The Grand Command Hall remained in a state of suspended animation as the satellite footage of the wasteland encounter played for the twentieth time. The silence was broken only by the rhythmic tapping of fingers against glass and the low hum of cooling fans struggling against the heat of the processors.
General Marcus Thorne stood at the head of the table, his eyes fixed on the pixelated figure of Harish. "Let us be clear," Thorne began, his voice gravelly. "The system did not announce him. There was no world message, no server-wide alert. If he were a monster or a scripted event, the Tower would have notified us. This is an anomaly—a man-shaped hole in our reality."
Namgong Seo-jin, the official representative of the Murim Alliance on Earth and an elder of the Azure Heaven Sect, leaned forward. His traditional robes seemed out of place among the digital holograms, yet his presence was undeniable. He gestured toward the screen. "Look at the stance, General. It is not just the speed. Look at the weight of the air around him. In my world, we call this 'Domain of the Absolute.' It is a state where the practitioner becomes the center of the universe. To a common observer, he is swinging a stick. To a martial artist, he is rewriting the laws of physics with every movement."
"He used the Heavenly Demon Divine Art," Namgun Hua Jin added, his voice like cold iron. "Elder Namgong, you are from the Orthodox sects. Surely you recognize the signature of the Demonic Cult?"
Namgong Seo-jin's face darkened. "It is unmistakable. The dark, oppressive energy that swallows light... it is the hallmark of the Great Demon. However, there is a contradiction. The Heavenly Demon style is inherently destructive and chaotic. This man... he moves with a serenity that borders on the divine. He is not being consumed by the demonic energy; he is ruling it. It is as if the demon has been tamed and turned into a servant."
A military analyst from the European Sector, Dr. Hans Müller, chimed in. "General, we've analyzed the trajectory of the orc commanders when they were struck. They weren't just hit by physical force. The energy signature shows a total collapse of their internal molecular structure. It's as if the stick was a conduit for a force that negates the concept of 'durability.' If this man were to tap the hull of an aircraft carrier with that same stick, it would likely fold like a paper boat."
"And the Dragons," Colonel Aris Thorne added, her fingers flying across her tablet. "Death Dragons are essentially undead. They don't have 'life' to take. They are fueled by necromantic mana. Yet, when he struck them, the mana simply... vanished. It didn't dissipate; it was erased. We are calling him the 'Demon King' because of the martial arts, but his nature is entirely unknown. He doesn't fit the profile of any known Player, Guardian, or even a World Boss."
Minister Evelyn Vance of the North American Sector sighed, rubbing her temples. "So, we have a man who uses the most dangerous arts of the Murim world, dresses like a college student from 2020, carries a piece of a neem tree as a weapon, and is currently walking toward one of our most densely populated regional fortresses. What are the diplomatic probabilities? Elder Namgong, if your people encountered such a person, how would you proceed?"
Namgong Seo-jin closed his eyes, contemplating. "We would kowtow. We would offer our finest treasures and pray he is only passing through. In Murim, there is a saying: 'When a dragon walks among ants, the ants should not ask where the dragon is going; they should only be grateful they were not stepped on.' But you humans... you are different. You want to quantify him. You want to rank him. You want to put him in a database."
"We have to!" General Thorne snapped. "If he is a threat to the Human Alliance, we need to know how to kill him. Every living thing has a weakness. Netra, give me a simulation. What happens if we deploy the 1st Guardian, Namgun Hua Jin, alongside the Fire King and the Magic Empress to intercept him at the gates of xxxxxxxxxxx?"
The holographic avatar of Netra flickered as she processed the request.
"Simulation complete," Netra's voice echoed. "Probability of successful containment: 0.003%. Estimated casualties: 100% of deployed Guardians. Collateral damage: Total destruction of the xxxxxxxxxxx Regional Fortress and 40% of the surrounding Indian Sector. Calculation note: The subject's reaction to being provoked is estimated to be exponential. If he is currently using 0.01% of his power, a direct threat would likely cause him to increase output to 1.0%, which is sufficient to evaporate the Indian Ocean."
The room fell into a horrifying silence. Gary Milton, the Divine Hammer, looked down at his metal-plated hands. For the first time since the Fracture, the man who considered himself the strongest tank on Earth felt fragile. "So we can't fight him. We can't talk to him because we don't know who he is. We just... let him walk?"
"We observe," General Thorne decided, his voice tight. "We treat this as a Level-S Diplomatic Event. Aris, I want those census records. If he has a family, they are our only hope of anchoring him to our side. If he is a 'Returnee' from the early days of the Fracture, he might still have human attachments. That is our only leverage."
"And if he doesn't?" asked Director Okoro from the African Union. "If he is just a monster wearing a human face?"
"Then may God help us all," Thorne replied. "Because if he decides that Earth is his new playground, there isn't a single person in this room or a single weapon in the Tower of Trials that can stop him."
Outside the command center, the world continued its frantic dance. But inside, the leaders of humanity realized that the game had changed. The Sovereign was home, and while they debated his name and his rank, Harish was simply counting the steps until he could see the familiar faded paint of his front door in xxxxxxxxxxx.
