One Man Army

She recounted the events of the war, explaining how Tiathmet and Lunaria had not died but had fused into a single being—Lunatic, the new queen of succubi.

Cryptus's eyes widened in shock, but as the truth sank in, relief washed over his skeletal face. A bright, joyous smile crept across his bony features, his earlier sorrow fading like mist. His sisters were alive.

Still, Scarlett warned him sternly, "Keep this secret. You can't tell anyone—not even Li Feng or Xao Feng."

Cryptus, still overwhelmed with relief and happiness, nodded eagerly. "I understand. No one will know," he promised without hesitation.

With that, they made their way back to Dreadhaven. Along with the souls they had collected, they also took with them the remains of Lórien's body. Although his form had been twisted into that of an elf warlord, deep inside, he was still the same person he had been in life.

Warlords were fierce warriors who had fought countless battles in the past, earning titles like war general or warlord in their time. Even after death, they could be summoned back to fight. However, summoning a warlord wasn't simple. You needed two things—the sword they had wielded in life and their true name. Without both, the warlord couldn't be brought back.

Hmm...So are you thinking, if someone had the first hero Viktor's sword, Athena, and knew his true name, could they summon him as a warlord?"

So the answer is Yes, "If someone had his sword and his true name, they could summon Viktor. But no one knows his real name. He made sure of that before he died. His entire history was erased, wiped clean. Viktor took every precaution so that no one could disturb his rest after death.

After returning to Dreadhaven, the village was alive with activity. People were chatting, fixing up buildings, and preparing for a grand celebration. They had won the war, and there wasn't a trace of sadness in the air. No one mourned those who had died.

But why?

The answer was simple: Scarlett. She had promised that the fallen would return to life, and no one doubted her. If Scarlett said she would bring them back, then it was as good as done. What was the point of being sad for those who would soon walk among them again? It wasn't that the villagers didn't care—it was their unwavering belief in her. Scarlett's word was final. No one questioned it.

As the evening fell, the mood shifted slightly when a messenger arrived. His entire body trembled with fear, and he was drenched in sweat, clearly terrified of delivering his message. His voice shook as he relayed the message from the King of Gwarga, "So... what is your answer?" he stammered, as though his life hung by a thread.

Scarlett's eyes narrowed, her voice cold and sharp, "Compensation? Alright. I'm willing to cooperate. Tell your king to bring my dead villagers back to life."

The messenger froze, his heart pounding in his chest. "H-how is that possible?" he stuttered, fear gripping him even tighter.

Scarlett let out a harsh, disdainful laugh. "If you can't do it, then I refuse your offer. Go back and tell your king to prepare for war at the border of the human-demon realm. And let him know he better try his hardest not to get obliterated by me!" Her voice cut through the air like ice, leaving no room for negotiation.

The messenger paled even more, hastily bowing before rushing back to deliver the news. When he returned to the kingdom, the King of Gwarga fell into deep thought. He sighed, rubbing his temples, stress weighing heavily on him.

"Sigh... Make sure no word of this war leaves the kingdom. It will ruin our reputation and standing. Prepare all the troops at the border of the human-demon realm by tomorrow. We'll attack head-on and try to end this quickly before anyone finds out." His voice was tense, knowing the seriousness of declaring war against Scarlett and Dreadhaven.

"And with that... we declare war against the succubus and her village," the king said, his tone grim.

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As evening faded and the night fell, the Kingdom of Gwarga was busy preparing for the upcoming war. The soldiers worked tirelessly, estimating that by the next morning, an army of eight hundred thousand would be ready to march.

Meanwhile, in Dreadhaven, there was no sign of any war preparations. Instead, the village was filled with the sound of celebration—or more accurately, something far more sinister—torture.

Cryptus had resurrected Lórien, and the rest of the tasks were handled by Augustus, better known as Kroenen. Kroenen had just returned from the elf village to take part in the torturing. In his past life, he had been Hitler's top assassin, so torture was nothing new to him—it was a daily routine. But Scarlett? She had her own dark expertise in the matter. After all, she had endured more than six months of experiments and brutal torture.

On her orders, the villagers had built a large metal bull, hollowed out with a space inside its belly. It was modeled after an ancient Greek torture device—the Brazen Bull. Victims were locked inside the bull, and a fire was lit beneath it, slowly roasting them alive. Inside the bull's neck was a device that turned the victim's screams into musical sounds, so instead of cries of agony, it sounded like festive music.

Though Lórien would die each time, that wasn't an issue. They could resurrect him as many times as they wanted, since they held his soul.

In the center of Dreadhaven, the horrific spectacle unfolded. Villagers gathered around the bull in a circle, dancing to the haunting hum coming from the bull's neck. It looked like a festival on the surface, but the reality was far darker.

Scarlett sat a little further away from the crowd, watching the scene with cold amusement. Kroenen stood beside her, his expression unreadable.

"I didn't know you knew about this method of torture," Kroenen said, surprised and impressed at the same time.

Scarlett gave a small smirk, her blindfolded eyes reflecting the heat from the blazing fire inside the metallic bull. "There's a lot you don't know about me," she replied, her tone almost playful as she watched the flames dance.

"When I was kidnapped, I was tortured inside a bull just like this for two days. Seeing someone else go through it... well, it's oddly satisfying. Peaceful, even," she thought in her mind with a twisted smile, as if the suffering before her brought her a sense of calm.

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The next day, the battlefield stretched out endlessly—a vast field with almost no grass, just dry dirt that looked like sand, with a few scattered trees far off in the distance. Around eight hundred thousand soldiers stood ready for war, their sheer numbers making them appear like a swarm of ants if seen from above.

At the front of the army were rows of horses and chariots, carrying the kingdom's generals and commanders. They kept a respectful distance between each other, forming a powerful line of authority. Ahead of them were the summoned heroes of the Kingdom of Gwarga from the warrior academy, clad in full armor, their eyes gleaming with readiness.

And even further ahead of everyone stood King Lysander of Gwarga, alongside his twin brother Leonidas. Both were stoic, their presence commanding the battlefield.

"Today, we kill all those scum who dared to threaten our kingdom!" one general with a long mustache bellowed, his voice booming across the field.

"Yeah! Kill! Kill!" The soldiers roared in unison, their morale surging, filled with the hunger for battle. Spears slammed into the ground in rhythm, creating a loud, intimidating thud that echoed across the field.

But while his soldiers prepared for battle, Lysander's mind raced with uneasy thoughts. "We're already here... but where is their army? I don't see a single monster or demon!" His eyes scanned the battlefield, darting around for any sign of the enemy.

The air was thick with dust and dirt, making it hard to see far, and just as uncertainty crept in, the general with the large mustache squinted, straining to see through the haze. "I... I see someone... A woman. Alone."

"What? A lone woman? What can she possibly do?" The soldiers murmured in confusion, doubting that one woman could pose any threat to their massive army.

Then, out of the dust and smoke, Scarlett emerged. Her figure came into focus, her presence sending a ripple of tension through the air. She was still wearing the same torn outfit from the previous battle, her clothes shredded, revealing much of her skin. Her Great Red Menace sword rested casually on her shoulder, the blade glowing faintly with a menacing heat.

As Scarlett walked toward the army, rage boiled inside her, making her steps powerful and deliberate. Without even realizing it, she moved with a seductive confidence, her hips swaying with each step, her curves drawing the eye of every soldier watching her approach. The way she walked was hypnotic, like a model striding down a runway—but far more dangerous.

For the next four minute and and elevel seconds her body reflexively doing the best catwalk in existence.

Her every movement was smooth, seductive, and terrifyingly confident. Her entrance was the very definition of badass—one man army.