CHAPTER 148: THE KING’S DECREE

The purple beacon pulsed in the gray sky, a silent, arrogant declaration. Nox stood in the center of the now-quiet plaza, the weight of over a hundred Flags a tangible presence on his back. The remaining players, a scattered collection of wounded and terrified survivors, just stared at him. Their hunger for the Flags was still there, but it was now overshadowed by a primal, instinctual fear.

Elisa walked over, her warhammer resting on her shoulder, her face split by a wide, bloodthirsty grin. "Well, that was a hell of a party. What’s next on the agenda, boss?"

Mela appeared on a nearby rooftop, her needles a silent, silver halo around her. She just nodded at Nox, a new, undeniable respect in her eyes.

Serian stood beside him, her golden aura faded, her expression a mixture of awe and a deep, gnawing worry. "Nox, the beacon... everyone will come for you now. We must leave."

"Leave?" Nox let out a short, humorless laugh. "We’re not going anywhere."

He turned to face the scattered crowd of players. He raised his hand, and his voice, amplified by a touch of his own void energy, rolled across the plaza, cold and absolute.

"Listen up, you pathetic insects."

Every head snapped to attention.

"My name is Nox. And as of right now, I am the king of this city." He gestured to the bodies of the fallen guild members and the powerless Paladin. "This is what happens to those who challenge me. But I am in a generous mood."

He pointed a finger at the crowd. "You have a choice. You can keep fighting each other, scrambling for scraps like starving rats. You can come after my Flags and die a pointless, pathetic death." He paused, letting the threat hang in the air. "Or, you can serve me."

A murmur went through the crowd.

"Serve you?" a man with a horned helmet yelled out. "Why would we serve a human whelp like you?!"

Nox just smiled. "Because I am the strongest. Because I am the one who holds the power. And because I am the only one who can keep you alive when the real monsters show up."

He held out his hand, palm open. "Swear your allegiance to me. Bring me your Flags, not as a prize for me to take, but as tribute to your king. In return, you will have my protection. You will be part of my army. We will not just survive this scenario; we will conquer it. Together."

It was a bold, arrogant, and completely insane gambit.

Vexia, who had been observing the entire battle through her scrying orb from the safety of the Sanctuary, just stared, her analytical mind struggling to process what she was seeing. ’He is not just trying to win the scenario. He is trying to build a kingdom. In the middle of a battle royale. He is either a genius or a complete madman.’

The players in the plaza hesitated, looking at each other. It was a choice between their pride and their survival.

The man with the horned helmet spat on the ground. "I serve no one!" He raised his axe and charged.

Nox didn’t even move.

Elisa stepped in front of him, her warhammer a blur. The man’s charge ended in a wet, crunching sound as her hammer caved in his chest.

"Anyone else have an objection?" Elisa asked, her voice cheerful.

That broke them.

One by one, they began to walk forward, their heads bowed. They knelt before Nox, placing their tattered Flags on the ground at his feet. It started as a trickle, then became a flood. Dozens of Flags, a river of surrendered ambitions, flowed toward him.

Serian watched, her heart aching. He was not the boy she knew anymore. He was a monarch, a conqueror, a being of absolute power. And as he stood there, accepting the tribute of his new subjects, she felt him slipping even further away from her.

Nox felt the power of the surrendered Flags flowing into him, each one a small boost to his own strength.

[Flag Count: 157]

[Flag Count: 182]

[Flag Count: 211]

He looked out at his new, terrified army. "This city is now my territory," he declared, his voice echoing with the power of the Monarch’s Dominion. "My law is the only law. We will fortify this plaza. We will hunt down any who refuse to bend the knee. And we will be ready for whatever comes next."

He looked up at the purple beacon that still marked him as the ultimate prize. "Let them come," he whispered to himself. "Let them all come."

The game was no longer about survival. It was about conquest. And the reign of the Void Monarch had just begun.

---

Far away, in a dark, cavernous throne room, Gorok watched the events in Portentia on a shimmering scrying pool. He saw Nox’s declaration, the surrender of the other players, the birth of a new, unexpected power in the city.

He was not angry. He was intrigued.

