CHAPTER 49: THE GRAND CHESSBOARD

He summoned Chloe.

His first Bloodkin appeared from the shadows, a graceful and deadly vision in dark leather and silver hair.

She knelt, her amethyst eyes fixed on him with unwavering loyalty.

"Chloe," Ragnar began, his tone shifting to that of a spymaster briefing his top agent.

"I have a new mission for you and your team. A long-range expedition."

He pointed to the vast, gray, unexplored areas on the map surrounding their sectors.

"Isabelle’s team will keep Gorgon busy.

Your job is to be my eyes and ears. I want you to take your Goblin Snipers and map these surrounding territories.

I want to know every Demon King’s location, their primary race type, their Domain’s structure, and your best estimate of their strength.

I want a complete intelligence report on the entire Aethelburg region."

Chloe’s eyes gleamed with understanding. This was a mission suited to her talents: speed, stealth, and lethal precision. "It will be done, my Lord."

"Your primary objective is reconnaissance,"

Ragnar continued, holding up a finger.

"Avoid direct conflict. We can’t afford a war on two fronts.

However..." A wicked smile touched his lips. "I am authorizing tactical flexibility."

Chloe tilted her head, intrigued.

"If you encounter a particularly weak, isolated, or frankly stupid-looking target,"

Ragnar elaborated, "and you are confident you can eliminate them without significant risk or witnesses, you have my permission to... ’clean up’ the map a little.

Consider it target practice. But your survival is paramount. Do not engage a superior force.

Am I clear?"

"Perfectly, my Lord," Chloe said, a dangerous hint of a smile on her own lips.

The order was not just to scout, but to prune the weak. It was a mission she would relish.

"Good," Ragnar said.

"Pixia will provide you with the necessary cartography supplies. I want you to be a ghost. A whisper.

By the time the other Demon Kings in this city even realize I exist, I want to have a complete dossier on every single one of them."

He watched as Chloe gathered her team.

The three Goblin Snipers were no longer the simple, rock-throwing menaces he’d started with.

They were taller, leaner, their eyes holding a cold, predatory focus. They moved with a silent discipline that was utterly alien to the rest of their chaotic race. They were a proper special operations unit.

With a final, silent nod to Ragnar, Chloe and her snipers melted into the shadows of a transfer array, gone to bring back the secrets of his future conquests.

Ragnar turned back to his map, a feeling of deep satisfaction settling in his cold, vampiric chest.

He wasn’t just a dungeon defender anymore. He wasn’t even just a general. He was a spymaster.

A king. And he was moving his pieces across a board far larger than any of his rivals could yet imagine.

The information Chloe brought back would be the foundation upon which he would build his empire.

Gary the kobold, who had been quietly sleeping at the foot of the throne, woke up, trotted over to the map table, and sneezed directly onto the representation of Gorgon’s mall.

"Thanks, Gary," Ragnar sighed. "That’s helpful."

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The Wrecking Crew’s first mission had been a failure.

He had lost two Bloodkin, Stoney and Clobber, and had gained nothing but a fresh dose of humility.

"We can’t just throw ourselves at his front door again,"

Ragnar declared to the mostly empty Throne Room.

"That’s like trying to knock down a brick wall by headbutting it repeatedly.

Effective for inducing concussions, terrible for winning wars."

Pixia, his tiny pixie advisor, zipped over to the map, her expression one of serious academic focus.

"My Lord, my analysis of the ’Shopping Mall Incident’ is complete.

Gorgon’s strategy is a classic Creation-build Zerg Rush.

He overwhelms with high-cost, high-power units. It is a simple but dominant meta in this early stage of the world’s restructuring."

"The meta," Ragnar mused, the word tasting familiar and bitter.

"So the most popular strategy is to just make big, dumb things and throw them at the enemy until the enemy falls over.

How depressingly simple." He started to pace, his new vampiric grace making the movement look more like a caged panther than the anxious shuffle it used to be.

"Gorgon is a hammer. You don’t fight a hammer with a smaller hammer.

