Ash stood in the center of the blood-soaked sand, scrap sword resting lazily against his shoulder, waiting.
Five minutes dragged by in heavy, suffocating silence.
Not a cough, not a whisper, not even the wind dared stir the coliseum.
Darius and Lysara stood motionless, like statues carved from fear, their eyes unfocused. Ash tilted his borrowed head, genuinely curious, then glanced at his companions.
"Thalion, what's with everyone?" he asked in Alaric's rough drawl, as casually as if he'd just finished a light spar instead of turning ninety-eight lives into stains on the arena floor in four seconds.
Thalion blinked slowly, like a man waking from a nightmare he hadn't known he was in.
"Your Majesty…" His voice was faint and hoarse. "Perhaps the display was… a bit excessive."
"Eh?" Ash's gaze swept over the red-stained mud, the scattered limbs, the perfect rings of corpses, and he felt nothing.
'Hmm… now that I think about it, I didn't feel a thing when I wiped out the old royal family either…'
The thought settled in his chest like cold iron.
'I guess I'm truly not just human anymore… in more ways than I first realized.' After a moment's consideration, he shrugged, the realization already forgotten.
High above, the announcer finally found his voice, though it cracked like thin ice.
With a snap of trembling fingers, a massive illusory map unfolded over the arena, its borders shifting in real time as ninety percent of Thalor bled crimson and merged into Velora's white-and-red.
Velora's territory, once 100,000 km, now stretched to an astounding 262,000 km. In just four seconds, Ash had expanded their domain by over 100,000 km. Absolutely unreal.
"The highlighted territories are now legally Velora's by ancient wager law. Treasury assets have been transferred."
Then a ring arced through the air. Ash caught it one-handed, he sent a thread of mana inside, and his eyes glittered at the mountains of mana stones waiting within.
He looked up at King Thalor, who was as pale as a corpse behind the barrier, then flashed Alaric's drunken grin.
"Nice doing business with you."
After those words, he turned and walked away, Thalion and Seris trailing behind like shadows until the tunnel swallowed them.
Seris was the first to speak, her voice stripped of its usual edge.
"So… what now?"
Ash stretched, rolling his shoulders with a smile. "Expansion, my dear General. Time to grow big and strong."
He looked to Thalion. "Which kingdoms were Velora's favorite headaches before I arrived?"
Thalion's reply was steady, almost as if he'd been waiting centuries to let it out.
"Two stand out… To the northeast: Lyrion—ice-blooded royals who've raided our northern passes every winter for four centuries."
The air in the tunnel seemed to grow colder.
"To the south, beyond the Ashfall Plains, lies Dravenholt—ruled by the Iron Saint King and seven paladins, their crimson-cross banners always flying. For three centuries they've set our border cities ablaze on holy days, punishing us for giving refuge to the survivors of the Red Monastery purge."
Seris's gauntlet gave a sharp creak.
Leather groaned like old wood in frost. Her jaw locked; the pulse at her temple throbbed visibly. Three centuries of hate, packed into one clenched fist she no longer tried to hide.
Ash caught every flicker, eyes keen behind Alaric's mask, but stayed silent.
Thalion's voice softened. "They've been our neighbors—and our nightmares—long before we ever drew breath in this age."
Ash whistled lazily, hands laced behind his head.
"Noted. First stop: Dravenholt."
Seris faltered, just half a step.
"What?!"
"Going now? That's suicide! Dravenholt is nearly double our size even with Thalor added! Not just that, their king is S-rank, their seven paladins are late A-rank at minimum—"
Ash kept walking, whistling louder, and let the Perfect Disguise melt away mid-stride.
Midnight hair spilled down his back mixed with white streaks, devilish features returned, his crimson-and-white cloak adjusted, settling over leaner, more compact shoulders.
He looked relaxed, almost bored.
Seris's warnings bounced off him like rain on steel.
'Kill them all and raise them as subjects?' he wondered idly.
'Or just walk in, take the crown, and be home for dinner? Decisions, decisions…'
Behind him, Seris stared at his back and realized, with a chill that had nothing to do with Lyrion's ice, that the monster she now followed wasn't planning a war.
He was planning a just short pitstop ...