Chapter 129 129: A Fortress of Lies and Bad Ideas

The throne room was quiet. It was the oppressive, soul-crushing quiet of a kingdom at peace. And I, Ragnar Vhagar, the Tyrant of Aethelburg and a being of exquisite taste and A-Rank physical prowess, was starting to go existentially insane. "This is a problem," I announced to the assembled commanders, my voice a low, dangerous purr that echoed off the crystal walls. Pixia, my tiny, flying encyclopedia of all things statistical and annoying, zipped anxiously around my head. "My Lord, a frontal assault on the human city of Suzu is statistically inadvisable!" she squeaked. "My projections indicate a 99.3% probability of catastrophic failure and a 100% probability of you getting very, very grumpy!" "Your projections are obvious, Pixia," I retorted, slumping into my magnificent crystal throne. "We can't break his walls. We can't get past their one-man apocalypse of a grandfather. We are, to use a technical term from my old world, completely and utterly screwed." The silence in the room stretched, thick and heavy with the weight of our impending doom. My commanders, a dysfunctional family of legends, looked at me, waiting for a miracle. Grak the Unbreakable, my newly acquired Beast King, was trying to eat a small, decorative crystal, his massive jaws making a series of deeply unsettling grinding sounds. Sarah, my former Demon Queen, was filing her nails with a shard of obsidian, looking bored. This was my brain trust. Then, a new idea, a terrible, beautiful, and profoundly stupid idea, began to bloom in the dark, degenerate corners of my mind. It was a plan born from pure, desperate, gamer logic. "We can't attack their walls," I mused aloud, a slow, predatory smile touching my lips. "So, we will not attack their walls at all." I stood up, my long, dark coat swishing dramatically. It was all in the hips. "We are going to lie," I announced. "We are going to lie so hard, so beautifully, and so convincingly, that the universe itself will be forced to believe us." I laid out the plan. It was a masterpiece of deception, a symphony of bullshit. "We need to lull them into a false sense of security," I explained. "We need to make them think we are a bunch of disorganized, incompetent morons." I looked at my assembled forces. "So, we will give them exactly that." My plan had two phases. Phase one was a grand, theatrical, and utterly convincing disinformation campaign. "Kevin!" I roared. My chuunibyou intern, who was now a surprisingly dapper Vampire Noble named Saburo, snapped to attention, his cape swishing with an enthusiasm that was frankly offensive. "You are now the director of our new propaganda department," I declared. "Your mission is to create the most pathetic, most laughable, most utterly unthreatening invasion footage in the history of the world." Kevin's eyes lit up with a terrifying, artistic fire. "My Lord! It shall be a masterpiece of tragicomedy! A ballet of beautiful, glorious failure!" The "filming" of our fake invasion was a beautiful disaster. Grak was our star. He was tasked with charging a small, abandoned barn and "failing" to break it down. BOOM! The ground itself seemed to shatter as he slammed into the wooden wall. The wind shrieked. The barn, which was not supposed to break, exploded into a shower of splinters and terrified chickens. "CUT!" Kevin shrieked, his director's beret (which he had apparently just materialized out of pure, concentrated cringe) askew. "Grak, my dear boy, the motivation is all wrong! I need you to feel the existential angst of the wall! You are not just punching wood! You are punching the very concept of your own limitations!" "I AM PUNCHING THE CHICKEN HOUSE," Grak roared back, a confused but happy grin on his brutal face. We spent the next twenty days in this state of profound, artistic misery. We staged fake battles where Orcs tripped over their own feet. We recorded goblins trying to have a very serious, very important knife fight with a scarecrow. We then had Pixia, grumbling about the ethical implications of data falsification, leak the footage onto the hero forums. The effect was immediate and glorious. "TYRANT OF AETHELBURG'S ARMY IS A JOKE!" the headlines screamed. "FEARED DEMON KING'S FORCES DEFEATED BY A SCARECROW AND SEVERAL ANGRY CHICKENS!" The city of Suzu relaxed. Their patrols grew lax. Their guard was down. They thought we were a joke. They were about to learn that the punchline was a sledgehammer to the face. "Phase two," I announced to my commanders, my voice now a blade of ice. "The real invasion." The plan was simple. It was brutal. It was perfect. "We will use [Reign] to establish a forward operating base right on their doorstep," I explained, pointing to a spot on the holographic map just outside the three-kilometer radius of their city hall. "A beachhead. A foothold from which we can launch the final, glorious, and very, very messy assault." The air in the throne room crackled with a new, hungry energy. The boredom was gone. The peace was over. "Isabelle, Chloe," I commanded, my gaze sweeping over my two top commanders, my two secret lovers. The simmering, homicidal tension between them was a constant, delicious hum in the background of my life. "You will lead the vanguard. I want our new base established by sunrise. No mistakes. No delays." I looked at my assembled army. At my beautiful, deadly, and dangerously jealous lovers. At my collection of magnificent, monstrous, and profoundly dysfunctional children. They were a circus of sociopaths. A walking, talking diplomatic incident waiting to happen. And they