FEW DAYS EARLIER :

"So that's what happened? I was very worried since your brother said you were taken by the Chieftess of that village," a voice echoed through the grand hall. The hall was constructed inside an ancient, towering tree, its interior vast and awe-inspiring, adorned with intricate carvings and glowing with a mystical luminescence. The voice belonged to the chief of the dark-elves' village, a stern yet wise leader who commanded respect and authority.

The chief, as always, sat on his imposing throne made of dark stone, etched with runes of power and history. Before him, Augustus—known in this life as Karl Ruprect Kroenen—knelt with his head bowed in deep respect. The atmosphere was thick with tension, the air almost palpable with the weight of unspoken fears and concerns. To the chief's right stood his wife, Kroenen's mother in this lifetime, her face serene but her eyes betraying a deep well of concern.

Around the hall, other important figures had gathered, their faces a mix of worry and determination. The impending war cast a long shadow over them all, and the silence in the room was heavy with the gravity of their situation. Suddenly, breaking the silence, a voice spoke up, filled with incredulity and worry.

"They are demanding this much? Are they even worth it?" It was Kroenen's mother, her voice tinged with anxiety as she questioned the worth of their adversaries.

"Yes!" Kroenen replied without a moment's hesitation, his voice ringing with conviction. "They are more than worth it, especially the woman who is ruling over them," he continued, his words reverberating through the hall and leaving a profound impression on all who heard them.

The chief nodded slowly, his gaze steady and thoughtful. "Very well then, I have no doubt in your judgment. I order everyone to prepare everything they demand," he declared, his voice carrying the weight of his authority. Almost immediately, the gathered officials and warriors began to disperse, hurrying to fulfill the chief's commands without delay.

Kroenen rose from his knees, his mind already turning to his next task. He intended to take a stroll around the village, to ensure everything was in order and to keep a watchful eye on their surroundings. As he walked towards the exit, a sudden thought struck him, bringing him to a halt. He realized there was an important figure missing from the meeting.

Turning back to his father, he spoke, addressing him not as chief but as family now that the formal meeting had concluded. "Father," he began, his voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and concern.

The chief looked up, his eyes meeting Kroenen's. "What is it?" he asked, his tone gentle but firm.

"Where's Serom?" Kroenen inquired about his brother, the absence of whom had just dawned on him.

The chief's expression softened slightly. "Oh, him? He mentioned he had some business to attend to and would return before we launch our attack. He took some of his trusted comrades with him, so I believe he will be safe. That's why I permitted him to go," the chief explained.

A wave of relief washed over Kroenen, though it was tinged with a lingering worry. "Huff... I suppose it's better that he's not here right now. It would be much better if he returns after the battle," Kroenen thought to himself, his mind already returning to the myriad of tasks and responsibilities that lay ahead.

As he stepped out into the village, the weight of his role and the uncertainty of the future pressed heavily upon him, but he pushed these feelings aside. There was work to be done, and he could not afford to be distracted by his fears and concerns. With a determined stride, he began his patrol, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

.....

More than fifty kilometers away from the Dark-Elf village lay a vast, flat field blanketed in lush, vibrant grass that swayed gently in the breeze, painting a picturesque scene of serene greenery. Scattered here and there were a few solitary trees, their branches reaching towards the sky as if in silent witness to the spectacle below. But the true eye-catcher was not the landscape, but the formidable army resting upon it.

In the heart of the field, an army of 300,000 soldiers had set up camp, transforming the tranquil meadow into a bustling hub of military activity. The field was dotted with a kaleidoscope of tents—blue, red, yellow, white—each color marking different battalions and divisions. The sheer number of tents created a sprawling encampment that stretched across the horizon, a testament to the might of the twin Succubi's forces.

At the center of this sea of tents stood a large wooden house, its appearance reminiscent of an old library, with tall, narrow windows and a roof that sloped gently downwards. This building was no ordinary structure; it was the command center and resting place of the twin Succubi, the enigmatic and powerful leaders of this vast army.

A few hundred meters away from the encampment, hidden behind a towering tree with broad, sheltering branches, a group of Dark-Elves observed the scene. Their leader, Serom, stood at the forefront, his eyes fixed on the wooden house with a mixture of determination and bitterness.

"Are you sure you want to go, Sir Serom?" one of the Dark-Elves asked, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and frustration.

