Sunset bled across the horizon. Over one hundred twenty senior officers—grand elder, Serbei, Chishi, and I among them—gathered in the vast council hall, atmosphere heavy.
The door burst open without knock. Scout commander Yin Jing rushed in—news too urgent for protocol.
"Found them! Four kilometers out—an unknown-sized army approaching the sacred grounds. By spread, no fewer than four hundred thousand."
Yin Jing's face twisted with pain—likely losses among his scouts. Others gasped at the number. Four hundred thousand humans plus two hundred thousand dark elves—enough to crush us.
"Speed? Arrival?"
"Unknown."
"Good work. Scout further."
"Orders received!"
I dismissed him, calculating. Enemy rested days—midnight assault likely, using darkness. No orc cannon fodder—Diyari forced direct attack. They'd have special weapons; I hoped my assumptions held—they'd save them as trump cards.
Serbei muttered: "Four hundred thousand—reliable?"
Chishi: "Estimated by area—actual likely lower."
I rose, drawing all eyes. Serious face relaxed into confident smile.
"Even four hundred thousand—so what? Tonight's outcome won't change with numbers. Diyari and dark elves face me—they're doomed."
Worry vanished. Cheers erupted. Jenna and Xue Yan gazed at me with adoration; other females like Qing Yuan sparkled too.
Pity no time—could snag more beauties.
Distant rustling from Silverleaf Forest—birds scattering. Clear sign: army approaching.
Full moon night—elves rested, primed. Gaia blazed with lights—tree body and crown illuminated, likely a stunning spectacle from afar.
"They come!"
Grand elder's low voice. Human infantry emerged from forest, Diyari banners—advancing. Dark elves mobilized, breaking camp, reforming for assault.
Autumn wind swept between Gaia and tree wall—cool, unaware of coming bloodbath.
Diyari army arrived—first impression: not reported four hundred thousand, roughly two hundred thousand. Second: disciplined, tight—commander masterful, troops like extensions of will. No amateur.
Dark elves coordinated—leaving tree cover, merging with Diyari, advancing crab-pincer.
At arrow range—visible distance—third impression.
So beautiful!
Diyari vanguard: thirty-two soldiers in square formation carrying massive bed. Atop lounged a young woman in short skirt, off-shoulder gown, near-transparent outer robe—sensual, languid. Fingers brushed cloud-like hair; star-bright eyes gazed our way.
Her revealing clothes barely hid voluptuous body—most gifted curves exposed. Beauty shocking. Even naturally stunning elves paled; rarities like Rose or Jenna couldn't compare. Only one race produced such exaggerated allure.
Succubus bloodline.
Intelligence confirmed: four succubi worldwide. Ranked by age—first and second: Martial Rost and Diyari reigning queens. Third: Imelo clan leader Fina. Fourth: Diyari's 18-year-old princess before us—purple-haired beauty, Princess Aishanna.
Unless Fina appeared, no one among millions human or elf could rival succubus clan's Aishanna in charisma.
Hard to shift focus from her beauty and body—another figure demanded attention. Beside Aishanna: black heavy-armored general on horse twice normal size, black lance. Fortyish, rugged, hawk eyes—restrained power.
Instant recognition.
Diyari's top four generals—'War God' Titan!
As I studied him, he studied me. Suddenly, he raised black lance high. Over ten thousand black-armored warriors mirrored—cheering salute to me.
I drew waist sword without hesitation—forehead salute, then skyward—Empire's highest military honor. My knights followed. Elves stood confused.
Hero respects hero. Undefeated man indeed.
Twenty years ago, our great war—Diyari crumbling—he turned tide, advocated capital relocation, saving them from annihilation.
Besides Titan, two men flanked Aishanna. White-haired but young-faced, gloomy—likely youngest general 'Wild Wolf' Gaoxia, inherited title.
Other: tall, golden-haired handsome man—unknown.
Serbei whispered: "Archmage Mephis."
Impossible. Intel said Diyari archmage Mephis—near-eighty, dying old man. When did he become golden-haired hunk? Disguise? Illusion?
