Re:Crafting in Another World
Chapter 137: Night of Succubi

Chapter 137: Night of Succubi

Mandira stood with her arms crossed, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glanced between Shennong and Romina. The air was thick with tension, not just from the unease of what lay beneath the dungeon’s second floor—but from something more personal.

"Romina," Mandira said slowly, her voice carefully measured. "Do you... seek revenge? From my brother? From the king? From your father?"

Romina didn’t answer right away. Her gaze was distant, fixed somewhere beyond the chamber walls, as if searching the far reaches of her own mind. Shennong, standing beside her, frowned.

"She doesn’t have to answer that," he muttered. "I promised her I’d help with anything she wanted. That promise hasn’t changed."

Mandira’s eyes flicked to him. "Even if it’s revenge?"

"She’s become important to me," Shennong said firmly. "No, not just to me. She’s family now. If she wants revenge, I’ll support her."

A sharp silence followed. Mandira clenched her jaw. She looked away, her thoughts swirling in conflict.

Soris was her brother. A fool sometimes, arrogant often, but still her blood. And yet... she looked at Romina, who sat quietly by the wall, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes hollow.

Mandira didn’t want to admit it, but it was clear. Her brother is the one at fault.

Romina finally spoke, her voice hoarse but steady. "I don’t know... Not yet. Maybe one day. But for now—I just want to be left alone."

She looked up, her eyes sharp despite the exhaustion in her face. "Don’t you two have something more important to worry about? Like that cursed floor of yours?"

Shennong gave her a soft, understanding look. "Your matter is just as important, Romina," he said gently. "But you’re right. If what Mandira sensed is true... that second floor could destroy everything we’ve built."

Mandira straightened up. "Then let’s move forward. The summoning—we’re doing it?"

"Yes," Shennong nodded. "We don’t have a choice. We can’t step into the second floor. You saw her, didn’t you?"

He motioned toward Romina again. "She doesn’t even remember what happened in there."

Mandira’s expression grew darker. "And that’s what worries me the most."

There was a pause, before Mandira turned toward the hallway. "Before we summon anything, I need to speak to my sisters at the Mage Sanctuary."

Shennong frowned. "You want advice?"

"Yes. And some help if I can get it," she replied. "They know more about sealed spaces and cursed energies than anyone else. I want their thoughts before we act recklessly."

"How long will that take?" Shennong asked.

"Not long. But I’ll need my equipment," she said. "Especially the Crystal Array I use to communicate with them."

"Can’t you just teleport and bring it back?" he asked casually.

Mandira let out a sharp breath, her brows furrowing. "No. I’ve tried. Something’s wrong."

"Wrong?" Shennong tilted his head.

"I think someone locked me out of my own room," she said, her tone low with irritation. "There’s a spell—a locking enchantment. But not mine. I can’t bypass it."

Shennong clicked his tongue, annoyed. "So they can even lock you out of your own space now? Must be a strong spell..."

"No," Mandira said coldly, her eyes narrowing as she stared at him. "It’s not that strong. Just... clever. Someone’s using binding wards layered with spatial anchors. They’re meant to interfere with return spells."

Shennong shrugged. "Still sounds weak to me."

Her gaze sharpened. "Sometimes, Shennong, I feel like you want to make me angry."

"I’m just being honest," he said with a teasing grin. "You’re always bragging about how powerful you are. I expected more."

Mandira sighed, brushing her hair behind her ear with visible annoyance. "You’re impossible."

"I’ll dig to your room," Shennong said abruptly. "Fastest way."

She blinked. "What?"

"We can’t teleport, right? So I’ll just dig. It’ll take a few minutes at most if I channel Sasha’s power. We can go together. You pick what you need, I keep watch."

Mandira raised an eyebrow, uncertain whether to be impressed or annoyed. "You’re serious?"

"Dead serious," Shennong replied, already moving toward the main chamber wall. "This is my dungeon. Nothing should be locked off from me—or from my allies."

Romina watched the two of them with half-lidded eyes. "You two argue like an old married couple."

Mandira turned crimson. "W-We are not—!"

Shennong smirked. "She’s not wrong."

"I will turn you into a toad."

He grinned wider. "With that weak locking spell caster’s power? Good luck."

Mandira’s palm started glowing with magical energy, but she forced herself to calm down with a deep breath. "Fine. Do your digging. But don’t mess up the foundation of the east corridor. I have a lot of delicate mana conductors set into the walls."

"Noted," Shennong said with mock professionalism. "Lead the way, Lady Mandira."

She gave him a flat look but walked ahead anyway. "Just don’t make this a habit."

