While Zairon carved chaos into the hidden dungeons, five years had passed outside his madness, and the Sovereign Territory had grown into a marvel of structure, prosperity—and fear.
Towers of cultivation chambers pierced the sky. Entire cities floated mid-air through spiritual formations. The elite patrolled borders on flying spirit beasts, cities ran on Spirit Tech powered by crystal cores, and crime had been reduced to whispers in shadows. His name was no longer just revered—it was myth, it was law, it was religion.
But it wasn't perfect.
The Council of Commanders, chosen from among his most trusted veterans, oversaw territories. Yet power, in absence of the Sovereign, had blurred some lines.
One of the commanders—a once promising A-Rank turned complacent—had neglected his city. Spiritual crime had resurfaced, black markets emerged under his watch, and his cultivation hadn't risen even a level in three years.
And just as whispers turned into riots—
Zairon returned.
He didn't announce it. He simply walked into the main plaza of that city, dragging the decapitated head of a demon lord from the SS-Rank Dungeon like a butcher returning from the hunt. His presence alone made every cultivator kneel instinctively.
The commander stepped forward to kneel, sweat pouring from his face.
Zairon didn't speak.
He raised his hand—and the man disintegrated into ash, nothing more than dust in the wind.
"Let this be a lesson," Zairon said, voice calm but slicing through the air like razors. "Only the strong may rule. Only the worthy may lead."
He flew to the capital. The entire nation gathered—millions standing silent, their heads bowed in the Sovereign's presence.
Zairon floated above them, eyes sweeping across his empire. "I see growth. I see loyalty. But I also see cracks. Let me remind you... I am no ruler of cities." His voice boomed. "I rule destiny itself."
He drew a line in the sky, and it etched into space itself like fire—forming a massive symbol that hovered above the empire.
"That is the mark of my will. From this moment on, this world is my goal."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"I will take every nation, every land, and bring them under one law—my law. No sect, no clan, no empire shall stand above the Sovereign."
His generals bowed in unison. "All hail the Mad Sovereign!"
Zairon's smile was feral. "And when this world bows, we open the gates to Raur. That realm will know madness."
He turned and vanished into the sky, already scouting the next lands to conquer.
The world would bend. Or burn.