The main square of Elvania Kingdom had devolved into a tableau of frozen despair. The immense pressure from Asmudeus, the Tyrant Emperor, and the sheer, concentrated malevolence of the Eight Primordials had paralyzed the Elves.
Asmudeus looked down at Elder Faelan, the only Elf with the courage—or despair—to remain on his feet.
Asmudeus: "You are already beaten. There is no need for theatrics. The Angelic parasites are your concern, not mine. I am here for history. The history that precedes the 'game' you once thought you knew."
Before Faelan could speak, two figures burst from the central palace doors—King Theron and Queen Lyra, their regal robes dusty. They had felt the oppressive aura inside their chambers and chose the immediate, absolute surrender of their realm over the slow psychological torture of their people.
King Theron: (Dropping to his knees, his voice hoarse) "Sky Conqueror! We surrender the Elvania Kingdom unconditionally. Command us. Do not let your generals unleash their wrath upon my people."
Queen Lyra: (Her voice trembling with cold fear) "The Dragon-Kin subjugated us, but even their wrath was a flicker compared to yours. We will serve. Please, show mercy."
Total, instantaneous conquest with zero Mana spent, Kai noted internally, a chilling sense of efficiency settling in. This is what max stats buys you.
Asmudeus accepted their surrender with a slow, deliberate nod. "The bargain is accepted. Rise. Elder Faelan, you will speak first. Tell me of Ingrasia's true configuration. Why do Arcadia, Hermes, and Draconia exist beyond the common lore?"
Faelan, his face etched with ancient sorrow, began to speak, revealing secrets that shattered the last vestiges of Kai's gamer perception.
Elder Faelan: "My Lord, Ingrasia is the original creation—a celestial body, not a plane. Long ago, it was unified under the Black Winged Race. But the Angel Race—the Forces of Light—fractured it. Draconia is the land of raw magic, where the Dragon-Kin settled. Hermes is the intellectual, now dominated by mages and human academies. And Arcadia…"
He paused, a flicker of defiance in his eyes.
Elder Faelan: "Arcadia is the sacred land, blessed by the original light of the Angels, a place of purity and faith. It is where the Heroic Lineage traditionally awakens."
Asmudeus: "The schism is clear. Now, the location of the Angelic Remnants. Speak."
The Unwavering Loyalty of Evil Eye
As the Elder nervously described the hidden sanctuary within the Draconia border, Evil Eye, the Nightmare Queen, stepped forward. Her enormous crimson-pupiled mask behind her tattered veil seemed to pulse with thought.
Evil Eye: "My Lord Asmudeus, with all due respect to the Elder's intelligence… I sense this 'sanctuary' is a decoy. A trap designed for a lesser foe. Allowing the Primordials to chase this shadow may draw out your true enemies."
The silence that followed was absolute. Azatoth instantly stiffened, and Kaizen's shadow seemed to coil tighter, all sensing the dangerous tone of perceived insubordination. Kai, however, saw the raw logic in her statement, but also the terror in her posture.
Asmudeus: (His voice dropping to a dangerous low whisper) "You question my judgment, Nightmare Queen?"
Evil Eye's single visible eye widened in horror. She realized her error instantly: in his previous "silent phase," questioning the Tyrant Emperor was an invitation to oblivion. She did not hesitate.
With a soundless, impossible speed, she ripped away the veil and the ornate crimson mask covering her face. Her true face was revealed—not monstrous, but impossibly beautiful, framed by silver hair. She produced a dagger made of solidified shadow, and pressed the tip straight toward her own heart.
Evil Eye: (A frantic, desperate plea) "Forgive this servant! My tongue has failed my loyalty! My Lord, my only reason for existence is to enact your will. If my words cast doubt upon your infinite wisdom, I offer my life to redeem the offense!"
Holy hell. She's going to commit suicide just because she misspoke, Kai thought, momentarily shocked by the level of unwavering, insane devotion. This is not an employee handbook; this is a cult.
