A new notification arrived.
And with it—a wave of collective realization.
This wasn't just a dungeon.
This was **homebuilding**.
The next phase of the so-called "tutorial" had begun.
---
Congratulations on breaking through!
**NEW GLOBAL OBJECTIVE: BUILD YOUR LEGACY**
- Construct a Scroll Hall [Unclaimed]
- Construct a Revival Arena [Name it!]
- Construct: Blacksmith / Alchemy Hall / Doctor Hall [Unclaimed]
Rewards
- Cultivation level
- contribution points ( to exchange for services and scrolls)
- Bonus rewards scale with contribution %
---
And that last line?
That's what got them.
**"Rewards scale based on contribution."**
You could hear the collective MMO instinct awakening.
Players scattered like ants kicked from their anthill—but this time with purpose.
"YOU get logs!"
"I'll scout for ore!"
"I'm grabbing the healer—SHE'S STILL PLAYING WITH NEEDLES."
"Bro, she's trying to suture a wooden training dummy."
"She said the dummy had **bad meridian alignment**, I'm crying."
"Where do I even find stone in a spirit realm!?"
"Why are we building a whole damn base? This is Alpha, right!?"
===
Alpha progress will carry over
Scroll hall : 3%
Revival Area : 2%
Blacksmith
===
Just on cueue the system answers.
Right on cue, the system replied—cold, robotic, and cruelly efficient.
No arguing with that.
"HEY! GIVE THE DEVS A BREAK!"
"YEAH DON'T LET 'EM DIE—THEY'RE TOO GOOD FOR THIS WORLD!"
"This is why I don't play early access games… now I have to be emotionally invested."
"Who's emotionally invested? I'm here for loot—"
"YOU NAMED YOUR TABLE JENNY."
"IT WAS A GOOD TABLE OKAY?!"
God help us.
We weren't just gamers anymore.
We were settlers.
The UI updated in real time as resources trickled in from every corner of the broken realm.
Wood. Stone. Spirit ore. Herbs. Monster cores—still warm from the last wave.
The UI updated in real time as resources trickled in from every corner of the broken realm.
Wood. Stone. Spirit ore. Herbs. Monster cores—still warm from the last wave.
AN: VOTE FOR THIS
Revival Arena [Pending Name Entry]
Suggestions so far:
— Second Chance Stadium
— Git Gud Grounds
— Respawnia
— Mom Said One More Life
— Don't Die Challenge Arena (You Failed)
— Wipe Insurance Hall
— Back to Queue Zone
Naturally, a few jokers were spamming names like it was a Twitch chat trying to rename a Pokémon.
Within minutes, the system locked the field and implemented a community vote.
Democracy in action. Terrifying.
Sovereign, of course, was already twelve steps ahead.
While the rest were arguing over whether tents needed walls, she was drawing blueprints in the dirt with her rapier's tip.
"Sector A will house the Blacksmith. Sector B: Medical. C: Supply Depot. And **no**, we are **not** putting the toilet next to the alchemy lab."
Her tone didn't invite feedback.
Maria, ever the stoic maid-knight, nodded and barked orders.
By the time others had started dragging logs, she'd already roped them into a three-tiered logistics system.
"Wait... why does she have **twelve** people following her?"
"Bro… she's running this like a Korean guild."
"She's **min-maxing infrastructure.** We're doomed."
"She assigned a 'lunch rotation captain.' This is a cult now."
"Let me solo it" had gone off the grid again—last seen hand-digging a silver vein three biomes away using a sharpened ladle.
No one questioned it.
Meanwhile, I stood there, Aurex's shadow behind mine like a silent sentinel.
The wind carried the sound of hammering, bickering, laughter, and ambition.
It was messy.
It was chaotic.
But it was alive.
And as much as I hated to admit it—
I enjoyed this.
*cough cough*
I looked back.
My "followers"—or whatever they were calling themselves now—were staring at me expectantly.
Eyes gleaming. Waiting. Hungry for a command.
Just like my old teammates.
I'm not particularly good at playing base-building games.
"Anyone here actually played any base-building games?"
My voice rang clear—measured, casual, but with that weight people instinctively listen to.
I didn't stutter. I couldn't.
Not after a thousand tournament interviews, late-night streams, post-loss apologies, and hype trailers voiced over my gameplay.
A girl raised her hand, glasses slightly askew, already scribbling layout options on a slate.
"World of Solarcraft, Indie 1700, Heatpunk... take your pick."
It's that girl again—the one who took notes on **everything**.
Even now, she was mapping resource density versus projected foot traffic like this was a thesis defense.
Another guy leaned in, grinning with full gamer energy.
"I was a top 100 Clan Leader in Clash of Guilds! Built my whole city without premium currency!"
Somehow, that last bit made him more qualified in my eyes.
I gave them both a nod.
"...Okay. You two. You're in charge of macro."
Their eyes lit up—one with academic fervor, the other with raid boss bloodlust.
And no, please, for the love of all that's holy, I don't want a skull throne.
"Maou-sama, we can carve one out of obsidian! It'll look SO imposing—"
"No. I don't need to look imposing all the time. I'm just trying to manage a construction site, not wage war against heaven."
Then came another suggestion—someone proposing a **giant bulletin board** outside the castle to display kill records, faction progress, public shaming boards—
"Wait—castle?"
Apparently, there was already a team sketching blueprints for a **floating fortress** with hellfire turrets and an inner sanctum dubbed 'The Abyssal Throne Room.'
"Can't my sect just be... normal? Like... a nice house with a garden and a functional kitchen? I like kitchens."
The way they looked at me, you'd think I just kicked a puppy while renouncing evil.
Within five minutes, someone had already posted a roleplay event schedule. Another opened an in-character tavern. There was even a tea ceremony mini-game being coded on the fly.
And somehow—**somehow**—the **Heavenly Demon Sect** was now trending as the most "immersive RP-heavy haven for introverts and dark academia enjoyers."
Not what I meant.
Not what I wanted.
And no—please, for the love of broken meta builds and every balance patch that's ever hit me—don't say the damn line.
"Sasuga, Maou-sama…"
And thus,
without bloodshed,
without conquest,
**the Demon King earned loyalty through the way of the ladle.**