Creating A Succubus Army In A Fantasy World!-Chapter 177: Fiancé?!

Creed lay sprawled on the pristine, snow-white bed like an angry lizard who had just survived a forest fire.

His thoughts were an overflowing bowl of steaming soup: hot, boiling, and filled with too many strange ingredients.

The caramel-skinned woman who had saved him—no, judged him—was the core ingredient in that soup, and Creed couldn’t stop chewing on her presence no matter how bitter the aftertaste.

Sure, she had saved his life. Technically, she deserved a shrine, a parade, maybe even a star named after her.

But damn if she wasn’t also the most cold-blooded, emotionally frigid human to ever lecture someone who had just dodged death.

She hadn’t asked him his name, how he felt, or even said, "Glad you’re alive."

No, instead she treated him like some idiot who fell into her grocery basket by accident and now she had to deal with it.

Creed respected power. But people who judged others before getting to know them? That he couldn’t stand.

Life was already hard enough without playing courtroom with every new person you met.

Still, one thought kept echoing like a drumbeat in his skull: How strong was she, really?

That night, when she saved him from the faceless assassin, Creed had sensed an aura so immense and bottomless that it made his own Path of Killing feel like a kiddie pool next to an ocean.

And his path was already ahead of most his age. It wasn’t just strength. It was depth.

As if her very existence was tied to a force so profound that even the air bent its will to her presence.

She couldn’t be more than a few years older than him, yet the power she showed wasn’t just ahead of him, it was miles away.

Just then, the metal door to the clean, futuristic room hissed open. In stepped two petite nurses who looked like they had walked off a fashion runway in an arctic dimension.

Matching blue-white uniforms hugged their perfect figures, their black gloves shimmered with symbols Creed couldn’t read, and their eyes were cold enough to chill lava.

One had silver hair tied in a bun, the other had black hair braided to her waist.

Neither spoke as they approached, both tapping away on sleek, handheld scanners that began humming around Creed’s body like curious wasps.

Creed swallowed hard and stayed still. Not just because he was still recovering, but because something about them set off every alarm in his instincts.

These were not ordinary nurses. Hell, they weren’t ordinary people. His body tingled, not in a fun way, but like his cells were whispering, Be careful. They can end you.

They moved with surgical grace, scanning his arms, measuring his vitals, and tapping symbols on holographic panels that formed in the air.

No smiles. No hellos. Just ice. So Creed, being Creed, decided to throw a pebble into the silent pond.

"Umm... so... not to sound dumb or anything, but, where exactly am I?"

The silver-haired nurse didn’t even look up from her device. "Base Seven."

Creed blinked. "Cool. That explains everything. Very informative. Very spy-thriller."

The black-haired one chuckled lightly, almost like she forgot she was a snowstorm in human form. "It’s what we call this place."

"Right. Base Seven," Creed muttered, rolling the name around in his head like a gumball. "Sounds secretive. Government? Private? Death cult with a good HR department?"

"Recovery patients shouldn’t talk so much," Silver-Bun said smoothly, not unkindly. "Rest now. Heal. That’s what you’re here for."

Creed sat up slightly, wincing at the lingering soreness in his side.

"I mean, I’d love to. But it’s hard to ’heal in peace’ when I’ve nearly been assassinated, taken to a mystery facility, patched up by gorgeous queens, and still haven’t been told who you people are."

Black-Braid finally gave him a look, one eyebrow rising. "You ask too many questions."

"Okay, but can you blame me?" Creed gestured at the room.

"This place has biometric walls, self-adjusting temperature, and your scanners just read my bone density by blinking. And you’re telling me nothing?"

"The old monk told us not to," Silver-Bun said with finality.

That sentence hit Creed like a thunderbolt in his skull. "Wait. Wait. Old monk? Deep eye bags? Voice that sounds like a rusty door hinge coated in wisdom?"

Both nurses paused, then slowly nodded.

"Oh come on!" Creed groaned. "Him? You know him?"

The two nurses looked at each other, then back at Creed. Their cold expressions melted just a tiny bit into something more... amused. Mischievous, even.

"You’ve met him?" asked Black-Braid.

"He talked to you?" Silver-Bun leaned in.

"Yes! Yes, he did!" Creed said, rubbing his temples. "He also vanished like a soap bubble and left me questioning my life choices."

They both giggled in perfect sync. "Well then," Black-Braid said, nudging her partner. "He really is the one."

Silver-Bun gave a knowing smirk. "I guess we can tell him now."

"Tell me what?" Creed was about to scream when Silver-Bun answered in the calmest, most bomb-dropping tone imaginable:

"You know the dark skin beauty that saved your life? She’s your future wife."

Creed froze.

The entire world paused for dramatic effect.

"What?"

"Oh yes," Black-Braid added cheerfully. "She’s been furious ever since you got injured.

