Creating A Succubus Army In A Fantasy World!-Chapter 126: All In With The Cliches!

An hour ticked by like a slow drip of honey; sticky, tense, and drawn out. Inside the cafe, the atmosphere was strangely divided.

On one end of the table, Creed sat like a monk in meditation, sipping what was left of his drink with a serene expression, as if he were watching a children’s cartoon and not about to walk into a potentially crippling battle against a team of high-stage brutes.

Meanwhile, the girls sat around him like they were waiting for the results of an exam that could decide their entire future.

Ivy’s fingers drummed a steady rhythm on the table, eyes narrowed in deep thought.

Mia was nervously twisting the ends of her pink hoodie strings, while Rin and Rai kept glancing toward the door like a monster was going to burst through it any second.

Even the air in the cafe seemed to grow thicker with anxiety, although that was just their misperceptions.

Then, exactly as the clock struck the hour, the cafe door swung open with dramatic force—as if on cue in a low-budget action movie.

In walked the Crimson Thunder team, looking every bit as smug and infuriating as a group of musclebound jerks could.

Boris, their pink-mohawked leader, was in front, leading the charge with the grace of a bulldozer.

Behind him, his goons swaggered into the cafe like they owned the place, radiating an overwhelming arrogance that made even the customers at the other tables start to shuffle away uncomfortably.

"Well, well, well!" Boris bellowed with a tone that could curdle milk. "Looks like you didn’t run away after all! That’s good. Saves us the trouble of hunting you down."

One of the bulkier guys stepped forward, smirking directly at Mia.

"Alright, sweetheart. Time to keep your end of the deal. Gask’s waiting. Don’t keep a dying man hanging, yeah?"

Mia shrank slightly, her shoulders curling up, but Creed remained unmoving, eyes half-lidded and utterly uninterested in their entrance drama.

Ivy stood up slowly, her calm demeanor smoothly hiding the tension in her shoulders, and faced Boris directly.

"We’re not backing down," she said coldly. "We’ll accept the challenge. Let’s go to the nearest training hall."

That simple sentence dropped like a brick in a pond. The entire Crimson Thunder team froze for a moment. Blinking. Processing.

Then erupting into shocked laughter.

"You—are you serious?" Boris chuckled, and not the funny kind. The condescending kind.

"You’re actually going through with this? What, you all took a few energy surge pills and thought you could stand against us now? Are you suicidal or just plain dumb?"

"Yeah!" another one shouted. "You’d rather risk breaking your own teammates than just take a little backlash and heal our boy Gask? You’re gonna cripple your best fighters just to prove a point?"

That was when Creed decided it was time. He stood up.

But not just stood up—he stood up, in that slow, almost-too-dramatic way, as if the weight of the universe had been patiently waiting for his cue.

His chair slid back just enough to add that extra bit of tension to the air, his shadow stretching long and ominous against the golden lights of the cafe.

He even gave his shirt collar a little tug, because if he was going to be a protagonist today, he might as well look the part!

He had to be the perfect MC!

In his head, he was already narrating his own theme song.

’This is it. Cue the epic BGM. Time to unleash my main character energy. Be cool. Be smug. Say something witty. Don’t trip on your chair!’

He turned slowly toward Boris, looked him up and down, and then said in the calmest, most insulting voice he could muster;

"I believe what Ivy said was, we accept the challenge. Or did your oversized ego get in the way of understanding a basic sentence?"

The insult was clean. Surgical. It sliced through Boris’s confidence like a hot knife through thick ham.

The silence that followed was louder than the previous shouting match. Boris’s face twitched once, then again, and then... he raised his hand.

It was a meaty, monstrous hand. The kind that could break a tree branch—or a few teeth—with one slap.

The girls tensed. Rin and Rai even looked like they were going to leap to Creed’s defense.

But before the hand could come down, Creed casually said, "Inside a public cafe? Really? You planning to fight lawsuits and me today?"

Boris froze mid-motion. His hand hovered in the air, twitching slightly. His expression was caught between fury and realization.

Creed leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice to a mock-whisper.

"You know fines start at ten thousand credits per witness, right?"

And then, to truly hammer it home, he gently reached up and laid a single hand on Boris’s shoulder—not hard, not aggressive.

Just a soft little tap that carried the weight of every smug main character in history.

"Let’s not add bankruptcy to your list of problems today."

Then, without another word, Creed turned, gesturing for Ivy and the girls to follow him, and confidently strolled out of the cafe like he was walking down a red carpet instead of to a potentially brutal team battle.

The girls hesitated only a moment before rushing after him.

As they walked through the night-lit streets toward the nearest Memis Training Hall, the air around them buzzed with nerves.

Ivy remained stoic, but the others couldn’t stay quiet.

"Creed," Mia whispered, almost pleading, "Are you sure about this? I mean, they’re really strong. Boris is stage 5, and their second strongest too!"