"Serbei—sure? Mephis should be eighty."
"I know. But magic fluctuation unmistakable—archmage. Appearance likely tied to dark forbidden art."
"Soul Transfer?"
Chill. Mephis—rare dark mage. Staff priceless, unique dark ultimate 'Twin Snakes.' Dark magic often self-serving. Soul Transfer—complex high spell, seizing bodies. Recovery years—evil path.
As I pondered, enchanting female voice rang out:
"Is that Baron Sorola Rubia?"
I signaled Serbei—he cast mid-level spell. Azure light encircled me, forming array.
Mid lightning magic—Thunder Echo Barrier.
Common misconception: barriers only defend. In magic, uses endless. Thunder Echo amplified sound thousands-fold—perfect messaging.
"Indeed—Sorola greets Princess Aishanna. Legends of your heavenly beauty proven true today."
Through barrier, my voice boomed flawlessly to every ear below—four hundred thousand troops.
"Heh heh… they say Sorola is a brilliant new general—turns out a handsome lord too. Aishanna's heart flutters."
Slut!
Perfect for my training.
"Holy elves—Empire allies. Princess brings Diyari army—meaning war against us?"
"Lord Sorola jokes. We come to welcome you. Join our nation—Aishanna promises immediate withdrawal. You'll receive treatment no less than in Martial Rost. If Father favors you… perhaps Aishanna… hee…"
She tugged low-cut gown lower—half breasts exposed. Star eyes sent waves. Even seasoned me swayed.
"HAHAHA… I live well in Martial Rost. Join you—beast of burden? Think I'm fool?"
I doubted her sincerity—my record and Febenli governance coveted. Diyari wealth gap extreme—needed my talent. But realization hit: I'd become pivotal in Empire. My defection—northern military collapse, national shock.
Two birds one stone. Aishanna's abacus rang loud.
Gaoxia cold, jealous eyes. Mephis murderous—fearing power dilution.
"Sorry, Princess Aishanna—my woman prefers Martial Rost."
I pulled Xue Yan close, kissing deeply. Public claim—mage-archer commander mine. Elves cheered; morale soared.
Aishanna's soft expression shattered—venomous glare at us.
"Baron Sorola—don't celebrate early."
Below, Princess Aishanna's expression shattered. The soft, seductive mask vanished—replaced by vicious hatred as she glared at Xue Yan in my arms. This stunning succubus-blooded beauty, raised in absolute privilege, had never been rejected. I'd refused her for another woman, forcing her true nature to surface.
Perfect—my heart-shot struck two birds.
"Sorry, Princess Aishanna—my woman prefers Martial Rost."
I flashed a mocking smile. Her eyes blazed with killing intent. Publicly toyed with and rejected before hundreds of thousands—she'd swallow this insult? No chance. Lifetime humiliation.
In that moment, I realized Fina—same bloodline—was practically saintly by comparison.
"Rumor says five years ago, Sorola Rubia sold his beloved for glory and wealth. Seems exaggerated… heh heh…"
Aishanna glowed in her barrier like a legendary demon goddess—beauty divine, words venomous. She finally pissed me off.
Cecilis…
My first love…
Killing intent exploded from me. Dragon Fury and Serbei sensed it first—stepping back in shock. Xue Yan in my arms startled, softening against my chest.
But Aishanna took the full brunt. My murderous glare hit her like a blade—she paled, mouth agape, beauty drained.
My sword and magic mediocre—but battlefield-forged killing aura? Proof of a true warrior.
"Aishanna—do you really want to die?"
Terrified speechless. Gaoxia and Mephis closed protectively; she steadied slightly. Titan's expression unreadable.
"Sorola—you're too arrogant. Think you'll escape my palm tonight?"
"HAHAHA… In my eyes, you're a newborn calf. Beat me? You're not even at the door."
"Heh heh… scaring orcs away was clever. If I'm right—you secretly crossed Moonwatch River, raided their supplies. Pity—the Black Dragon Knights you expect for rescue are currently bogged down. Now witness our nation's cutting-edge trump card."
From infantry rear—massive pushcarts rolled forward.