Chapter 6
The Merchant Carnival was no longer a place of simple commerce for me; it had become a stage where the absurd met the divine. Walking through the crowded thoroughfares with Leo on my left and Diablo on my right felt like a social experiment gone wrong. Leo was busy vibrating with the excitement of his "C-Rank" sword purchase, while Diablo was busy projecting a field of such concentrated elegance that the local pickpockets were literally fainting as we passed them.
"So, Luc," Leo said, oblivious to the fact that his "secretary" was currently calculating the exact number of ways he could fold space to erase a nearby group of aggressive mercenaries. "Now that we've got a team, we should take on a quest! There's a notice for a 'Cave Spider' infestation in the northern foothills. It pays two hundred gold!"
I looked at Diablo. The Primordial was staring at a skewer of grilled meat with the intense curiosity of a scientist examining a new species of bacteria.
"A quest for spiders, Master?" Diablo asked, his voice smooth and dangerous. "If it pleases you, I can ensure that every arachnid within a fifty-mile radius ceases to exist before you finish your next breath."
"No, Diablo," I said, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "Rule one. No mass extinctions unless I say so. We're being 'Regular Guys' today. That means we walk, we look at things, and we don't use primordial magic to solve pest control issues."
"A 'Regular Guy'..." Diablo whispered the words as if they were a sacred mantra. "I shall strive to emulate this 'regularity' with absolute perfection."
'Architect, give me a read on the 'Technological Union' scouts in the area. Are they still looking for their lost Spirit Core?'
'The Vanguard? The group of reincarnators who think they're the main characters?'
"Let's head to the center of the valley," I said to the group. "I want to see the 'Vanguard' in action."
"The Vanguard?!" Leo's eyes went wide. "They're like, the top tier! If I can get in with them, my career is set!"
We navigated toward the main stage, a massive wooden platform draped in banners of blue and gold. A man in gleaming silver plate armor was standing there, his voice amplified by a magic stone. He had the classic "Hero" look—jawline like a chisel, hair like spun gold, and an expression of such practiced righteousness that it made my "Regular Guy" skin crawl.
"People of the Free Districts!" Saito shouted. "The world is changing! The old powers are failing! We, the travelers from the stars, are here to lead you into a new age! Join us, and you will never fear a monster again!"
The crowd was eating it up. In a world of uncertainty, a man with a big sword and a loud voice was a powerful drug.
Diablo leaned in toward my ear. "Shall I silence him, Master? His soul is remarkably loud and surprisingly shallow. It tastes of... unearned confidence."
"Wait," I said, watching Saito. "I want to see how he handles an actual variable."
As if on cue, the ground began to shake. It wasn't the rhythmic tremor of an earthquake; it was the heavy, thudding footsteps of something massive. From the edge of the valley, a roar tore through the air, shattering glass and sending the festival-goers into a screaming panic.
A Mountain Ogre, corrupted by a chaotic surge of mana, burst through the tents. It was thirty feet tall, its skin a mottled, sickly purple, and its eyes glowing with the madness of a mutation.
"A-A Great Ogre?!" Leo stammered, his 'C-Rank' sword rattling in its scabbard.
Saito, on the stage, didn't flinch. He drew a massive claymore that glowed with a white light. "Stand back, citizens! The Vanguard shall handle this beast! [Commander's Strike]!"
He leaped from the stage, his body a blur of silver light. He hit the Ogre with the force of a falling star, but to my [Analytical Appraisal], the strike was inefficient. He was wasting 60% of his mana on the "visual effects."
The Ogre didn't fall. It swiped a massive claw, catching Saito in mid-air and slamming him through a row of merchant stalls.
"Saito!" his team screamed, but they were already backing away.
'Architect, why is that Ogre so stable? Even a corrupted one should have collapsed under that strike.'
'They're testing weapons on a crowd of civilians?' The "Regular Guy" in me was officially done with being a bystander. I looked at Diablo.
"Rule one is suspended for exactly ten seconds," I said. "Keep the crowd from seeing anything, but disable that Ogre. And Diablo?"
"Yes, Master?"
"Don't leave a mess."
Diablo's smile was the most terrifying thing I had ever seen. "With pleasure."
The Primordial didn't move. He simply snapped his fingers.
A localized dome of darkness—a [Shadow Veil]—descended over the Ogre and Diablo. To the crowd, it looked like a cloud had simply fallen on the beast. Inside the veil, for a micro-second, the laws of the universe ceased to exist.
Diablo didn't use a sword. He simply reached out and plucked the Union's mana-injector from the Ogre's spine as if he were picking a grape. Then, with a gentle tap on the creature's forehead, he dismantled its nervous system.
Ten seconds later, the veil lifted.
The Ogre was lying on the ground, unconscious and shrinking back to its normal size. Diablo was standing next to me, holding a small, glowing mechanical device in his hand.
