The world was a symphony of beautiful, glorious violence.

And I, Ragnar Vhagar, was its conductor.

But from my podium on top of a slightly-less-dented school bus, I could see that my orchestra was starting to play out of tune.

The front line was buckling.

Grak the Unbreakable was a magnificent, one-man apocalypse, his fists a constant, percussive rhythm of sonic booms and shattered bones.

BOOM!

The ground itself seemed to shatter as he punched a human soldier into a fine red mist.

CRACK!

A visible shockwave of force erupted from his knuckles, blasting two other nearby soldiers off their feet.

He was a whirlwind of destruction, a living, breathing meat-grinder, but even he was being bogged down by the sheer, unending number of humans.

They swarmed him like angry, squishy ants.

Sarah, my beautiful, terrifying Queen of Magic, was a goddess of artillery, her black and purple fireballs turning entire squads of militia into screaming, carbonized statues.

But her mana was not infinite.

I could see the faint sheen of sweat on her aristocratic brow, a sign that her reserves were dwindling.

And the Sword King… the Sword King was a problem.

He was a ghost.

A whisper of death in the pre-dawn gloom.

He was systematically, brutally, and very, very efficiently dismantling my personal guard, one expensive Living Mail at a time.

He was getting closer.

The stress was immense, the kind of pressure that makes a man think of simpler, more pleasant things.

Like the memory of Chloe's head in my lap just last night, her devotion so absolute it was almost a physical force.

Or the memory of Isabelle's legs wrapped around me the night before, her quiet intensity a fire that could melt steel.

A king needed his stress relief.

And my kingdom was a buffet of magnificent, deadly, and dangerously jealous women.

"My Lord!" Pixia's voice was a high-pitched squeak of pure, statistical terror in my ear, rudely interrupting my pleasant, degenerate daydreaming.

"The defensive line's integrity is at thirty-four percent!"

"Projected time until catastrophic failure is… seven minutes!"

The timer in my vision read: 12:47.

We weren't going to make it.

I was going to lose my foothold, be forced into a humiliating retreat, and probably have to listen to my commanders bicker about it for a week.

And worst of all, I probably wouldn't get laid tonight.

This was unacceptable.

"Where are they?" I growled, my voice a low, dangerous purr.

"Where are my goddamn reinforcements?"

As if summoned by the sheer, unadulterated force of my own magnificent impatience, they arrived.

From the west, a flash of divine, holy light.

It was so out of place in this grimy, pre-dawn battlefield it was almost comical.

Isabelle Vhagar.

My Blade Saint.

My First Sword.

My secret lover number two.

She was not a commander in this moment.

She was a weapon.

She was an angel of beautiful, glorious vengeance.

BOOM!

The ground exploded as she moved, a blur of dark armor and divine light that slammed into the flank of the human army.

The wind shrieked as she drew Dáinsleif, the reforged blade humming with a barely contained power that was both holy and deeply, beautifully unholy.

Her blade danced, a flawless, beautiful storm of steel.

CRACK!

She met a charging hero's sword, a young man with more courage than sense.

The impact was a sharp, focused detonation.

A visible shockwave of pure force ripped through the hero's blade, shattering it into a dozen glittering pieces.

Her follow-up strike was a whisper of death that took his head from his shoulders before his body even knew it was dead.

The force of her attack ran through the very bones of the earth, and the ground for ten feet around her cracked and splintered.

And from the east, a whisper of pure, unadulterated shadow.

Chloe.

My beautiful, fanatical shadow.

My secret lover number one.

She did not charge.

She did not announce her presence with a flash of light.

She simply… appeared.

Her Shadow Strikers, a team of elite goblin snipers and werewolves, materialized from the darkness.

Their blades and arrows found the throats of the human army's command squad before they even knew they were under attack.

The human line, which had been on the verge of breaking through our own, suddenly found itself caught in a perfect, beautiful, and exquisitely brutal pincer movement.

Their morale shattered.

Their formation broke.

The tide had turned.

The final ten minutes were a blur of glorious, one-sided slaughter.

My forces, reinvigorated by the arrival of their two deadliest commanders, pushed back with a savage, joyous fury.

