Villain's Breeding System: Evolving 999+ Harem into an SSS-Rank Legion

Chapter 606: Chapter 606- Ninth Circle Magic On Whims

Before he could finish—

A horn sounded.

Not close. Far. But loud. A deep, resonant blast that cut through the night. Then another. And another. Then screaming.

"WAKE UP! WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!"

The voice was distant. Panicked. Male. It carried across the camp, tearing through the canvas walls of the tent.

Raven paused.

He sighed. A long, drawn-out exhalation of genuine annoyance.

"Ah," he said. "I was having fun."

He looked down at the two sisters. They were trembling. Lena’s eyes were wide—suddenly alert, suddenly terrified. Vess’s body had gone rigid. The commander in her was responding to the call of battle, even through the haze of fucking and the insignia and the gag.

They tried to lift themselves.

Lena’s arms shook. She pushed herself up. Her ass was gaping. Seed poured from her as she moved. She gasped. The pain in her bowels was white-hot. She clenched involuntarily. More seed leaked. She whimpered.

Vess rolled onto her side. Her bound wrists were behind her back. She tried to stand. Her knees buckled. The rope between her legs had left her clit swollen and oversensitive. She fell back. She looked up at Raven. Her eyes were furious. Her mouth worked behind the gag.

He snapped his fingers.

The magic bindings dissolved. The ropes vanished. The gag across her mouth flickered and died. Her wrists were free. Her ankles were free. The rope between her legs was gone. She gasped. Air hit her lungs. Her jaw ached. She spat. She coughed. She snarled.

"Once I deal with this," she rasped. Her voice was shredded. Raw. "You are dead."

Raven smiled.

"Of course," he said. "Get dressed. Both of you."

They moved.

Slowly. Painfully. Vess found her clothes—her pants, her shirt, her armor pieces scattered at the edge of the tent. She pulled her panties up. The fabric pressed against her gaping, seed-filled pussy. She winced. She pulled her pants up. They were tight. The band pressed against her swollen lips. She fastened them. She pulled her shirt over her bound-marked, bite-marked tits. She winced again. She found her armor. She strapped it on. Her sword was at the tent entrance. She grabbed it.

Lena was slower.

She found her dress. Her panties. She pulled the panties up. They were soaked instantly with the seed leaking from her ass. She pulled her dress over her head. The fabric was rough against her bruised nipples. She found her boots. She pulled them on. She stood. Her legs were shaking. Her ass was throbbing. She could feel the seed inside her bowels with every step. She scolded herself into motion, bunching the fabric tight, pulling the band of her dress to cover her ruined body.

Raven watched them.

He snapped his fingers.

His clothes formed over him. Black leather. Silver buckles. A long coat that fell to his knees. He looked like a noble. Like a demon lord. Like a man who had just finished destroying two women and was now ready to destroy an army.

"Let’s go," he said.

He stepped out of the tent.

The night was chaos.

A sword flew through the air. It landed point-down in the dirt in front of him. The blade was silver. It caught the moonlight. The hilt was engraved with a royal insignia—a leech coiled around a crown.

Raven looked at it.

He touched the blade.

The metal turned to ash. It crumbled under his fingers. The silver dust blew away in the wind.

Behind him, the two sisters emerged.

They looked ruined.

Vess’s hair was wild. Her face was streaked with dried seed and tears. Her lips were swollen. Her armor was fastened crookedly. Her sword was in her hand, but her grip was weak. Her legs were trembling. Her eyes were wide with the shock of the outside world.

Lena was worse. Her dress was wrinkled. Her hair was matted with Vess’s juices and her own sweat. Her face was flushed. Her eyes were glassy. Her lips were bitten and raw. She looked like a woman who had been dragged through a brothel and back.

They stood behind him.

Raven chuckled.

"That would be..." he said. He looked at the ash. He looked at the battlefield. "...annoying."

Vess looked up.

Her eyes went wide.

The camp was surrounded. The forest was alive with movement. Thousands of shapes. Skeletons. Zombies. Ghouls. They poured from the trees. They climbed over the barricades. They swarmed the adventurers who were scrambling from their tents, half-dressed, half-asleep, screaming and crying.

And leading them—

A leech.

Not a normal leech. A monster. Thirty feet long. Black. Glistening. It moved like a slug, leaving a trail of slime that dissolved the grass. It had no eyes. Only a circular mouth—a ring of teeth that rotated like a saw. It was at the head of the undead army, directing them, commanding them.

Vess knew what it was.

She had seen it in the guild archives. A Death Leech. A creature that controlled undead. A monster that required a hundred adventurers to kill.

Her sword fell from her hand.

Her knees buckled.

She fell onto the dirt. Her face was turned up toward the monster. Toward the army. Toward death.

"We are dead," she whispered. "We are dead."

Lena was trembling.

She raised her hand. She tried to cast a spell—a simple fire bolt. Her fingers flickered. Nothing happened. The air was thick with a black aura. A nullification field. The undead energy was suppressing all magic. Her hands shook. Her eyes streamed.

"I can’t—" she whispered. "I can’t cast— my magic is—"

She fell to her knees beside her sister.

Both women were on the ground. Behind Raven. Looking at death. Their bodies were ruined. Their minds were shattered. Their magic was gone. They were helpless.

Raven stood in front of them.

He looked at the army. At the leech. At the chaos.

He chuckled.

"You’re making my ladies tremble," he said. His voice was loud. It carried across the battlefield, cutting through the screams. "Which is my right, dumbasses."

He snapped his fingers.

The world changed.

Thousands of spikes erupted from the ground. Black, crystalline, obsidian. They shot upward in a wave. They pierced the undead. Skeletons were impaled. Zombies were skewered. Ghouls were torn in half. The spikes spread in a circle around the camp, creating a wall of death.

The adventurers screamed.

Some were firing arrows. Some were casting spells—weak, flickering things that died in the nullification field. Some were crying. Some were running.

Then they saw the spikes.

And they saw Jacob.

A man in black armor. Raven’s subordinate. He stood at the edge of the camp. He saw his master. He saw the spikes. He understood.

"ATTACK!" Jacob roared. His voice was a thunderclap. "THE MASTER IS HERE! FOLLOW THE SPIKES! KILL THE UNDEAD!"

He moved.

He was a battle tank. He charged into the undead. His sword was a blur. He cut through skeletons. He smashed zombies. The spikes moved with him—erupting where he pointed, clearing his path, impaling his enemies. He was a one-man army backed by demonic magic.

The other adventurers saw him.

They stopped running. They turned. They charged.

The battlefield turned upside down.

Raven walked forward.

He raised his hand. Magic circles formed in the air above him. Massive. Glowing. Purple and black. They were the size of houses. They rotated. They pulsed. The ninth circle. The highest tier of magic. And he was casting it without incantation. Without words. Without effort.

The adventurers looked up.

Their eyes were wide. Their mouths were open. They had never seen this. No human could do this. No elf. No dwarf. No dragon.

"Is that—" someone whispered.

"Ninth circle—"

"Without chanting—"

"Who is he—"