"It was a remarkably crude piece of engineering, Master," Diablo said, handing me the injector. "I took the liberty of erasing the memories of everyone within fifty feet of the impact. They will believe the 'Hero' Saito finished the job."
Sure enough, Saito was climbing out of the wreckage of the stalls, looking confused but triumphant as the crowd began to cheer his name. "I... I did it! The beast is vanquished!"
Leo was jumping up and down. "Did you see that, Luc?! Saito is amazing! He didn't even have to hit it twice!"
I looked at the mechanical injector in my hand. It was made of cold iron and etched with digital runes that I recognized from the Eastern Empire's archives.
"They're getting desperate," I whispered.
"The Union?" Diablo asked.
"Everyone," I said, turning away from the cheering crowd. "The 'Others' are trying to force the world to fit their narrative. They want an epic war, they want heroes and villains, and they're willing to sacrifice a valley of people to get it."
I looked at the high-end watch on my wrist—a manifestation of my own design.
"I think my vacation is over. Architect, let's head back to the estate. We have an interdimensional villa to finalize. If the world wants to play at war, I'm going to need a much better base of operations."
"And what of the Hero, Master?" Diablo asked, glancing back at the preening Saito.
"Let him have his moment," I said. "He's just a character in a story he doesn't understand. But from now on, Diablo... we're the ones holding the pen."
(Word count for this segment: ~1,100 words. Proceeding with the cycle...)
Returning to the De Rais estate was like stepping back into a world of high-definition after spending a week in a grainy black-and-white film. My father was waiting for me in the courtyard, his arms crossed over his chest. He didn't look angry; he looked like a man who had been expecting a storm and was surprised that only a light breeze had arrived.
"Your 'meditation' was productive, I hope?" Reynard asked, his eyes moving to the tall, elegantly dressed man standing behind me.
I dropped the illusion. My charcoal-grey eyes shifted back to De Rais gold, and my plain traveling cloak dissolved into a coat of black dragon-silk.
"Father," I said. "This is Diablo. He's my new secretary. He'll be handling my... external affairs."
Reynard stared at Diablo. My father was a man who had fought dragons and stared down Demon Lords, but as he looked at the Primordial Black, I saw the hair on his arms stand up. He recognized the abyss when he saw it.
"A secretary," Reynard muttered, a dry laugh escaping his lips. "You bring a Primordial into my house and call him a secretary. You really are my son, Lucian."
"I strive for efficiency, Duke," Diablo said, bowing with a grace that was almost insulting in its perfection. "Your son has a vision for this world that even I find... compelling."
"Just don't burn the curtains," Reynard sighed, gesturing for us to enter. "The King has been sending messengers every hour. The 'Technological Union' has issued a formal declaration of war against the Western Nations. They're claiming that 'Ancient Magic' is a threat to human progress."
We walked into the war room, where a massive holographic map—a gift from my "Library"—was glowing in the center. It showed the Eastern Empire's forces massing at the border. But this time, they weren't just bringing men. They were bringing 'Otherworlder' units equipped with power-armor and mana-rifles.
'Architect, what's the status of the "Editor's Silence" field?'
"They're using Jade's energy?" I felt a spark of genuine irritation. "I save a spirit from their drill, and they use the 'leakage' to fuel a war?"
"They are a persistent species, Master," Diablo said, his eyes glowing crimson. "Shall I visit their capital? I could ensure that their 'progress' is set back by a few thousand years."
"No," I said, leaning over the map. "If we just crush them, another group will take their place. The problem isn't their technology; it's their ego. They think they're the only ones with a 'User Manual' for this world."
I tapped a point on the map—a neutral mountain range between the East and West.
"We're going to build it there," I said.
"Build what, Lucian?" my mother asked, entering the room. She looked worried, her Saintly aura pulsing with a protective light.
"My new home," I said. "The Sovereign's Villa. An interdimensional hub that sits outside the jurisdiction of any kingdom. From there, we'll monitor the 'Others'. We'll act as the ultimate moderators."
"Moderators?" Elara asked.
"Like editors for a messy manuscript," I explained. "When a group like the Union tries to cheat the system, we'll be the ones who 'fix' the error. No more massacres. No more mana-cannons. We're turning this world into a well-ordered library."
'Architect, initiate 'Project Sanctuary'. Begin phase one: Materializing the Void Foundation.'
The estate shook, not with an earthquake, but with a ripple of pure authority. Deep in the mountains, the air itself crystallized. A villa began to grow out of the void—not made of stone or wood, but of solidified mana and digital light. It had a sleek, minimalist design that would have been at home in a 2026 architectural magazine, complete with floor-to-ceiling glass that looked out over the entire continent.
"It's done," I said, feeling the connection to the new structure. "Diablo, you'll be the head of staff. Jade will manage the gardens and the natural mana-flow. And Architect... you'll be the house-brain."
"A house-brain," the Architect's voice echoed in the room, sounding strangely pleased. "I shall ensure the coffee is always at the perfect temperature, Sovereign."
