The courtyard of the Palace of Gazen Dazardiyak was frozen in a tableau of terrified awe. The horses were shivering. The guards were sweating. The air was thick with the mana of the newly summoned Necromancer General, Samul Graveward.

  Renji stared at the skeleton.

  Samul stood tall, his purple robes billowing in a wind that didn't exist, the golden staff gleaming, the red lights in his eye sockets burning with malevolence. He looked magnificent. He looked terrifying.

  He looked exactly like the protagonist of a certain light novel Renji had read back on Earth.

  Wait a minute, Renji thought, his analytical mind piercing through the Emotional Suppression. That robe. The pauldrons. The staff design. Even the way he’s holding himself.

  Renji’s eye twitched.

  That is straight-up copyright infringement. If the Multiversal Lawyers find out about this, I’m going to get sued into oblivion. I can handle dragons. I cannot handle a cease-and-desist order from a Japanese publishing conglomerate.

  "Samul," Renji said, his voice tight.

  "My Lord?" the skeleton rasped, bowing low.

  "Change your clothes," Renji commanded. "Now. Wear something... generic. A black hoodie. Jeans. Anything but that. You look like you're about to start a spin-off series I can't afford the licensing rights for."

  Samul paused, his skeletal jaw hanging open for a fraction of a second. He seemed confused, but his loyalty was absolute.

  "As... you command, Supreme One. I shall adopt the garb of the... 'Hoodie'."

  Samul snapped his fingers. Shadow wrapped around him, dissolving the opulent Overlord-style robes and replacing them with a simple, oversized black cloak and plain leather armor. He looked less like a Sorcerer King and more like a high-level mob from a dungeon.

  Better, Renji thought. Safer.

  He opened his mouth to order the march to begin, to initiate the 'Military Exercise' that would terrify the East.

  GURRRRRRGGLE.

  The sound didn't come from a monster. It didn't come from the earth. It came from Renji’s midsection.

  A cramp, sharp and twisting, seized his intestines.

  Renji froze. His eyes widened. The bath. He had stayed in the bath too long. And he had eaten that weird fruit from the tribute basket earlier without checking the stats.

  Oh no.

  It was the Rumble. The Level 99 Bowel Movement.

  Renji clenched his fists. His Aura Farmer skill flared, interpreting his internal distress as a rising tide of killing intent. To the onlookers, the King didn't look like he needed a toilet; he looked like he was holding back a world-ending spell.

  I can't ride a horse like this, Renji realized with horror. If I bounce up and down on a saddle for three hours... the Kingdom of Gazen Dazardiyak will fall. It will fall to a brown tide.

  He had to abort. Immediately. But he couldn't say, "Excuse me, I have the runs." He was the Overlord. The Demon God.

  Renji straightened his back, fighting the cramps. He looked at the gathered army, at Valeriana who was looking at him with starry eyes, at Grakkor who was already mounted.

  "Not Today," Renji announced.

  His voice was deep, final, and brooked no argument.

  Silence descended. Absolute, confused silence.

  Grakkor blinked. "My... my Lord? But the army is ready! The horses are fed! The bloodlust is high!"

  Valeriana looked crushed. "My King? Do we not ride to save my home?"

  Renji didn't answer. He couldn't. If he opened his mouth, he might lose focus on his sphincter. He turned on his heel, his cape swirling dramatically, and began to speed-walk back toward the palace doors.

  The confusion in the courtyard began to bubble into murmurs of doubt. Why? Did we fail him? Is he displeased?

  Then, Kaelthas stepped forward.

  The former Lich pushed his glasses up his nose. The lenses flashed white, obscuring his eyes. He turned to the confused masses, his face twisted into a sneer of intellectual superiority.

  "Fools!" Kaelthas bellowed.

  The army flinched. Grakkor recoiled.

  "Imbeciles! Dullards! Do you possess eyes, yet see nothing? Do you possess ears, yet hear only wind?"

  Kaelthas gestured wildly at the retreating back of Renji.

  "You question the Supreme One? You think his decision to delay is born of whim? This is why you are pawns, and he is the Player!"

  Kaelthas began to pace, his voice rising in a crescendo of fanatical rationalization.

  "Look at the sky!" Kaelthas pointed a trembling finger at the horizon. The sun was indeed beginning to dip, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. "The sun sets! To march now would be to arrive at the enemy borders in the dead of night! While our troops possess Darkvision, the enemy does not!"

  "So?" Grakkor grunted. "Better for killing!"

  "No, you muscle-brained simpleton!" Kaelthas hissed. "The Lord Renji does not simply wish to defeat them! He wishes to break them! If we attack at night, they will claim they were unprepared! They will claim chaos and confusion! But if we arrive at high noon... if we arrive with the sun glinting off our armor... they will see us coming. They will see their doom approaching slowly, inevitably, and they will have time to despair!"

  The soldiers began to nod. That... that made sense.

  "Furthermore!" Kaelthas continued, tears of admiration welling in his eyes. "Do you not feel it? The mercy? The profound, undeserved benevolence?"

