Lord Of Succubi:Transmigrated As A Dual Cultivator In Isekai Of Magic



plop!

It was the sound of another B-rank wolf's head dropping on the table.

Behind her alloy rimmed spectacles, the receptionist's eyes shot wide open. Staring in unbelief, and shocked to the bone, both her eyeballs bulged vicariously.

In the open hall behind her, chairs began to slide back, as pairs of numerous feet shuffled on the concrete ground- rising to glance at the bloody carcasses. It was like a portfolio, but made entirely of the mangled corpses of the wind wolves.

Behind her, Monica felt the invasion of dozens of eyes burning into her back.

Mindlessly, she reached into her spatial ring, and kept pulling out her trophies.

The black, shaggy heads of the triangular snout shaped beasts plopped on the wooden table- each one more burned and battered than the previous one.

Arrayed on the table, side by side, under the glowing orange candle flames, they told the story of a very gory battle. Monica said not a word, but her tense shoulders, her bloodshot eyes, and her cold persona, screamed 'battle tested.'

With each B-rank carcass that she pulled out, the gasps only got deeper and deeper. Hunters, neophytes, squares, and interns- they all gaped askance. The sounds of their increased heart rate sky rocketed, booming nervously in their chests. Just from being so close to the rabid beasts, beads of sweat broke out on their foreheads, on their backs, in their arm pits, and several other private areas.

"What the fuck?"

They whispered; "She killed them all?"

"Shit."

"I hear she uses explosions. . ."

"Holy molly, she burned them silly. . .look how black they are!"

"Damn, that's a nasty ability to have. . ."

"Those poor creatures, Monica is the real beast I tell ya. . ."

In quiet whispers, the lodge chattered away excitedly.

Wind wolves were a menace. But B-rank wolves? Only dragon riders could successfully hunt them!

As a few adventurous hunters dared to come closer to inspect, the shuffling sounds of feet began to get closer- lengthening the shadows on the walls.

Monica, still in her velvet, leather jumpsuit, and with her crimson cloak fallen behind her, maintained a sullen-mournful exterior. Despite the cackling excitement bubbling all around her, she felt no sense of victory. Ni Yang was still very much on her mind.

All this- the severed heads, the fame, the glory, the envious glares, and the bodies, it was all because of him.

But of course, Monica could never let honor get in the way of profit- so did not say shit. 

Purposely, she left out the carcasses that had been slaughtered with slashes from Nexus' naked blade. That would have been difficult to explain. Everyone knew her as the queen of explosions. So, burned corpses- not bloody and sliced up, made more sense.

She continued to line up rows and rows of severed heads. The foul stench of burned, rotten flesh curled up from the table, and soaked the air. On the six foot long oak table, space began to run out as she showcased her ugly fuckin' collection. 

"Uhm, Miss Russell?" the woman chirped. She had backed a full feet away from the table;

". . .we're clearly running out of room, do you mind letting me know the correct indices for record's sakes?"

Monica's face contorted in a deep frown. Her brows arched, and her lips pursed as she considered the table before her.

The plump woman was right.

But she still had a fuck ton of regular wind wolves carcasses stored up in her spatial ring. And all of them meant money. So, she abandoned them, and reached in for the biggest kill of all.

With two hands, she reached in and pulled out the decapitated head of the B-rank leading wolf. 

In the background, the restless movement ceased temporarily. All at once, in one pool of enrapturing focus, some four dozen sets of eyes rested on the prize- feasting hungrily on every single move Monica made with it.

Like a choreographed session, the seized bated breaths suddenly rushed out of their compressed lungs- flaring out of their nostrils as they all exhaled as one. 

That thing was huge! The Leading Wolf's massive skull spanned the length of her entire arm! Even as she hoisted it out, everyone could tell it was weighty. It's jaws were still opened, revealing a set of dreadfully sharp sheet. The color of its fur was a midnight-black shade. The darkest shade of all.

Jaws dropped, eyes bulged, and eye brows shot up so far upwards, they looked unnatural in that position.

A wave of awe swept through the entire common room! With their blood vessels pumping blood wildly, a wild paralyzing range of scenarios began in each man's mind. They imagined how incredibly big the creature must have been! They imagined its powerful presence, and its commanding form!

They then began to imagine the battle itself- and their thoughts ran even wilder!

They pictured Monica- standing before the demon wolf, fearless in the face of danger, auburn hair flaming and hands balled in fists as she took the monster head on! Their respect for Monica tripled extensively! They knew she never worked with partners. 

She worked alone.

Always.

And that cold hard fact was more than enough to glorify her in the sights of the hunters. Frantically, the frantic stares shifted from the beast's head- to Monica. Back to the beast's head again- and then back to Monica! Eyes twitching, minds reeling, and heads spinning.

The rocky-stone walls of the establishment seemed to echo the shock and awe. Outside, the rapidly disappearing sunlight bore no bearing on the candle-lit insides. And yet, an invisible, almost palpable darkness began to encroach steadily.

Monica laid it down gently atop the ugly pile- elevated above the regular B-rank wolves. Even in death, the creature still dominated the other B-rank wolves, and somehow, still ruled over the world of the living with a cold dread.

"That's seven B-rank wind wolves altoghter–" all business, Monica redirected her gaze towards the woman behind the counter;

"–and sixty seven C-rank wolves locked up in my spatial ring." 

An involuntary short sharp cry escaped the woman's throat. Embarassed, she coughed slightly, and her spectacles shifted on the bridge of her nose.

Lifting her hand to balance it back, she stammered as she picked up her white feathered quill;

"Please confirm again Miss Russell, did you say sixty seven C-rank and below wolves?"

"I'm not in the business of repeating myself lady. Get your records straight, and better not fuck about with my payment!"

Despite the apparent age gap, there was no illusion on where the power was. Hurrying with her quill, the receptionist dipped the sharp end of the feathered quill in a vial of black ink, and began to write away furiously.

Annoying someone who had just gone on a killing spree- well, that was definitely not a good idea.

Under the light of the seven-stand candle lamp, with the wooden cabinet behind her displaying all sorts of weapons, potions and artifacts, the receptionist scribbled away tenaciously on the brown parchment before her.

"Here," she lifted it up, and gingerly handed over; "Here's the document certifying your kills and completion of this quest. . .please hold on a moment while we take your kills into inventory, your payment will be processed shor–"