"This human whelp," he mused, a slow, cruel smile spreading across his face. "He is more than just a bodyguard. He is a rival." He looked at the Ashen Elf spy who was still kneeling at the foot of his throne. "It seems my plans will need to be... accelerated."

---

In the pristine, silent room, the Administrator watched the same scene on his own floating screen. He steepled his fingers, his expression calm. The Coordinator stood beside him, her eyes wide with a manic glee.

"Oh, this is better than I could have ever hoped for!" she squealed. "He is not just playing the game; he is rewriting the rules! A king! He has made himself a king!"

The Administrator just nodded. "The anomaly continues to exceed projections. The narrative is shifting." He looked at the blinking purple light on his map. "The other major players will not let this stand. Ragnar will return. The Collector’s other investments will make their move. The conflict is escalating."

He brought up a new screen, a series of complex algorithms and probability charts. "Increase the monster spawn rates in the surrounding regions," he commanded, his voice flat. "Introduce Tier-5 variables. Let us see how the new king handles a true crisis."

The Coordinator clapped her hands in delight. "Yes! Yes! Let’s see if his new little kingdom can survive a real storm!"

The game was far from over. In fact, it had just truly begun. And as the sun began to set on the first day of the King-Maker scenario, all the eyes of the world, mortal and divine, were fixed on the city of Portentia, and on the boy who had dared to call himself a king.

---

### Chapter 147: The Weight of the Crown

The first few hours of Nox’s reign were a chaotic symphony of shouted orders and frantic activity. The plaza, which had been a slaughterhouse moments before, was now a construction site. Under Elisa’s enthusiastic and often violent direction, the newly-conscripted players began to fortify the area. They dragged overturned buses and cars to form a crude outer wall, while Mela, with a surprising knack for logistics, organized the archers and ranged fighters into defensive positions on the surrounding rooftops.

Nox himself stood on the steps of the grand, now-shattered courthouse that overlooked the plaza, a silent, imposing figure. He wasn’t giving orders; he was just watching, his very presence a heavy weight that ensured everyone else did their job without complaint. The black Royal Flag was planted in the steps beside him, a stark symbol of his new authority.

Serian stood a few feet away, her heart a tangled mess. ’He’s a leader,’ she thought, watching him. ’He is commanding hundreds of people without even speaking. But he is so... distant.’ She missed the angry, reckless boy who had raced her through the woods. This cold, efficient monarch was a stranger to her.

"Your Highness."

She turned to see Vexia approaching, her face a mask of grim calculation. "We have a problem. My scrying has revealed a significant force moving toward the city from the north. At least a hundred players, moving in a coordinated, military formation. And their leader..." She brought up a shimmering image in her hand. It was Ragnar.

"He has gathered the other northern clans," Vexia stated. "He is not coming for a simple duel. He is coming to wage war."

Serian’s blood ran cold. "How long do we have?"

"At their current pace? Less than six hours. They will be here by dawn."

She looked over at Nox, who was still just staring out at his new, chaotic kingdom. She walked over to him, her steps hesitant.

"Nox. Ragnar is coming back. With an army."

He didn’t even turn to look at her. "I know."

[Hostile force detected. Designation: ’Northern Alliance’. Estimated combat strength: High. Probability of successful direct assault on current defensive position: 34%.]

"You knew?" Serian asked, her voice a mix of shock and frustration. "And you did nothing?"

"I’m doing something," he said, finally turning to look at her. His eyes were cold, distant. "I’m waiting." He looked back at the bustling plaza. "This rabble isn’t an army. Not yet. They’re a bunch of scared, selfish players who bent the knee because they were afraid of dying. They have no loyalty. No discipline."

He looked up at the sky, where the purple beacon still pulsed. "Ragnar is coming. He’s bringing a real army. A force that’s trained to fight together, that has a real leader." He met her gaze again. "And when they get here, my new subjects are going to see what a real threat looks like. They’re going to be terrified. They’re going to be on the verge of breaking."

He paused, a slow, cold grin spreading across his face. "And that’s when I’ll save them."

She stared at him, the brutal, cynical logic of his plan hitting her like a physical blow. He wasn’t just building an army; he was forging one in the crucible of fear. He was going to let them be terrorized, pushed to the absolute brink, just so he could be the one to swoop in and be their savior. It was monstrous. And it was brilliant.

