re not the key," the monk said, wiping tears from his eyes. "But you are... a very interesting pawn."

Creed’s eyes narrowed. "Pawn?"

"Relax," the monk said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You’re a pawn in a game where even pawns can become kings. But before we get there... answer me seriously. Where do you think those dimensional bracelets came from?"