Creating A Succubus Army In A Fantasy World!
Chapter 189: Rumors.

Chapter 189: Rumors.

From within the ring on his finger, a faint light had shimmered like a panicked heartbeat pounding through metal.

With what little energy he had left, Creed had reached into his storage and pulled out the one item he had long forgotten but never thrown away.

A black and red plaque. It was roughly the size of a palm, made of strange unknown material that felt like obsidian but shimmered like it was alive.

On its surface was the number 3, etched deep into the top corner, and on the back, three red slashes shaped like a triangle; elegant, sharp, and mysterious.

Back during his expedition into the Unexplored Rift, the very place where he had first touched the terrifying power of the Path of Killing, this plaque had been one of three mysterious reward options offered to him.

He remembered them clearly: a red spear that could grow stronger with him, a drop of bloodline essence linked to the Path of Killing, and this plaque.

It hadn’t looked like much back then, but something about it had felt heavy... potent... ancient.

So he’d taken it, figuring he’d unlock its secrets eventually. He never thought "eventually" would be when a Beast King was about to eat his face.

Now the plaque was glowing.

Brightly. Fiercely. Furiously!

The three crimson slashes on its back throbbed with light, beating like three separate hearts, and a strange oppressive force filled the air; a command, not just to Creed but to the world itself.

The atmosphere grew thick. Time seemed to stretch. The Beast King’s beak, which had hovered inches above Creed’s head, stopped.

Not slowly. Instantly. As if someone bigger and badder had just walked into the room and told it to sit.

The eagle’s monstrous eyes, larger than Creed’s entire body, locked onto the glowing plaque. Its pupils contracted. Its wings trembled.

It stepped back, not physically, but its will did, which was somehow more terrifying.

The air pulsed with invisible shockwaves, and Creed realized, eyes wide in disbelief, that the plaque... was pushing the Beast King back!

Not physically. Not even with force. But with authority.

Like it had seniority.

Like it had ownership.

And the eagle, this apocalyptic, continent-ending, skyscraper-sized, hyper-speeding death bird couldn’t lower its head.

Something invisible, formless, undeniable, stopped it. Its wings twitched. Its chest heaved. Its golden eyes burned with confusion and rage. And yet, it could do nothing.

Creed’s thoughts began racing faster than ever.

’Could this plaque be some kind of authority token? A command key? A collar? Something meant to control creatures like this?’

The glowing number 3, what did it mean? A control level? A countdown? A rank? He had no idea.

All he knew was this: he probably had seconds before this mysterious suppression faded, and when it did, he was toast.

Not warm toast. Charred, eagle-digested, forgotten toast in a nuclear microwave toast.

With a grunt of pain, Creed scrambled to his feet, the plaque clenched in his one good hand. His body screamed, bones groaning, muscles torn, but he didn’t stop.

He bolted for a full escape, but changed directions just as quickly because the eagle’s humongous body was still blocking the path. It was blocking every path!

And the eagle? It didn’t attack. Couldn’t. Not yet. But it watched him with pure fury.

The stand-off was hellish.

Creed held the plaque forward, trembling, blood dripping from his mouth. The eagle hissed, a low growl deep in its chest, like a volcano rumbling before eruption.

Its wings fanned wide, nearly blotting out the sky again. It tried to move. Couldn’t. It tried to screech. Choked.

The more it fought the influence of the plaque, the more its shiny feathers dulled, the more its brilliant aura flickered, the more its will faltered. And then, its giant predator eyes narrowed.

It screeched.

One last, thunderous, piercing cry that shook the heavens and launched debris in every direction.

And then it vanished.

Like teleportation. Just... gone.

Creed blinked.

"...Wait. What?"

He turned slowly, expecting a trap, a dive-bomb, a second phase, a fireball from space, anything. But there was nothing. No wind. No thunder. No pressure.

Silence.

But Creed wasn’t stupid. He raised the plaque higher, on guard, eyes darting.

And that’s when it happened.

Boom!

A split-second of sound, a shudder of the earth, and the eagle appeared right next to him, not above or in front, beside him, silently, like a jump scare ripped straight from the worst horror movie.

Its beak snapped open—

Creed moved without thinking.

Plaque!

BOOM!

The eagle didn’t screech in rage this time, it screamed in pain, a raw, thunderous, almost human cry of suffering.

Its beak recoiled like it had just been punched by God, and it vanished again, warping out like a glitched video game character.

Creed didn’t move.

Didn’t even breathe.

He stood in place, hunched, eyes wide, plaque raised, every muscle frozen.

For one full hour.

And during that hour, he waited.

Waited for the eagle to return. Waited for the final attack. Waited for his death.

But it didn’t come.

No more pressure. No more presence. No more predator in the sky.

Only after sixty long, sweat-drenched minutes did Creed finally take a real breath and let his knees drop.

His legs buckled, body shaking, and he clutched the plaque like it was a divine relic, because to him, right now, it was.

That little black and red rectangle had just saved him from the jaws of a monster that literally nobody was supposed to survive.

Beasts Kings were known to be invincible calamities.

And when they marked you with a curse, like Creed had been, and then they noticed you flesh to flesh, your death was mostly guaranteed.

That was history. That was reality. And yet, here he was, alive, breathing, somehow not eaten.

"Holy... crap," Creed wheezed. "I survived a Beast King assassination. I actually, WHAT THE HELL?!"