Serom's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the enemy camp. "Yes, there's no doubt about it," he replied, his voice tinged with anger and a hint of desperation. "I've had enough of everything," he shouted, his voice rising with his emotions. "No matter what it is, everything goes to my brother. He's always the one respected and recognized by everyone, leaving me in his shadow," he continued, his hands clenching into fists.

The other Dark-Elves exchanged uneasy glances, feeling the intensity of Serom's emotions. His face was contorted with rage, and his eyes burned with a fierce, unrelenting fire. "This time, I'll take it all. Everything from them. Everything will be mine," he declared, his voice shaking with the force of his determination. His knuckles turned white as he tightened his fists, his entire body vibrating with the force of his pent-up frustration and ambition.

The moment was charged with tension, the air heavy with the weight of Serom's words. His comrades could feel the raw emotion emanating from him, a potent mix of envy, anger, and a desperate need to prove himself.

"Let's go!" Serom commanded, his voice slicing through the silence like a blade. His steely resolve brooked no argument, and his determination was palpable.

With a sense of foreboding yet unwavering loyalty, the group of Dark-Elves prepared to follow Serom into the heart of the enemy camp. Each step they took echoed their silent vow to stand by their leader, no matter the danger.

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But as they approached the resting army, having covered half the distance, three succubi suddenly descended from the sky. They were all stunningly beautiful and seductive, dressed in revealing outfits and each carrying a spear. Their wings, which had brought them gracefully to the ground, folded back into their bodies as they landed.

At the sight of the succubi, the Dark-Elves instinctively drew their swords, ready to defend themselves. Serom, however, raised his hand to halt them. "W-wait a minute! I'm not here to attack you. Please, hear me out!" he pleaded, his voice tinged with fear and hesitation. His body trembled slightly, betraying his inner anxiety.

The succubi, unfazed, remained calm. The one in the middle stepped forward, her eyes cold and commanding. "We already know. Our leader has called for you. Follow me," she said, her tone making it clear this was not a request but an order.

"What? Really?" Serom exclaimed, shock evident on his face. But the succubi gave no further explanation. Instead, they turned and began walking toward the wooden house in the center of the camp.

The Dark-Elves had no choice but to follow. Their fear and worry were palpable, but turning back was not an option now. As they followed the succubi, they passed through a maze of tents. The camp was a patchwork of different species, all coexisting in an unexpected harmony.

What struck Serom and his companions was the sight of these diverse beings going about their lives in apparent freedom. Although the "Chains of Enslavement," an ancient magic, controlled them, there were no visible chains. The enslaved didn't look oppressed or downtrodden. Instead, they engaged in various activities—cooking, chatting, even sharing intimate moments with succubi and others.

The camp buzzed with an unsettling normalcy, more reminiscent of a thriving village than a militarized zone. Seeing this, the Dark-Elves couldn't help but question what they were witnessing. Were these people truly enslaved? They showed no signs of suffering or resistance. The scene was so ordinary, so disturbingly peaceful, that it sowed seeds of doubt in their minds.

As they approached the wooden house, the tension grew thicker. The ordinary yet extraordinary sight they had just witnessed clashed with their expectations, leaving them uneasy and more confused than ever. What kind of power could bind these beings so completely and yet allow them such apparent freedom?

Serom's heart raced in his chest, each beat echoing the tumultuous mix of emotions swirling within him: fear tightening his muscles, anger fueling his resolve, and a fragile flicker of hope urging him forward. As they approached the wooden house, the weight of their mission bore down upon him, amplified by the foreboding presence of the guards stationed outside.

The door creaked open, beckoning them inside, and Serom hesitated only briefly before stepping over the threshold. His legs trembled with nerves, but he steadied himself with a deep breath, summoning every ounce of courage to face what lay ahead.

Behind him, his companions followed suit, their footsteps echoing in the dimly lit room. It was then that their gaze fell upon her—a figure of otherworldly beauty, poised and dangerous in equal measure.

She wore an elegant, form-fitting gown in a deep shade of violet, its satin fabric shimmering under the light. The dress featured long, flowing sleeves that ended in pointed tips, accentuating the length of her arms. The neckline plunged daringly, revealing a hint of her cleavage while maintaining an air of sophistication. The bodice clung to her figure, emphasizing her slender waist before flaring out into a flowing skirt that brushed the ground as she moved.

