Creating A Succubus Army In A Fantasy World!-Chapter 130: Followed?!

The moment Creed’s devastating thrust collided with Boris’ Last Chill, time itself seemed to pause for half a breath.

The sheer intensity of their attacks clashed like two rival gods slamming their divine powers together, and then...

BOOOOM!

The resulting shockwave wasn’t just loud; it was earth-shaking.

A deafening thunderclap ripped through the arena, the kind of sound that made your eardrums buzz and your heart skip a beat.

The sleek white floors of the dueling ring, which had been constructed with reinforced materials and engraved with runes specifically to endure Stage 1 Silver-level combat, didn’t just tremble; they cracked.

Deep spiderweb fractures spread out from the point of impact like wild lightning bolts trapped in stone.

Dust exploded upward, forming a swirling dome of gray and black as if the battlefield itself had taken a deep, shocked breath.

Even a few protective barriers flickered around the arena’s edge, trying—and barely succeeding—to contain the fallout.

And then came the crater.

A massive dent had formed in the arena’s center, scorched with dark frost on one side and burnt with residual killing on the other.

It looked like a meteor had crash-landed straight from the heavens!

The heat from Creed’s empowered thrust and the icy death of Boris’s twin axes had canceled each other out in a perfectly terrifying equilibrium.

And when the dust finally settled, two silhouettes were seen flying out from the explosion like ragdolls on steroids.

Creed tumbled backward through the air like a spinning blur, while Boris flipped three full times before crashing into the ground, rolling across the tiles until he slammed into one of the energy walls with a painful grunt.

They both got up, eventually, but slowly.

Creed’s shirt was singed and torn in several places, a nasty cut trailing down the side of his ribs, blood already soaking into his waist.

His left arm had gone a little numb from the impact, and he had to dig his spear into the ground just to steady himself.

Boris didn’t look any better. His shirt had been torn to shreds, one of his war axes cracked, and a huge gash on his shoulder was dripping crimson.

His face was pale, and sweat was running down his temples like he’d just been through a natural disaster.

And to be honest... he had.

Boris took one long, rattling breath, then stared at Creed with something he had never looked at another man with before; respect.

His lips twitched into a helpless smile as he chuckled bitterly. "You... you’re a monster," he said, shaking his head. "A monster among men."

He stood up, or at least tried to. His legs wobbled like jelly, and his aura—once bursting with violent pride and confidence—was now thin and unstable, like a candle flame in a storm.

He swayed and nearly collapsed right there and then, only managing to stay upright by leaning heavily on his remaining war axe.

"We admit defeat," he said at last, his voice quieter now, humbled and worn. "We’re leaving. You win."

Then, with a weak flick of his wrist, Boris pulled out a shimmering document from his storage ring and tossed it toward Creed.

It flew lazily through the air and landed perfectly in Creed’s hand.

"The Team Upgrade Token, as promised," Boris muttered, not meeting Creed’s eyes.

His squad shuffled behind him, each of them looking like they had aged five years in the last ten minutes.

Their backs were bent, their shoulders slumped, and they all carried the same defeated expression: that they had fought a hurricane and barely survived.

As they exited the arena, a strange hush fell over the crowd for just a second.

Then... absolute chaos.

"CREED! CREED! CREED!" a wave of cheers roared out like a tsunami.

Mia and the rest of the girls sprinted toward him with squeals of pure joy.

Ivy’s usually stoic face was relaxed in a tiny, rare smile, while Rin practically tackled him with a hug before catching herself mid-run and remembering she wasn’t the hugging type.

Mia, on the other hand, didn’t hold back at all. Her eyes were sparkling with a kind of admiration that was hard to fake—even harder to ignore.

She stood right in front of him, hands clasped tightly together, and looked up at him like he was some kind of immortal protector straight out of her dreams.

Her eyes were wide with wonder and, somewhere hidden in those depths, a glimmer of love.

’He protected us,’ she thought to herself, heart racing in her chest like a war drum. ’He didn’t run. He stood against monsters. He didn’t need to, but he still did.’

Mia had grown up an orphan, tossed around between guilds and slums, always being the one who had to protect herself.

Never had she truly relied on someone—never could she truly rely on anyone. But now?

Now, for the first time in her life, she felt something she’d never experienced before.

Safe.

And that terrified her just as much as it thrilled her.

Creed, of course, noticed all of this in an instant. He was far too sharp not to.

He could feel her gaze like a torch against his cheek, could practically hear her heart pounding.

He sighed internally. ’She’s a sweet girl,’ he admitted. ’But not my type.’

Creed had always been a man of... let’s say, refined tastes. In his first life, he had been a self-proclaimed player, sure, but he wasn’t some shallow flirt who fell for the first pretty smile.

He liked strong, ambitious women—women who challenged him, argued with him, made him want to be better just to keep up.

Mia, for all her charm, was more like a little sister to him. Sweet, innocent, adorable—but not someone he could see romantically.

Still, with blood on his shirt and dust on his boots, Creed gave her a crooked smile, hiding the fatigue behind it like a true king of cool.