The digital screens in the Grand Command Hall of the Human Alliance Headquarters flickered with a haunting resolution. The headquarters, a sprawling subterranean fortress located beneath the Himalayan range, served as the nervous system for the unified remnants of Earth. Within the central chamber, the air was cold, recycled, and heavy with the scent of ozone and collective anxiety. The emergency bells had not rung like this since the first day of the Great Fracture. At the center of a circular obsidian table sat the representatives of the new world order: the Ten Guardians, high-ranking military colonels, and the chief ministers of the merged continental sectors. The satellite footage played on a loop—a grainy, high-speed recording of a man in tattered jeans obliterating a high-rank Abyss rift with a piece of wood.
General Marcus Thorne stood at the head of the table, his eyes fixed on the pixelated figure of Harish. "Let us be clear," Thorne began, his voice gravelly. "The system did not announce him. There was no world message, no server-wide alert. If he were a monster or a scripted event, the Tower would have notified us. This is an anomaly—a man-shaped hole in our reality."
Namgong Seo-jin, the official representative of the Murim Alliance on Earth and an elder of the Azure Heaven Sect, leaned forward. His traditional robes seemed out of place among the digital holograms, yet his presence was undeniable. He gestured toward the screen. "Look at the stance, General. It is not just the speed. Look at the weight of the air around him. In my world, we call this 'Domain of the Absolute.' It is a state where the practitioner becomes the center of the universe. To a common observer, he is swinging a stick. To a martial artist, he is rewriting the laws of physics with every movement."
"He used the Heavenly Demon Divine Art," Namgun Hua Jin added, his voice like cold iron. "Elder Namgong, you are from the Orthodox sects. Surely you recognize the signature of the Demonic Cult?"
Namgong Seo-jin's face darkened. "It is unmistakable. The dark, oppressive energy that swallows light... it is the hallmark of the Great Demon. However, there is a contradiction. The Heavenly Demon style is inherently destructive and chaotic. This man... he moves with a serenity that borders on the divine. He is not being consumed by the demonic energy; he is ruling it. It is as if the demon has been tamed and turned into a servant."
A military analyst from the European Sector, Dr. Hans Müller, chimed in. "General, we've analyzed the trajectory of the orc commanders when they were struck. They weren't just hit by physical force. The energy signature shows a total collapse of their internal molecular structure. It's as if the stick was a conduit for a force that negates the concept of 'durability.' If this man were to tap the hull of an aircraft carrier with that same stick, it would likely fold like a paper boat."
"And the Dragons," Colonel Aris Thorne added, her fingers flying across her tablet. "Death Dragons are essentially undead. They don't have 'life' to take. They are fueled by necromantic mana. Yet, when he struck them, the mana simply... vanished. It didn't dissipate; it was erased. We are calling him the 'Demon King' because of the martial arts, but his nature is entirely unknown. He doesn't fit the profile of any known Player, Guardian, or even a World Boss."
Minister Evelyn Vance of the North American Sector sighed, rubbing her temples. "So, we have a man who uses the most dangerous arts of the Murim world, dresses like a college student from 2020, carries a piece of a neem tree as a weapon, and is currently walking toward one of our most densely populated regional fortresses. What are the diplomatic probabilities? Elder Namgong, if your people encountered such a person, how would you proceed?"
Namgong Seo-jin closed his eyes, contemplating. "We would kowtow. We would offer our finest treasures and pray he is only passing through. In Murim, there is a saying: 'When a dragon walks among ants, the ants should not ask where the dragon is going; they should only be grateful they were not stepped on.' But you humans... you are different. You want to quantify him. You want to rank him. You want to put him in a database."
"We have to!" General Thorne snapped. "If he is a threat to the Human Alliance, we need to know how to kill him. Every living thing has a weakness. Netra, give me a simulation. What happens if we deploy the 1st Guardian, Namgun Hua Jin, alongside the Fire King and the Magic Empress to intercept him at the gates of xxxxxxxxxxx?"
The holographic avatar of Netra flickered as she processed the request. "Simulation complete," Netra's voice echoed. "Probability of successful containment: 0.003%. Estimated casualties: 100% of deployed Guardians. Collateral damage: Total destruction of the xxxxxxxxxxx Regional Fortress and 40% of the surrounding Indian Sector. Calculation note: The subject's reaction to being provoked is estimated to be exponential. If he is currently using 0.01% of his power, a direct threat would likely cause him to increase output to 1.0%, which is sufficient to evaporate the Indian Ocean."
The room fell into a horrifying silence. Gary Milton, the Divine Hammer, looked down at his metal-plated hands. For the first time since the Fracture, the man who considered himself the strongest tank on Earth felt fragile. "So we can't fight him. We can't talk to him because we don't know who he is. We just... let him walk?"
"We observe," General Thorne decided, his voice tight. "We treat this as a Level-S Diplomatic Event. Aris, I want those census records. If he has a family, they are our only hope of anchoring him to our side. If he is a 'Returnee' from the early days of the Fracture, he might still have human attachments. That is our only leverage."
"And if he doesn't?" asked Director Okoro from the African Union. "If he is just a monster wearing a human face?"
