In the shadows of the S Ranked Main character
Chapter 50: No way out(4)

Chapter 50: No way out(4)

It had been... what felt like years.

But June no longer kept track.

Time inside this warped, broken space had no reliable measure. Days bled into nights, nights bled into sweat-drenched work, and the boundaries of "before" and "after" blurred until all that remained was now — and June owned the now.

The masters? Dead.

Their fortress burned, their bodies shattered, their magic bled dry and consumed.

June had torn through them not as some noble liberator, not as some rising hero, but as a force — arrogant, furious, unrepentant.

He hadn’t come to lift the slaves into a better life.

He hadn’t come to free the oppressed or dismantle the cruel system.

No.

June had risen because they mocked him.

They beat him.

They tried to break him.

And June did not break.

He shattered them.

The other slaves now called him master, called him god, called him king — whispered his name with fear, awe, trembling worship.

But June wasn’t interested in loyalty.

He was interested in control.

He stood now at the edge of the ruined stronghold, arms crossed over his chest, the faint shimmer of drained magic still crackling at his fingertips. His sharp golden eyes swept over the ragged crowd below — the former slaves who now scrambled to reshape the remains of the camp, scavenge tools, patch broken structures.

Not because June ordered them.

But because they wanted to be useful.

Because they needed to cling to something — anything — that might keep his razor-sharp attention from turning on them.

He smirked faintly, rolling his shoulders.

His body was leaner, harder now — years of fighting, feeding on stolen mana, pushing himself to the edge of every battle.

He was no leader.

He didn’t give speeches, didn’t inspire hope, didn’t make promises.

What he did do was take.

Power.

Territory.

Influence.

And now, he needed to decide what came next.

He wasn’t content ruling a pit of ashes.

No.

He was thinking bigger.

June’s mind ticked rapidly through the surrounding lands.

The dark elves — they were close, yes. He’d tangled with them once or twice in his past life, and he knew they were territorial, sharp, dangerous. But they also respected strength. If he brought a human faction to their borders, it wouldn’t be as equals — it would be as a statement.

And beyond them, further south, lay the edges of the demon continent.

June’s grin sharpened faintly.

He liked the idea of humans pressing into demon land.

Not out of some grand political vision — no, he couldn’t care less about "human expansion" or "racial diplomacy."

It was the challenge that called to him.

The arrogance of it.

A human god striding into demon territory, backed by an army of once-broken souls who now feared and worshipped his name?

Oh, it was too good to pass up.

But first...

He needed land.

Space.

A location to carve out, claim, and hold.

The current ruins were too exposed too ruined, too infested with the leftover scars of old magic. If June wanted to build something lasting (and he did, because what was the point of power if it didn’t leave a mark?), he’d need to move.

He paced the ruined battlements, his boots crunching softly over the crumbling stone. Below, the ex-slaves watched him — some working, some resting, all keeping a careful, silent eye on his movements.

They didn’t trust him.

They didn’t love him.

They feared him.

And June?

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

He didn’t want to be loved.

He wanted his name carved into stone, whispered through halls, remembered forever.

He clenched his fists lightly, feeling the faint flicker of stolen magic pulse through his veins.

First, he’d find the land.

Then, he’d build the base.

Then, he’d push outward dark elves, demons, whoever stood in his way

And they would all learn the same thing.

That June, once a nameless, beaten slave,

was god now.

And he wasn’t stopping

It was a brutal march,

a bloody climb,

a storm of battles stretched across what felt like months.

June didn’t build his settlement.

He conquered it.

The lands near the demon continent weren’t empty.

They were crawling with raiding forces, ghoul packs, scattered demon bands, rogue succubi clans, twisted lesser lords —

all of them thinking the same thing when they saw a ragged, battered human force pushing into their territory:

Prey.

But June didn’t flinch.

He met them head-on.

When a ghoul swarm circled their camp at night, June lured them into a choke point, slaughtered them in a frenzy of stolen magic, and left their mangled bodies staked along the ridgeline as a warning.

When succubi tried to infiltrate, slipping past tired watch lines with their illusions and charms, June stormed their hideouts in the dark, ripping apart their leaders with bare hands wreathed in black mana.

When demon warbands sent scouts, testing the human incursion, June didn’t wait for them to strike.

He struck first —

raiding their supply points, burning their small forts, breaking their lines before they ever reached him.

He was relentless.

He was arrogant.

He was unrepentant.

And the battered ex-slaves he dragged behind him?

They became something else.

Not soldiers

not really.

But hardened survivors.

Followers bound not by faith or love, but by the brutal, unshakable fact that sticking near June was the only reason they were still breathing.

Over time, June carved out a strip of land just north of the demon border.

The ground was rough, jagged, marked by old magic but it was defensible.

Water ran from two thin rivers.

The cliffs formed a natural barrier on one side, the forest shielded the other.

Perfect.

June ordered the humans to start digging in.

Walls from scavenged materials.

Watch posts on the cliff.

Tunnels for supply caches.

The demons didn’t stop.

They kept testing his line — probing, raiding, circling.

And every time, June broke them.

He didn’t fight cleanly, or fairly, or honorably.

He used stolen demon magic, shadow tricks, brutal ambushes, whatever let him win.

In this pathetic body I have barely any fucking talent

By the time the first real demon envoy approached the ragged human outpost not to crush them, but to parley June had already earned a reputation.

He wasn’t a noble king.

He wasn’t a wise leader-well he was wise

He was a monster among humans.

A predator.

A walking, arrogant god-figure whose grin never faltered, whose temper never cooled, whose ambition never paused

He wasn’t here to make alliances.

He wasn’t here to beg

He was here to stay

And the demons,

the ghouls,

the dark elves watching from a distance

they all knew:

June’s settlement

wasn’t just a camp

It was a throne in the making.

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