Creating A Succubus Army In A Fantasy World!-Chapter 151: Pyramid Of Dominion! (4)

Creed immediately snapped into battle mode. His eyes narrowed, his body tensed, and his senses sharpened like blades.

That voice was slick, cocky, and smoother than butter on a summer skillet and it had definitely belonged to Alan Snow.

But the question was: Where the hell was he?

Creed’s eyes darted around the stone chamber, scanning every corner, every shadow, every nook and cranny like a paranoid raccoon in a haunted bakery.

His vision, already enhanced due to his superb sight and combat readiness, caught every little flicker of movement, but still, nothing.

No figure standing dramatically on a ledge. No mysterious boot prints on the ground. Not even a single cape fluttering in the wind.

Then, Alan’s voice came again, echoing from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"What? You really thought I came here just to throw hands with you?" The voice was smug. Smug enough to kick a pigeon and smile about it.

"Come on, Creed. You think you’re special ’cause you’ve got three paths? Cute. Real cute. But without even a single art, you’re not even enough to warm me up."

Creed raised an eyebrow, scowling. "Says the guy who just launched a cheap sneak attack and dipped."

Alan’s voice chuckled, smooth as chocolate syrup being poured over ice cream.

"Lucky you dodged that, by the way. Don’t let it go to your head, though. I’ve got other candidates to mop up. Useless jerks, the whole lot of them. You and I? We’ll dance again—on the higher floors. Try not to get left behind."

And just like that, the transmission ended. No more voice. No more threats. Just silence.

Creed stood there, spear in hand, surrounded by the wreckage of his fight with the knight, steam still hissing from the shattered ground, and blinked.

"...This damn clown thinks I’m not worth his time?" he muttered, actually a little offended. "I’ve been personally insulted by a guy in a magical pyramid dungeon. Great."

Before he could even let that sink in, Lilith’s voice burst into his mind like a lightning bolt thrown through a window.

’Creed! Something’s wrong—the Flame of Merit just disappeared! It was right in front of me, and then it just... poofed. Gone. No trace, no energy, nothing!’

Creed’s stomach sank. ’No, no, no. Don’t tell me it hit the five-minute limit...’ He clenched his fist. "Damn it."

Just like that, the opportunity to claim the Flame was gone. And with it, the free flood of Dominion Points that came from grabbing it.

Creed’s thoughts raced as he started piecing things together, like fitting puzzle pieces in a storm while being chased by sword-wielding ducks.

Alan had said he wasn’t going to waste time. He’d said there were others; some "useless jerks" to catch up to. That could only mean one thing.

He was going to the higher floors.

And even worse?

He wasn’t alone.

That meant some candidates had already reached the higher levels, while Creed had been fighting a steroidal knight and chasing disappearing fireballs like a blind dog in a maze.

If Alan was hurrying to catch up to those geniuses, then Creed had to double-time it. He needed Dominion Points, and fast!

As he stood there thinking, Alan’s taunt echoed again in his head: "You’ve got no art."

Creed looked down at his hands. The veins were still pulsing with energy from the clash. The spear in his grip hummed, as if wanting to be used again. And yet...

He didn’t have an art.

Not yet.

An art wasn’t just some flashy power move; it was a deeply personalized technique, a mix of emotion, mastery, and your entire fighting style condensed into a single powerful concept.

Like a signature move that only you could do. And Creed, despite having walked three powerful Paths, hadn’t yet built one.

Alan was probably right on that front. If they fought now, with Alan probably already having his own art and Creed still relying on base techniques and raw force, then the odds weren’t great.

But at the same time...

Creed smirked. "We haven’t even fought for real yet, buddy. You think that one cheap shot and some insults put you ahead of me?"

He rolled his shoulders, letting the fatigue fade and his confidence rise. "Wait till we really throw down." freewёbnoνel.com

Just then, his badge gave a sharp, digital beep. Creed tapped it and saw a message blink into existence.

[ALERT: Arena Lord Alan Snow has departed from Floor 1.]

[A new Artificial Arena Lord has been designated for this floor.]

Creed’s eyes lit up like someone had just told him he could have unlimited pudding. "He’s gone! That means—wait..."

Another beep. Another message. Creed’s eyes scanned it.

[Updated Rule: Candidates who defeat the Arena Lord on Floor 1 will NO LONGER receive a Floor Key.]

...

He stared.

And then screamed into the air.

"WHAT?!"

His voice echoed dramatically around the chamber, startling some rocks and possibly traumatizing a nearby mouse.

Luckily for him, the knight had been standing rooted to the spot ever since the voice transmission with Alan began, so he wasn’t disturbed at this moment.

He threw his hands up, then sighed in deep, dramatic, anime-level disappointment.

’Great. So now what, huh? Go shake down every worm and flaming lion for pocket change until I hit the Dominion Point goal? This is my reward for trying to fight fair?’

Despite the comedy of the situation, Creed’s expression eventually calmed. He exhaled, the frustration slowly replaced by resolve.

"Fine. You wanna play dirty, Alan? Go ahead. But the next time we meet, I won’t just dodge your sneak attacks. I’ll be sending your smug butt flying across the floor myself."

With a lazy twirl of his spear, Creed faced the knight that Alan had dumped all that ridiculous power into.