"Yeah," Rai added. "Even if we fight as hard as we can, our power levels don’t match theirs at all. The gap’s just too big!"

Creed didn’t stop walking. He had his hands in his pockets, strolling like this was just a casual evening jog. "Relax," he said with a grin.

"You’re all worrying like children who just heard thunder for the first time."

"But—"

"I got this," Creed said smoothly. "All of you, just do as I say during the match, and we’ll win. Simple."

The girls exchanged nervous glances. There was hesitation, worry... but also a spark of hope. They’d seen him do incredible things before.

Maybe, just maybe...

They could win?

.....

The Memos Training Hall loomed ahead like a coliseum made for warriors and drama.

Its sleek walls shimmered faintly with enhancements, and inside, the very air hummed with battle spirit, a place where countless battles had been fought, dreams shattered, and legends born.

At least, to some extent.

The second they stepped into the building, the girls still bore worried expressions, their eyes flicking between each other and Creed as if trying to draw courage from him.

Creed, on the other hand, walked like a man heading to a buffet instead of a battle.

He even stopped for a second to admire a wall-mounted digital display advertising a "limited-time-only" energy drink.

"Hmm, mango flavor," he murmured, genuinely tempted.

But there was no time for mangoes.

Ivy marched up to the receptionist and requested a Low Silver level private training room.

It was designed to withstand full-force attacks from highest stage Bronze awakeners without crumbling like a cookie.

The moment the words left her lips, the Crimson Thunder team began laughing.

"Low silver?" Boris sneered, arms crossed, his massive form blocking the hallway like a piece of angry furniture.

"Not even settling for peak bronze? What makes you think you can force us to using our full strengths with your puny strengths?"

Creed stretched his arms behind his head lazily. "Funny coming from a guy with a haircut that looks like a cotton candy explosion."

Boris scowled, but before he could fire back, the room was ready, and the two teams strode inside.

The silver-level room was huge—like a miniature stadium—with rows of sleek benches circling a large central combat stage.

Intricate runes glowed along the edges, ready to activate barrier fields to keep spectators from getting turned into crispy chicken wings.

Boris clapped his hands dramatically as they entered. "Alright, let’s get this over with. Mia, pack your stuff. You’re coming with us."

Before anyone else could speak, Ivy stepped forward, her tone icy and sharp as a dagger.

"Don’t get ahead of yourself, Boris. We haven’t lost yet. The match is still on. And just to remind everyone, the rules are simple.

"It’s a three-man tag team duel. One member from each side enters the stage. If someone is knocked out, their team loses a point while the winning side gets one.

"The winner can either continue fighting or switch out. First team to earn three points wins. That clear enough, or should I write it out in crayon for you?"

Creed had to fight back a smirk. ’Oof, Ivy really going in on that IQ today.’

As soon as the rules were repeated, one of the Crimson Thunder grunts stepped forward.

He was massive—thick arms, brutish face, and muscles on top of muscles like someone had tried to sculpt a gorilla out of stone and then gave up halfway.

His power surged, and his aura flared like a fiery beast. The display screen above the stage registered him as Stage 4 – Peak, and the man let out a growl so feral it echoed off the walls.

"Let’s not waste time," the man grinned lecherously, his eyes sweeping over the girls like he was picking a meal from a menu.

"Come on up, Ivy. You’re the only one worth my time here."

Ivy stepped forward, fury tightening in her eyes. But just as she was about to enter the stage, Creed raised a hand and gently rested it on her shoulder.

His touch was firm but calm, and when she turned to look at him, he shook his head with a relaxed smile.

"No need to dirty your hands on trash, Ivy," he said coolly. "Let me take out the garbage."

She blinked, startled. "Creed... he’s stage four."

Creed winked. "And I’m Creed."

He was going all in with the cliches! He didn’t give a damn about overused tropes!

Before anyone could argue, he turned to Mia and gently gave her a reassuring pat on the head.

"Don’t worry, Mia. I’m not going to let anyone drag you off against your will. Just sit back and enjoy the show."

Mia, cheeks pink and heart racing, nodded despite herself, feeling both incredibly nervous and strangely excited.

Why did his words always make her feel like the world was suddenly safe again?

Creed walked up the stairs to the combat ring like he was heading to a karaoke stage. Meanwhile, the Crimson Thunder fighter looked utterly baffled.

He stared at Creed, blinked, and then his face twisted in outrage when the arena display labeled Creed as Stage 2 – High. free𝑤ebnovel.com

"Are you kidding me?!" the man roared. "You think I’m so weak you can throw a Stage 2 against me?!"

From the Crimson Thunder seating area, one of the others laughed. "Maybe he’s the cheerleader!"

Creed stood casually at the center of the ring, hands in his pockets. "Cheerleader, huh? Well be sure to cheer as your friend hits the floor."

The massive man clenched his fists and stormed forward, his aura igniting like a blazing firestorm. "I’m going to enjoy making you suffer before I knock you out!"