A sheer lace overlay adorned the gown, adding an element of mystique and grace. This lace extended from her shoulders down to her wrists, its delicate pattern hinting at the strength hidden beneath her ethereal appearance. The same lace continued down her left side, offering a tantalizing glimpse of her thigh through the semi-transparent fabric.

Her long, raven-black hair was intricately braided, the plait resting over her shoulder and reaching down to her waist. Each strand was meticulously woven, the braid adding an element of regality to her already imposing presence. Her hair framed a face of striking beauty; high cheekbones, full lips painted a dark crimson, and eyes that seemed to pierce through the very soul of those who met her gaze.

Her skin was pale, almost porcelain-like, contrasting sharply with her dark attire. There was a dangerous allure to her, a blend of elegance and menace that commanded attention. In her right hand, she held a knife, the blade gleaming ominously, hinting at the deadly skills she possessed. Tiny red petals, possibly from some enchanted rose, clung to her dress and the knife, adding a surreal touch to her menacing beauty.

Overall, her appearance was that of a dark enchantress, a powerful and mysterious figure whose beauty was as captivating as it was perilous.

"I'm Tiathmet. I heard what you were saying outside my domain, so I thought, why not call you all directly?" Her voice was a beguiling mix of seductiveness and authority. She held a book in her hands, and behind her, countless volumes lined the walls, a testament to her vast knowledge and power.

Serom's mind reeled in shock and astonishment. "What? She was hearing us from the start?" he thought, trying to mask his surprise.

Despite his initial shock, Serom felt his fear ebb away. Her decision to summon him suggested she had an interest in what he had to offer. This realization gave him a bitter sense of hope. He laughed quietly, a tinge of irony in his voice, before he spoke. "I guess there's no point in hiding it. I'm Serom, the second son of the Chief of the dark-elf village. But if you shake hands with me, I can turn from a second prince to a traitor," he said, a sinister smile playing on his lips.

Tiathmet didn't respond immediately. Instead, she walked forward with a graceful, predatory elegance and seated herself in a nearby chair. "Well then, what do you have to offer me?" she questioned, her eyes glittering with interest.

Serom's voice was thick with hatred and anger as he responded. "Hehehe... You're planning to attack my village, right? How about I give you all the information on their army—its size, its roots? Not only that, I will burn down their weapons to drastically reduce their power, and more. Anything you can imagine," he said, his words dripping with venom.

"I know this will benefit you greatly. You'll win this war easily with minimal casualties," he continued, his tone firm and resolute.

Tiathmet's lips curled into a mischievous smile. "Oh ho! Such hatred? I'm not going to ask why, but in return for all this, you must want something, right?" She grinned, clearly understanding the depth of Serom's purpose.

"Yes! I—

Before Serom could finish, the door burst open with a sudden, loud crash. "Sister, how do you like this outfit? I found it in the human village we destroyed last week!" The voice was bright and filled with pride as the individual stepped into the room.

The newcomer's sudden appearance commanded everyone's attention, their presence palpable and electrifying. Serom and his companions turned their gazes towards the door, their anxiety palpable. The dark elves who had been standing behind Serom instinctively took a step back, moving to stand side by side with him, their bodies tense and alert.

It was a women, She was dressed in a striking ensemble that blended elements of modern chic with a touch of rugged toughness. Her top was a form-fitting turtleneck in a deep azure hue, its fabric clinging to her curves and highlighting her lithe figure. Over it, she wore a sleek black leather jacket, the kind that spoke of both rebellion and style, adorned with a prominent star emblem on the chest.

Her shorts were a contrasting beige, tailored to fit snugly and ending mid-thigh, revealing her toned legs. A wide black belt cinched her waist, its silver buckle gleaming with a hint of menace. Completing her outfit were over-the-knee black leather boots, their glossy surface catching the light and reflecting a sense of danger and allure.

Her hair was a brilliant shade of blonde, cut into a stylish bob that framed her face perfectly. Each strand seemed to be meticulously in place, the short locks accentuating her sharp jawline and high cheekbones. Her eyes were a piercing blue, vivid and expressive, capturing the turmoil and determination that lay within. A small scar like tatto ran down the left side of her face, adding a touch of rugged charm to her otherwise flawless features.

Her lips, painted a deep crimson, were set in a determined line, her entire demeanor exuding a blend of intellect and resilience.She was a figure of captivating beauty and undeniable strength, a woman who defied convention and embraced her own fierce identity.