Storming through the halls. Pacing. Muttering things like, ’Who let that idiot go on a mission unprotected?’ and ’If he dies, I’m killing everyone responsible.’ Very romantic."

"Very terrifying," Silver-Bun agreed.

Creed sat there, mouth open. Brain buffering. "My wife-to-be? I’ve known her for like... one scolding. She doesn’t even like me!"

Black-Braid shrugged. "That’s just how she expresses concern. You should’ve seen her last month. Kicked a Level 5 beast lord in half because it looked at you funny on the monitor."

"Wait, what? You’ve been monitoring me?!"

Yandere Alert!

"Oh, don’t act surprised," Silver-Bun said, adjusting her scanner. "You’re important."

"Important enough to get a scary overpowered fiancé I didn’t sign up for?!"

They ignored that part, returning to their gadgets. Creed fell back on the bed, groaning into his pillow. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

After the nurses finally left the room, their mischievous chuckles fading down the hallway, Creed was left staring at the door with an expression halfway between horror and absolute disbelief. freeweɓnovēl.coɱ

He looked like a man who had just been told that the final boss of a game was actually his girlfriend’s mother.

Slowly, he turned his head to the side, blinked twice, and slumped into the nearest chair like the weight of the entire world had dropped onto his shoulders.

"Wife?" he muttered to himself like the word personally offended him.

"Wife? Who the hell decided I needed one of those?! I didn’t sign any magical marriage pact! I barely survived an assassin, and now I’m supposed to start a family? Who’s assigning life quests without my consent?!"

He rubbed his face with both hands and groaned dramatically. His thoughts were flying in every direction like startled pigeons.

Bianca who was as cold as frost, beautiful as sin, and dangerous as a nuclear-grade meat cleaver was apparently his future wife?

That was the kind of plot twist that made Creed want to write an angry letter to the universe’s scriptwriter.

"No offense, Universe," he whispered at the ceiling. "But I feel like I should at least be invited to the wedding before waking up to a death-glare bride."

Still, despite all the complaints, somewhere deep inside, a tiny smirk pulled at the corner of his lips.

’Future wife?’ he thought. ’Well, I do have the face of a legend. Can’t blame the cosmos for trying to pair me up early. But still! Give a guy a warning first!’

With a dramatic sigh and a few choice mutterings about how being handsome was clearly a curse, Creed slowly tried to stand up.

The moment he did, his legs wobbled like soggy noodles. "Oh no. Nope. Gravity is staging a rebellion," he groaned, grabbing the edge of the bed for balance.

After a few more tries that resembled a baby deer learning how to walk, Creed managed to get on his feet.

He hobbled toward the door, opened it, and stepped into the hallway. That’s when the confusion truly began.

The hallway looked... clean. Sterile. Bright. And most damning of all; identical. Everything was white.

White tiles. White walls. White lights. He turned left, walked twenty steps. Turned right. More white. Another right. More white. He paused, looking around with narrowed eyes.

"If this place had a face," he mumbled, "I’d punch it for being so smugly uniform."

He tried to stay calm, using his super instincts to trace the path he took. Left turn. Right turn. Door with the three tiny notches. Corner with the vent that hummed slightly louder.

He mentally left bread crumbs behind with every step, refusing to let some overdesigned hospital maze get the better of him.

But just when he started to feel like a victorious explorer, a strange sound stopped him in his tracks.

Thump.

Then another. Thud.

Then came the low, vibrating buzz, like angry bees trapped inside the walls.

Creed’s ears perked up. His exhaustion took a backseat to curiosity. And his curiosity was often the root cause of both glory and chaos.

Following the sounds, he turned one final corner and stopped before a wide sealed chamber. The door was sleek, covered in glowing runes that pulsed faintly.

But what caught his eye wasn’t the door itself—it was the transparent window embedded in the wall beside it. Creed leaned in and what he saw made his eyebrows shoot up.

Inside, the room was separated into dozens of small, glowing compartments. Inside each one was a young boys or girls, all dressed in tight bodysuits, seated in lotus position.

Their eyes were clenched shut, their teeth gritted as red lightning ran through their bodies like fire dancing over nerves.

"Wait a damn second..." Creed whispered, placing a hand against the glass. "Are they frying themselves on purpose?!"

Indeed, that’s exactly what it looked like. The red lightning didn’t look like some kind of gentle cultivation light. It was brutal, wild, and clearly painful.

He could see one girl’s arm tremble violently as she tried to suppress a scream. Another boy had blood leaking from his nose but refused to break position.

"Either this is an insane torture room," Creed muttered, "or this is what they call ’Tuesday training.’"

Creed’s eyes widened slightly as admiration, mixed with dread, began to rise in his chest.

"Where the hell am I?" he whispered again, stepping back. "Is this some secret facility? A private faction? Or is this just the standard boot camp for overachievers?"