"That’s... cruel," she whispered.

"It’s efficient," he countered. "Loyalty born from desperation is the strongest kind. They won’t just follow me because they have to. They’ll follow me because they believe I’m the only one who can protect them. They’ll become true believers."

He turned and started walking down the courthouse steps, into the heart of his new kingdom. "Vexia!" he called out, his voice echoing across the plaza. "Get the mages ready. I want a welcoming party for our northern friends. Something... explosive."

---

Dawn broke, painting the sky in shades of blood and rust. The sounds of a marching army could be heard in the distance, a low, rhythmic thunder that grew louder with every passing minute.

The players in the plaza were on the verge of panic. They could see the army now, a solid wall of iron and muscle cresting the hill at the edge of the city. Ragnar was at their head, his massive axe held high.

"We’re all going to die!" a woman cried out.

"This is insane! We should run!" another man yelled, already starting to back away from the crude barricade.

"Anyone who runs dies."

Nox’s voice cut through the panic, cold and absolute. He stood on top of the bus-wall, looking out at the approaching army. He was alone, a single, dark figure against the dawn.

"You swore allegiance to me," he reminded them, his voice carrying over the growing din. "You gave me your Flags. You gave me your loyalty. I told you I would protect you. Now it’s time for me to keep my promise."

Ragnar’s army stopped a few hundred feet from the plaza. The berserker himself stepped forward. "Boy!" he roared, his voice shaking the very air. "You have something that belongs to me. Come out here and die like a man, and I may spare the lives of your new pets."

Nox just laughed. "You want my Flags, Ragnar? Come and get them."

Ragnar roared in fury and charged. His entire army charged with him, a wave of screaming, axe-wielding barbarians.

"Vexia, now," Nox said, his voice a calm command.

Vexia, standing on a nearby rooftop, slammed her staff onto the ground. The runes they had spent the night carving into the streets of the plaza flared to life. A massive wall of silver fire erupted from the ground, blocking the army’s charge. Several of the front-line warriors screamed as they were consumed by the magical flames.

The army was thrown into chaos, their charge broken.

"Elisa!" Nox commanded.

"With pleasure!" Elisa roared from her position behind the barricade. She leaped over the wall, her warhammer glowing, and crashed into the disorganized flank of the army like a meteor.

"Mela!"

From the rooftops, a storm of poison-tipped needles rained down on the enemy’s archers.

It was a perfect, coordinated counter-attack. The Northern Alliance, which had been a disciplined army moments before, was now a panicked mob, caught between a wall of fire, a berserker elf, and a rain of death.

"And now, for the main event," Nox said to himself. He leaped from the barricade, landing in the middle of the chaotic battle. He didn’t summon a weapon. He just held out his hand.

"Monarch’s Dominion."

A sphere of absolute blackness erupted in the center of Ragnar’s army, consuming dozens of the northern warriors in its silent, devouring void.

Ragnar, who had been trying to rally his troops, just stared as a huge chunk of his army was erased from existence. He looked at Nox, who was now walking calmly toward him through the chaos, a look of pure, murderous rage on his face.

"You... what are you?!"

"I’m the king," Nox said.

He flickered.

He appeared in front of Ragnar, his fist, now coated in the black, jagged armor of the Infernal Monarch, pulled back. "And this is my kingdom."

He punched. The blow connected squarely with Ragnar’s chest. The berserker’s plate armor shattered, and he was sent flying backward, crashing through his own lines before collapsing in a heap.

The Northern Alliance broke. Seeing their leader fall, they turned and fled.

Nox stood in the middle of the battlefield, surrounded by the bodies of the fallen. His own army, the players he had conscripted, just stared at him from behind their barricade, their faces a mixture of terror and a new, dawning awe.

He had told them he would protect them. And he had.

A series of black-and-white windows filled his vision.

[Large-scale engagement won.]

[Flags Acquired: 102]

[Current Flag Count: 313]

[Title Acquired: The Mad King.]

He looked at his new title, then at the fleeing army, then at his own terrified, awe-struck followers.

’King, huh?’ he thought, a slow, cold grin spreading across his face. ’Yeah. I could get used to this.’