The poor guy was still standing there, frozen in place like he hadn’t received the memo that his boss had quit the job and sprinted up the pyramid.

The moment Creed dashed forward, it was almost like time slowed. There was no tension, no pressure, no life-threatening danger left.

Without Alan’s juice pumping through it, the knight was now little more than a glorified paperweight in fancy armor.

Creed let out a sigh, spun his spear like a baton, and then struck.

BOOM!

One precise blow cracked through the knight’s chest like a wrecking ball through peanut brittle. The impact was so clean, so devastating, that the knight didn’t even scream.

It just... shattered. Metal crunched. Sparks flew.

The mighty armored warrior was reduced to smoking ash, bits of scorched metal, and a faint odor of what Creed swore smelled suspiciously like overcooked bacon.

He stood there, casually brushing soot off his shoulder like it was lint.

"Well," he said dryly, "that was the most disappointing mini boss since the cardboard dragon in my preschool puppet show."

Then, as if reminded that he had actual responsibilities, Creed mentally connected to Tierra through their link.

’Tierra, update. You alive? Covered in flames? Married to a lion or something?’

’Hah! Please,’ came her smug voice, ’I’ve already killed seven of these flaming mutts. I’m about to finish the eighth one right now—this one tried to sneak up on me by pretending to be a rock. A FLAMING rock, mind you. Idiot.’

Creed grinned, doing a quick calculation in his head. Flaming lions gave three Dominion Points each, and if Tierra had taken down eight, that was 24 points.

’Not bad. Keep going, and don’t forget to pocket the coins.’

Then Lilith chimed in, sounding quite pleased with herself. ’I took out all the knights in my area. They’re not even sparring-worthy anymore. Total of fifteen points so far.’

Creed’s eyes twinkled. With Tierra’s lions and Lilith’s knights, and his own single kill, they were rolling in Dominion Points.

Including the bonus points from his mini-boss knight fight, Creed and his girls alone had racked up a fat stack of 42 points, and counting.

Then, as he rummaged through the knight’s remains, he spotted a shimmering, pulsing Dominion Coin half-buried in the ash.

He picked it up and raised an eyebrow. "Huh... nine points. Jackpot."

That put him right at fifty-one points. Just like that, he’d hit the floor’s point limit and could now progress to the next level.

He should’ve been hyped. But instead, Creed found himself rubbing his chin, deep in thought.

He wondered; should he actually go up right now?

What if he stayed behind and farmed even more points? Wouldn’t it be smarter to stockpile a mountain of Dominion Points on the earlier, easier floors before the difficulty spiked into "Are you kidding me?" territory?

That way, when he did go up, he could just breeze past the gates of the higher floors without needing to stop and hunt for scraps like a broke adventurer.

But then reality gently smacked him upside the head.

This was only the first floor. The number of enemies here, while decent, definitely wouldn’t be enough to meet the increasing cost of every higher floor.

If the second floor required, say, 1000 points, the third might need 2000 or more—and this place was already starting to feel a little empty.

He’d need a century and a half just to scrape together enough coins down here. That meant... yeah, farming here forever was a dead-end.

So, instead, Creed set a two-hour time limit for himself.

Whatever points he earned during those two hours would be what he carried up. No regrets. No backtracking.

He shared the plan with Lilith and Tierra, who both gave him enthusiastic thumbs-ups mentally.

And then, he vanished into the shadows of the floor.

Like a farmer in a field of walking loot bags, Creed hunted everything that moved.

Flaming lions, armored knights, even weird tiny creatures that exploded into coins when he squinted at them wrong.

For two hours straight, he moved like a shadow, sweeping through every corridor, chamber, and hidden tunnel.

Tierra joined him halfway through, laughing like a saintess as she sliced flaming lions into bits like they were meatballs.

Lilith even saved Creed from a sudden trap door and snickered the whole time about how he almost fell into "a hole labeled death."

But despite all the chaos, all the hunting, and all the crazy moments, they found no key.

Not a single one.

That was the only disappointing part. Creed had hoped to find at least one more floor key.

After all, he needed three to activate the final throne and claim whatever stupidly overpowered reward waited at the top.

But still... when they gathered their coins together after two hours and counted everything...

Creed had earned 659 Dominion Points!

It was a frankly ridiculous number. Creed stood proudly over their pile of coins, like a dragon admiring his hoard.

"Alright," he said with a smirk, "let’s convert these shiny tokens of violence into pyramid currency."

One by one, he fed the coins into his badge. The numbers rose with every transfer. Lilith tossed him her points. Tierra added hers.

And finally, after everything was tallied up and the satisfying ding of conversion rang out, they returned to the massive Illusory Gate glowing at the heart of the floor.

Creed stepped forward. The gate shimmered like it was made of mist and moonlight. As he approached, a line of glowing text appeared in the air in front of him:

[Do you wish to proceed to the next floor? Cost: 50 Dominion Points.]

Creed stared at it.

Then he tilted his head dramatically and threw his hand toward the light like an over-enthusiastic stage actor. "Yes! Open Sesame, let me ascend!"

The gate flashed.

A white light wrapped around Creed like a divine curtain closing on the first act of his saga.

And then, just like that, he disappeared.