Incubus Lord: I Summoned My Lustful Wives

Forged in the infernal depths of Avalon, where races battle ceaselessly for the coveted throne, emerges Caladbolg.

The sword bathed in the stygian fires of demonic forges—this colossal greatsword, measuring an extraordinary 160(62.99") centimetres in length and 8(3.15") centimetres in width, was named the Abyssal Leviathan.

Crafted from an otherworldly, obsidian-hued steel, the blade absorbs the very essence of light, rendering it a supernatural darkness.

Caladbolg's hilt, enveloped in shadowy leather, caters to the massive grip of the demon that wields it, ensuring absolute control over the weapon's tremendous weight. Glowing runes adorn the crossguard, pulsating with eldritch energy, a manifestation of the demonic power that courses through the Abyssal Leviathan.

A double-edged blade mirrored the duality of the realm it called home, where shadows dance with destiny.

The sheer dimensions of the Abyssal Leviathan were not just for show—but a testament to the supernatural might that commands it—a strength that, in the hands of a demon, reshapes the very fabric of Avalon's tumultuous battles.

Many knew it as the Obsidian Abyss blade, mistaking it for a mere magic weapon. A sword of twisted destiny, the blade awaited the touch of a conqueror who seeks to etch their name in the annals of Avalon's tumultuous history.

Lancelot's hand gripped the long handle, feeling the smooth leather and tight sensation as he sliced through the air.

He could feel a sense of darkness... the moment his hand grasped the blade, his demon blood began to surge, almost driven into a mindless slaughter before the dragon emperor's pride destroyed the strange attraction.

—Oh? My Master... You are such a wonderful male! A dragon and demon coexisting with the willpower of a human hero!

LET ME CORRUPT YOU! LET US DESTROY EXCALIBUR!

The sinister echoes within Caladbolg tell of a rivalry that transcends realms—a cosmic struggle echoing through the ages.

As Excalibur gleams with the purity of destiny, Caladbolg resonates with the shadows of ambition.

To claim one is to challenge the other—a choice that not only seals the fate of Avalon but binds the wielder to the eternal dance of light and shadow.

***

Meanwhile, in the city of Camelot, standing on the tallest spire of the Black Citadel, Morgana was staring into the far north. Her eyes were like stars shimmering with magical power. Beside her was her supposed sword enemy, the Seraphim, doing the same.

"My King... You finally chose your path," Morgana spoke with an ethereal voice, her face filled with a brilliant smile like she had attained the world.

"Our King, Morgana! I will head to his side and support him in your stead." Nuriel's face watched the darkness growing in the north with a feeling of conflict in her heart, as the gentle and peaceful times in Camelot caused Nuriel to feel at home.

Now, she felt the ancient evil awakened something that even devils and demons would fear. Yet her king took the sword without a second thought... "To fight for us and become strong enough to protect everything he cares for..."

The solemn voice of Nuriel contained a rare tinge of emotion as Morgana's brow lifted her beaming smile into a smirk as the seraphim's wings began to flutter and flap rapidly as she took to the sky.

"You... are going to fall, little angel. My husband's charm has already infected your heart and will soon steal you away from that lord you vainly serve. I cannot wait to see the look on your face when Lancelot's final bloodline awakens... the one he received from his mother."

She turned around, rubbing her stomach with a slightly bitter face, steeping down the marble steps, her golden eyes looking at the beautiful citadel the man she bet everything on had created...

"He left the path I created... I don't know whether to feel lonely or relieved. My King's path should be blocked or changed by no one... Including me."

In the past, she once believed in moulding him into her ideal man, making him step the path she had arranged and planned for thousands of years...

But then she truly fell for him and realised that Lancelot's magic came from his spirit and heart, not mechanical skills or ability. She felt regret for dulling his blade, and that was why she took distance when he went to the mountains.

"Even if it means you find other women or don't have as much time for me. To see you shining like I dreamt, I have no complaints..." Her hand stroking her stomach moved slightly as she entered the throne room and sat in Lancelot's seat.

"Right... Mordred. Oh? You kicked your mother... such a naughty girl... Just like your father, you have to make sure to kick all those fakes away.

You are the only Mordred we need, not those smelly old men."

Sitting on the throne of darkness, Morgana watched outside to the north, her heart and mind as if travelling to his side, for she had always been watching and supporting him.

"Oh my... It looks like there will be a storm..."

Dark clouds began to cover Avalon's north skies like a storm on the horizon. Many lords and demons were looking to the north.

The seventh great War of Avalon was about to begin, and Lancelot was the trigger.

