Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives - Chapter 1497

Chapter 1497: World Raid Challenge
Villain Ch 1497. World Raid Challenge

Allen stared at the notification, blinking once. Then twice. “Wait… what?”

Another ping followed.

[You are being directly challenged. A world raid event has been triggered.]

Allen stared at the red-glowing notification lingering in the air like a warning flare. His vision was filled with the system text.

He didn’t move.

Not at first.

Then, after a beat, a soft sound broke the stillness—barely more than a breath, a low scoff escaping from the corner of his mouth.

Then a chuckle.

Then it grew. Low, unhurried, a dark kind of humor bubbling up from his chest, laced with disbelief and a sharp thrill. His chuckle turned into a quiet laugh, then deeper, and darker still—like something ancient inside him had just been fed.

“Oh… oh that’s rich,” Allen muttered to himself, brushing his fingers through his tousled hair as the laugh died down.

Excitement coursed through him—tinged with challenge, a sharp rush that burned hotter than the lava he just fought through. It prickled under his skin like electricity. A smirk curled across his lips as he pulled up the full event details.

World Event: Fight Back

Initiated By: Arcana, Guildmaster of Ironclad Legion

Location: Devil Emperor’s Territory – Cursed Crypts

Start Time: 7 Days from Now

Role Inversion: Defense Event Active

Objective (Raiders): Break through the Cursed Crypts’ inner sanctum and defeat the Devil Emperor.

Objective (Defender): Hold off the assault. Protect the Abyssal Throne. Win at all costs.

Allen exhaled slowly.

“So they actually chose it,” he whispered, his voice echoing faintly off the rune-scarred stone walls.

He knew about this update—Hell’s Gate had teased it for months in the developer Q&As. Once a corrupted capital was reclaimed, the winning guild would get a treasure chest lottery full of rare-to-epic class loot, plus a pivotal decision. Claim the city by building a player base, or initiate a full-scale retaliation raid against the villains.

Allen predicted most guilds would pick the first choice. Safer. Profitable. Secure. Owning a base gave you real estate on the map, influence, tax income, factional perks.

But Ironclad Legion had picked door number two.

They’d chosen him.

Allen. The Devil Emperor. The big, red, rule-breaking final boss they couldn’t kill with standard meta tactics.

He ran a hand slowly across his mouth, thinking. “You dumbass, Arcana,” he murmured with a smile. “You really went all in, huh?”

The air in the chamber felt charged now. Not magical—emotional. The kind of tension right before a storm, where everything is just a little too quiet.

Allen glanced toward the door out of the chamber.

He muttered under his breath, “I wonder what the others will say about me.”

He walked through the portal, and the chamber vanished behind him like a closing eyelid. And just like that, he was back—standing in the familiar obsidian hallway of the Cursed Crypts.

His boots echoed across the polished stone floor as he moved forward. His steps quickened. He headed toward the heart of the Cursed Crypts—his throne chamber.

He wasn’t sure if the others would be there. The girls had their own trials to complete. With the Tier 4 class promotion unlocked, all of them had begun pushing their limits.

But still, he hoped.

The corridor opened into the throne chamber.

Empty.

Allen’s eyes swept the chamber. No footsteps. No giggles. No trailing perfume.

“Huh,” he muttered to himself. “Guess they’re still in their trials.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly as he stepped toward the throne and collapsed into it. The seat of the Abyssal Throne conformed to him instantly. His fingers tapped absently on the curved armrest, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Then he opened the party chat.

Azazel: Guess who just got personally challenged by Arcana? We’re getting visitors in 7 days.

Eira (Bella): LMAO. Yeah, I saw that. Like a real raid??? Against us? This is gonna be a suicide mission.

Abyssia (Zoe): Are they stupid??

Nefaris (Larissa): I was shocked, too. He picked the retaliation option, instead of building the base. That doesn’t make any sense. Arcana’s usually not reckless.

Azazel: Yeah, that’s what I thought. I was sure he’d lock down Ront. Thought maybe he’d turn it into a fortress or something long-term.

Grimora (Jane): Maybe this is long-term. He’s trying to make a name by taking you down. It’s a flex.

Lullaby (Shea): Idiotic flex. But still a flex.

Selena (Alice): If he’s coming here… we’re defending, right?

Azazel: Damn right we are. I’m not giving them an inch.

He closed the party chat, then pulled up his system window.

He flicked to his gear window. Some of his items had served him well, but he knew they wouldn’t be enough—not against Ironclad Legion. Not if they showed up in full force with buffed-out mages, siege casters, and top-tier debuff tanks.

He had seven days.

Seven days to upgrade his entire gear loadout.

Seven days to design the fortress defenses with his girls—each of whom had their own command zones in the Cursed Crypts. They’d have to set traps, barriers, siege wards, spell towers—maybe even revive the Abyssal Bone Dragon if they had the right materials.

He grinned as he opened the guild base editor and started sketching defense routes. “I’ve been on the offensive long enough,” he said under his breath, smirking. “Let’s see how they like being the ones pushing uphill.”

The interface flickered to life around him, and the terrain map of the Cursed Crypts projected in mid-air—twisting corridors, spike-pit choke points, lava canals, and ancient gates ready to be locked down with a single command. He could almost hear the complaints already.

“‘This place is unfair,'” Allen muttered in a mocking voice as he shifted a trap to the corner of the east wing. “‘Where’s the healer? I can’t even rez! Boo hoo.'”

He chuckled to himself and minimized the editor. It was good, but he needed more than traps.

He needed gear.

Serious gear.

Pulling up his Crafting Terminal, Allen opened his Blacksmith Inventory tab and began scrolling through the mountain of materials he’d hoarded like a fantasy dragon with a loot addiction. There were hundreds—no, thousands—of mats. Glowing cores. Corrupted bone. Ashsteel. Fused shadowglass. Even one piece of something labeled Essence of a Forgotten God that he still wasn’t sure he was legally supposed to have.