Because as soon as he took one wobbly step forward, the ruined landscape around him that was full of shattered trees, gaping craters, and scorched earth shifted.

In the far distance, hidden among the bushes and broken trunks, a dozen dark shapes began to move.

Silent.

Creeping.

Watching.

Creed’s heart stopped. His plaque hand rose again on instinct.

"...Oh, come on."

There were dozens of curses coming to finish the job that their master couldn’t!

Run!

.....

The aftermath of the beast tide felt like waking up from a nightmare that had bled into reality. The Infernal Ice Bastion had been reduced to a bruised and battered stronghold barely clinging to pride.

Entire sections of the energy barrier had been blown apart during the final wave, and dozens of jagged cracks still marred the reinforced obsidian walls.

Engineers and formation specialists worked tirelessly to restore the barrier, their faces grim but focused, their movements practiced but hurried.

Giant crystalline cranes hovered in the sky, repairing the tower-spires that had fallen, while formation cores blinked back to life one after the other with sizzling bursts of light.

But the damage wasn’t only physical.

The young cadets, elite patrols, civilians, and even the hardened DMA officials walked the streets with haunted eyes.

No one had ever expected this. It wasn’t just a beast tide. They’d faced those before. It was the fact that this one had been led by a Beast King, and that made all the difference.

Multiple Bastions had been razed in history by single Beast Kings. Territories had fallen. Regions had been restructured after one appeared. And this one? It had come for them.

And yet... it had left.

The moment it arrived, the Beast King had cast its tremendous shadow over the entire bastion like a death god stepping onto a chessboard, and everyone had believed the game was over.

But barely seconds after descending, it vanished.

The mood that followed was confusion, then relief, and then silence. Everyone had been holding their breath. They still were.

The initial chaos was over, and now that the few dead had been counted and the wounded carried off to the med halls, the question that lingered in every conversation was: Why did the Beast King leave?

Experts had theories. Adventurers whispered of curse marks. Scientists drew diagrams connecting behavioral patterns.

Even the Bastion Leader, an elderly woman with white flames for hair, held a press conference and admitted the leading theory was that the Beast King had targeted someone bearing its personal curse, and once it confirmed that target was not within the city, it departed.

That theory seemed to make the most sense.

And then, like wildfire catching on dry ice, rumors spread.

They whispered through markets, echoed in public squares, and were murmured during public transports.

"I heard it was Creed Walden. The Hope Candidate."

"The one who came first in the Ambassadors Academy Exam?"

"Yeah. They said the Beast King was looking for him. But he lured it away."

"No way... he’s a Silver level kid. He’d die in seconds."

"But he didn’t. He survived. And the Beast King left."

"...How?"

No one had answers. But the respect in their voices was real. Whether it was awe, fear, or disbelief, Creed Walden’s name was rising, not as a student, not as a Hope Candidate, but as the only man who faced a Beast King and lived.

Meanwhile, Creed himself?

He was flat on his couch, exhausted in both body and soul, with a sleeping Meredith curled up like a kitten on his chest.

The petite succubus still had tear tracks on her cheeks from the terror she’d felt earlier, but now she was peacefully asleep, her soft breath tickling his collarbone.

Creed didn’t dare move. Not because he was scared of waking her up, but because he was still too damn tired to function.

And they didn’t even done anything today!

His thumb lazily scrolled on his phone, browsing the relocation portal.

His eyes scanned across bastion listings with as much enthusiasm as a student cramming the night before finals.

"Tier 2 bastions, minimal beast activity... reasonable apartment prices... strong walls..." he muttered. "Preferably ones that won’t be exposed with a single sneeze."

Because there was no question in his mind: the eagle would return.

It had left, yes. But it had seen him. Smelled him. Marked him. And next time? It wouldn’t get stalled. It wouldn’t hold back. It would come prepared, and Creed had no intention of still being here when it did.

His body shivered slightly, the memory of those golden eyes burning into his soul still fresh. That crushing pressure.

That suffocating silence. That jump scare teleportation attempt that almost turned him into eagle toothpaste...

Goosebumps. Everywhere.

He glanced down at Meredith, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek with his thumb. "How the hell did I survive that?"

And then, boom.

His front door exploded open like a Hollywood SWAT raid.

"GAH!" Creed yelped, nearly launching Meredith across the room.

Standing there in the shattered doorway, one hand clutching his chest, was the Old Monk.

The same one with a single beard strand, panda-like eye bags, and the constant look of a man who hadn’t slept since the invention of bread.

His robe was slightly tattered, there were bits of ocean weed stuck to his sandals, and he looked like he’d just survived a trip through a dimensional blender.

But his expression when he saw Creed alive was pure relief.

"Oh thank heavens..." the old monk gasped, patting his chest rapidly.

"I swear I’m getting too old for this. Another minute and I would’ve had a stroke. You brat, why do you always get into messes when I’m just out of reach?"

Creed stared, mouth open. "Wait, YOU?! Where the hell were you?! You could’ve come, I don’t know, a few hours ago?! Maybe stopped the BEAST KING?!"

The old monk gave him a deadpan look. "You want me to explain that I was inside a dimensional rift fighting giant pink octopus-sharks? No? Good. Because I’m not explaining."

Creed blinked. "What?"

"Nevermind. Doesn’t matter. What matters is—" The old monk clapped his hands, cutting off whatever explanation Creed was about to demand. "Pack your things."

"...What?"

"We’re leaving this Bastion."

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