Elara studied the group before her, noting the wounds on the women's faces—reminders of the ruthlessness that had been necessary. Her intuition had held her back from delivering fatal blows, and now, thanks to Lily's intervention, their injuries were healing. Though their appearances were battered, their wounds were minor, and the more severe ones had already been mended.
Otherwise, she might feel guilty from ruining their beautiful appearances. Though as warriors, beauty wasn't important, who didn't like having alluring attraction?
Her new subordinates snapped to attention as soon as they noticed her, straightening their spines and saluting despite their disheveled states.
"Commander!"
Elara returned the salute with a composed nod, as if the previous deadly fight had never happened. She silently praised Lily for handling the transition so smoothly—no messy introductions, no need for her to manage the situation.
"At ease, soldiers."
Her words carried a weight that brightened their spirits. Unlike their former "master," who had treated them as nothing more than gang members, Elara addressed them with respect. The contrast was stark, and their admiration for her grew instantly. These were soldiers, not thugs, and they had been reduced to mere slaves under the scumbag's rule. Now, they stood taller, their loyalty shifting effortlessly to her. Not to mention, they genuinely perceive the military aura, they had longed for, for a period of time.
Alas, it seemed not bad to have another leader to command them, everyone shared the same thought. They were clearly worrying for nothing. Plus, the current commander beat the shit out of everyone.
Elara had already conquered them even without the assistance of Lily. Their gazes flamed with admiration and worship to the strong.
Elara observed them carefully. Her subordinates were a diverse mix of ethnicities and nationalities—a true international force—separate hair color from red, blonde, black, brown…etc. She wondered if such a varied group of 300 would draw unnecessary attention, but that was a concern for another time.
Focusing on the two women who had wielded firearms, she asked for their names.
"Commander, my name is Samantha."
Elara nodded, slightly dubious about the lack of a surname. She didn't press the issue—memorizing 300 names would be a headache—but she couldn't help noticing how ordinary the name was. Samantha was a name she had encountered countless times in books and movies. If Lily had chosen it, she clearly lacked creativity.
How brave that this little girl who fawned 'Master. Master' showed disgust when she named her?
"And you?" she asked the second woman.
"I'm Emily, Commander."
Elara blinked. Emily? Really? She almost laughed. If Lily were here, she'd probably complain about the lack of originality—maybe even flip her off. But then again, who was she to talk? Her own name wasn't exactly rare.
She couldn't help but wonder where Lily had pulled these names from. Samantha and Emily—the most generic choices possible. If Lily heard her thoughts, she'd likely protest, maybe even throw a tantrum—why contempt when everyone understood the reason why same flocks of birds flied together.
But Elara had to admit, there was a certain irony in the situation. Like master, like apprentice, as they say. Perhaps fate had a sense of humor, pairing her with a system that shared her lack of naming creativity.
Still, she couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of Lily, the so-called "higher-dimensional being," acting like a petulant child. If she weren't busy dealing with Gaia's scientific precision, she might have teased Lily about it.
For now, though, she let it slide. Names didn't change their loyalty—or their potential. She'd deal with Lily's lack of imagination later.
Elara raised an eyebrow. "Do you have surnames?" she asked, half-expecting Lily to have at least put some effort into crafting full identities for them.
"No," the two women replied in unison, shaking their heads.
Elara glanced around at the others, who all mirrored the same response. No surnames. None at all. She had assumed they were summoned from another world, complete with histories and identities. But this? It seemed they weren't summoned—they were entirely created. That explained the generic names, the lack of depth and obviously someone's laziness. They were blank slates, shaped by Lily's whims.
Samantha's voice was hopeful, almost pleading. "Commander, can we take your surname?"
Elara hesitated. The request was simple, but the implications were enormous. A dozen people taking her name was one thing, but if all 300 followed suit... Volkova would suddenly become the most common surname in her makeshift army. Still, she couldn't bring herself to refuse those earnest eyes.
She sighed, rubbing her temples. "My last name is Volkova. You can take it if you want, or choose your own."
Emily didn't hesitate. "Commander, it's our honor to follow your name." The others nodded in agreement, as if this small gesture made them feel more real, more human.