  "Mercy?" Valeriana whispered.

  "He stopped because of us!" Kaelthas cried, clutching his chest. "He sensed the fatigue in the horses! He saw a scuff on Grakkor’s armor! He realized that Samul had only just been summoned and required time to calibrate his mana! He delayed the conquest of an entire nation just to ensure his subordinates were at 100% efficiency! He values our readiness over his own glory!"

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  A collective gasp went through the courtyard. Several soldiers dropped to their knees, weeping openly.

  "Sasuga..." one knight whispered.

  "He loves us," another sobbed. "The Tyrant King loves us!"

  Kaelthas spun around, spreading his arms wide. "He said 'Not Today' because today is not worthy of the history we are about to write! He demands perfection! Go! Rest! Polish your blades! For tomorrow, under the gaze of our benevolent, perfectionist God, we shall bring hell to the East!"

  "Gazen Dazardiyak! Gazen Dazardiyak!"

  The chant started low and became a roar. The morale of the army, which had been confused moments ago, skyrocketed to fanatical levels.

  Renji, currently power-walking down the hallway while clenching his buttcheeks, heard the roar.

  What the hell is he talking about now? Renji thought, sweating profusely. Whatever. Just don't let me crap my pants.

  He reached the Royal Bathroom, threw open the door, and slammed it shut, locking it with a heavy thud.

  "Safe," he whimpered, sliding down the doorframe.

  Meanwhile, in the Kingdom of Gaipen-Mansur.

  The Throne Room of Gaipen-Mansur was a masterclass in overcompensation.

  Everything was gold. Not tasteful gold leaf, but solid, chunky, garish gold. The pillars were gold. The floor was gold. The statues of the King—which depicted him with muscles he definitely didn't have—were gold.

  Seated on the Golden Throne (which looked incredibly uncomfortable) was King Zograth the Eclipse-Bringer.

  He was a man of forty who dressed like he was fourteen. He wore black leather armor covered in useless spikes, a cape made of raven feathers, and he wore heavy black eyeliner that was beginning to run in the heat of the room. He held a sword that was clearly too heavy for him, resting the tip on the ground.

  To his right stood Prince Valerius. He was thin, weaselly, and looked at his father with a mix of boredom and hunger. He was currently picking dirt out from under his fingernails with a dagger.

  Before the throne stood the Sixteen Grand Generals of Gaipen.

  They were a motley crew of sycophants, con-men, and mercenaries who had realized that the easiest way to get rich was to tell Zograth he was cool.

  "Oh, Majesty of the Night!" General Kaelen (no relation to Kaelthas, just a guy with a bad mustache) stepped forward, bowing so low his head hit the floor. "Your aura today is... blinding! Truly, the shadows flee from your darkness!"

  "Yes, yes," Zograth mumbled, posing dramatically on the throne. "My darkness is eternal. Speak, minions. How goes the preparation for the conquest of Oakhaven?"

  "It goes flawlessly, Dark Lord!" General Boreas shouted. He was wearing armor made of papier-maché painted to look like dragon bone. "The funds you allocated for the 'Ultimate Destruction Cannons' have been... utilized."

  "Utilized to buy me a new summer villa," Prince Valerius muttered under his breath.

  "Excellent," Zograth purred. "And what of the obstacle? This... new upstart kingdom? What was it called? Gazen... something?"

  "Gazen Dazardiyak, my Liege," General Horgus said, stepping forward. Horgus was fat, sweaty, and wore enough jewelry to sink a ship. "A laughable name for a laughable place."

  "Tell me of their strength," Zograth commanded, narrowing his eyes in what he thought was a piercing gaze. "My spies tell me they defeated a dragon. Is this true?"

  The Sixteen Generals laughed. It was a practiced, synchronized laugh.

  "A dragon? Impossible!" Horgus scoffed. "My spies report that it was merely a large Wyvern! Sickly and old! And they claim this 'Renji Hayakaze' killed it alone? Lies! Propaganda! He likely poisoned its food while it slept!"

  "Indeed!" General Kaelen chimed in. "I have heard reports of this Renji. They say he is a barbarian. A savage who fights shirtless because he cannot afford armor! Can you imagine? A King without armor?"

  "Pathetic," Zograth sneered. "A true King wears spikes. The more spikes, the more power."

  "Precisely!" The Generals chorused.

  "And their army?" Zograth asked. "Are they a threat to my elite forces?"

  "Threat?" Prince Valerius finally spoke up, stepping forward with a oily smile. "Father, please. Gazen Dazardiyak is a kingdom of mud huts and goblin-lovers. Their 'army' consists of bandits and farmers with pitchforks. They occupy the Northern Duchies only because the Duchies were weak."

  "Our army," General Boreas shouted, puffing out his chest, "is ten thousand strong! We have the Shiny Battalion! We have the Glittering Cavalry! We have uniforms that cost more than their entire GDP!"

  "Yes," Zograth nodded, stroking his chin. "It makes sense. They are poor. We are rich. Therefore, we win."