He glanced at the rest of the girls, who were still buzzing around him like bees to honey.

"Alright," he said casually, stretching his arms and cracking his neck, "enough of the drama. Let’s go get some steak."

A chorus of cheers exploded from the girls as they began dragging him off toward the food court like a group of overexcited fangirls escorting a celebrity.

.....

A few hours later, the buzzing excitement of the battle had faded into the background like a forgotten storm, and Creed finally returned to his apartment, stepping into his private space with the heavy sigh of a war-weary emperor.

The door shut behind him with a soft click, and he collapsed into his couch like a man who’d just survived the apocalypse.

He tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and let out a long exhale that seemed to carry the weight of ten battles.

The apartment was quiet. Peaceful. Almost suspiciously so.

Normally, by this point, he’d be half-strangled by a certain psychotic thunder demoness and smothered by a space fairy with super agile hands.

Lilith and Tierra, his two beautiful succubi and walking disasters, were usually quick to jump out from his chest tattoo the moment they sensed the coast was clear.

And their definition of "feeding" was obviously a very intense, very passionate, very sensual and pleasurable type.

But not tonight.

Creed blinked and focused inward, channeling his mind through the subtle connection he shared with them.

’Yo,’ he called out through their mental link, ’are you two sleeping or something?’

The response was immediate but unexpected.

’We’re cultivating,’ Tierra whispered, her voice calm but intense.

’We gained insights during the battle. Do not disturb us,’ Lilith added, which was possibly the first time she hadn’t greeted him with a growl or a flirt.

Creed sat upright, now intrigued. These two were monsters when it came to growth.

Most people would need weeks or months to understand a new intent in combat or sources, but his two partners?

They chewed through profound comprehension like it was popcorn. If they were spending hours digesting something, it had to be important!

He leaned back again, rubbing his chin in thought, and a faint smirk appeared on his lips.

While the three of them were outrageously strong when fighting together—able to combine their affinities and easily pressure even peak bronze-level enemies—he had started to completely outpace them in one-on-one strength.

Lilith and Tierra were no slouches, but Creed had been growing fast... maybe too fast.

It wasn’t easy for even otherworldly primordial creatures to keep up with a guy who was throwing domains and higher-dimensional killing paths around like party confetti!

If this seclusion helped them level up again, they’d be able to keep pace and then their team strength would surge even higher!

.....

The next morning arrived with the golden rays of the sun slicing through his curtains like nature’s own alarm clock.

Creed rolled out of bed with a lazy stretch, cracked his neck with a yawn, and shuffled his way to the bathroom like a caveman discovering hygiene.

The cold splash of water on his face brought him back to life, and soon enough, he was brushing his teeth, staring at his own reflection in the mirror with the kind of smug satisfaction reserved for kings and narcissists.

He wiped his face, toweled off, and moved to his wardrobe.

Today... was money day!

Creed grinned as he pulled out his finest suit—a sleek, black number with silver thread lining the collar, matched with a dark red inner shirt and polished boots so shiny you could see your regret in them.

He slipped into the outfit like a movie star entering his transformation arc, buttoned everything down to the last detail, and stood in front of the full-length mirror.

He admired the way the outfit hugged his frame just right. Broad shoulders, lean waist, defined chest.

He looked like the CEO of a trillion-credit megacorp who also happened to moonlight as a monster hunter in his free time.

"Looking sharp, future multi-millionaire," he muttered to himself with a wink.

While last night had been a bit disappointing, he couldn’t stay grumpy. Why? Because today, he was going to cash in!

He still had all the weapons, armor, dimensional items, and high-grade monster materials he’d looted from the smug, arrogant youths during the first trial.

And now? Creed was going to sell the whole stash, make millions of credits in one go, and laugh his way into semi-legendary status.

The only reason he hadn’t done it yet was because he was too busy being amazing in back-to-back battles.

He opened the door with the kind of swagger that made birds chirp in admiration, stepped into the corridor, and began his walk toward the trading hall.

Each footstep echoed like the soundtrack of a man on a mission. He was feeling good. Too good, maybe.

But five minutes later... Creed stopped walking.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

Then he slowly tilted his head to the side, pretending to admire a particularly ugly decorative plant in the hallway.

Something’s wrong, he thought. The air behind him was... off.

He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve and continued walking—but this time, just a little bit slower. His senses sharpened like knives.

The hallway was empty, or so it seemed, but Creed could feel it. A presence. Light footsteps hidden under the rhythm of the morning crowd.

Faint breathing. The flicker of an aura that hadn’t been completely masked.

He was being followed.

A cold smirk curled at the corner of his lips.

’Oh? Already attracting the attention of stalkers? ’he thought. ’How flattering.’

He continued walking, his hands in his pockets, body language casual—but his mind was now racing at full throttle.

Who were they? Was it an ambush? A test? Or just some jealous wannabes looking to score some loot off a rising star?

He didn’t know yet, but he was definitely going to find out.