"The pretty boy wears the jewelry. But the terms are absolute. You break your promise to my people, he dies. Horribly."

"I have no intention of breaking it," I said smoothly.

"Now, let's finalize the details."

I spent the next ten minutes in a grueling, back-and-forth negotiation, hammering out the exact wording of the pledge.

I questioned every comma, every clause, ensuring there were no loopholes, no hidden traps.

Finally, the collar was placed around Kevin's neck.

He looked like he had just won the lottery.

"Before we finalize this," I said, holding up a hand.

"There is one last thing."

I looked at Akira, a slow, predatory smile on my face.

"You have a significant amount of Creation Points remaining, do you not?" I purred.

"It would be a shame for them to go to waste when your domain is absorbed."

Her eyes widened as she realized what I was about to do.

"Use them," I commanded.

"Perform one last Subordinate Creation. A Dwarf Lord. The best you can make."

With a pained, furious expression, she did as I commanded.

A pillar of earthy, golden light erupted from the ground.

From it, a new dwarf emerged.

He was a mountain of muscle and beard, his eyes burning with a fiery, loyal light.

"Abel," Akira said, her voice heavy with resignation.

"This is your new master. Lord Ragnar Vhagar. Swear your fealty to him."

The newly created Dwarf Lord looked at me, then at his creator.

With a deep, rumbling sound, he knelt.

"I swear my axe to Lord Ragnar," he boomed.

"Excellent," I said.

"Now, Akira. The surrender."

She closed her eyes.

"I, Akira, the Anvil of Hakui, surrender my domain to the Tyrant of Aethelburg."

The familiar lurch, the wave of energy, washed over us.

The unification had begun.

I had won.

I had my forge.

I had my craftsmen.

I had a new, powerful subordinate.

And I had, through a combination of brilliant improvisation and sheer, dumb luck, managed to avoid a catastrophic, relationship-ending meltdown.

For now.

I looked at Isabelle.

I looked at Chloe.

The daggers were still in their eyes.

The cold war was far from over.

This was going to be a long, long ride home.

----------------------------------------

The journey back to the Crystal Spire was a masterclass in silent, homicidal tension.

My newly acquired Dwarf Queen, Akira, marched with a grim, stoic expression, her bright yellow safety helmet a ridiculous beacon of defiance in my river of darkness and steel.

My other commanders were a mess.

Sarah, my former Demon Queen, looked at Isabelle with an expression of pure, aristocratic contempt, as if Isabelle's very existence was a personal insult to the concept of good taste.

Isabelle, my newly ascended Blade Saint, ignored her completely, her focus absolute, which was somehow even more insulting.

Chloe, my beautiful, fanatical shadow, walked just behind me, her amethyst eyes fixed on the back of Isabelle's head with an intensity that could probably set fire to stone.

I was a king on a throne of simmering, psychosexual jealousy.

It was glorious.

When we finally returned, I called a meeting. The entire upper echelon of my growing empire assembled in the throne room.

"My Lord," Akira began, her voice a deep, rumbling sound that was entirely at odds with her childish appearance. "You have my domain. My people. My loyalty, such as it is."

She gestured to the massive, newly created Dwarf Lord, Abel, who stood behind her like a bearded, angry mountain.

"But our strength is not in numbers. It is in the forge."

She then explained the truth of her power. She couldn't just tap a button on a phone and pop out a magical sword. She had a skill. A real, honest-to-gods craft.

[Smithing].

It required a real forge. Real materials. Real, back-breaking, sweaty work.

"So you're telling me," I said, a slow, predatory smile spreading across my face, "that your creations are… better?"

"They are real, my Lord," she said, a flicker of pride in her golden eyes. "Forged, not downloaded."

I needed to see this.

I had one of my goblins fetch a standard, C-Rank Iron Sword from the armory, a blade I had churned out with my own Alchemy skill. It was functional. It was sharp. It was boring.

"Abel," Akira commanded. "Our finest work, if you please."

The Dwarf Lord nodded, and from a satchel at his side, he produced another Iron Sword.

It was a work of art.

The balance was perfect. The edge was so sharp it seemed to cut the very light around it. A faint, intricate pattern of runes was hammered into the fuller.

Isabelle took the alchemized sword first. She gave it a few practice swings.

"It is a weapon, my Lord," she said, her voice flat. "It will kill."

Then, I handed her the dwarven blade.

The moment her fingers closed around the hilt, her eyes widened.

BOOM!

She swung it. The wind did not just shriek; it howled, a vortex of tortured air swirling around the blade. The sword moved with a speed and a precision that the other, identical-looking weapon could not match.

CRACK!

She brought the dwarven blade down on the alchemized one. The impact was a sharp, explosive clang. A visible shockwave of force erupted from the point of contact, and my own, perfectly serviceable sword shattered into a dozen pieces.

"I see," I whispered, my mind reeling with the strategic implications.

Superior technology. A force multiplier beyond anything I had imagined.

"To do my best work," Akira said, her voice now holding a hint of a sales pitch, "I require a proper facility. A Great Forge. And a steady supply of high-grade materials. A mine."

"How much?" I asked, my voice a low growl of pure, ambitious greed.

Pixia zipped to my shoulder, her tiny holographic console already flashing with numbers.

"My Lord, the initial investment for a fully functional, multi-forge smithing quarter and a dedicated mining sector would be approximately… nine thousand Creation Points," she squeaked, her voice trembling with fiscal horror.

It was a king's ransom.

It was almost everything I had.

I looked at the shattered remains of my own, inferior creation on the floor.

I looked at the gleaming, perfect blade in Isabelle's hand.

"Do it," I commanded.

"But my Lord!" Pixia wailed. "The projections! Our five-year plan for global conquest will be set back by at least a decade!"

"Then we'll just have to conquer it in half the time," I retorted. "Build it. And spare no expense."

The construction was a glorious, beautiful, and catastrophically expensive symphony of demonic power. An entire sector of my domain was reshaped, the very stone flowing and reforming into a vast, cavernous smithing complex, complete with water wheels, ventilation shafts, and living quarters for my new, bearded employees. Another sector was transformed into a deep, winding mine, already showing veins of iron and a faint, promising glimmer of something more.