The air in the Throne Room was thick with anticipation. Ragnar sat on his throne, tapping a long, pale finger on the armrest, the rhythmic sound echoing in the cavernous space.
Pixia floated anxiously near his shoulder, reviewing data on a glowing screen only she could see. Smashy the Orc stood guard by the entrance, his massive form as still and silent as a mountain. Even Gary the kobold seemed to sense the tension, forgoing his usual butt-sniffing activities to sit quietly at the foot of the throne, his tail giving only a slight, nervous twitch.
They were waiting.
A full day had passed since Ragnar had sent the recall order. Chloe and her squad had been deep in enemy territory, on the far side of the city. Now, they were on their way home.
Suddenly, the air at the entrance to the Throne Room shimmered. A faint hum of power grew, and a swirling portal of black and purple energy opened. From it, five figures stepped forth.
The transformation was astounding. They had left as a squad of elite, but recognizable, monsters. They returned as something more.
At the front was Chloe, her grace and deadliness somehow enhanced. Her dark leather armor was now tinged with shimmering, ethereal shadows. She was no longer just a Dark Elf; she was a Dark High Elf, a creature of legend. Her presence was so commanding that even Smashy the Orc took an involuntary step back.
Behind her stood the others. The three Goblin Archers were taller, leaner. Their crude shortbows had been replaced with long, wicked-looking bows carved from a dark, gnarled wood. Their eyes, once beady and chaotic, now held a cold, predatory focus. They were Goblin Snipers now, their very posture screaming of lethal patience.
And then there was Grunt. The kobold captain was no longer just a tough, dog-faced humanoid. He was bigger, his muscles coiled like thick ropes under his mangy fur. Scars crisscrossed his snout, and his eyes held a new, sharp intelligence. In his hand, he no longer carried a simple club, but a massive, iron-shod maul that looked like it could pulverize stone. A low growl rumbled in his chest, and as he stepped into the room, the ground gave a faint, almost imperceptible tremble. He was a Kobold Warlord.
"Report," Ragnar said, his voice calm, masking the surge of pride and power he felt at the sight of his evolved warriors.
Chloe stepped forward and knelt. "My Lord, the expedition was a success. We have mapped the territories of the fifty-five known Demon Kings in the Aethelburg region. We have confirmed their primary race types and estimated their operational strength." She placed a heavy, rolled-up leather map on the floor.
"Excellent work, Chloe," Ragnar said. He unrolled the map on the large stone table. It was a detailed drawing of the city and its surrounding areas, with different sectors colored and marked with crude symbols.
"Pixia," he commanded. "Analyze."
The tiny pixie zoomed over to the map, her eyes glowing with a faint, green light as she processed the raw data from Chloe's report. "Fascinating," she squeaked, pointing a tiny finger at different sections. "My Lord, based on Miss Chloe's observations, we can categorize the local Demon Kings into three primary archetypes."
She pointed to a cluster of territories on the industrial west side. "First, we have the 'Brutes'. These are Demon Kings who, like you, my Lord, focus on powerful, combat-oriented subordinates. Orcs, Ogres, Beast-men. Their strategy is simple: overwhelming force. Their leaders are likely strong fighters themselves. They are dangerous, but predictable."
Her finger moved to a scattered group of domains in the city center. "Second, the 'Warlocks'. These are magic-focused. They favor demons, elementals, and other magically-inclined creatures. Their domains are likely filled with magical traps and illusions. They are fragile, but their offensive power could be immense."
Finally, she indicated a few isolated domains, including one in a massive, abandoned shopping mall. "And third, the 'Crafters'. These are the rarest. They create Golems, Living Armors, and other artificial life. Their armies are tough and tireless, but expensive to build. Rumor has it there is even a Dwarf Demon King in the northern mountains, though we have not confirmed it."
Ragnar listened intently, absorbing every word. This was the intelligence he needed. A clear picture of the battlefield.
"The Brutes are a problem," he mused, looking at the map. "They are consolidating power, absorbing the weaker Demon Kings around them. Look here," he pointed to a large, red-splotched area. "The Tyrant of the Shopping Mall. He's already taken over three of his neighbors. If we let him grow, he'll become a major threat."
"I agree, my Lord," Chloe said, her voice sharp. "A preemptive strike against a rising power would be the most effective long-term strategy. Weaken them before they can challenge us."
"A sound military doctrine," Pixia added, "but our immediate concern remains the human faction. The Liberators are a confirmed, Grade-S threat. Diverting our forces for an offensive campaign now would leave us vulnerable."
Ragnar stood over the map, the weight of command settling on his shoulders. He had his elite squad, his flying Google, and an army of loyal morons. He looked from the looming threat of Isabelle Thorne's crusade to the cluster of rival Demon Kings who were growing stronger by the day. He was caught between a hammer and an anvil.
He had thought that becoming a Demon King would be a simple matter of survival. But now, looking at the map of his city, his world, he saw the truth. Survival wasn't enough. In this game, if you weren't growing, you were dying. If you weren't attacking, you were waiting to be attacked.
"Pixia is right," he said finally, his voice low and cold. "The Liberators are our first priority. We will turn this dungeon into a fortress so deadly that even their Sword Saint will break her blade against its walls."
He looked at Chloe, his eyes burning with a new, dark fire.
"But the moment they are dealt with," he continued, his voice dropping to a predatory whisper, "we are going on the hunt. The time for consolidation is over. This is a battle royale, and I intend to be the last one standing. We will start with the Tyrant of the Shopping Mall. We will take his territory, his resources, and his army. We will not be the fish waiting to be swallowed.
We will be the shark!."