Reviving the Werewolf District
"Did you hear that rumor? The sandwich imp. They say he's become the boss's secretary."
Two days had passed, and all sorts of gossip was spreading among the werewolves.
The imp who'd been slinging sandwiches had somehow climbed all the way to secretary for a werewolf gang.
"You idiots. You don't know shit about the boss."
"What?"
"Remember when those vampires showed up at the hideout not long ago? That imp was working for those bat bastards."
"For real!? That traitor!"
The werewolves felt a surge of betrayal at the news that a vampire underling had been lurking in their midst. The emotional chasm between the two races ran that deep.
"That's why the boss recruited him to our side—so he couldn't go anywhere else."
"As expected of the boss... the smartest wolf around."
"And now we're gonna make our own sandwiches? Finally cracked the recipe."
"Hell yeah, we can eat 'em all we want! Nana na na, I'll make 'em!"
The werewolves figured it was a stroke of luck—they could squeeze some talent out of that dumb imp and make a buck.
"...That's what everyone's thinking, huh? What about you?"
Asmodeus yanked tight on the leash in his hand. Ding-a-ling, ding-a-ling, the bells attached to it jingled as they shook.
"Woof."
"Don't bark like a dog—give me your thoughts. Too stupid to understand me?"
"...I think it's ridiculous gossip."
"Yeah, I think it's bullshit too."
Asmodeus smirked. Dare to steal my knowledge?
There's nothing you can take from me. Money, knowledge, women—none of it.
Somehow, he'd ended up living in this world and gained some decent power.
So why not make the most of it? He'd use these guys however he could.
"Come here. I'll pet your head."
"Th-thank you."
Rasca hesitated for a moment, embarrassed at being treated like some giant dog. But as that small hand settled on her head, a wave of bliss washed over her.
Pure joy bubbling up from her chest... Rasca looked up at Asmodeus with an expression of utter rapture.
"Listen up, Rasca. I'm making plans, and I need your help."
"Anything you say."
"Yeah. I'm gonna fuck Morgana. And that's not all—Noxbell Seladrin? I'm gonna pin that bitch under me too."
Rasca's pretty face twisted with jealousy. Chosen at last, and now he was talking about other women while shoving her aside!
"N-no way... You got sick of me and want someone new...? I gave you my body and soul."
"As if. You're my dedicated fuckhole. From now on, forever... But I'm an incubus. I need essence. A shit-ton of it."
If Rasca alone could satisfy him, he wouldn't need to touch anyone else. But his rank kept climbing, and one werewolf girl couldn't supply enough anymore.
"To survive, I need Morgana too."
"Then... no choice. I hate cozying up to vampires more than death itself. But for you? I'd do it gladly."
"Good girl."
"But I get to be the first wife. No compromises there!"
Wife? What a joke. To remind her of their stations, Asmodeus stood up.
"Listen, Rasca. I don't keep wives."
"B-but..."
Slap. Asmodeus's massive cock dropped onto Rasca's face. Just that sent her over the edge once or twice.
"The women I keep around are fuckholes for absorbing essence. Can't call 'em wives."
"Y-yes... ♥︎"
"But I won't toss you aside after using you. I'll keep you by my side forever. Got it?"
"O-of course."
"Good."
As long as she knew her place, Rasca wouldn't get discarded. Satisfied he'd hammered that into her skull, Asmodeus grinned.
"Still, I'll acknowledge you as my first."
"R-really?"
"Of course. I'll embrace tons of women from now on. You'll have the biggest say among them."
"Thank you..."
"Now, time to assign your tasks."
Asmodeus tugged the leash taut. Taking the jingling bells as her cue, she sprang into action.
"Yesss massster... ♥︎"
Mwah, mwah, mwah.
She showered his cock with frantic kisses, rolling her lips over it like a lover's mouth.
"You've got other shit to do too."
"Anything... tell me... ♥︎"
"Not now—I'll explain slowly later."
With a massive workforce of werewolves at his disposal, there was plenty to do. Really...
"Heard the rumor? They're making a whole food street."
"No shit?"
The Werewolf District was insanely dangerous. Gangs had taken it over.
That meant no proper commerce, so they had to head outside to grocery stores for food.
"From now on, no shopping at vampire stores—buy from the local marts."
"Hmm~ Makes sense. Fellow werewolves are way better. At least they won't sell rotten eggs."
First off, Asmodeus had set up a commercial district in the Werewolf District. The shops, slapped together from planks, actually looked pretty decent.
"Still, even with all this, no one's coming."
But there was a problem. Outsiders avoided entering the district.
"It's all because there's no discipline. Strong rules create order."
"But... werewolves are a free-spirited race. We can't bind them with pointless laws..."
"You're the one whimpering on a leash for me, and you talk shit?"
So they made rules. Rasca was the strongest warrior in the werewolf tribe, so no one would question her unilateral decrees.
One: Don't mess with other races. Two: No drug dealing. Three: Send kids to school.
"Rules like these will piss everyone off..."
"Aren't you the strongest wolf? If they hate it, tell 'em to leave or settle it with fists."
"I-I guess..."
Of course, some werewolves grumbled about the sudden rules. They couldn't beat Rasca, so they left.
But only a few did. In exchange, Rasca gave every gang member a "job."
"It's weird. So many werewolves, but no internal economy. How the hell did you keep things running?"
"Day labor, extortion, or drug sales..."
"Surviving like that this long is impressive. Real impressive."
If that lifestyle dragged on another decade, the growing population would've collapsed the gang naturally.
"I-I studied some business. Just building decent shops won't magically revive the economy."
"True enough."
If slapping up nice shops fixed everything, Rasca wouldn't have agonized over reviving her race.
But Asmodeus had a secret weapon.
"This world's food sucks, as always. But mine? Fucking delicious."
Great food thrives on cultural fusion. Like how Japanese and Indian influences birthed curry rice.
"Look at Terranium—a city where all races mingle, but they shun each other's cultures as inferior."
Compared to Terranium, Earth's cuisine was a masterclass in fusion. Asmodeus had spent years in Korea's Itaewon and Hongdae—foreigner hotspots—running food joints.
His head was packed with recipes. Give him equipment, and he could whip up anything. Exact spice amounts? Just ask the status window.
"Round up the werewolves who actually know how to cook and put 'em to work."
"C-can we?"
"Sure. Food biz is all about stamina. Your kind's tough as nails."
"But they lack grit—might run off."
Asmodeus fixed that too. He found decent workers and hit them with hypnosis.
A simple suggestion turned them into diligent, unflinching small-business owners.
"Commerce district's shaping up. Should've done this ages ago."
Of course, it was just the basics—tons of tweaks needed.
"If the food's this good, we could turn this into a proper eats alley. Or not, whatever."
No big loss if it flopped—only Rasca would care.
"Th-thank you... You made my dream come true."
"Shut up and spread 'em."
"Yes...!"
Squelch, squelch. From the second-floor window, Asmodeus bent Rasca over and pounded her while gazing at the view.
He'd build his kingdom from this Werewolf District.
A kingdom to rule all of concrete jungle Terranium.