The Dark Castle did not possess a library. It possessed an Archive of Dominance—a chilling mausoleum where all conquered histories were preserved and bound in shadow-steel.
Kai, as Asmudeus, stood alone amid silent shelves that stretched up into the unseen ceiling of the tower. His infinite mana made the act of searching trivial. He didn't need to read; he reached out, and the knowledge flowed, torrent-like, into his consciousness.
The sheer volume of this reality… it's a tsunami, Kai thought, battling the urge to clutch his head. The student who struggled through late-night cram sessions was now force-feeding himself millennia of cosmic lore in seconds.
The first revelation was topographical. He was not on a mountain, as he had assumed in the first chapter. His entire domain, the Dark Castle, rested upon a colossal artificial landmass.
"Valhala, the Sovereign's Throne," the records echoed in his mind. "A floating fortress sustained by the subjugated soul of a dying star. Guarded by the Tyrant Emperor through centuries."
"A floating island," Asmudeus whispered, the realization almost making him lose his composure. He'd lived his life worried about rent; now he was managing a celestial dreadnought. I guess that explains the infinite mana—I'm sitting on a star.
He plunged deeper into the pre-historic records. The revelations kept coming, each one confirming that the game he knew was a pale, kindergarten imitation of Ingrasia.
The Black Winged Race.
They were not just a fantasy creature; they were Ancient Beings, predating the rise of humans and even the Great Dragons. Their title: The Sky Conquerors. The records explicitly stated that a single mature Black Winged individual was superior in raw power to the entirety of the legendary Dragon hierarchy combined.
The Dragons, who were the 'strongest beings in human history' according to the old lore, are just... mid-tier enemies here.
He absorbed the final, terrifying piece of lore concerning his current identity.
Asmudeus, the Tyrant Emperor, was the last descendant. The bloodline had been whittled down over epoch-spanning wars, making him not just a powerful individual, but an existential singularity. His existence was less "boss monster" and more "force of nature."
I am the last of a hyper-extinct race of cosmic overlords. No wonder my stats are capped at 5000 and my Mana is a literal infinite resource.
Then came the information that settled heavily in his stomach—the reason for the extinction war.
The Forces of Light.
They, too, were an Ancient Race, now reduced to remnants: the Angel Race. Equal to the Black Winged Race in age and power, they were the ultimate counter-balance, destined to destroy the Tyrant Emperor.
"Angel Race… gone extinct… remnants hidden in Elven lands."
This was the source of the "Heroic Lineage" mentioned by Kaizen. The Angels were laying the groundwork for a new champion. An enemy who was already targeting him, even before he had taken his first true step into this new world.
Kai closed the mental dossier, forcing the overwhelming data into organized, cold storage. He emerged from the Archives, the confidence of the Tyrant Emperor masking the student's anxiety.
The Eight Primordials—Azatoth, Evil Eye, Kaizen, Cocytus, Urpheus, Uranus, Euria, and Ureus—awaited him in the deployment chamber. They recognized the change in his aura; it was sharper, colder, utterly resolute.
Azatoth, the Dark Knight, knelt immediately. "My Lord, the readings from the border of Draconia are erratic. The Elves of the Elvania Kingdom are reporting unauthorized movement in the ancient forest, directly adjacent to the rumored location of the Light Remnants."
Asmudeus floated above them, his wings catching the dim light. "They are seeking to awaken the Hero," he stated, his voice resonating with ancient certainty.
Kaizen, the Demon Lord, laughed, a sound like grinding stone. "Then we crush the cradle, My Lord. A simple field exercise for the Eight."
"It is not an exercise," Asmudeus corrected sharply. "It is a statement. My previous silence allowed arrogance to grow. The Sky Conqueror has returned, and the borders of Ingrasia must be reminded of the true hierarchy."
He looked at Euria, the Succubus Queen. "Euria, your illusions will suppress any mass hysteria from the local populace, should we require information."
"Their minds are putty in my hands, My Lord," Euria purred, a predatory gleam in her golden eyes.
"Good. Cocytus, maintain your Frost Aura. Let the very air remind the Elves what cold means." Asmudeus's gaze settled on Azatoth. "We move as one. No vanguard. No scouts. We arrive, and they will know the Dark Epoch has begun."
Azatoth: "As you command, My Emperor."
The unified deployment of the Tyrant Emperor and the Eight Primordials was not transportation; it was a cosmic rupture. They descended from Valhala, piercing the cloud layer above the continent of Draconia.
Below them, the Elvania Kingdom—a pristine city woven into the massive, ancient trees of the Draconic border forest—was a picture of natural tranquility. Sunlight dappled through the green canopy onto streets of polished white stone.
Then, the sky cracked.
The sheer, concentrated aura of nine beings whose combined STRENGTH, all maxed out at 5000, accompanied by Infinite Mana, hit the valley like a shockwave.
The air instantly became impossible to breathe. The temperature plummeted from the presence of Cocytus, while a stifling, oppressive heat emanated from Uranus. The shadows deepened into absolute, hungry blackness around Kaizen.
The Elven citizens, known for their calm and ancient wisdom, did not scream. They didn't run. They simply froze.
As Asmudeus, cloaked in jet-black armor and impossibly tall, planted his foot—the literal embodiment of fear—on the white stone of the main square, he surveyed the scene. Elven warriors dropped their bows. Mothers clutched children, their eyes wide and white with pure, paralyzing terror. Every single Elf had gone into a state of catatonic panic.
A single elderly Elven elder, wearing robes of mossy green, was the only one still standing, though his hands shook uncontrollably. He stared up at the Black Winged Tyrant.
Elven Elder: "You… the legends are true. The Sky Conqueror… returns."
Asmudeus, the former pro gamer, looked down at the complete, utter psychological collapse of an entire kingdom caused by his mere presence. He felt a surge of terrifying, cold power, and the Tyrant Emperor persona took over entirely.
"I am Asmudeus," he announced, the sound heavy enough to crack the stone beneath his boot. "I am here for answers regarding the Angelic parasites sheltering in your forest. You will speak, or you will burn."
Inside, Kai was reeling. I haven't even used a skill. This isn't a battle; it's an execution of morale. He had adopted the role, but the impact of his power was far beyond his expectations. He had single-handedly broken a kingdom.
The Elven Elder simply sank to his knees, his ancient eyes welling up with tears of despair. "We... we have no choice."
The scope of Kai's new reality—as the Tyrant Emperor, the last of his kind, hunted by the last of the Angelic race, while managing cosmic-level generals—is now fully established.