Elara groaned inwardly. She had expected maybe a few would take her up on the offer, not all of them. The original Elara would have been overjoyed to revive the decayed aristocratic family name, but this sudden expansion was overwhelming. The Volkova name, once prestigious, now reduced to just two—herself and Mira, her only daughter, whom she hadn't met yet—after whatever tragedy had befallen her family. And now, in a single night, it would balloon to hundreds.
She turned to the man beside Emily—the one who had struck her with a chain during the fight. "So, this buddy is Thomas, I suppose."
Emily smirked, nudging him forward.
"Commander, not quite right, but you're very close. My name is Tom."
Elara's lips twitched. Of course it is.
"Tom? Should I be surprised?" She shifted her gaze to the man next to him. "Then you must be Jerry. After all, you two stood out together."
Samantha and Emily exchanged stunned glances.
"Commander, we never expected you to be so intuitive!" Samantha exclaimed.
"How do you know, Commander?" Jerry grinned. "Have we met before?"
"…"
Thought someone would fix her with another name—John.
Elara stared. Tom and Jerry. Very deep friendship. Of course. She had joked, but Lily's naming sense was truly abysmal. She almost lost the will to ask the rest, but their eager expressions kept her going.
The names that followed were just as predictable—John, Michael, Sarah, Anna—but Elara treated them no differently. The fault lay with Lily, and she made a mental note to tease the system mercilessly later.
Still, she couldn't help but brace herself for the remaining 300. If this was the pattern, she'd be commanding an army of Johns, Emils, and Lisas.
At least it's not all bad, she thought, stifling a laugh. Except for Tom and Jerry. That's just ridiculous.
But for now, she let it slide. They were her soldiers, and names didn't change their loyalty—or their potential. And her brainpower remained too strong, owing to her uniqueness to memorize everyone without a sweat. Still, She'd deal with Lily's lack of creativity later.
She didn't want to see her soldiers being laughed by enemies after discovering the name lists. It didn't have to consist everyone to become god but a handful must stand out.
The legion she founded must be awe-spiring.
After a while, Elara listened intently as Emily and Samantha provided a detailed breakdown of the 300-strong force under her command, as well as the layout of the building she was in. The structure was a large motel, with guest rooms on the upper floors and a reception area at the front. But the real secrets lay hidden in the back of the ground floor and the basement—the very place she had just escaped from.
The location was a gray-zone area, fitting for a criminal den. It was the kind of place where laws were bent, and the shadows held more power than the light. As they spoke, Elara learned the grim details of how many women had been kidnapped to satisfy the original owner's twisted desires, where they were kept, and the kinds of lives they had been forced into.
After exchanging a few more words, she dismissed the group of eager subordinates—who, despite their disciplined demeanor, still carried an air of excitement—and made her way back to the room where her ordeal had begun.
A flicker of movement caught her eye. She paused, turning to her left. It was a mirror.
For the first time since arriving in this world, she saw herself.
Her lips parted slightly as she took in her reflection. One word dominated her thoughts: tall. Very tall, with proportions that were nothing short of perfect. If she had to guess, she stood at around 1.8 meters, a height she had already suspected when speaking to her subordinates. But the mirror confirmed it—and more. Her body was proportioned in a way that would earn her the title of goddess in any world. Long, toned legs hinted at hidden strength, while her chest—ample by her standards—was a satisfying contrast to her past life, where she had been smaller in that regard. She wasn't concerned about the extra weight affecting her combat effectiveness; if anything, it only added to her presence.
Her features were unmistakably Slavic: golden blonde hair, cascading well past her shoulders, framed a face with golden eyes—not blue, not brown, not green, but a striking, rare gold, accented by dark eyelashes and strong, defined eyebrows. Below, a strong straight, medium-sized nose led to medium lips, completing a look that was both striking and commanding.
She tilted her head slightly, studying herself. No wonder that scumbag targeted me. Beauty like this was a weapon in itself. And now, it was hers to wield.
The starkest golden pupil was totally unusual unlike what she had seen in the rarest golden ones of others. Too strong and bright as if someone painted gold.
Elara tore her gaze away from the mirror, reluctantly pulling herself from the unusual sight of her golden eyes—so bright they almost seemed painted. Narcissism could wait. She had more pressing matters to attend to.
