After dinner, I found myself roped into a so-called war council. Old Roderick insisted.
To be honest, I wasn't exactly summoned by duty. I was just… curious.
The village hall was packed. Villagers—almost all women. It felt like I'd stumbled into some coven, or an underground knitting club turned rebel faction. Sweet scents and raw pheromones hung in the air, the kind no man was built to withstand. Aside from me and Roderick, we were the only men in the room.
At the head of the long wooden table—normally meant for harvest planning, not war—sat Lyssa. The conspirator of this meeting. I was hoping for a quiet talk, but instead she repeated to everyone what I'd told her: that my wand aka smartphone showed the worg riders wouldn't attack tonight, but tomorrow.
And now? She was sitting like a Viking chieftain out of some movie. The chair was too big, her legs barely touched the floor, but she carried that heavy authority like fur and iron. Arms folded, elbows pressed to the table. Her eyes? Was like in a drama worried about something. Well she may fool others but not me. Playing a script if summoning me was a mistake… or maybe just from losing their wheat.
Personally? I'd bet on the wheat.
Regarding the wheat—well, that was her doing.
To Lyssa's left stood the purple-haired woman who clung to her like a warm scarf earlier. Juvia. That's how she introduced herself to me. At first, I mistook her for Lyssa's mother, but she corrected me—she was more than a guardian. She'd practically raised Lyssa.
Her title was Madam, but the look in her eyes screamed mother. The way she stood—arms crossed, spine straight, eyes scanning the room like a wolf shielding her cub—spoke louder than any title.
But truth be told, she wasn't as strict as she looked. She got a little talkative after accidentally sipping my beer earlier. When I asked how I'd ended up here, she admitted it: they'd traded their remaining wheat to some merchant named Maevra for a summoning scroll. Poof. Cut the long story short, here I am—sitting in this hall.
After dinner, she'd even toured me around. They called it a village hall, but really it was more like a big house. The living room had been converted into a gathering hall. The dining room? Big enough for twenty-five to sit shoulder to shoulder. The kitchen could've passed for a five-star restaurant. And then there was the bathhouse…
Steam everywhere, the water milky and warm. Juvia had teased me there—said I could splunge in, that she'd even bathe me herself. Temptation doesn't even begin to cover it. Purple hair, mature curves, blouse half-unbuttoned from the heat, her chest rising and falling with every laugh. Hips swayed lazily as she walked. Any man would've been a fool to refuse. And yet here I was, restraining myself like one. My first night, and I wasn't about to earn a label I couldn't shake. If this were Earth, Juvia, you wouldn't have walked away unscratched.
I told her maybe next time—after I purged their enemies—I'd be looking forward to it.
She'd laughed, pressed a finger to my lips, and whispered, "I'll do more… for the sake of this village."
My body had been ready to pounce, but I redirected. I asked where I could sleep, if she had any spare clothes. And maybe, just to tease, I let her catch a glimpse of my masculinity, standing proud beneath the fabric. She panicked, cheeks blazing, and fled the room. If she'd reacted differently… all that restraint would've gone up in smoke
Now, watching her stand guard beside Lyssa, I caught the faintest redness still lingering in her cheeks. She played the role of guardian well, but I knew what I saw.
Restraint tonight. Temptation tomorrow.
As I averted my gaze from Juvia, my eyes landed on Lyssa's right. Old Roderick stood there like a statue—a worn, grumbling monument with a sword on his hip and blood seeping from his side. Still, he held himself firm, a guardian refusing to fall.
I let my gaze drift further, fixing on the pair Roderick had mentioned earlier when I asked about the sisters. One had flowing black hair and a stare cold enough to cut steel. The other, silver-haired, playful, her voice sparkling whenever she spoke—too youthful for someone who carried such a mature aura.
"Why do you want to know?" Roderick muttered when he noticed me watching.
"I saw them," I said. "Helping the villagers. The black-haired one was ready to pounce on a worg until you shouted for her to guard the people. Were they sisters?"
"To you, maybe," Roderick said.
"Friends then?"
He shook his head. "No…" He hesitated, then explained. "The silver-haired one is the mother. The black-haired woman is her daughter."
That made no sense—they looked the same age. But Roderick went on, almost fond now. "The daughter, Selene, is a warrior of this village. After her husband's death, she devoted herself to the blade. The mother, Mereia—she supports her daughter. If you have time, visit them. She cooks the best dishes in the village." A rare smile tugged at his weathered face as he said it.
Whatever.
And then I realized—every single one of them was staring at me.
Or whispering about me.
Their voices crawled across the hall, bouncing like flies from ear to ear.
"If he's our only hope, then we're already dead," someone muttered.
"Shh! Lyssa's watching."
"No wheat, no warriors. What's next? We summon another one and get a chicken?"
I sat in the corner, arms crossed, faintly amused.
They were supposed to be planning a counterattack against the orcs.
Instead? They were still debating if I was even worth the wheat it cost to summon me.
The long table buzzed with tension, murmurs, and side-eyes in my direction.
Then someone pointed.
"But he has a magic wand,didnt you see how he killed the worg rider effortlessly" said one woman, nodding toward the glowing device at the center of the table. "It makes sounds and lights."
Ah, right. The Ephone.
I had placed it there earlier—not because I was forced to, but because I understood why Roderick insisted.
It wasn't about fear.
It was about control.
Letting them see that I wasn't some unbound threat—some wild summon ready to unleash hell at a sneeze. That I could be managed. Directed. Owned—by Lyssa, or whoever was calling the shots.
Maybe it was also to preserve face.
To avoid shaming her for summoning me in the first place.
I obliged. Politely.
And now?
BZZZZT!
The phone vibrated violently and let out a sharp, blaring tone.
Panic.
