"...The King of Valora."
These words hung in the perfumed air of the chamber, heavy with a significance that my high-school mind struggled to fully grasp. The King of Succubi. The absurdity was so complete, so violently antithetical to the banality of my previous existence that it became... tangible. The faces with perfect and slightly worried features of the handmaidens, the aura of quiet authority emanating from Greta, the almost indecent opulence of the surroundings... This was it. My new reality. Kenji Tanaka had perished, stabbed in the heart by betrayal. Konrad Valorius was born in the luxury of silk, surrounded by creatures that the myths of my world relegated to forbidden fantasies.
Greta, perceiving that the first wave of stupor was receding, resumed in a composed voice that revealed professional assurance:
"Yes, Your Majesty. You are home, at Burg Schattenfels. The treaty with the elders of Dorf Eichenwald and the surrounding villages is of crucial importance. It guarantees us not only their formal allegiance but, more importantly, access to the rare shadow ore deposits that lie beneath their lands. The signing must be done in person, and as soon as possible, before Margrave Greifenklau awakens to rumors of our negotiations and attempts to sabotage them."
She unfolded these explanations as if it were a simple business transaction, ignoring—or deliberately choosing not to address—my state of obvious confusion. With a fluid gesture, she unfurled a complex map on the imposing table—a vast territory with meticulous details, traversed by sinuous borders, bristling with mountain ranges, crisscrossed by rivers, and dotted with cryptic symbols. A large domain in the shape of a clawed talon, tinted with darker ink, bore the inscription "Kaiserreich Valora." To the east, a modest circle designated "Dorf Eichenwald," nestled against a shaded area representing a dense forest.
"The eastern region is vital for our expansion," continued Greta, her finger precisely grazing the map. "Securing control of Eichenwald opens the way to the Blood Plains, territory of the orc clans, but also to the dwarven mines and, potentially, a southern trade route. To ensure your protection and demonstrate our power without appearing excessively bellicose—for now—a squadron of six hundred Succubi will compose your escort."
Six hundred. The number resonated in my mind like a gong. Six hundred... Succubi? Demons? These mythical creatures, renowned for their power of seduction and their ability to drain life energy? And they constituted my army? The concept was simultaneously terrifying and... strangely, insidiously intoxicating. My high-school brain, shaped by video games, manga, and an almost non-existent social life, established mental associations as disconcerting as they were uncontrollable. These weren't simple fighters. They were Succubi. My army consisted of beings of supernatural beauty, whose very essence was tied to desire and manipulation. A new wave of heat invaded my cheeks at this thought, accompanied by a shiver that had nothing to do with the ambient temperature.
"Six hundred..." I stammered, the term "Succubus" stubbornly remaining prisoner in my knotted throat.
Greta apparently interpreted my hesitation as an inquiry about the command of the squadron. "Indeed, Your Majesty. The Sergeant responsible for the main unit is already waiting to receive your directives." She pivoted toward the door and executed a brief gesture.
A silhouette crossed the threshold. And if the handmaidens, even Greta herself, embodied a beauty transcending human norms, the one who had just entered was... different. Younger, undeniably, appearing barely older than I was in my previous existence—sixteen or seventeen years old, perhaps. A cascade of hair so blond it seemed to capture and amplify light framed a face with features of perfect delicacy and harmony. Her eyes, a striking blue, sparkled with an almost adolescent vitality. She wore a feminine version of my immaculate uniform—a fitted jacket emphasizing her slender waist and a short skirt that revealed endless, graceful legs. Soft boots sheathed her calves up to her knees. Her bearing betrayed military rigor, but beneath this discipline shone through an almost mischievous vivacity. Her beauty combined innocence and danger with a troubling alchemy.
My cheeks instantly blazed. It was the primitive reaction of the introverted high schooler confronted with a creature of dazzling beauty, amplified by the... let's say, advantageous outfit she wore and by her manifest youth. My gaze may have—just maybe—lingered on that short skirt a fraction of a second too long.
Her electric blue irises fixed on me. Her lips pinched imperceptibly. Then, without a shadow of the deference shown by Greta or the handmaidens, she blurted out, in a tone oscillating between accusation and slight mockery:
"You looked at my skirt, perverted Master."
Time froze. My jaw dropped in shock. A sergeant? Addressing me in that tone? Openly calling me a pervert? Me, the great "Kaiser Konrad," the sovereign of the Succubi, who had just been bathed by creatures of divine beauty?
