Chapter 382: Six Hours of Mind Games

Psychological warfare.

It was a type of war Mars wasn't ready for. He had expected Morgana to unleash her vampire troops in a storm of claws and fangs, to drown his legion in brute force. He had steeled himself for that, believing his men—mere NPCs of the game—were devoid of fear.

Oh, how wrong he was.

Shattered screams echoed in his ears. The sky tore like rotten fabric, night shredded into thousands of shrieking knives that plummeted and shattered against his barrier. Darkness raged around him, pressing against the shield like oil, spilling over and gushing around its sides.

Morgana tortured them for hours. Her focus wasn't on the war god himself, but on his soldiers.

She let her cruelty bleed into every strike. The moment the legionaries let their guard falter—even for a heartbeat—her brood descended. The vampires struck so fast that even Mars struggled to follow their movements. And when he tried to retaliate, his spear clashed with nothing but mist and echo. For some reason, her creatures could melt into shadow mid-attack, faster, stronger than anything he had faced. Not a single one had fallen, even though he alone had the divine power to slay them. His men were helpless.

That was when the nightmares began.

Morgana's children showed no pattern, no mercy. Spearmen, archers, swordsmen—it didn't matter. All became prey, toys for her sadistic brood. They hunted with brutal efficiency. They descended on the camp with bone-snapping speed, seizing one poor victim at random, ripping him apart in the air for all to see.

Blood rained on bronze shields. Screams curdled into silence. The men began to break—not from wounds, but from the sight of their brothers being torn into ribbons, paraded like slaughtered animals in a butcher's stall.

They were unable to rest for even an instant. To even blink meant death, and so they did not—hours passed, their nerves fraying, their willpower splintering into despair. Morgana wore them down, grinding them in her palms, twisting her torture until each breath was drawn with sheer, animal terror.

One by one, the men's morale and loyalty began to fade until the notification came, warning Mars of the potential mass defection if this kept on for a little longer.

'Damn!'

Mars' grip on his spear whitened. His divine essence flared, golden sparks hissing off his armor, but no light could banish the shadow Morgana had cast. This wasn't a battle of strength. This wasn't discipline against chaos. This was rot—fear seeping like poison into the bones of his army.

Another scream split the night. A spearman stumbled too far from the shield wall, his eyes bloodshot from exhaustion. In a blur of wings, a vampire snatched him, tearing through flesh and armor alike, and hurled his corpse into the barrier. The impact splattered blood across the golden dome, painting Mars' reflection in crimson.

"Hold your line!" Mars thundered, divine authority ripping through the air like a war horn. His men flinched, shields locking tighter, but their eyes betrayed them. They were already breaking.

"I have no choice," Mars growled, slamming the base of his spear into the ground, making the whole ground tremble and his troops stumble in shock.

Immediately, every single Roman legionnaire stood straight, warm golden light wrapped around them like a blanket, and washed away their fatigue, fear, and sense of trial.

Mars used his divine energy to remove their mental instability and boost their morale. He was saving this for when the two armies met. He didn't think that he'd be using this power against the very first attack, and with his resource nodes being captured, he had no choice; else, he might end up stranded here with no way of winning or even having resources to summon more men or food to feed them.

"Huh?"

Surprisingly, he sensed that the darkness around him had disappeared. The suffocating weight that had pressed against his barrier, the whispers, the claws in the dark—gone. The night was still, unnaturally so, like a battlefield suddenly drained of sound.

Mars' golden light pulsed brighter, wrapping his soldiers in radiance. Their eyes cleared, their breaths steadied, their shields lifted once more with Roman precision. Order restored. Fear silenced.

But Mars' instincts screamed.

This wasn't a victory. It was the silence before the strike.

But the strike never came. Morgana had her little fun and retreated back into the forest. Anymore would be considered bullying.

