CHAPTER 115: THE TYRANT’S MEGAPHONE

Go at it with a big army.

The second was from a user named ’Nina’, her icon a complex, shifting labyrinth.

Surround the neutrals.

The third, and most bizarre, was from a user named ’Seven’, whose icon was a simple, stylized number 7.

Alchemize a megaphone.

I stared at the screen.

"This is useless," Sarah scoffed. "It’s the ramblings of madmen and idiots. ’Alchemize a megaphone’? What are you supposed to do, challenge them to a battle of the bands?"

"No," I whispered, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place in my mind with a beautiful, satisfying snap. "This is genius. This is high-level, coded communication between players who don’t trust each other."

I began to break it down, my mind, once used for optimizing video game character builds, now a fine-tuned engine of strategic deduction.

"’Go at it with a big army’," I began, pacing in front of the screen. "That’s the most obvious part. The [Reign] ability has a timer, and a radius. Inside that radius, there will be hostiles. Heroes, local militia, some idiot with a shotgun who thinks he’s a hero. The ’big army’ isn’t for the main conquest. It’s the cleanup crew. You need to eliminate all hostile red dots on the map before the timer runs out."

Isabelle nodded slowly, her commander’s mind already grasping the tactical implications. "A rapid, overwhelming deployment to neutralize all immediate threats."

"Exactly," I continued, pointing to the second message. "’Surround the neutrals.’ This is the clever part. The System distinguishes between ’hostiles’ and ’neutrals’. The neutrals are the civilians. The ones who are too scared or too smart to fight. They’re white dots on the map, not red. You don’t have to kill them. You can just... ignore them. Contain them. It saves time. It saves resources. And it leaves you with a living, breathing, and most importantly, taxable population after the fact."

Finally, my eyes fell on the last, most ridiculous message.

"’Alchemize a megaphone’," I purred, a slow, wicked grin spreading across my face. "This is the master stroke. Why fight the ones who are on the fence? Why waste time and blood trying to convince them?"

My B-Rank Alchemy skill flooded my mind with possibilities. A simple, conical device, enchanted with a low-level resonance rune to amplify sound over a vast distance.

"You give them a choice," I explained, the plan now fully formed in my mind. "You surround the town. You broadcast a message. You give them an ultimatum."

I drew myself up to my full, imposing height, my voice booming with a newfound, glorious purpose.

"’Greetings, mortals!’" I declared, practicing my speech. "’I am your new god. You have ten minutes to decide if you want to be my loyal, well-fed, and protected subjects, or if you want to be a thin, red paste that I will use to fertilize my new demonic vegetable garden! The choice is yours! Choose wisely!’"

The throne room was silent for a long, stunned moment.

Then, Setanta, who had been quietly observing the whole thing, let out a whoop of pure, unadulterated joy.

"Now that’s a proper declaration of war!" he roared. "I like it! It’s got style!"

The plan was set. The tools were understood.

"Akira!" I commanded, my voice ringing with authority. "To the forge! I have a new project for you. I need the loudest, most obnoxious, and most gloriously intimidating megaphone in the history of the world."

The Dwarf Queen just grumbled something about the acoustics of enchanted metal, but I could see the flicker of a professional challenge in her golden eyes.

The army was assembled. The megaphone was being forged.

We were no longer just conquerors. We were nation-builders.

And our first act of nation-building was going to be a very, very loud and very, very threatening public service announcement.

I couldn’t wait.

--------------------------------------------------

The march was a glorious, beautiful, and profoundly stupid display of overwhelming power.

I, Ragnar Vhagar, the Tyrant of Aethelburg and a being of exquisite taste and A-Rank physical prowess, strode at the head of my new, unified army.

Behind me, a river of darkness and steel stretched as far as the eye could see.

Two hundred of my finest, dumbest Orcs and Ogres formed the vanguard, their heavy footsteps a percussive rhythm of impending destruction.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The very ground trembled with each of their synchronized steps, the earth groaning under the weight of my ambition.

Flanking them were my elite Bloodkin.

Isabelle, my divine and deadly Blade Saint, walked with a cold, professional grace, her hand resting on the hilt of her reforged sword, Dáinsleif.

Chloe, my beautiful, fanatical shadow, was a whisper of motion at my other side, her amethyst eyes scanning the horizon for threats with an intensity that was both terrifying and deeply attractive.

The rest of my dysfunctional family of legends followed. Grak, Sarah, Setanta, Saburo. My walking, talking circus of sociopaths.

We were not an army. We were a natural disaster in search of a city to flatten.

Our target was a small, insignificant human town in the northern territories. It was not a fortress. It was not a threat.

It was a test.

My first test of the [Reign] ability.

"This is it," I announced, stopping at the edge of a small hill overlooking the town. "The border of my current domain."

I looked out at the peaceful, unsuspecting collection of houses and farms.

"Pixia," I commanded. "Initiate."

"My Lord," my tiny, flying encyclopedia squeaked from her perch on my shoulder, "may I humbly suggest we move another few kilometers away from our own border? The System documentation, while vague, hints at a potential for ’mutual interference’ if two sovereign domains are in too close a proximity during an expansion protocol."

I waved a dismissive hand, a gesture I had perfected for moments of supreme, kingly arrogance.

"Nonsense, Pixia. We are the aggressors here. The System will know who’s boss."

I raised my hand, channeling the power of my Domain, feeling the authority of my Vampire Lord status coalesce into a single, focused point of will.

"[Reign]," I commanded.

BOOM!

The ground exploded with a surge of raw, untamed energy. The wind shrieked, a vortex of displaced air and my own immense power swirling around me.

A translucent, glowing map of the surrounding area appeared in my mind, a beautiful, three-dimensional display of my impending conquest.