"My name is Marcus, formerly just an otaku nerd in my past life and now a hardcore gamer turned transcendent—Velkharion, the World Enemy Emissary Slayer." I begin this new chapter with those words echoing in my mind, a reminder of how destiny has rewoven my fate. Today, as the new world arrives around us, I stand ready within my domain—a domain that has been everything I ever wished for and more.
The day had arrived at nearly 12:00 PM by server time, and every system in the Eternal Dominion hums with the refined magic of the Mana Convergence Core. I logged in one last time, my vision instantly sharpening as the floating castle—my Eternal Dominion—radiates its familiar yet transformed presence. The surroundings suggest that something is different when I scan the horizon: the constellations outside, became unrecognizable, and far below us spreads a vast, undulating ocean stretching for miles.
As I enter the throne room, the customary protocol is observed. A herald—the court announcer responsible for marking the arrival of loyal subjects—steps forward from the entry arch. His voice, cold and precise, rings out:
"Attention, Your Majesty. All generals have arrived."
In unison, one by one, the generals step into the throne room. Each is already in position, kneeling on one foot before the throne in impeccable form as is their design. Their responses are minimal, their words few—a loyal, mechanical obedience.
"Kroxar… Lord," intones the mighty figure from the Guard Division, his voice deep and resonant.
"Miryss… my lord," comes the soft, measured reply from the Scouting Division's lead operative, her tone as ethereal as her presence.
"Zelefar… my lord," the Rune Weaver's voice follows, cool and unadorned, his eyes lowered in obedience.
"Sythera… Lord," declares the Frostscale Tactician with a firm timbre, her draconic gaze fixed forward.
"Valnor… my lord," intones the Gilded Bloodkeeper, his manner dignified despite his storied heritage.
And finally, with characteristic quiet assurance, the ever-loyal Isaril—The Crimson Warden—kneels and says, "My lord."
I allow myself a brief pause as the Head Butler, appointed to announce the presence of each division leader in the throne room, methodically confirms their arrival, his clear, measured voice ensuring that protocol is observed to the last detail. Their introductions are not laden with dialogue or spark—they are, instead, ritualistic affirmations of loyalty, programmed responses honed by years of service to the Dominion.
"Very good," I murmur in response as I rise from the Frostfire Throne. I then fix my attention on the solitary voice I had summoned earlier. "Isaril," I command in a deep, resonant tone—commanding and excited all at once—as the energy of the new world courses through my veins. "Messenger, come forth and report the scouting findings."
There is a measured pause, and soon after, a designated scouting officer—one whose response is limited to a brief and formal recitation—steps forward from a discreet communication console situated in the rear of the throne room. The officer's voice is clipped yet clear, as though reciting lines from an approved script:
"My lord, the latest report from the Observation Tower is in. It appears that our Eternal Dominion has been transported to a different locale. The star formations beyond our windows exhibit patterns that are not similar to what we have known, the differences are unmistakable. Below the floating castle, I report, there is an expansive ocean, stretching unbroken for miles and miles. No land mass is currently visible in the immediate vicinity, though faint outlines might yet form on the horizon."
I listen intently, my mind processing the briefing. "Hmm…" I murmur, the sound low and thoughtful. "Then perhaps we have been sent to a foreign world."
Standing, I grasp the hilt of Crimson Fang, feeling the warmth and pulsation of its enchanted energy echo within me. With the weight of my title—a testament to battles fought and the empires forged—I rest my hands on the armrests of my throne and declare, "The pressing matter now is to gather more intelligence on our current predicament. Dispatch the Scouting Division immediately to search for any signs of land. Every inch of our floating territory's perimeter must be guarded at maximum alert. I want reports on all anomalies; nothing is to be left unobserved."
My voice carries over the stillness of the throne room as each division's leader hears my command. Though their responses are limited to the predetermined brief acknowledgments they have been programmed to give, I know that every general is already mobilizing their subordinates. Kroxar's deep rumble of assent vibrates through the room. Sythera nods imperceptibly. Zelefar's eyes blink calmly—a silent confirmation of underlying calculation—and even Miryss gives a subtle, graceful bow. Valnor remains stoic, his mind already accounting for the adjustments in treasury security, while Isaril's expression remains as serene as ever, trust and loyalty written in every measured line of her face.
Then, I call out, "Isaril. Come with me to the Council Chamber."
Without hesitation, the Crimson Warden rises gracefully, her movements precise and dignified. As she follows me through the ornate passageways of the Dominion—passageways meant for a king's council rather than chaotic battlefields—we move toward the secluded office reserved for matters of state. The chamber is reminiscent of a royal study: dark, polished wood surfaces, intricately woven tapestries telling the history of our conquests, and maps rendered in arcane ink that detail the realms of our once-familiar game world. Yet, now they serve as a backdrop to the unfolding new chapter.
Once inside, I take a seat behind a grand desk, my eyes meeting Isaril's steady gaze. "What is your perspective on this situation, Isaril? How do you think our comrades—our generals—are faring in this transition?" I ask, my tone introspective even as my mind races through tactical possibilities.
She nods imperceptibly, her voice measured and serene: "My lord, my assessment remains unchanged. Our loyalty is unwavering, and we stand ready to serve you as always. The Dominion, now in this foreign expanse, will continue to function as a bastion of strength under your leadership. The generals and their divisions have been alerted and are in the process of securing their perimeters. Everything will proceed according to your command."
I allow myself a moment's contemplation, the quiet tap of my thoughts harmonizing with the ambient mana that flows ceaselessly within these halls. "Then let us not delay further. Our next steps must be taken with both caution and boldness. I want continuous updates from the scouting teams—constant vigilance over every inch of our territory." I lean forward, my eyes flashing with a measured intensity. "Inform Kroxar to bolster the defenses along the border. Ask Zelefar to analyze any arcane anomalies that we might detect, and have Sythera reconfigure our tactical alignments in case we need to mobilize at a moment's notice. Valnor must ensure that our treasury remains impenetrable; every resource we possess may be called upon in the days to come."
Isaril listens without interruption. My words carry a weight that reverberates through the room—a proclamation of resolve, of adaptation, of inevitable transformation. "Yes, my lord," she intones in a quiet yet resolute cadence. "It shall be done."
I rise from my seat, the commanding presence of Velkharion filling the chamber. "Then, let us move forward as one. We embrace this new world with eyes wide open. Our destiny lies not in the past, but in the future we create from this moment on."
As I step back into the grand throne room, the generals have reconvened. One by one, they rise and kneel once more at my command, each a silent testament to our unwavering order. The Head Butler, ever dutiful, reaffirms our readiness with his customary formal introduction as each general stands aligned in perfect formation. Their collective presence is less an exchange of pleasantries and more a solemn acknowledgment—a ritual reaffirmation that our dominion will face the unknown united.
I let the silence settle for a heartbeat before my voice, steady and authoritative, cuts through the stillness: "Perfect. Now, let us begin."
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