"Then may God help us all," Thorne replied. "Because if he decides that Earth is his new playground, there isn't a single person in this room or a single weapon in the Tower of Trials that can stop him."
After the heavy doors of the Grand Command Hall hissed shut, leaving the Ten Guardians and the military elite to their frantic preparations, the atmosphere in the subterranean corridors of the Human Alliance remained suffocating. The meeting had lasted six hours, but for those involved, it felt like an entire age of the world had collapsed.
Namgong Seo-jin, the Murim representative, walked slowly toward the transport mag-lev, his hands tucked deep into his silken sleeves. He was followed closely by his top disciple, a young man who had been born after the Great Fracture and knew the Murim world only through history books and VR simulations. "Elder," the disciple whispered, his voice trembling. "Is it truly possible? The Heavenly Demon Art used by a man in... commoner's rags? Our records say the Demonic Cult was purged centuries ago in the Great War of the Heavens."
Namgong Seo-jin stopped and looked out a reinforced window at the churning magma that powered the base. "The records speak of a purge, yes. But they also speak of a figure who transcended the conflict. A being who didn't just master the arts, but owned them. We have always assumed those stories were metaphors—myths meant to keep the sects in line." He looked back at the digital tablet in his disciple's hand, which still showed a freeze-frame of Harish's blurry face. "But look at that man's eyes, boy. Even through the digital noise, they don't look like the eyes of a 'Demon King' or a 'Player.' They look like the eyes of someone who has seen the end of time and found it boring. That is the most terrifying thing of all. He isn't angry at us. He doesn't even see us."
Three levels above, in the Data Integration Suite, Colonel Aris Thorne stood surrounded by glowing holographic screens. She had dismissed her staff, preferring to work the initial census scan alone. Her clearance was the highest in the Alliance, allowing her access to the "Pre-Fracture Ghost Records"—data recovered from the old internet and government servers that were supposed to be lost forever.
"Netra," Aris said, her voice echoing in the sterile room. "Search for the name 'Harish.' Narrow parameters to the Indian subcontinent, specifically the region surrounding the xxxxxxxxxxx area. Timeline: missing persons reports filed between five and six years ago."
The AI's voice responded instantly. "Scanning..." Netra replied. "Query returned 14,208 matches for the name 'Harish' in the specified region. Cross-referencing with biological markers from the satellite footage... analyzing facial structure probability despite the energy distortion... Subject identified. Name: Harish. Occupation at time of disappearance: Student. Last seen: June 30th, 2020, during an evening walk in the xxxxxxxxxxx sector. No criminal record. No martial arts training. No magical aptitude detected in school health screenings."
Aris leaned back, her heart skipping a beat. "A student? He was just a student? Netra, how does a student disappear for five years and return as a 'Demon King' capable of erasing Abyss rifts with a stick?"
"The temporal distortion within the Seventh Dimensional Nexus Key is a known variable in theoretical physics," Netra hypothesized. "To us, it was five years. To him, the duration is currently uncalculable. It could have been centuries." Aris stared at the family section of the file. "Parents alive. One elder sister. They are registered as Category 3 Refugees in the xxxxxxxxxxx Fortress. They live in a small apartment in the low-mana zone." She grabbed her jacket, her eyes hardening with resolve. "Lock this file. Do not share it. If the other Guardians find out he has an 'anchor' this vulnerable, they'll try to use them as leverage, and that would be the last mistake humanity ever makes."
While the elite plotted in secret, the rest of the world was already vibrating with the news. The footage of the "Demon King" had hit the civilian networks. In the slums of New Delhi and the refugee camps outside the Fortress walls, people weren't afraid—they were hopeful. In the dark corners of the internet, new cults were already forming. Websites dedicated to "The Man with the Branch" appeared within minutes. To a world that had been oppressed by the rigid "System" of the Tower and the political games of the Ten Guardians, Harish represented raw, unfiltered freedom.
As the sun began to set, casting long, orange shadows over the jagged skyline of the wasteland, Harish reached the crest of a hill overlooking the outskirts of xxxxxxxxxxx. The city was different. It was surrounded by massive, fifty-foot walls of reinforced concrete and mana-conductive steel. Searchlights swept the Dead Zone outside, and he could see the shimmering blue veil of a high-grade defense shield. He paused, looking at the gates where a long line of merchants and refugees were being processed by soldiers in power armor.
"Home," he whispered. He looked down at his clothes—the tattered remnants of his favorite t-shirt. He sighed. "I really look like I've been through it. Mom is going to be so mad about these stains. I wonder if I can use a minor 'Time Reversal' spell on the fabric? No, that would cause a mana spike that would alert the whole city. Better to just face the music."
He adjusted his posture, shaking off the last of the "Sovereign" stiffness, and began to walk toward the gate. He didn't use the Shadow Walk. He didn't use the Demon Steps. He just walked with the heavy, tired, but happy gait of a son who had finally made it back from the longest walk of his life. Behind him, in the shadows of a ruined billboard, a pair of eyes watched. The mysterious follower remained silent, a witness to the return of the legend.