Creating A Succubus Army In A Fantasy World!-Chapter 135: Child Of The Mountains…

Creed activated his short-range teleportation, disappearing with a crackle of distorted air and reappearing directly above the old man.

His body twisted mid-air, leg cocked back like a loaded spring, and then unleashed downward in a savage, descending arc.

His entire leg shimmered with red and brown as he channeled the full force of his Path of Killing, fusing it with his aura to harden the limb like forged steel.

But this wasn’t just a random wild kick—Creed had aimed with surgical precision.

His target? The intercostobrachial nerve, the bundle of nerves nestled just beneath the armpit—one of the most sensitive pressure points in the human body.

Hitting it could cause intense pain, muscle spasms, and even temporary loss of grip strength in the affected arm.

In a normal person, it could paralyze the entire arm temporarily. Creed didn’t need that much, he just needed the man’s hand to loosen a little. Just a little.

But even as his foot descended toward the nerve cluster, his other hand moved with the elegance of a dancer and the deadliness of a killer.

It had already taken the form of a spear—fingers stretched, palm sharpened, coated in the killing path and wrapped in the flickering aura of his Spear Domain.

In one swift, impossibly fluid motion, Creed stabbed his palm downward toward a small cluster of tendons between the base of the thumb and index finger in the old man’s outstretched hand—the thenar web space, another pressure point.

Striking it properly could jolt the fingers and momentarily force them open.

The result was beautiful chaos!

CRACK!

His reinforced heel slammed into the pressure point with pinpoint accuracy, and at the same time, his palm-spear struck the man’s hand in a flash of light and force.

The old man’s arm jolted ever so slightly, and Creed felt it; the grip loosened. The gloves slipped.

The world went into slow motion.

The gloves, finally freed from the death grip that had held them prisoner for the last few minutes, flew upward into the air in a graceful arc.

Creed, already anticipating this moment, opened a narrow portal midair in their path with his spatial ability.

With a sharp flash, the gloves zipped through the portal and—poof—reappeared a few meters away.

Right beside Creed, who had already teleported there and was standing with his arms crossed like the smug genius he was born to be.

He reached out casually and caught the gloves as they dropped into his hands, like a villain catching an apple in a cartoon.

His lips curled into a slow, exaggerated grin as he turned back toward the old man. And oh, what a sight it was.

The old man stood frozen in place, still slightly leaned, arm outstretched in the same pose he’d been in when the gloves were snatched.

His eyes blinked slowly, and his face showed something Creed hadn’t seen on him once during the whole battle: shock.

Creed almost lost it laughing.

He resisted the urge, but internally, his thoughts were bubbling over like an overboiled kettle.

’Ohhhh, look at that! Who’s standing there like a broken statue? That’s right, Grandpa Slaps-a-Lot! Didn’t expect a smart play from this meathead, huh?’

’Thought I was just another muscle-bound monkey, but turns out I brought science, strategy, and a touch of chaos to this grab-fest!’

He wanted to frame this moment. Hell, he wanted to paint it on a scroll and hang it above his bed.

The sight of that smug, all-knowing geezer looking like someone just unplugged his brain was worth every cracked bone, every drop of blood, and all three slaps to the spine.

But then the old man exhaled and shook his head, the faintest smile on his lips. "I underestimated you," he said softly. "Indeed... you are worthy of being their son."

Creed’s grin faded. The gloves in his hand suddenly felt heavier.

His head tilted. "What...?"

That one sentence hit him like a bolt of lightning. Their son? Whose son?

When Creed had reincarnated into this body a few months ago, he’d been transferred with the original owner’s memories.

The boy whose body this was had been an orphan. Raised in a rundown orphanage, scrapping for food, fighting to survive.

There had never been any mention of parents. No faces. No names. Just cold beds, empty rooms, and the constant struggle to stay alive.

He’d always assumed the boy had been abandoned at birth or worse... that they had died.

But now?

Now this cryptic old man was implying that his parents not only existed but were somehow important enough that being their son made Creed "worthy"?

A thousand thoughts swirled in his head. Was this whole test not just about the gloves?

Had it been about testing his bloodline, his heritage? Had the old man recognized something in him from the very start?

Was this whole ridiculous, hilarious slap showdown secretly a family history exam?!

His thoughts were running wild, but before he could open his mouth to demand answers, the old man straightened himself fully.

He looked down at Creed one last time with a proud glint in his eyes.

"I truly am impressed by you," he said with a warm, final smile. "So I hope you like your gift. Until we meet again..."

And just like that, his body began to dissolve.

Tiny, glowing white specks floated off of him like ashes caught in a breeze. His entire form broke down into light, disintegrating into the air.

There was no sound, no drama; just a peaceful vanishing. A beautiful, quiet exit for a man who had shaken Creed’s bones to their very core with his words.

As the final spark of his presence faded away, his voice echoed through the space one last time; deep, proud, and haunting.