You fight it with a scalpel. Or a really big, well-placed mousetrap."

He stopped, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his pale face.

"Or, you get another, bigger hammer to smash it for you."

"Another Demon King, my Lord?" Pixia asked, her tiny wings buzzing.

"No, even better," Ragnar purred. "The so-called heroes."

He pointed a long, slender finger at another part of the map, a glittering spire icon two sectors away from Gorgon’s mall.

"That’s Queen Alyssa’s Crystal Spire, right?

"Correct, my Lord," Pixia confirmed.

"A powerful magic-user, specializing in illusion and elemental subordinates. Her threat level is estimated to be A-Rank."

"Perfect," Ragnar said.

"She’s powerful, she’s vain, and she’s right next door.

She’s so busy polishing her evil throne that she probably hasn’t noticed me setting up shop here.

We’re going to change that. We’re going to play the game on a grander scale. This isn’t just a battle anymore,

Pixia. It’s a three-way war. And the other two players just don’t know it yet."

He laid out his plan, his voice low and full of a manic, strategic glee.

"Isabelle and her Wrecking Crew will continue the harassment campaign against Gorgon. Small, lightning raids.

They will be a constant, infuriating thorn in his side, bleeding his resources and his patience.

But that’s just one side of the board."

He looked at Pixia, his red eyes gleaming.

"You, my dear, are getting a field command."

Pixia’s glasses nearly vibrated off her face.

"Me, my Lord? But my combat aptitude is... well, it’s statistically insignificant!"

"You’re not going there to fight," Ragnar explained.

"You’re going there to be annoying.

I’m giving you an army. A hundred of our finest, most idiotic goblins.

Your mission is simple: march them to the border of Queen Alyssa’s territory, make a huge mess, throw rocks at her crystal walls, maybe teach them a few off-key songs, and then run away the second her forces appear."

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"We’re going to make so much noise that the Hero Guild can’t ignore it. The heroes are looking for a win after the Liberators got... ’disbanded’.

They’ll see a powerful but flashy Demon Queen suddenly causing trouble, and they’ll jump at the chance to attack her.

They’ll be the hammer. They’ll tie up Elara’s forces, preventing her from getting any bright ideas about expanding into Gorgon’s territory while he’s busy with us. It’s perfect.

I’ll be using my enemies to fight my other enemies."

Pixia stared at him, her tiny mind processing the sheer, devious audacity of the plan.

"My Lord... that is... strategically brilliant. You are playing them all like pieces on a chessboard."

"Exactly," Ragnar said, puffing out his chest a little.

He then spent the next hour using what little CP he’d scraped together to create a fresh horde of goblins.

He assembled them in the main hall. It was a chittering, stinking, chaotic mob of green-skinned morons.

Gary the kobold, seeing the commotion, tried to join the formation, but Ragnar gently steered him away.

"Not this time, buddy. This is a special-ops mission for the truly expendable."

He then formally gave command of the ’Annoyance Brigade’ to Pixia. She floated before the goblin horde, looking like a scared firefly about to be swarmed.

"Goblins!" she squeaked, trying to sound commanding.

"Our Lord has given us a most glorious purpose!

We... we are going to be very loud and irritating in that direction!" She pointed a trembling finger towards the exit.

A goblin in the front row picked its nose, examined its findings with great interest, and then ate it. Another tried to start a fight with its own foot.

Ragnar sighed. "This is going to be a long day."

He turned to Isabelle and her team. "You have your orders. Bleed Gorgon dry. Don’t engage him directly. Make him angry. Make him stupid.

I want him so frustrated that by the time we’re ready for the final push, he’ll charge out of his mall swinging at shadows."

Isabelle nodded, her face a mask of cold resolve.

"It will be done, my Lord."

As the two teams departed, one is a disciplined squad of elite killers, the other a tiny pixie leading a shambling mob of morons on a mission of pure chaos.

Ragnar leaned back on his throne. A feeling of profound satisfaction washed over him.

He was no longer just a player, reacting to threats. He was the game master, moving all the pieces on the board.

And the game was about to get very, very interesting.