Ragnar Vhagar, Demon King and newly appointed Director of Interspecies Human Resources, stared at the results of his latest performance review.
The conclusion was simple, brutal, and undeniable.
His created monsters, for all their power and loyalty, were like finely tuned racing cars driven by student drivers.
They had the horsepower, but they lacked the experience to navigate the treacherous curves of real combat.
Isabelle, on the other hand, was a seasoned Formula 1 champion.
Her flawless victories against Chloe and Reina in the mock battles had proven it.
She didn’t just fight, she thought, she adapted, she exploited weaknesses his other minions didn’t even know existed.
She was a weapon, and right now, she was a weapon without an army to command.
"This won’t do," Ragnar declared to the Throne Room.
Pixia, who was taking notes on the structural integrity of a nearby stone pillar, zipped over to his shoulder.
"A problem with the subordinate evaluations, my Lord?" she asked.
"A problem with the entire command structure," Ragnar corrected.
"Isabelle is my sharpest blade, but she can’t lead an army of one. Chloe is a fantastic scout and assassin, but her team is small. I need a proper invasion force.
A team built around Isabelle’s talent. A wrecking crew."
A slow, ambitious, and financially terrifying idea began to form in his mind. He had been hoarding his Bloodkin slots, treating the creation ritual as a rare, sacred event.
But what was the point of having a powerful ability if you were too scared to use it?
He needed a team. A real one. And that meant more Bloodkin.
He pulled up the Demon King System, his face grim.
The "Blood Chalice" ritual was a monstrous resource sink. It didn’t just cost him his non-existent CP, it demanded his will, a sliver of his own essence for each pact.
But it was the only way to create commanders who could think, lead, and operate independently outside the Domain.
"Pixia, I’m about to make a series of strategically vital but fiscally irresponsible decisions," he announced.
"I want you to monitor my True Core’s structural integrity. If it starts to look like it’s going to collapse into a black hole of debt, just... you know, give me a heads-up."
"Acknowledged, my Lord," Pixia said, her tiny face a mask of academic concern.
"I have prepared the emergency emotional support dust bunnies."
Ragnar ignored that last part and strode into the center of the room, gathering the subordinates he had chosen.
Reina, the stoic Dhampir. Lillith, the sultry Lilim. The new, powerful Werewolf he’d mentally named ’Fenris’. The silent, imposing Living Mail. And the big, dumb Ogre from his failed gacha roll, who he’d dubbed ’Clobber’.
Five new commanders for his five new fingers of conquest.
"Alright, you five," he said, his voice echoing with a new authority.
"You have shown promise. Now, I’m offering you a promotion. A bond, directly to me.
It will make you stronger, smarter, and it comes with a dental plan I’ll figure out later. But it must be your choice."
Reina knelt instantly, her crimson eyes burning with cold fire. "My life is yours, my Lord."
Lillith gave him a slow, wicked smile. "Bonded to you, Master? Oh, the fun we could have..."
Fenris the Werewolf let out a deep, guttural growl of assent, slamming a clawed fist against his chest.
The Living Mail simply drew its sword and knelt, a silent, unshakeable promise of loyalty.
Clobber the Ogre looked confused, then saw everyone else kneeling and clumsily dropped to one knee with a loud thud, which Ragnar took as a "yes."
One by one, he performed the ritual. The Blood Chalice materialized, a cup of frozen shadow.
One by one, he filled it with his own vampiric blood, and one by one, they drank. Each time, the Throne Room was filled with a blast of energy as the pact was forged.
Reina’s transformation was a silent explosion of crimson energy, sharpening her already lethal aura.
Lillith’s was a wave of pink, sweet-smelling smoke that left the air tasting of temptation and deceit.
The other three followed, each transformation sending a tremor through the very foundations of the dungeon.
The wind shrieked as their essences were rewritten, bound forever to his.
When it was over, five new Bloodkin stood before him, their power radiating in palpable waves.
His phone buzzed frantically, a stream of notifications confirming the creation of his new commanders.
He now had seven Bloodkin in total, including himself, Chloe, and Isabelle. A proper council of war.
But the cost... the cost was breathtaking.
His CP meter was a desolate, empty wasteland. His reserves of rare metals and monster cores, which he had planned to use for outfitting his new army, were almost completely drained by the demands of the rituals.
He was, for all intents and purposes, magically bankrupt.
He had traded all his liquid assets for a team of elite, loyal killers.
"Well," he said, looking at the formidable group assembled before him.
Isabelle now stood with them, a natural leader among a cadre of monsters and demons.
"The good news is, we now have a special forces unit that could probably conquer a small country.
The bad news is, I can barely afford to create a single slime to clean up the mess."
He turned to Isabelle. "They’re your team now, Commander. Train them. Equip them with whatever scraps we have left.
Your first mission is to invade the territory of the ’Tyrant of the Shopping Mall.’
I want his resources, his territory, and his head. Preferably in that order."
Isabelle looked at her new team. A stoic assassin, a manipulative succubus, a ferocious beast, an unbreakable tank, and a very large, very strong... blunt instrument.
They were a bizarre, chaotic, and incredibly powerful group. They were nothing like the heroes she once led. They were better.
There would be no bickering, no cowardice, no betrayal. Only loyalty.
"It will be done, my Lord," she said, her voice ringing with a confidence she hadn’t felt in a long time.
Ragnar watched them go, a feeling of grim satisfaction settling in his cold heart. He had just bet his entire kingdom on a single hand.
It was the most reckless, stupid, and brilliant thing he had ever done.
World domination, he was quickly learning, was not a game for the timid.
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