With a fraction of his maxed out DEXTERITY, Asmudeus sent a pulse of concentrated, non-lethal Infinite Mana—a sheer wave of cold, black energy—that instantly shattered the shadow dagger into dust and slammed Evil Eye to her knees without physically touching her.
Asmudeus: "Your devotion is noted, Evil Eye. Your analysis was strategically sound, if poorly phrased. I require strategists, not sacrifices. Keep your loyalty and your life. I have no need of broken tools."
Evil Eye, trembling, retrieved her mask and veil, her relief transforming into zealous adoration. "I live only to serve, My Emperor. Thank you for this undeserved grace."
New management style confirmed: Praise competence, crush self-doubt, Kai mused, his mind already back on the logistics of the Forces of Light.
The Doom of the Bratty Princess
For two days, Asmudeus occupied the Elven Royal Archives, absorbing data on historical ley lines and the weaknesses of the Angel Race, while the Primordials used the Elvania Kingdom as a temporary garrison, their auras constantly terrifying the populace.
On the third day, Princess Lycoris, the teenage daughter of Theron and Lyra, decided to confront the Tyrant Emperor.'
She stormed the Archives entrance, ignoring the frantic whispers of the palace guards. She was beautiful, arrogant, and clearly spoiled, carrying a small, glowing Elven shortsword.
Princess Lycoris: "Black Winged Tyrant! This is the ancient soil of Draconia, not your dark pit! Leave our home at once, or face my wrath!"
Asmudeus stood amidst towering scrolls, not even turning his massive, winged frame toward her. He simply exhaled.
The release of that single, casual breath—infused with the residue of Infinite Mana—struck Lycoris like a physical wall. She was slammed back twenty feet, her sword skittering across the floor, leaving her pinned against the stone wall, unable to move or even scream.
Asmudeus: (His voice a bored rumble) "In two days, you have not learned obedience. Your father's life hangs on your silence. If you interrupt my study again, I will not kill you. I will simply remove your ability to perceive existence. Understood, Princess Lycoris?"
The Princess, paralyzed by the sheer, casual horror of the threat, could only nod, tears silently running down her face. Asmudeus did not spare her another thought.
The Mistaken Identity
Later that day, as Asmudeus stepped out of the palace courtyard for a brief, isolated walk (to stretch his muscles), he encountered an unexpected anomaly: humans.
A pair of human Adventurers—a bulky warrior, Captain Valen, and his nimble mage companion, Kael—had bypassed the paralyzed Elven guards, having entered the area hoping to exploit the sudden silence in the kingdom.
They stopped dead, staring up at the seven-foot figure of the Black Winged Tyrant.
Captain Valen: (Whispering, terrified) "Kael… that's no Dragon-Kin. Look at those wings… it's… a Demon Lord!"
Kael: (Clutching his staff) "No… the scale of the power… that must be the Demon Emperor! We're not even Tier Three! Retreat, now!"
They didn't recognize him as Asmudeus, the Tyrant Emperor, simply mistaking him for a very powerful, yet generic, demonic entity.
Asmudeus paused his stroll, annoyed by the interruption. He looked at the two terrified figures—the kind of players he used to be, scraping for experience and gold.
He decided on a single, definitive move. With a snap of his fingers, he materialized a shimmering, black sphere of pure Mana the size of a carriage, holding it casually in the air for one second. It radiated a feeling of absolute, final cosmic void.
Then, he made the sphere vanish.
Asmudeus: (Tiredly) "This territory is claimed. Leave Draconia immediately and spread the word to your human cities: the Age of the Tyrant Emperor has returned. You are beneath my notice. Do not appear before me again."
Valen and Kael dropped their weapons and fled, screaming, the sight of that casually conjured power forever burned into their minds.
As Asmudeus returned to the palace, he smiled, a cold, predatory smile that felt increasingly natural on his new face.
The message is sent. The pieces are moving. Now, to deal with the Angels.