"Never forget... you are a child of the mountains."

Creed stood there, frozen, gloves clutched in his hand, heart pounding in his chest.

The gloves were clutched tightly in his hand, but his fingers didn’t move. His eyes were distant.

His mind was moving a hundred miles a second, stuck between awe, confusion, and a hundred spiraling theories.

"A child of the mountains..." That phrase echoed again and again in his head like a haunting melody.

The old man’s final words hadn’t just sounded wise; they had felt heavy, like ancient truth wrapped in riddles.

Creed tried to piece it together, tried to form a logical sequence. If the boy I reincarnated into had no memories of parents... then why would this man—someone clearly old and powerful—say something like that unless it meant something?

Was it possible that the body he inherited didn’t just belong to a random orphan? Was there a deeper bloodline at play? A hidden history? A legacy?

But after a while, his lips twitched. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Ugh... brain hurts," he muttered. "Mystery later. Escape now."

Because let’s be honest;he had absolutely wrecked a major part of the bastion’s training sector.

There were craters in the walls, sections of the ground literally missing, and the surrounding alleyway had looked like it got sat on by a titan.

There was no way the Bastion’s officials weren’t already scrambling to investigate what kind of madman had just drop-kicked physics and decorum in broad daylight.

And if they caught him, he wouldn’t just be punished; he’d be buried under enough fines to make bankruptcy look like a luxury!

"Time to vanish like a responsible criminal," he muttered, pulling a plain black mask out of his storage ring and slipping it on.

Then with a flash, he teleported out of the alley and zipped through several corners of the city, making sure to stop in random places between teleports to throw off any tracking tech.

It took less than three minutes before he popped into the sleek, blue apartment he called home.

As usual, his insane neighbor from the side was still blaring some wild, experimental rock opera that sounded like banshees on fire.

Creed rolled his eyes, flipped a switch, and casually activated a sound-isolation system on his walls.

The music instantly muted, and peace returned.

He walked over to his compact kitchen area, pulled out some leftover noodles from his storage ring, reheated them, and shoveled them into his mouth like a war orphan.

His body still ached, especially around the ribs and shoulder where he’d been slapped into oblivion by that deceptively chill old man.

But the pain was fading, dulled by adrenaline and anticipation. And of course, stat points.

He moved to the couch, finally alone, and sat down with a deep sigh. Then, slowly, he pulled out the gloves.

The strange material pulsed faintly with energy, yet there was something oddly comforting about them. They felt familiar, as though they belonged on him.

He hesitated just for a second, then he slipped them on.

The moment the gloves settled around his hands, his entire body jerked.

BOOM!

A surge of energy exploded inside his chest like a bomb.

His spine arched back, his arms flung out wide, and his eyes glowed an eerie, brilliant blue—so bright the whole apartment was bathed in that strange glow.

Information flooded his mind; insights, meanings, secrets, and thoughts that were not his.

It was like someone had ripped open the curtain hiding the secrets of the world and shoved it all into his skull at once!

His mouth opened in a silent scream. Blood dripped from his nose. Then his lips. Then from his ears.

He was bleeding all over, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. His mind had fallen into a trance, and the gloves weren’t just feeding him knowledge, they were connecting him to something ancient.

He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to endure. Then, with a final desperate effort, he activated his primordial essence.

Ooom!

His eyes slid shut, and he remained like that. Sitting down at that exact same spot.

For six days.

.....

Six days later...

A swirling purple portal opened in the middle of his apartment. Out stepped Lilith, crackling with electricity, her long violet hair flowing like silk spun from storms.

A second portal opened a heartbeat later, and Tierra emerged, barefoot and ethereal, with a spatial pull that could distort space. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

Both women glanced at each other at the same time.

Then scoffed.

Lilith flipped her hair. "Hmph. I see the space snail emerged from her cave too."

Tierra gave her a look of regal boredom. "Oh? I thought I smelled static and perfume. Guess I was right."

Both of them crossed their arms and then turned their attention to Creed, who was still seated on the couch.

His body hadn’t moved, but waves of mysterious energy pulsed gently from him like heartbeats of a sleeping god.

The entire room was glowing slightly, and the air around him shimmered like heat on desert sand.

Lilith frowned. "He’s still connected. And the second phase of the exam starts today."

Tierra narrowed her eyes. "He’s clearly undergoing something important. But this exam isn’t a joke either. If he misses it..."

Lilith sighed dramatically. "He’s so lucky he has us."

Then, without a word, she bent down and—casually as if she were picking up a shopping bag—scooped Creed into her arms.

He didn’t react. His body stayed limp but stable, arms folded across his chest like some ancient monk in meditation.

Tierra raised an eyebrow. "You carry him like that, and he’s going to dream he’s in heaven."

Lilith gave a smirk. "Let him dream. Now let’s go save his test score."