"Watch out! You've angered it—it'll explode!" I shouted sarcastically.
They didn't get the sarcasm.
Chaos erupted.
Someone screamed. One of the younger girls ducked under the table. A mother clutched her child like we were under siege.
"It's like that one spell! Grand Doom!" cried a terrified woman
I groaned, stood up, and casually walked over to retrieve it.
"Relax. It's just my phone. It's not going to explode."
I picked it up. Cold to the touch—real. Solid. Familiar.
But when I looked at the screen…
My smirk faded.
The usual icons—camera, messages, even the clock—still there
Only thing missing is some apps and
replaced by one thing.
[ War Dominion IX – Mobile Field Command Mode Active ]
[ Battery: N/A | Signal: N/A ]
Battery and signal i cant fathom why it display Not applicable but the screen as
I tapped theIt responded like normal—fluid, crisp, like any modern touchscreen.
Curious, I began browsing through the phone like I had just bought it yesterday.
Everything felt real—responsive, fast, fluid. Just like back home.
The default apps were still there: camera, messages, email, music player, calculator, calendar, even the old note app I used to jot down junk.
But everything else I'd downloaded—my games, media apps, random tools—was gone.
All replaced by one thing.
War Dominion IX.
I stared at the icon.
Probably the reason why I'm here.
I remembered the feeling I had after installing it—not to be summoned, not to escape life—but just to feel something again.
War Dominion I.
Back when I was a kid—strategizing for hours, commanding units, losing sleep over campaigns.
That game shaped me.
It's why I joined the military. Why I became an Operations and Strategic Officer.
I wanted that feeling back.
Just once.
Now?
It's all too real.
Is this really the War Dominion world?
I know this place—Gaia—is supposed to be a fantasy world.
But still…
Around me, the tension finally began to bleed out of the room.
The villagers' whispers shifted—no longer trembling fear, but sharp, curious gossip.
"So that's not a wand…" one woman muttered.
I lifted the glowing device. "No. Just a smartphone. From my world."
The word meant nothing to them. Confusion swirled, and then someone blurted, voice cracking with accusation:
"Then that thing is useless! You don't even have an army with you!"
"Army?" I echoed, raising a brow. My tone wasn't defensive—it was a question, a test.
The crowd rippled. Murmurs grew sharper, bolder.
"If he has no troops—then what did we pay for?"
"Maevra tricked us again!"
"She sold us a fraud!"
The voices piled one over the other, like stones rolling into a landslide.
SLAM!
Lyssa's fist struck the table. Her voice cracked like a whip.
She looked angry—but to me, it didn't feel raw.
It felt planned.
Like a con… maybe not for me, but for the villagers.
As I watched her, I couldn't shake the feeling that she'd been waiting for this exact moment—
A chance to rotate the blame.
From summoning me...
To someone else.
Her voice rose like a practiced spear.
"This is not the first time she pulled something like this."
She pointed sharply toward the door, fury rising in her bloodshot eyes.
"Remember the horse she sold us? Said it was strong, docile, and fast? Instead, we got two giant eggs for twenty sacks of wheat! And what hatched from them?"
As if summoned on cue, a massive ostrich-like bird poked its head through the window and let out a curious squawk.
One villager sighed with the weight of trauma.
"The Cuckoo…"
"It's a damn bird the size of a cow," Lyssa growled. "Can't be tamed. Can't be killed. And now we've got hundreds of them loitering through the village like oversized, feathered demons!"
She turned suddenly. "Right, Selene?"
And that's when she stepped forward.
Not marched. Not strode.
She glided—like a dancer who knew every heartbeat of the floor. Her hips swayed in lazy rhythm, confident without trying. The hem of her leather belt-skirt flirted with thighs so flawlessly pale, they glowed where the afternoon sunlight leaked through the cracks in the roof.
Her raven-black hair spilled over one shoulder like a midnight waterfall, the kind bards would write songs about—bad songs, full of metaphors and broken hearts.
Then she flicked it back.
Effortless. Practiced.
Dead silence followed, like even the villagers forgot what they were mad about.
She leaned on the table, one hand flat against the wood, the other resting on her waist. Her posture? Casual. Confidence. Teasing without trying. Dangerous without threat. The air in the room didn't just still pause, like even the wind knew better than to interrupt.
Selene didn't need to say a word.
She was the kind of woman who made men forget their questions and women remember their worth.
"Those damn birds," Selene muttered, her voice low and sharp, like a blade in a velvet sheath. "Don't forget
Her beautiful eyes scanned the room as she exhaled sharply.
"When we were trying to build a proper fence to keep the farm animals in line and maybe stop those oversized Cuckoos from nesting in our wells, Maevra had the perfect solution."
She straightened slowly, crossing her arms beneath her chest, which only drew more attention to her figure.
"Not posts. Not rope. A box. She told us to place it inside a cave under the full moon and leave it overnight. Said it would grow or build itself or some crap like that."
Her voice dropped slightly, almost purring with sarcasm.
"Come sunrise? Not a fence. A giant spider nesting in our only iron mine, spinning webs thick as wagon axles. Indestructible. Sticky. Lethal. And now we can't trade ore because none of us can get near the place."
As she leaned forward hands thrown on the table, her chest dipped, her cleavage pressing and subtly jiggling beneath her snug leather vest, the tension in her body speaking louder than her voice.
The villagers erupted.
"Scammer!"
"Fraud!"
"Con artist!"
"She probably bathes in our wheat!"
A woman near the door growled, "We should ask for a refund!"
Another pointed a finger. "Refund? We should hunt her down!"
"Scammer!"
"Scammer!"
Everybody was shouting, Then I Commanded not Shouted like a voice i do when i want all my troops to Listen to Me, because everything has gone far away from what i hope
"Everybody Listen!!"