The timer in my vision ticked down its final, agonizing seconds.

Three.

Two.

One.

Zero.

The world held its breath.

The vast, swirling vortex of black and red energy that had enveloped the park collapsed in on itself with a sound like the universe taking a sharp, final gasp.

It imploded into a single, brilliant point of silver light that pulsed once, then solidified.

A new True Core.

My new True Core.

It hung in the air for a moment, a testament to my victory, before sinking into the earth, anchoring my reign over this new, bloody patch of dirt.

A wave of triumphant, glorious notifications filled my vision.

[Reign Protocol Successful!]

[New Sector Acquired: Suzu Outskirts (3 km²)]

The invisible dome of my ability, which had been both my cage and my shield, became a real, physical border.

The remaining human forces, now finding themselves trapped inside enemy territory, let out a collective, horrified wail.

Their desperate battle for their homes had just become a hopeless last stand in a foreign land.

"Well," I said, a slow, predatory smile spreading across my face. "That was fun."

I stood up on the hood of the bus, a king surveying his new, conquered lands.

"Yori!" I roared into my comms. "Open the floodgates!"

From the heart of my new, permanent fortress, a new sound emerged.

The sound of a thousand roaring, bloodthirsty monsters who had been waiting very, very patiently for their turn to play.

The Transfer Array flared to life, a swirling vortex of shadow and ozone.

From it, they poured forth.

A fresh, furious army of Orcs, Ogres, and goblins, their eyes burning with a manic, murderous glee.

The desperate defense had become an overwhelming offense.

The battle for the foothold was over.

The war for Suzu had just begun.

I looked out at the city, at the distant, imposing walls of the city hall.

The Sword King was still in there.

He was waiting.

And I had a terrible, wonderful feeling that he was about to get a very, very loud knock on his front door.

A knock delivered by a ten-foot-tall Beast King with a profound love for punching things.

**

The world held its breath.

The timer, a ghostly set of numbers hanging in my vision, had ticked down to its final, agonizing second.

Three.

Two.

One.

Zero.

The vast, swirling vortex of black and red energy that had enveloped the town collapsed in on itself with a sound like the universe taking a sharp, final gasp.

It imploded into a single, brilliant point of silver light that pulsed once, then solidified.

A new True Core.

My new True Core.

It hung in the air for a moment, a beautiful, pulsating testament to my victory, before sinking into the earth, anchoring my reign over this new patch of dirt.

My phone, my one true friend in this chaotic, beautiful nightmare, chimed with the sweet, sweet music of success.

[Reign Protocol Successful!]

[New Sector Acquired: Northern Farmlands (28 km²)]

[Maximum CP has increased by +50!]

[Maximum DP has increased by +50!]

[New Population Acquired: 89 Human Residents.]

"Residents?" I murmured, the word tasting strange and new on my tongue.

I turned to Pixia, who was already buzzing with a flurry of data analysis on her tiny holographic console.

"Explain," I commanded. "They're not subordinates. They're not Bloodkin. What, precisely, is a 'Resident'?"

"They are a new classification of follower, my Lord!" she squeaked, her voice a high-pitched buzz of academic excitement.

"They are, for all intents and purposes, Citizens! They retain their free will, but are bound to your Domain. You cannot give them direct, individual orders, but you can issue broad, sweeping decrees. Think of them as a resource. A population to be managed, protected, and, of course, taxed."

"So, they're basically Tamagotchis," I summarized, a slow, dangerous smile on my face. "Tamagotchis with complex emotional needs and the potential for rebellion. Fantastic. I'll have Yori draft a basic constitution. Rule one: pay your taxes. Rule two: do not annoy the king. Rule three: see rule one."

I was in the middle of this glorious, nation-building moment when a sound, a beautiful, chaotic, and deeply satisfying sound, echoed up the hill.

CRUNCH!

It was the sound of a large, metal door being kicked off its hinges by a very large, very enthusiastic Beast King.

"MY LORD!" Grak's voice roared, a joyful bellow of discovery. "I HAVE FOUND A CAVE OF SHINY METAL BEASTS!"

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