  "The logic is flawless, Eclipse-Bringer!" Horgus cheered. "However... to ensure total victory... we may need a small... additional grant from the treasury. To buy... um... extra-spiky arrows. For maximum fear."

  "Granted!" Zograth waved his hand magnanimously. "Empty the vaults if you must! I want Oakhaven taken by the week's end. We will present the Duke's head to the Theocracy, and then I shall be the favorite of the Sun God!"

  "But Father," Valerius interjected smoothly, "should we not send a scout? Just to... gloat?"

  "No scouts!" Zograth roared, standing up and flourishing his heavy sword, nearly dropping it. "We march blind! For darkness needs no eyes! We will crush this Renji like a bug. We will take his women, burn his mud huts, and rename his kingdom 'Zograthia'!"

  "ALL HAIL ZOGRATHIA!" The Generals screamed, mentally calculating how much of the war budget they could skim off the top before the battle started.

  The Gaipen-Mansur Army Camp - The Border of Oakhaven.

  The camp was less a military installation and more a music festival with swords.

  The tents were brightly colored silk. Bards were playing lutes by the fires. The soldiers, dressed in polished ceremonial armor that had never seen a speck of blood, were drinking expensive wine out of crystal goblets.

  Around a large bonfire, a group of soldiers were roasting a pig and laughing.

  "Did you hear the rumors?" one soldier said, wiping grease off his chin. "They say the King of Gazen Dazardiyak sleeps in a cave."

  "I heard he's actually a goblin in a human suit," another laughed, clinking his goblet. "That's why he has Orcs in his army. He relates to the smell."

  "I give it two hours," a sergeant bragged, sharpening a sword that was already purely decorative. "We march in, wave our banners, and they surrender. I bet their swords are made of wood."

  "I hope they have gold," another mused. "I need to pay off my gambling debts."

  "They don't have gold, you idiot. They trade in rocks and mud. We're doing them a favor by conquering them. Bringing a little class to the neighborhood."

  "Hey," a younger soldier asked nervously. "But what about the dragon? The huge corpse in the valley?"

  The sergeant smacked the young soldier on the back of the head. "Don't believe fairy tales, rookie. There are no dragons left. It was probably a hill that looked like a dragon. Or a statue. These barbarians lie about everything to seem scary. Trust me. When we meet them on the field, they'll run before we even draw steel."

  Laughter echoed into the night, drifting toward the silent, ominous border of Oakhaven.

  The Inner Sanctum of Gazen Dazardiyak.

  Deep within the Obsidian Palace, behind three blast doors and a magical barrier, was a room that shouldn't exist.

  It didn't look like the rest of the high-fantasy castle. The floor was covered in authentic tatami mats. The lighting was warm and yellowish, coming from a modern ceiling fixture. There was a low wooden table (chabudai) in the center.

  In the corner, a massive 85-inch 4K flat-screen TV—recreated via High-Tier Creation Magic and powered by a mana-to-electricity converter—was mounted on the wall.

  Renji Hayakaze lay on his side on the tatami mats. He was wearing loose grey sweatpants and a stained t-shirt that said "I Paused My Game to Be Here." His hair was a mess.

  His head was propped up on his hand. With his other hand, he reached into a bag of "Spicy Mana-Chips" (potato chips fried in wyvern fat) and shoved a handful into his mouth.

  Crunch. Crunch.

  On the TV screen, the System was broadcasting a live feed from a Shadow Eye he had deployed over the Gaipen-Mansur camp.

  He watched the soldiers laughing. He listened to them call him a goblin in a human suit.

  "Man," Renji mumbled, spraying crumbs onto the mat. "These guys are walking flags. Every sentence out of their mouths is a death flag."

  He reached back and vigorously scratched his ass. It felt amazing. The royal silk underwear was too tight; sweatpants were true freedom.

  "System," he said around a mouthful of chips. "Zoom in on that sergeant. The one with the decorative sword."

  The camera zoomed.

  "Yeah. Look at that stance. He's going to trip on his own cape."

  Renji chuckled. It wasn't the menacing laugh of an Overlord. It was the giggle of a guy watching a fail compilation on YouTube at 3 AM.

  He grabbed a bottle of "Cola" (carbonated black slime extract with sugar) and took a swig, letting out a loud belch.

  "Ahhh. That's the stuff."

  He checked the time on the System clock.

  "Alright. Samul and the boys march at dawn. I should probably get some sleep."

  He looked at the screen one last time, watching King Zograth pose in front of a mirror in his tent.

  "Zograth the Eclipse-Bringer," Renji snorted. "More like Zograth the XP-Bringer."

  He waved his hand, turning the TV off. He rolled over, pulled a duvet with a cute anime-style slime print over his head, and curled up.

  Outside, his generals were working tirelessly, terrified of his genius. His enemies were plotting, convinced of his weakness.

  Inside the room, the terrifying Demon King Renji Hayakaze fell asleep drooling on his pillow, dreaming of hitting Level 100 and finally unlocking the 'New Game+' mode.