***

"Kara. I am your master. You will not corrupt me. I am the one to bend you to my will."

Caladbolg was a sword created in the depths of the abyss, only to counter the human's weapon to destroy demons.

Because of that, it was a corrupted and cursed sword that would cause the wielder to degrade and become demented into a killing machine.

"Hand over that sword!" The voice of a necromancer trembling and filled with anxiety sounded—more than thirty of them now stood around Lancelot's body.

'These fools...'

Lancelot stood without any sign of fear or the sense of panic he might have had earlier. Was it just the sword boosting his confidence or the fact he and the Lancelot of a few moments ago were a world apart?

—Ah~ A tyrant and an overlord? You have forsaken your people's growth to empower your own! Good, as fitting for my user!

"Master." Lancelot gripped the black leather grip with a tight hand, the squeak of leather pleasant to his ears as her voice became shrill. "Don't mistake your words, woman. You are but a sword, so stop shouting and moaning like a bitch in heat."

"My people can fight and grow without me; how did they become forsaken? They will grow further."

—Really? Do you think I am so easily tamed like those women who climb onto your bed?

I AM CALADBOLG!

'Quiet... Let's fight.'

He turned to the necromancers, their bodies casting disgusting spells with a green and rotting magic aura. It was vomit-inducing as Lancelot lowered Kara, pointing the huge sword at the central column of necromancers.

"You face Lancelot, Demon King of Britannia... Perish."

With a flash of Lancelot's body moving forward at terrifying speed, the necromancers barely had time to react as Lancelot cut through five necromancers with ease, their heads flying through the air as the rest stepped back in shock.

None of them knew how they died; a black light enveloped them as their heads all looked clueless before smashing onto the ground.

"H-he killed five at once! How fast is he?"

"That sword... Why does it seem to absorb our spells?"

Their cries echoed out as Lancelot laughed coldly, swinging Kara again, cutting three more necromancers, their bodies being split into two parts as Lancelot jumped back, observing the remaining necromancers.

"How disappointing... Fifteen weaklings can't even take down one person? What a joke." Lancelot swung Kara, blood splattering off the sword as he stared at the terrified faces of the remaining thirteen necromancers.

"P-please let us leave... We just want the one who killed our zombie dragon!"

"Zombie dragon? Ah, you mean that rotting lizard with wings... It was me." His eyes scanned around and saw they were buying time for the High necromancer, who was now rushing this way on a more fully formed zombie dragon.

"Caladbolg, shall we slay a dragon?"

—Hmph.... why not Kara?

'Just shut up and obey my will.' Lancelot held Kara forward, pointing at the incoming zombie dragon that released a roar filled with hatred and anger, its maw opening and releasing a corrosive breath of death.

"It seems the dragon wants to fight... Then let's give it one."

Without hesitation, Lancelot rushed at the necromancers, who tried to cast defensive magic, which was absorbed by Caladbolg's runic inscriptions, as Lancelot's body twisted, leaping from tree to stone and along the necromancer's faces, crushing their bones with each step. His dance was unrelenting, unrestrained and limitless.

His legs launched his body into the air, Kara glowing with a black hue as Lancelot slashed the zombie dragon's head, splitting it in half, causing the necromancer on top to scream as Lancelot landed on the ground with a grin.

"Damn... it's a tough dragon, huh!" Flicking Caladbolg to remove the corrosive blood, he watched the high necromancer healing the dragon's split head in seconds.

"Human... No... whatever you are! Drop that sword and die!" The high necromancer seemed not to understand the idea of bargaining as he tried to make Lancelot give up.

"Let me try something just for you guys... since you inspired the technique by climbing out of the ground like the undead..."

⟪Du Lac Sword Arts⟫

∟ Graveyard of Swords

In a fifty-meter radius around Lancelot, swords sprouted from the ground like wildflowers, transforming the battlefield into a spectacle of steel and death.

With a swift step, his ether began to flow through his entire body until he became a blur, slashing through a formidable group of necromancers with each summoned sword—a conductor orchestrating a deadly symphony against the forces of darkness.

The field transformed into a chaotic dance of steel and shadows, a battleground where the living clashed with the undead as his body flashed from sword to sword at the speed of sound.

His eyes closed each attack his body, swirling, spinning, dancing like he did in the past, cutting his enemies down and devouring their ether.

The swords, having served their purpose, shattered into a spectacular explosion of non-elemental magic as the High necromancer watched from above... his eyes glowing dark seeing more than fifty necromancers turned into flesh paste.

"I hope you enjoyed my dance, necromancer." With a bow, Lancelot lowered his body and held Caladbolg with both hands, a bright smile on his face.