Having confird that the sun was, in fact, a giant ball of death aiming directly at him.
Ragnar Vhagar turned his attention to the more imdiate tools of his trade.
His new Vampire form had unlocked an entire new wing of his monster creation nu, and he was itching to see if any of it was actually worth the eye-watering CP cost.
The looming threat of Isabelle Thorne’s party ant he couldn’t afford any weak links in his army.
She was strong. Too strong.
If he didn’t tighten his ranks soon, he might as well lay down and let her holy sword stake him through the heart while she gave an inspiring speech about friendship.
Nope. Not today.
"Ti for so product testing," he announced, his voice echoing through the now-empty ss Hall.
The stone chamber, once used for dining, had been hastily converted into a gladiator arena, complete with scorch marks on the walls, bloodstains on the floor also.
"Let’s see what this new vampire-thed army can really do."
He started with the Ghoul. At 20 CP, it wasn’t cheap, but it was far from the priciest monster on the list.
The real question was whether its raw brutality could compensate for its complete and utter lack of self-control.
To test it, Ragnar summoned one of his veteran Orcs into the ring, a towering slab of green muscle ard with a jagged stone axe he affectionately called Basher.
"Begin!" he called out.
The Orc let out a thunderous roar and charged, his heavy boots thudding against the stone like war drums.
The Ghoul answered with an unholy screech, limbs twitching in jerky, unnatural movents.
CRACK!
Their first clash was loud enough to make the kobold spectators flinch. The Ghoul’s claws raked across the flat of Basher’s axe, creating a miniature sonic boom that knocked both fighters a step back.
The air hissed with residual force.
Then ca the bloodbath.
The Ghoul lunged again, dodging Basher’s wild swings with erratic speed. It latched onto the Orc’s chest and dug in, claws and teeth sinking deep.
The Orc howled in pain, but it was already too late. The Ghoul tore him apart like a kid unwrapping a birthday gift they didn’t pay for.
"Okay, stop!" Ragnar barked, holding up a hand.
The Ghoul didn’t even blink. It was too busy making a ss out of its opponent. The sloppy, wet kind.
"HEY! That’s a 25 CP investnt you’re eating!" he yelled, stepping closer. "Not a free-range buffet!"
It took three of his elite kobold guards to wrestle the frenzied creature off Basher’s remains, and even then, it kept snapping its teeth like a possessed raccoon.
Ragnar sighed and made a note on his phone.
> Ghouls: Surprisingly powerful, but completely uncontrollable. Use only when I don’t care about the cleanup. Or the survivors.
Next on the list: the Lycanthrope.
And this ti, Ragnar paused.
He narrowed his eyes at the towering werewolf standing in the ring, then glanced at the kobold beside it.
Gary. The sa kobold who, in a previous test, had single-handedly flattened this creature with one well-tid club swing.
Ragnar still couldn’t believe it.
"There’s no way that should’ve happened,"
he muttered, crossing his arms.
"Gary’s clumsy. He trips on flat ground. He once lost a duel to a chair."
But no matter how many tis he reviewed the footage, it had all happened: the Lycanthrope charged, tripped over its own feet, and Gary calmly swatted it into the wall like a bug.
It didn’t sit right with him. His gar instincts wouldn’t allow it.
"Rematch," he declared, pointing between them. "Sa matchup. I need to be sure."
The kobolds exchanged confused glances. Gary shrugged and walked into the ring, dragging his club behind him.
The Lycanthrope let out a mournful howl and charged forward, if "charging" could describe sothing that imdiately tripped over its own claws.
It stumbled, tried to recover, and ran straight into Gary’s swing.
BOOM!
CRACK!
The club connected. The werewolf flew across the room like a kicked sack of laundry and hit the wall with a heavy thud. Then it slid down, groaning, and lay there twitching.
Again.
Ragnar just stared.
"I was really hoping that was a fluke."
He rubbed his temples and opened the monster nu on his phone. There it was again, glaring at him from the fine print:
> [Special Condition: This unit’s true power can only be unlocked in a [Moonlit Night] environntal field.]
He threw his hands in the air.
"yeah, I know thanks for nothing... lol"
Grumbling, Ragnar stord over to the practice zone and summoned a wooden training dummy.
He needed a win. Sothing, anything, that didn’t make him question the fabric of reality.
He pointed his palm at the dummy and focused.
"Dark Arrow."
A jet of condensed shadow shot out, clean and fast. It pierced straight through the dummy, leaving a smoldering hole in its center. The wood hissed and cracked where the energy passed through.
Now that was more like it.
"Alright. That one’s a keeper."
He glanced at his second spell, [Dark Induction], but decided against testing it here.
It was a spell that influenced minds and emotions, great for chaos, terrible for team bonding.
The last thing he needed was for Gary to suddenly decide he hated everyone and start reenacting the Ghoul’s feeding frenzy.
"Later," he muttered. "Maybe on Isabelle."
As he scrolled idly through the monster nu, sothing caught his eye.
The Giant Bat (a middling flying unit) was listed at 10 CP. But next to it was a small green number: [-10 CP].
Curious, he tapped it.
> [Racial Bonus (Vampire): Cost of darkness/undead-aspected subordinates is reduced by 50%.]
His eyes widened. Wait... the Giant Bat’s base cost was 20. He was paying half.
He checked the Ghoul again. Sa story. Base cost: 40. His cost: 20.
Realization dawned.
His Vampire form wasn’t just an upgrade in combat, it was a bulk discount. He wasn’t just a monster summoner anymore. He was a wholesale horror supplier.
The Lycanthrope was still a complete disaster, sure. The Ghoul needed tranquilizers, a cage, and probably therapy. But the rest of his dark-thed units? They were now half-price.
His smile returned,slow and cold.
It wasn’t perfect. Not yet. But it was enough.
And in Ragnar’s world, enough was all he needed to start building an empire.
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