Reynard looked at me, then at the map, then back at me. "And the war, Lucian? The Union is marching as we speak."
"Let them march," I said, a "Regular Guy" smirk playing on my lips. "They're about to find out that the world has a new 'Terms of Service' agreement. And I'm the one who wrote the fine print."
(Word count for this segment: ~2,200 words. Proceeding to the final segment to reach the 4,000-word goal!)
The transition to the Sovereign's Villa happened within the hour. For my parents, it was a tour of a "miracle." For me, it was moving into my true office.
The Villa sat on a peak that was perpetually shrouded in clouds, but through the enchanted glass of the living room, I could see everything. The satellites were feeding data directly into the walls, which acted as massive, 360-degree monitors.
"This is... incredible," Elara whispered, touching a wall that displayed a real-time view of the sunset over the Southern Seas. "You've captured the world, Lucian."
"I've just organized it, Mother," I said, sitting down in a manifested ergonomic chair that was the pinnacle of 2026 comfort.
Diablo was already in his element, wearing a fresh, even more crisp tuxedo. He was standing in the "Barista Wing," meticulously steam-cleaning a manifested espresso machine.
"Master," Diablo said, not looking up from his work. "The Eastern Empire's vanguard has reached the Ingrassian border. They are currently deploying their 'God-Killer' variant—a portable version designed to breach the Capital's walls."
"Architect, show me the feed," I commanded.
The wall in front of me shifted. I saw the silver-and-grey ranks of the Union. At their center was a humvee-like vehicle mounted with a glowing blue railgun. A group of 'Otherworlder' soldiers were laughing, adjusting their tactical goggles.
"Target locked," one of them said, his voice picked up by my satellite's audio-receptors. "Let's show these medieval primitives what real science looks like. Fire!"
The railgun hummed, a sound that tore through the air. A bolt of pure, compressed mana shot toward the walls of Ingrassia.
"Architect," I said, not even looking up from my tablet. "[Edit]."
The bolt of energy didn't hit the walls. It didn't even reach the city. Halfway through its flight, the bolt simply vanished into a localized tear in space. A second later, a brilliant, harmless firework display erupted five miles above the Union's army, spelling out a single word in neon-blue light:
[DENIED]
The Union soldiers froze. The laughter died instantly.
"What?! What happened?!" the commander screamed. "Check the sensors! Was it a barrier?!"
"Sir... it wasn't a barrier," the technician stammered. "The projectile just... stopped existing. And the mana-reading on that light-show... it's the same signature as the 'Silence' field from three years ago!"
I leaned back in my chair, sipping the espresso Diablo had just placed on the side table.
"Send them a message, Diablo," I said. "Directly into their communications headsets."
Diablo closed his eyes, his mana-signature fluttering.
In the ears of every Union soldier, my voice echoed—not as a shout, but as a calm, conversational tone.
"Hello, everyone. This is Lucian de Rais. I'm the one who wrote the 'Terms of Service' for this continent. Rule number one: No unauthorized use of mana-cannons. Rule number two: Go home and think about your life choices. If you fire that weapon again, I'll turn your entire army into a collection of garden gnomes."
"It's a trick!" the Union commander roared, grabbing his radio. "Ignore the voice! It's a localized illusion! Fire again! Give it everything!"
The railgun hummed again, vibrating with so much energy that the ground beneath the vehicle cracked. They were pushing the power cell to its limit, drawing on the corrupted energy of the Earth Spirit they had tried to mine.
"Architect," I sighed. "They never read the fine print."
I didn't kill them. I didn't even hurt them.
But in a blinding flash of pink light, the entire vanguard of the Eastern Empire—the humvees, the railguns, the power-armor, and the soldiers themselves—were transformed.
When the light faded, the border of Ingrassia was no longer threatened by an army. Instead, there was a vast, perfectly manicured garden filled with three thousand stone gnomes, each one wearing a tiny, silver-and-grey military uniform. At the center, where the railgun had been, stood a giant, angry-looking gnome holding a tiny stone megaphone.
"A garden gnome?" my father asked, staring at the screen. "You turned an entire army into... decorations?"
"They wanted to be permanent fixtures of the landscape," I said, taking another sip of coffee. "I just helped them achieve their goal."
The "Regular Guy" in me felt a bit petty, but the "Sovereign" was satisfied. The message would spread fast. The Technological Union was effectively neutralized—not through blood, but through the sheer, humiliating absurdity of my power.
"Diablo," I said.
"Yes, Master?"
"Make sure the gnomes are watered daily. I want them to look their best when the King's scouts find them tomorrow."
"It shall be done, Master," Diablo said, a dark chuckle echoing in his throat.
I looked out the window at the stars. The world was quiet again. The "Others" would think twice before trying to bring their wars to my doorstep. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I could actually enjoy the view.
'Architect,' I thought.
'How long until the next big event?'
'Well,' I thought, closing my eyes. 'Let them come. I've always wanted to see if a Demon Lord appreciates a good espresso.'