100x Rebate Sharing System: Retired Incubus Wants to Marry & Have Kids

Chapter 662 - 661- Mira’s Flex to the Army

The word was barely a whisper. His fingers clawed at his shirt. His heart — his heart was doing something wrong. Something it had never done. It was being squeezed. Not from the outside. From the inside. As if a hand had reached through his ribs, through his flesh, through his bones, and was ’compressing’ his heart with the slow, deliberate, ’I-am-not-rushing’ pressure of absolute power.He couldn’t breathe.

"Wh — what is—"

The commanders felt it. All of them. Simultaneously. Ten men — rugged, experienced, war-hardened men who had faced cavalry charges and arrow barrages without flinching — grabbed their chests. Their wine cups shattered. Their chicken plates scattered. The table — moments ago a scene of casual, conqueror’s indulgence — became a tableau of suffocating, clawing, gasping men.

"OUTSIDE!" someone screamed. Varmen — the strategist, the man who had never held a sword — was already running. His glasses fell from his face. He didn’t stop.

The tent flap was torn aside. Men poured out — Hentia first, his cock hanging from his open pants, his dignity forgotten, his lungs burning. The command tent emptied in seconds.

And then the screaming started.

Not from the command tent. From the camp. From everywhere. From the ten thousand soldiers stationed across the valley, the scream hit simultaneously — a wall of sound that came from every direction at once, the unified, ’what-is-happening’ terror of ten thousand men discovering that the sky was wrong.

They looked up.

The sky was on fire.

Not fire — light. Mana. Enormous, blazing, impossibly complex magic circles had materialized in the air above the valley. Not one. Not two. Dozens. Hundreds. They hung in the sky like a constellation of geometric, glowing, rune-inscribed mandalas — each one the size of a building, each one spinning, each one pulsing with mana so dense that the air itself was vibrating.

"What is happening?!"

"How dare—"

"WHAT IS THAT?!"

The mages saw it first. The two ranking battlemages attached to Hentia’s faction — men who had studied at the Royal Academy, who understood mana circles the way a musician understood notes — looked up and felt their training shatter.

"That’s — that’s a nine-circle formation," one of them whispered. His voice trembled. "That’s — you can’t — nine-circle magic requires a full coven of master mages and a ten-minute incantation. She’s not even—"

"She’s not chanting," the other mage said. His face was white. His hands were shaking. "She’s not chanting. She’s not using a focus. She’s not using a catalyst. She’s just — she’s just standing there and the circles are forming on their own—"

"Wordless casting," the first mage breathed. "Silent, wordless, nine-circle simultaneous activation. That’s — that’s not possible. That’s not human. That’s—"

They looked at the sky. At the circles. At the woman.

She stood in the air.

Not floated — stood. As if the sky were solid ground beneath her feet. Naked. Completely, utterly naked. Her black hair loose, falling past her shoulders, caught in the wind. Her green eyes — luminous, burning, the irises glowing with a faint, inner light that was not natural and not human. Her body — the thick, heavy, post-birth body — was on full display. The big, milk-heavy tits. The wide hips. The thick thighs. The deflated belly — still rounded, still showing the evidence of recent pregnancy. The shaved, puffy pussy, the lips visible between her thighs.

Her body was made for fucking. Every curve, every swell, every soft, thick, heavy line of her was designed to provoke lust. The body of a MILF. The body of a pervert. The body of a woman who had been screaming her husband’s name while being fucked against a mirror minutes ago.

But the men below felt no lust.

Not one flicker. Not one twitch. The Primordial Desire Sovereign — Elara’s succubus ability, 100x multiplied — was active. But Mira was using it in reverse. Not to provoke desire. To ’extinguish’ it. The aura she projected was a negation — a field that reached into every male body within the valley and ’turned off’ the biological response. Every cock went soft. Every pulse of arousal died. The blood that had been rushing to groins retreated. The desire that Hentia had felt — the urge to fuck, to dominate, to take — vanished. Replaced by something colder.

Terror.

"WHAT IS HAPPENING?!" Hentia screamed. His hands were on his chest. His heart was still being squeezed. "IS SHE A WITCH?! A DEMON?! WHAT’S SHE DOING HERE?!"

The killing intent hit.

The ten-meter radius — Nora’s Crimson Blood Monarch ability, 100x multiplied — expanded. Not to ten meters. Not to a hundred. The 100x multiplier, combined with the infinite mana from the World Tree Sovereign, combined with the Arcane Sovereign’s spell compression — the radius expanded to cover the entire valley. Every man within the camp’s perimeter was inside her killing field.

And the killing field was active.

The spears came first.

Not physical spears — mana constructs. The Infinite Sword Dominion — Kaida’s, Evriana’s, and Celestia’s combined sword abilities — manifested. Thousands of them. Blades of pure, compressed mana materialized in the air above the camp, hovering, gleaming, the edges so sharp they cut the light itself.

They fell.

SHHHHHHHHHH—!!

The sound was not a whistle. Not a whoosh. It was a ’hiss’ — the sound of thousands of blades slicing through air simultaneously, the displaced atmosphere screaming as the mana constructs accelerated to terminal velocity.

CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. CRACK—!!

The impacts were not singular. They were a roar. A continuous, rolling, ’there-is-no-pause-between-the-strikes’ roar of thousands of blades hitting thousands of bodies. The sound was wet. Meaty. The sound of steel — no, mana — no, ’will’ — hitting flesh and bone and armor and flesh again.

Soldiers screamed.

"AAAAAHHH—!"

"HELP — HELP ME—!"

"MY ARM — MY ARM IS—!"

"WHAT — WHAT IS — THE SKY IS—!"

The first volley killed two thousand. The blades pierced armor. Not deflected — ’pierced.’ The mana constructs were enhanced by the Forge God ability, making them sharper than any physical weapon. They went through breastplates like paper. Through shields like mist. Through flesh like nothing.

Blood sprayed. Bodies fell. The camp — organized, structured, the neat rows of tents and the orderly lines of supply wagons — became a slaughterhouse in seconds.

"FORMATION!" a major screamed. His voice was hoarse. His sword was drawn. He was trying — desperately, uselessly — to organize a response. "SHIELD WALL! MAGES — MAGES, COUNTERSPELL! COUNTERSPELL NOW!"

The mages tried.

The two ranking battlemages raised their staves. Their training kicked in — the incantations flowing, the mana gathering, the defensive circles forming. Standard military counterspell protocol. A shield. A barrier. A wall of protective magic between the army and the threat.

BOOM.

The barrier went up. Blue. Shimmering. The combined mana of two ranking mages, channeled through their staves, reinforced by the military-grade enchanted ground they stood on. It was strong. It was designed to withstand siege weapons.

Mira raised her hand. Snapped her finger.

The barrier shattered.

CRACK—!!

The sound was glass breaking — but louder. Deeper. The blue light exploded outward, the fragments of mana scattering like shrapnel. The two mages staggered.

Their staves cracked. Their mana — the reserves they had spent years building — emptied.

Not depleted. ’Emptied.’ As if someone had pulled a plug at the bottom of their reservoir and let everything drain.

"HOW?!" one of them screamed. His voice cracked. "HOW CAN SOMEONE HAVE SO MUCH MANA?!"