Alfred remained kneeling as Ethan settled comfortably back into the throne, the Guild Hall once again breathing in time with its master.
After a moment, the butler spoke.
"All Marshals have remained on constant standby since your disappearance, my lord."
Ethan raised an eyebrow.
"Standby?" he echoed. Then he snorted. "Fifteen years of AFK guarding? That's brutal. I'd have gone insane."
Alfred's expression did not change.
"They did not find it burdensome."
"That's because they're NPCs," Ethan said lightly. "Or… whatever passes for NPCs in this update."
Alfred folded his hands neatly in front of him. "Would you like to summon them?"
Ethan waved a hand without looking.
"Sure. Let's do a roll call."
The words had barely left his mouth when the Guild Hall responded.
The light dimmed—not suddenly, but deliberately, like a theater preparing for a performance too large for the stage. The ceiling seemed to stretch upward, shadows deepening between the pillars as space itself adjusted, making room.
The air thickened.
Ethan felt it immediately. Not pressure—density. As if reality had decided to reinforce itself.
"…Wow," he muttered. "Still no loading screen."
The first presence arrived without spectacle.
Lilith appeared directly before the throne.
One moment, the space was empty.
The next, she was there.
No portal. No ripple.
She simply existed.
She knelt on one knee, head bowed, hands resting lightly atop her thigh. Her long crimson hair spilled like liquid silk over pale skin, her figure wrapped in dark regalia that seemed less like clothing and more like an extension of her will.
The Guild Hall grew quieter.
Not because she demanded it.
Because everything else knew better.
Ethan leaned forward slightly, eyes lighting up.
"Oh damn," he said appreciatively. "Your model got an upgrade. Even sharper than I remember."
Lilith did not move.
Only when he continued to look at her did she lift her head, slowly, deliberately.
Her eyes met his.
They were not glowing. Not animated. Not coded.
They were alive.
Filled with something colder than obedience and warmer than worship.
Devotion.
"My lord," she said softly.
The sound of her voice carried weight—not magical, not mechanical. Existential. Like a promise carved into bone.
Ethan grinned.
"Good to see you didn't bug out."
Lilith said nothing more. She remained kneeling, presence heavy enough that the shadows around her refused to move.
Then the hall shifted again.
A faint rattling sound echoed through the chamber—not loud, but pervasive. Tiny clicks and taps, like rain striking stone.
Bone fragments drifted in from the air itself.
They spun lazily, assembling with meticulous precision. Vertebrae aligned. Limbs locked. A ribcage sealed around an invisible core.
Grave stood complete.
An Undead King forged from silence and inevitability, cloaked in tattered remnants of ceremonial armor. Empty eye sockets stared forward, unblinking. He did not kneel.
He simply stood.
A mausoleum given form.
Ethan tilted his head. "You always did like dramatic entrances."
Grave did not respond.
The temperature dropped.
Not sharply.
Uniformly.
Breath fogged. Frost crept across the edges of pillars, crystalline patterns spreading like thought made visible.
The air itself crystallized, shards of ice forming and dissolving in slow motion.
Frost manifested.
A towering figure of ice and ancient strength, skin like carved glacier, eyes calm and distant. The cold stabilized the moment he fully appeared, restrained by something unseen.
"Still chilly," Ethan said. "Never change."
A soft chuckle came from behind him.
"Well, this is nostalgic."
Shade stepped out of Ethan's shadow.
Not from a corner.
Not from darkness on the wall.
From his shadow.
The Dark Elf straightened, brushing imaginary dust from his cloak, a crooked smile on his face.
"Miss me, boss?"
Ethan laughed. "You're late."
"Fashionably," Shade replied. "Time's weird when you're waiting."
The floor trembled.
A low, controlled impact shook the hall as something massive asserted its presence. Muscles like coiled mountains. Claws that bit into stone without effort.
Rex arrived with restraint that looked unnatural for him.
The Ancient Beast King stood hunched slightly, deliberately lowering himself to avoid damaging the structure. His golden eyes flicked to Ethan, then immediately away, posture rigid with obedience.
Ethan whistled. "Still huge."
Rex rumbled softly, tail barely moving.
The air warped.
Not visually.
Conceptually.
Edges blurred. Depth twisted. The space behind the Marshals felt suddenly wrong, as if reality had miscalculated itself.
Void appeared.
Tall. Slender. Featureless in places where features should exist. His presence made Ethan's eyes ache if he looked too directly.
Abyssal calm.
Contained madness.
Void inclined his head.
"My lord."
Ethan suppressed a shiver and smiled anyway. "You always make things uncomfortable."
"That is my nature," Void replied serenely.
A giggle echoed.
Soft.
Cheerful.
Wrong.
Diseased motes drifted through the air, dissolving harmlessly before they could reach the throne. Mire stepped into view, twirling once like a child arriving late to a party.
"Did I miss anything?" she asked brightly.
"Only fifteen years," Ethan said.
"Oh," Mire replied. "That explains the boredom."
Thunder cracked.
Lightning spiraled inward, compressing violently before snapping into a humanoid form. Electricity danced along contained channels, snapping and hissing without escape.
Bolt stood rigid, fists clenched, eyes blazing with restrained aggression.
"Orders?" he demanded immediately.
"Relax," Ethan said. "We're just checking attendance."
Finally—
No sound.
No sensation.
No warning.
Forge was simply there.
Standing behind Ethan's throne.
Silent.
Immovable.
A living suit of armor forged from impossible alloys, his presence so steady it anchored the room itself. He had positioned himself automatically, perfectly, as if he had never left.
Ethan exhaled slowly.
Only now did he realize how much the hall was straining.
Not breaking.
Bracing.
Each Marshal was a catastrophe held in check by will alone. Together, they bent space, pressure building like tectonic plates grinding against each other.
Alfred rose smoothly to his feet and stepped forward, unfazed.
"All Marshals are present," he said calmly. "And have been awaiting your orders."
Ethan leaned back, grinning like a man reviewing a perfectly maintained empire.
"Alright," he said lightly. "Let's see what kind of state the guild's really in."