CHAPTER 91: A MOST PECULIAR OBSESSION

The Crystal Spire’s throne room was, for the first time, a place of quiet, organized bureaucracy.

A new day had dawned, and with it came the soul-crushing reality of managing a newly expanded, deeply chaotic empire.

I, Ragnar Vhagar, the Tyrant of Aethelburg and a being of profound, A-Rank power, was holding a corporate-style reorganization meeting.

It was every bit as tedious as it sounded.

"So, to summarize," I said, leaning over the massive, glowing crystal map table, "Yori, you are now my new Head of Defense and Trap Design.

Your primary duty is to turn our more vulnerable sectors into a series of deeply infuriating, hero-mulching deathtraps.

I want pitfalls filled with angry, venomous squirrels. I want hallways that play slightly off-key circus music. Get creative."

Old Man Yori, my newly acquired and surprisingly cunning subordinate, bowed his head.

"It will be an honor, my Lord. I have several schematics for a rotating-blade-and-confetti-cannon combination that I believe you will find both effective and psychologically demoralizing."

"Excellent. Isabelle," I said, turning to my former-hero commander.

She stood with her arms crossed, her new dark sword, Dáinsleif, strapped to her back.

Her presence was a pillar of cold, professional competence. "You and Chloe are now co-commanders of our entire military force.

You will oversee all patrols, training, and strategic deployments. Any questions?"

Isabelle simply shook her head. Chloe, who was melting into a shadow in the corner of the room, gave a barely perceptible nod.

Their rivalry was a quiet, simmering thing, a constant, low-level hum of possessive tension that was both a potential liability and, if I was being honest, deeply flattering.

"Good. Now for the new acquisitions," I said, gesturing towards the back of the room.

"Yori, I’d like you to meet the rest of your new colleagues."

I introduced him to the others.

First was Izayoi, my impossibly expensive Vampire Baron, who was leaning against a crystal pillar looking bored and aristocratic.

He gave Yori a nod so slight it might have been a muscle twitch.

Then there was Kevin, the chuunibyou formerly known as Darkness Dracul the Third, who was trying very hard to look menacing and failing spectacularly.

"A pleasure to meet a fellow connoisseur of the abyss," Kevin said with a dramatic bow, his velvet curtain cape swishing.

Yori just blinked at him, completely nonplussed.

With the new command structure settled, a comfortable, productive silence fell over the room.

It was, of course, too good to last.

Yori cleared his throat.

The sound was small, but it drew every eye in the room. He stepped forward, his expression one of profound, almost religious seriousness.

"My Lord Ragnar," he began, his voice trembling with a strange, passionate fervor.

"I have accepted my defeat. I have accepted my new role. I will serve you with all the skill and cunning I possess."

"I’m aware, Yori. That was the point of this entire meeting," I said dryly.

"But I have one request," he continued, his eyes wide and pleading. "A condition of my continued, and most enthusiastic, servitude."

I raised an eyebrow. "A condition? You’re in a bold mood for a man who surrendered his entire kingdom twenty-four hours ago."

He dropped to his knees.

It was a sudden, dramatic gesture that made Kevin look positively restrained by comparison.

"My purpose in life, my Lord! My one true joy! You have taken my domain, but please, I beg of you, do not take my gacha!" he wailed.

The room was silent.

I stared.

Isabelle stared.

Chloe looked like she was actively contemplating the most efficient way to turn him into a fine gray dust.

"Your... gacha?" I repeated, the word tasting utterly absurd on my tongue.

"The [Random Creation] menu!" Yori cried, his voice cracking with emotion.

"The thrill of the roll!

The glorious, golden flash of a rare summon!

The promise of a new, unique subordinate waiting just behind the curtain of chance! It is the only thing that gives my second life meaning!

I will design your traps! I will manage your defenses! I will do your demonic taxes!

But you must, my Lord, you must allow me to witness the gacha!"

I ran a hand over my face, a feeling of profound, cosmic bewilderment washing over me.

I had conquered a powerful, veteran Demon King, only to discover that his primary motivation was a crippling gambling addiction.

This was my life now.

"He is... passionate," Isabelle offered, her tone a perfect, flat desert of non-judgment.