She descended the spiral staircase, greeting the trio she had knocked out earlier. After a few brief introductions and some light conversation, she made her way back to the room where it all began. There, the two women who had been the first to fall to her hands were rubbing their heads, still recovering from the blow.
They had been the first to curse her, to rip at her hair, to call her a bitch. Elara didn't hold grudges, but she wasn't about to let the insult slide either.
"Aren't you going to welcome your bitch?" she smirked, crossing her arms.
The two women flushed, straightening their clothes in a fluster. One of them even slapped her own mouth lightly, as if scolding herself. "This mouth is sometimes uncontrollable. Please forgive us for what we said when we were... in the mood, Commander."
In the mood? What kind of excuse was that? Elara rolled her eyes at the funny girl who was trying to excuse themselves. "So, is that suppose to mean that I have to endure when you are moody. It's hard to forget someone cursing me as a bitch."
The other woman chimed in with a fierce scowl: "Who calls you that, Commander? Whoever dares to tarnish our leader, we will be ruthless. Where are they? We'll teach them a lesson!"
Elara shook her head, amused despite herself, at another shameless girl. This one was the culprit who slapped her face hard. If strangers heard her angry remarks, no one would know she was the main output. They were likely the informal leaders among the subordinates, but one was far more worrying than the other.
These two had skin as thick as the city wall— especially the one who had struck her.
"Alright, I won't blame your outburst," she sighed, waving a hand dismissively. "Come closer. I'd like to see your faces clearly."
The dim lighting earlier had made it hard to study them properly. Now, under better light, she could finally get a good look.
The two snapped to attention, their playful demeanor vanishing in an instant. "Commander!" they saluted in unison.
One was unmistakably Slavic—Russian, her features sharp and striking. The other was a mix of so many ethnicities, Elara couldn't pinpoint a single one—everything but Asian, if she had to guess.
"At ease, soldiers," Elara said, her tone shifting to something more commanding. "I assume you're leadership figures among the others. Introduce yourselves."
Elara silently prayed for the Russian girl to have a name that wasn't painfully cliché. She had seen it a thousand times in movies—Russian characters with names so predictable they might as well have been plucked from a stereotype handbook.
"Natasha." "Mary."
Elara pinched the bridge of her nose. Natasha? Really? And Mary? Of all the names in the world, Lily had to go with the most overused options. She could feel a headache forming.
"Is everything alright, Commander?" the two asked, their voices laced with concern as they noticed her pained expression.
"I'm fine," Elara groaned, rubbing her forehead. She forced herself to focus. "How do you think I should handle the victims?"
Mary tilted her head, confused. "Excuse me, Commander?"
Natasha, however, seemed to catch on immediately. She lifted her chin slightly, her expression turning serious. The issue was clear: the imprisoned women left behind by their former master. Now that Elara was in command, she inherited not just the loyalty of her subordinates, but the consequences of their past actions.
"They're your responsibility now, Commander," Natasha said, her voice steady. "But we'll follow your lead."
Elara exhaled sharply. Great. Just great. She had a motel full of kidnapped women to deal with, a criminal empire to dismantle or repurpose, and a pair of subordinates named Natasha and Mary to help her do it.
She was going to have a long talk with Lily about her naming conventions. Later. For now, she had a mess to clean up.
"Have you killed any innocents?" Elara's voice sharpened, her gaze locking onto the two women.
"Not at all," Natasha replied firmly. "Honestly, apart from a few who died during territorial battles, we didn't kill any innocents. But there are injured people."
Elara exhaled, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. At least that was something. She didn't have the bandwidth to deal with a body count of civilians on top of everything else. "How about the women here?" she pressed, her focus narrowing. The imprisoned women were her priority—she couldn't bear the thought of their families being harmed in the process.
Natasha shook her head before Elara could spiral further. "But there are some who got hurt during the kidnappings and resistance."
Elara's jaw tightened. Of course there were. Kidnapping was violent by nature, and resistance would've been met with force. She could work with injuries. She could fix injuries. But if these women had lost loved ones because of her new subordinates' actions, that would've been a far heavier burden to bear.
"Take me to them," she ordered, already moving toward the door. "And prepare a list of their names, their conditions, and where they're from. I want to know everything—now."
Natasha and Mary exchanged a glance before nodding in unison. "Yes, Commander."