***

The air was thick with tension as Leige’s army gathered in the shadowed valley, their banners fluttering under a moonless sky. Allied with their neighboring nations, they prepared to strike Sturgon, their rival across the jagged peaks. The camp buzzed with the clatter of armor and the sharpening of blades, but a heavy silence hung over the command tent. Sir Juno, their strategist, was dead—slain in a skirmish days ago. Now, a new voice rose to fill the void.

Inside the tent, a bald man with piercing eyes stood before the commanders. His name was Varkis, a grizzled veteran known for his unyielding resolve. He slammed a fist on the war table, rattling the wooden markers.

"We strike the borders of Leige and Sturgon at dawn!" Varkis barked. "Sturgon’s walls are weakened. Their scouts are blind to our numbers. We push through the eastern pass and crush their vanguard before they rally."

Commander Halric, a broad-shouldered man with a scarred face, leaned forward. "Are you certain, Varkis? Without Juno, we’re gambling. Sturgon’s no fool—they’ll have traps waiting."

"Don’t doubt the council!" Varkis snapped. "They’ve got spies in Sturgon, same as Sturgon’s got spies in Leige. We know their movements. They’re scrambling, Halric. This is our chance."

A younger officer, Lieutenant Torren, fidgeted. "Spies or not, how do we know the council’s right? What if Sturgon’s baiting us?"

Varkis’s eyes narrowed. "You think the council’s blind, boy? They’ve got eyes everywhere. Sturgon’s commander is desperate, pulling men from their farms. We hit now, or we lose the war."

Halric sighed, rubbing his temple. "Fine. Dawn it is. Get the men ready."

Outside, the camp was alive with activity. Soldiers polished swords, strapped on armor, and whispered prayers to their gods. Fires crackled, casting long shadows as men shared stories of home or boasted of the glory to come. The mood was grim but determined—until a strange sound broke the night.

Laughter. Soft, lilting, and unmistakably feminine.

Heads turned as a group of women approached the camp, their silhouettes swaying in the firelight. They wore provocative clothes—silks and leathers that clung to their curves, leaving little to the imagination. Their eyes sparkled with mischief as they called out.

"Hey, you babies!" one woman purred, her voice carrying over the camp. "Tired of playing with your swords? Come have some real with us!"

The soldiers gaped, then erupted in cheers. "Ladies!" shouted a burly infantryman, nearly dropping his axe. "Where’d you come from? Ain’t no villages ’round here!"

Another woman, with fiery red hair and plunging neckline, laughed. "Oh, we travel far for brave men like you. Don’t you want a show?"

"Show! Show! Show!" the men chanted, crowding closer. The women moved with hypnotic grace, twirling and posing, their movements drawing hoots and whistles. Some soldiers tossed coins; others offered their flasks. The women giggled, catching the offerings and blowing kisses.

In the command tent, Halric was reviewing maps when Torren burst in, red-faced. "Sir, you’ve got to see this!"

"What now?" Halric growled, grabbing his cloak.

"Women, sir! They’re... entertaining the men. It’s chaos out there!"

Halric’s eyes narrowed. "Women? There’s no towns for leagues. This makes no sense."

He strode outside, pushing through the tent flap. The sight stopped him cold. Dozens of soldiers were gathered in a circle, laughing and cheering as the women danced. But something was off. The air felt... wrong, heavy, like a storm about to break.

Then he saw it—a soldier slumped against a crate, his face pale and shriveled. Another lay nearby, eyes wide in a lifeless grin, his armor askew. Halric’s gut churned as he scanned the camp. More bodies, scattered among the cheering men, their faces were twisted in eerie joy even in death.

"What in the gods’ name..." Halric muttered, drawing his sword.

A scream cut through the noise, followed by another. The cheering faltered as soldiers began to notice their fallen comrades. Panic rippled through the crowd, but the women only laughed louder, their voices now sharp and unnatural.

Halric pushed forward, his blade gleaming. The air grew colder, filled with whispers and strange noises—giggles, moans, and something like claws scraping stone. He spun, searching the shadows.

A hand brushed his neck, cold and soft. Halric whirled, swinging his sword. The blade caught nothing but air, but a figure stepped into the firelight. A woman—but not human. Horns curled from her head, and a whip-like tail flicked behind her. Her eyes glowed red, and her smile was all teeth.

"Succubi!" Halric roared, his voice echoing over the camp. "We’re under attack!"

The woman tilted her head, her tail swaying. "Humans are so fun," she purred, her voice dripping with malice. "You fight, you bleed, and oh, how you taste."

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