"He is a statistical anomaly," Pixia squeaked from my shoulder. "My projections did not account for this level of irrational devotion to a randomized probability engine."

I looked down at the old man, who was now looking up at me with the desperate, hopeful eyes of a puppy that really, really wants you to throw the ball.

I, a gamer who had spent more money than I cared to admit on shiny, digital jpegs of anime women with swords, understood.

I understood on a deep, spiritual level that was frankly embarrassing.

"Fine," I sighed, the word heavy with resignation. "You can’t use it yourself. You’re not a Demon King anymore. But... I will make you a deal."

Yori’s eyes widened.

"Once a month," I declared, feeling like a parent setting a screen-time limit for their child, "I will perform one, single, 100-CP gacha roll. And you can watch. That’s it. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it."

A single, tear of pure, unadulterated joy rolled down his wrinkled cheek.

"Thank you, my Lord! Thank you! You are a most benevolent and understanding tyrant!"

He scrambled back to his feet, his dignity somehow intact.

With the gacha crisis averted, I turned my attention to the real reason for this debriefing. The final, lingering question.

I looked at the old man, my expression turning serious, the earlier absurdity forgotten.

"Now, Yori," I said, my voice low and cold. "The debriefing is not over. There is one more thing I need to know."

I leaned forward, my red eyes locking onto his.

"Tell me everything you know about a little website called {Laplace}."

Yori froze.

The joyful, relieved expression on his face vanished, replaced by a sudden, stark terror.

His teacup, which one of his imp butlers had just handed him, slipped from his trembling fingers and shattered on the crystal floor.

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Yori’s reaction was more informative than a thousand-page intelligence briefing.

The name {Laplace} had hit him like a physical blow.

The color drained from his face, and the teacup he dropped shattered on the crystal floor with a sound that seemed to echo the sudden, sharp tension in the room.

"You... you know of that place?" he whispered, his voice a dry, reedy sound, all traces of his earlier gacha-fueled mania gone.

"I know it exists," I replied, my voice a low, dangerous purr. "I know it’s a secret. And now, I know it scares the hell out of you. So, I’ll ask again. Tell me everything."

He swallowed hard, his eyes darting around the room as if he expected assassins to leap from the shadows. "It is a place of information, my Lord. A private network for Demon Kings. A place to share strategies, to trade subordinates, to... conspire."

"A secret club for evil bastards," I summarized. "I’m intrigued. How do I get in?"

"You need an invitation," Yori explained, his voice barely audible. "A coded message, hidden where only we would look. But to use it is a great risk. The administrator, the one who runs the site... they are a ghost. They see everything. They know everything. To join {Laplace} is to paint a target on your back."

"My back is already a masterpiece of painted targets," I said with a dismissive wave. "Pixia, we’re going online."

Thus began the most ridiculous and paranoid IT setup in history.

Pixia, in a flurry of academic fervor, procured an untraceable, disposable smartphone from the human world by having a goblin trade a shiny rock for it with a very confused university student.

She then established what she called a "quadruple-encrypted, multi-dimensional proxy tunnel" through the defunct servers of a long-forgotten pizza delivery app.

"Our digital footprint will be functionally nonexistent, my Lord," she explained proudly. "To trace this signal, one would need to be a god-tier entity with a deep understanding of both arcane network theory and the optimal toppings for a Meat Lover’s special."

"Excellent. Now for the email address," I said. "Kevin!"

My chuunibyou intern snapped to attention, his eyes gleaming with purpose. "Yes, my Lord! I have prepared the perfect alias! A name that speaks of cosmic sorrow and the inevitable darkness that consumes all light! It is... VoidDragonSorrow666!"

I looked at him. He was so proud. So earnest.

"It’s perfect," I said, my voice a flat, deadpan sea of disappointment. "Pixia, register the account [email protected]."

With a pained little sigh, she did. We sent our cryptic, one-word reply—’Friend’—and waited.

The response came an hour later. It was a single, underlined URL.

"A private server," I breathed, the thrill of discovery washing over me. "These guys are professionals."

With a few final keystrokes, Pixia bypassed the formidable login screen.

The website loaded.