Greta visibly stiffened, her usually impassive face betraying for the first time a glimmer of... dismay? Wrath? "Sergeant Frieda!" Her tone was icy and reproving. "Composure! In the presence of His Majesty!"
The young succubus—Frieda, apparently—diverted her gaze from mine to direct a sulky look at Greta, a slight shoulder movement betraying her latent defiance. She added nothing, however, content to stand rigidly at attention, her expression sulky but subject to discipline.
My mind struggled to assimilate the information. Perverted? I had simply... looked. A reflex. The legacy of sixteen years of morbid shyness and unfulfilled desires. And she had perceived it. And she had the audacity to point it out to me frontally. It was... mortifying. And simultaneously... curiously refreshing? This world was definitely bewildering.
Greta, after glaring at Frieda, turned to me again, instantly recovering her customary professionalism, as if the incident had never occurred. "Please forgive this breach of protocol on the part of the Sergeant, Your Majesty. Her youth is matched only by her talent in combat."
Talented and impertinent. A remarkable combination, indeed.
I felt the imperious need to gather my scattered thoughts, to fully integrate this reality where I was an Emperor, commanding an army of Succubi, some of whose officers did not hesitate to openly treat me as a pervert. My gaze was irresistibly drawn to the imposing structure that dominated the space—a throne. A tangible symbol of my newly acquired and overwhelming power.
Without a word, I headed toward it. The seat was carved from a deep, almost abyssal black stone, enhanced with inlays of a metal with purple reflections and adorned with complex patterns evoking stylized wings or inverted flames. The ensemble exuded an aura both ancestral and subtly threatening.
I settled into it. The seat was surprisingly comfortable, dressed in soft, perfectly tanned leather. But the symbolic weight it conferred was vertiginous. It was here that decisions were imposed. It was from this seat that Kaiser Konrad exercised his authority. Seated on this throne, surrounded by these women with mysterious powers, with a campaign of conquest looming on the horizon... this was my new existence.
Greta, noting that I had taken my place, continued her explanations, outlining the alternatives for our journey to Eichenwald. "We can opt for teleportation, Your Majesty. The process is almost instantaneous. Less than a minute is sufficient to move the entire squadron. Alternatively, if you deem it preferable, the land route would require about three days of travel by coach, escorted by our forces to guarantee your absolute safety."
Teleportation. An additional concept snatched from fantasy universes and transplanted into my new reality, mentioned with the same banality as if choosing between train and plane. Instantaneous. Fast. Efficient. Pure logic commanded opting for teleportation. Arrive promptly, sign the treaty, return to Burg Schattenfels for... for what exactly? To learn my role as Emperor? To administer my army of Succubi as beautiful as they were insolent?
But an inner voice rebelled against this cold rationality. I was now evolving in a new world. A universe impregnated with magic, populated by fantastic races, fragmented into warring kingdoms. To die and then reincarnate in another dimension only to remain cloistered in a fortress, to glimpse this extraordinary world only through the reductive prism of magic? It seemed to waste an immeasurable opportunity. The part of Kenji that subsisted in me, that curious and adventure-thirsty fraction repressed by too ordinary an existence, ardently desired to *see*. To contemplate the Aerdenreich. To explore my own kingdom. To understand the territories I was destined to govern.
Teleportation would wait. Conquest demanded an intimate knowledge of the terrain.
I raised my eyes to Greta, my decision crystallized. Sergeant Frieda maintained her martial posture, her sulky expression slightly attenuated, her cerulean eyes riveted on me with an intensity that betrayed undisguised curiosity.
"We will take the land route," I declared, my voice revealing an assurance that surprised even me. "I wish to observe the kingdom. To discover the lands of Eichenwald and the mysteries of the Black Forest. Three days, you indicated?"
Greta imperceptibly inclined her head, a fleeting smile brushing her perfect lips, as if my decision elicited her tacit approval or her benevolent amusement. "Indeed, Your Majesty. Approximately three days. We will begin preparations without delay. Sergeant Frieda will coordinate the organization of the escort and define the optimal itinerary."
My gaze met Frieda's. Her azure eyes momentarily widened, their expression shifting from polite boredom to manifest surprise. No doubt she hardly expected the new Master whom she had promptly labeled as perverted to opt for the longest and potentially most perilous solution. Her sullen air gave way to an expression where intrigue mingled with a form of nascent respect.
The odyssey was just beginning. And my army of Succubi awaited me, ready to march under my banner toward unknown horizons.