With his men a little better, Mars' spear lowered only slightly, its golden tip humming with residual fury. His men stood tall again, their formations crisp, their eyes steadied by his divine touch—but he knew the truth. Their courage wasn't their own. It was borrowed from him, bought with his essence.

And Morgana probably knew it too. And maybe this was her goal: to force him into using his divine energy, else why would she retreat the moment he used it?

The forest loomed beyond the barrier, quiet and endless, every shadow a reminder of her presence. No swarm descended, no claws scraped against his shield. The silence mocked him louder than the screams had.

"She's gone," an officer whispered, as if saying it aloud might shatter the fragile peace. His voice carried both relief and dread.

Mars didn't answer. He knew better. Morgana hadn't retreated in defeat—she had simply grown bored. The attack had been nothing more than a game, and his army, the pieces she toyed with before casting them aside. A predator grinding her prey into paste before the real hunt began.

Mars exhaled through his nose, a sharp hiss of frustration. He had burned precious divine power, emptied reserves meant for the decisive clash, just to keep his legion from collapsing.

"General?" the officer pressed, wary. "Shall we pursue?"

Mars' gaze lingered on the black line of trees. He imagined her silver hair glinting like a phantom between the trunks, crimson eyes glittering with laughter. He almost smiled.

"No," he said at last, his voice iron. "That's what she wants. To pull us apart, scatter us, bleed us faster. We hold here."

His men obeyed, though unease still rippled through their ranks. They looked to him for certainty, for the promise of victory. And though he gave it with words, inside Mars felt something else entirely.

Excitement.

For the first time in centuries, he was tested. For the first time in centuries, fear wasn't on his side. A cruel, dangerous grin cut across his face as he looked toward the forest.

"Morgana…" he murmured, eyes blazing like twin suns. "You've made your move. Now it's mine."

.....

"Pfft… HAHAHAHA!"

Leaning against a tree branch high above the forest floor, Morgana doubled over, her laughter echoing through the night. "Hahahaah… Oh, damn, this was fucking worth it!"

The way her plan worked was simple: attack Mars' camp, drain him dry, then use the extra time to send her troops to capture nodes. And the plan worked marvelously.

Fifteen nodes captured. Farms and mines stripped right out from under Mars' nose.

Her resource income surged to 330 per minute.

Her reserves soared to 118,800 points.

All in just six hours of torture. Six hours of nothing more than games.

She had to stop, lest she kill Mars' entire legion before the god of war even had the chance to fight, but more importantly, Morgana's vampires needed to rest.

Gulp! Gulp!

"Drink to your fill, you earned it."

Currently, her six vampires were feeding on Morgana's sweet, divine blood.

Two sank their fangs into her neck, piercing the pale column of her throat.

Two latched onto her breasts, lips wrapping around soft flesh as crimson dripped down her chest.

And the last two—the female brood—slid lower, moaning hungrily as they fed from the divine length between Morgana's thighs.

For six hours, she did nothing but supply her vampires with her blood that had a little divine energy in it, granting them a boost in speed and strength.

Despite this, Morgana wasn't tired at all; in fact, she felt lighter than ever. No matter what happens, her breeder skill would always return her body to the most optimal condition for breeding.

And unlike what Mars thought, Morgana could turn her entire legion into vampires, and she wouldn't break a sweat. She simply didn't do it because she planned to beat Mars with human troops and show him the taste of true defeat.

"Ahhh~" she let out a soft moan as two fangs sank into the root of her divine meat. "Such sweet pleasure, take everything."

She lost count of how many times she climaxed, her hips rocking on their own, mouth falling open as her mind melted into orgasmic bliss. And instead of cumming white-hot loads, she used blood instead, filling her two vampires' gullets until they had no other choice but to lift their lips from her, spilling the rest over their chests like ruby rain.

And while her vamps did their thing, the spiders that scouted the area returned with the newest reports, one that surprised Morgana.

"Oh, interesting," she mused, looking at the map. "He chose to march toward me?"

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