were all mine. "We have lulled the sheep into a false sense of security," I declared, my voice a low, dangerous purr that echoed in the vast, crystal chamber. "Now, it is time for the wolves to come out and play." The disinformation campaign was live. The trap was set. Now, we just had to wait for them to get stupid. And I had a feeling they wouldn't disappoint me. -------------------------------------------------------- The night was a perfect cloak of darkness and silence. My army, a river of black and steel, moved through the ruined outskirts of the city with a chilling, unnatural quiet. This was not a glorious, banner-waving march. This was an assassination. And our target was the entire city of Suzu. Our transportation was a masterpiece of absurdity. I had "acquired" a fleet of school buses and delivery trucks from our last looting operation. The sight of two hundred hulking Orcs crammed into a bright yellow school bus, their massive green heads sticking out of the windows like a grotesque, demonic field trip, was a memory I would treasure for the rest of my afterlife. Grak the Unbreakable, being too large for a bus, was strapped to the back of a flatbed truck, snoring peacefully, his massive form a promise of impending, geological violence. I, of course, rode in style. I was on the back of a ridiculously small, bright red motorcycle, holding on for dear life as Grak drove with a reckless, childish glee. "THIS IS FUN!" he bellowed over the roar of the engine. "THE METAL BEAST IS FAST! IT MAKES MY BITS TINGLE!" "Just try not to hit any potholes, you magnificent, simple-minded engine of destruction," I grumbled, my long, dark coat threatening to get caught in the back wheel. "This coat is a custom job." We reached the outskirts of Suzu, a sad, forgotten park just outside the three-kilometer radius of the city hall. The air was still. The city was asleep. Perfect. "Alright, big guy," I said to Grak, dismounting with as much kingly dignity as I could muster. "You're the lookout. If you see anything that isn't a tree or a rock, punch it." "I LIKE PUNCHING," Grak roared, a wide, happy grin on his brutal face. I walked to the center of the park, the overgrown grass tickling my ankles. I took a deep, theatrical breath. "[Reign]," I commanded. BOOM! The world lurched. A vast, invisible dome of power, three kilometers in radius, erupted from me, washing over the city of Suzu like a silent, invisible tsunami. My feet became rooted to the spot, my body an anchor for this new, temporary territory. The map in my mind solidified. It was clean. No red dots. No patrols. The disinformation campaign had worked flawlessly. They were sleeping soundly, dreaming of chickens and scarecrows. A timer appeared in the corner of my vision: 179:59. Three hours to establish our new home. "Excellent," I purred. "Pixia, begin the transfer. I want every single Orc, goblin, and vaguely pointy stick from the Spire moved here. Now." The plan was working. It was perfect. It was beautiful. It was, of course, about to go spectacularly, horribly wrong. Ninety minutes into the countdown, as the first of my reinforcements began to materialize in a swirl of shadow and ozone, it happened. A single, angry hornet-buzzing sound in the distance. It was getting closer. "My Lord," Chloe's voice was a sharp whisper from the shadows. "Incoming. Two contacts. Fast." I looked at the map. Two red dots, moving with a speed that was far too fast for a simple patrol, had just entered the outer edge of my Reign's radius. They were on a motorcycle. "Interceptors," I snarled. "Hibiki! Stop them!" My new masochistic, exhibitionist, bunny-boy tank, who had been quietly doing stretches in the corner, sprang into action. "Your punishment is my greatest pleasure, pyon!" he chirped, and charged. BOOM! The ground itself seemed to shatter as he became a crimson-streaked blur of muscle and questionable life choices. The two humans on the motorcycle saw him. They were good. They swerved, their faces a mask of pure, unadulterated terror. Hibiki was a wall. A very large, very enthusiastic wall. He stood in the middle of the road, his arms outstretched, a blissful smile on his face, ready to absorb their impact. The lead human, a young woman with a determined jaw, did something clever. She didn't try to go around him. She went under him. She laid the bike down, a spray of sparks and gravel erupting as they slid under Hibiki's legs. He yelped in surprise, a sound that was a bizarre mix of pain and pleasure, as the hot exhaust pipe grazed his inner thigh. The motorcycle righted itself on the other side and sped past us, right towards the heart of my newly forming base. They had seen me. They had seen the Transfer Array. They had seen everything. The alarm was raised. "We have to go," I said, my voice a blade of ice. "Now." But it was too late. The city of Suzu, which had been a quiet, sleeping giant, awoke with a roar. Sirens blared. Lights flashed. The map in my mind, which had been a calm sea of white and blue, became a seething, angry ocean of red. Thousands of them. Tens of thousands of them. And they were all converging on my position. The Reign timer still had fifty-seven minutes on it. Fifty-seven minutes until my new fortress was permanent. Fifty-seven minutes of a desperate, unwinnable defense. "Well," I said, a slow, dangerous smile on my face. "This complicates things." I looked at my commanders, at the handful of elite warriors who stood with me. "Dig in," I commanded, my voice a low, final growl. "This is going to be a very long, very messy, and very, very glorious hour."